#still caught in the spiderweb

[blujayonthewing]

🕸🕷

[bunniepaws]

luv my lil spider friends in my room…….. keepin me safe from some weird ass bugs………..

[erwinsvow]

They call you the clueless pogue. The pretty one. 

You don’t care much either way—that comes from years of being Kiara’s best friend, she’s taught you well on how to ignore what other people think and say about you. Maybe you would care more, you think one day, watching JJ and Pope drive each other crazy while trying to fix something that’s inexplicably gone wrong with the Twinkie. John B is swinging in the hammock, eyes closed, empty beer in his hand that is soon replaced with a fresh one by Kie. She drops the old can into a bin that has the recycling symbol drawn on with a sharpie, her own creation. She walks towards you with a can of fruity seltzer since it’s well known with your new friends that you refuse to drink beer—and it all feels very domestic.

You might care about what other people say if you didn’t love your friends so much.

You are a little clueless though—at least the boys think so. They wouldn’t dare to say anything when your protective best friend was around, but when it’s just you and one of them, or all of them, it comes out a little more. 

You wear the kind of clothes that they wouldn’t let a sister of theirs be caught dead in. They never used to care about stuff like that, not until you started hanging around more often. It was the result of absent parents that were only on the island a few months out of the year. The rest of the time you had free reign, and an unlimited credit card that often funded their adventures—gas for the Twinkie, beer for the night, a new outfit to wear to the party. 

JJ gets into a fist-fight with a guy who keeps offering you a drink from the keg, not listening no matter how many times you refuse and grabbing the short hem of your yellow dress to yank you back. JJ doesn’t mean to knock him out—it’s just like instinct, he explains later that night to John B and Pope while you’re sound asleep on the pull-out with Kiara—the way he feels protective over you.

“Are you okay?” Kie asks, and you smooth out your dress from where that guy had grabbed it.

“Only because JJ saved me,” you say, looking at him with big doe eyes and fluttering eyelashes. He swallows uncomfortably.

“No biggie, princess, I mean you know me, I’m a big damsel-in-stress kinda guy-” Kiara rolls her eyes and brings you inside, and he’s left standing there with pink-tinged ears.

He doesn’t tell them about how you were looking around for someone, anyone to help, how scared you look when he touched you, how your face visibly eased when you locked eyes with JJ, how you held a bag of frozen peas to his black eye and kissed his cheek before going back to find everyone earlier. He decides to keep that for himself.

You don’t keep an eye out for your surroundings when you tag along on their adventures either. That’s pretty much John B’s responsibility now, walking towards the back with you. You often start looking around, head in the clouds, staring at the trees and sky and walking right into a pile of mud or a puddle.

“Wow, the air is so clean out here,” you comment while taking a deep breath. It’s said quiet enough that only he can hear you.

“Yeah, pretty girl, that’s because of all the trees.” You laugh and shove his arm, because duh, but you can’t respond because the others are yelling for you two to catch up.

He doesn’t let you lead—you’ve cried over too many ruined shoes for him to risk it anymore—instead he holds onto your hand firmly, gripping tight when he needs you to slow down and pulling gently when it’s okay to proceed. It’s his job to make sure all the bugs are out of the way, that you’re not walking into a spiderweb or running after a butterfly or pretty bird. The others tease you two and laugh, but you still thank him with a tight hug, the thin material of your sports bra not really hiding much, murmuring something about no signs of mud on your new sneakers.

“Yeah, anytime,” he breathes after you’ve already walked away. You turn back to smile at him, adjusting your ridden-up tennis skirt you’d sported today. “Wouldn’t wanna dirty those shoes.”

You make Pope feel like the smartest guy in the world sometimes, without even trying. It’s not like you’re stupid, because he knows you’re not, but when you bite your cheek and tap his shoulder to ask him another question about whatever you were working on, your words start going to his head. 

“So if I wanna save this and put them all together, I just use this program? And I just use the mouse?” you say thoughtfully, repeating his instructions back to him.

“Yes, sweetheart,” and he tries his best to make sure he sounds patient—he’s learned from experience you don’t react well if you even suspect he’s getting frustrated.

Pope watches you play with the thin straps of your shirt before the string idly falls off your shoulder, exposing a swath of soft, sweet-smelling skin to him. Staring at your bare shoulder, he thinks he could never get frustrated at you even if he tried his hardest.  When you finish making your little vision-board on photoshop, you turn to show him proudly, and he is proud, with how well you followed his instructions and weren’t too shy to keep asking for his help. Later that night at the Chateau, you lean against his shoulder with his arm swung around you on the couch and explain what each of the images mean until you fall asleep. 

They’re all playing a game of chicken—wondering which one will be the first to cross that line and suggest something more than just friendship to you. Through empty cases of beer and boys-only fishing trips they’ve briefly discussed to each other that they’re interested, but of respect—to each other, not really to you—they haven’t made the first move just yet. No matter how difficult you make it.

At the beach you help the boys wax their surfboards, taking turns with each one, floating around a little tipsy already from your fruity drink. They’re all talking, but you don’t really pay attention, eyes staring at something in the distance.

JJ covers his mouth, imitating a walkie noise. 

“Hello, uh, earth to princess, over.” 

You turn back to him and his board, dropping the chunk of wax and leaning in. He blanks for a second—your pretty face getting closer, an eyeful of your tits in the tiny bikini you’re wearing today making his head spin. And you’re infront of everyone, which is definitely not how he’d thought he would win this little competition. 

“Do you see that pretty girl over there? Three o’clock?” 

“I see a pretty girl right in front of me,” he says, and you laugh, pushing his shoulder. He doesn’t realize that you think he’s just joking. 

“Jayj, seriously. See her?” He nods, but still doesn’t turn to look. “She’s been staring at you for, like, ten minutes. You should go over there!” 

You’re smiling big, like the idea of another girl talking to him sounds fun. He pulls back from you, confused.

“I need another beer.” He stalks off, walking to the boys while you turn to Kiara.

“What did I do wrong? I’m trying to get him laid-” Kiara rolls her eyes. You turn and see the boys in deep conversation, occasionally glancing back at you and Kie.

“She just told me to go flirt with some girl, like, right in front of her. I mean is this some kind of test?” He takes a long chug of the beer, sounding about as stressed as Pope and John B have ever seen. “Do I fail if I hook up with some rando? Or do I fail if I don’t hook up? It’s Schindler’s cat, man-”

“That’s not-” Pope starts, before being cut off.

“Sorry, sorry. Schrodinger’s kids.”

“No, JJ-”

“What the hell does she mean? So she wants us to hook up with other people?” John B cuts in, looking back at you, but something else on the beach seems to have caught your attention.

“Woah, I’m not doing that, but you two are more than welcome-” 

“Yeah, nice try, Pope. We get with some girl so you can tell her you stayed loyal and win her over? I don’t think so, genius-”

“Well, you’re the one she’s trying to set up so I think I’m pretty safe right now-”

“It’s not a reality show Pope, you can’t eliminate me.”

“Guys,” John B speaks up.

“If this was a show, I’d clearly be the fan favorite and the winner-”

“Uh, says who? I would so win, let’s do a poll right now and survey this beach-”

“Guys.” Louder this time, they listen to John. He doesn’t say anything, just stares into the distance and soon they join him, to see what he’s looking at.

“Y’gotta be fucking kidding me,” JJ says, watching you run into Rafe’s arms, swinging around before giving him a kiss. Rafe pulls away and looks straight at the three of them, while giving them a wave.

[the-fiction-witch]

Little Sister

Media - House Of The Dragon Character - Aegon Targaryen Couple - Aegon X Reader Reader - Y/n Targaryen (Daughter of Viserys and Alicent) Rating - Smut Word Count - 3687

Y/n stood in the grass of the Red Keep’s gardens, playing with butterflies and spiderwebs. She wore a beautiful gown of green and was ignoring the scowls of her older brother Aegon sat in his usual attire with a cup of wine in hand. The two were supposed to be on a date together in the gardens as their mother Alicent demanded due to their upcoming wedding.

Aegon watched Y/n prance around in her fancy gown and he rolled his eyes, "What nonsense are you even saying?"

"Why are you so grumpy big brother?" She asked as she turned to him pulling her face to make a frown

Aegon crossed his arms and glared at Y/n. "Why do you think, Y/n? We're on a date and you're acting like an idiot, prancing around instead of spending real time with me. I bet you don't even know how to have fun."

"oh… Okay," she giggled hopping over to his bench and sitting on the grass beside the bench "Suggest the funs?"

Aegon raised an eyebrow, slightly amused despite himself. It seemed like Y/n was finally willing to listen and have some fun. "Well, for starters, we could go out and ride dragons. Or if you want something more relaxing we could do some archery or sword fighting practice." Aegon leaned closer and grinned. "Or we could do something even more exciting and get some wine and go for a little adventure around the Red Keep. Anything's better than just sitting around here in the gardens."

"adventure!" She giggled "We can go find all the tapestries or we can find the bones in the dungeons or we could find where all the rats sit!"

Aegon couldn't help but chuckle at Y/n's excitement and innocent enthusiasm. "Alright, an adventure it is. Let's go! Which one do you want to do first? The tapestries, the bones, or the rats?"

"whichever you like big brother" she giggled holding his hand and jumping up and down

Aegon smirked, "Well then, let's start with the tapestries. If we're going to find clues, they're as good a place as any to start. Lead the way, little sister."

Aegon grinned and set out with Y/n, ready for an exciting adventure through the castle in search of tapestries, clues and maybe even a little bit of trouble.

As Y/n took Aegon from one tapestry to another, pointing out the various details and symbols, Aegon started to see her in a new light. She might be a bit strange and eccentric, but she had a passion for learning and a curiosity that was refreshing. Aegon listened to her explanations intently, nodding along and adding a comment here and there. As the tour continued, he found himself enjoying the time with her, enjoying the way her eyes lit up with excitement as she pointed out the different stories woven into the tapestries.

She stopped at a particular tapestry in the library turning her head to the side as she looks at the tapestry, Aegon watched as Y/n stared at the tapestry, her eyes widening in surprise. He raised an eyebrow, wondering what had caught her attention.

"What is it? Is something wrong with this one?" Aegon stepped closer, studying the tapestry himself. He didn't see anything out of the ordinary, but he knew Y/n had a unique way of seeing the world.

"… All the other tapestries are so literal?" She pouted "Kings, queens, dragons and castles … Why doesn't this one?" She asked pointing to the tapestry that depicted an old scene forgetting by time the meaning and reasoning of. The tapestry showed a woman lying nude with a dragon wrapped around her as if mating

The image of the woman wrapped in the dragon's embrace left Aegon feeling a mixture of confusion and curiosity. He had never heard a story of a Targaryen queen… no, of any woman having an intimate relationship with a dragon. Aegon turned to Y/n, his eyes still fixed on the tapestry. "I-… Do you know what the meaning of this tapestry is, Y/n?"

"… I assume dragon blood or Targaryens mating with normal people of Westeros? I guess? Or … Maybe in old valyira having dragon blood was literal?"

Aegon could feel his face heating up as he listened to Y/n's explanation. The possibility of Targaryen queens mating with dragons was a strange and disturbing thought, but from the tapestry, it was undeniable that it had occurred. Aegon cleared his throat, trying to keep his voice steady. "Well… I suppose it's possible that in old Valeria some Targaryens were so obsessed with their connection to dragons that they took it that far. But even then, it still feels… wrong."

"I don't know maybe it's just art .."

Aegon nodded, trying to keep a straight face. "Yes, maybe it's just art. A strange and unusual depiction, but perhaps it's just someone's imagination runs wild. Let's move on to the next tapestry, shall we?"

Aegon smiled, doing his best to push away the uneasy feeling of the last tapestry as he and Y/n turned to the next one, hoping to find something more mundane and less disturbing there.

She giggled moving close to the new tapestry, she laughed hard as she brushed her hand on it,

Aegon blinked in surprise as Y/n burst into laughter, seemingly amused by something on the tapestry. "What is it?" Aegon asked, puzzled by her reaction. He turned to the tapestry, but didn't see anything funny or amusing. All he saw was yet another dull depiction of a Targaryen king and his sword Blackfyre. Aegon leaned closer to Y/n, curious as to what could have made her laugh so hard.

"sword." She giggled

Aegon raised an eyebrow, wondering if Y/n had finally lost her mind. "What about the sword? It's not that funny." Aegon scoffed, trying to figure out what was so amusing about Blackfyre. As far as he could see, it was just a plain old sword, even if it was Valyrian steel.

"I like to imagine that whenever they depict kings and their swords they play with the size and perspective based on the kings .. you know"

Aegon couldn't help but chuckle as he realized what Y/n was saying. He had never thought of it before, but now that she mentioned it, it was amusing to think that kings would exaggerate the size of their swords in their own tapestries to appear more impressive. "You know what? You might be onto something here. I never really considered that before, but it does make a certain kind of sense. Maybe this king was compensating for something?" Aegon grinned, his mood lightened by her observation.

"Maybe you'll have a tapestry when your king and your sword will be the size of the whole! Thorne room!"

Aegon laughed at that, imagining himself in a tapestry towering over the room with his sword as large as a mountain. "Now that would be a sight to behold. I can just imagine the looks on everyone's faces when they see me like that. They would think I was some kind of god! But I think I'll stick to real life and leave the gigantic sword-wielding for the tapestries."

"or that you were compensating,"

Aegon chuckled, conceding the point to Y/n. "You're not wrong. It would be quite obvious that I'd be overcompensating if I had a sword that big It's a good thing I don't have anything I need to overcompensate for in the first place." Aegon grinned, teasing Y/n. "But you should worry more about your own tapestry, little sister.”

"I won't get a tapestry" she giggled "I'd be happy just as a name on a family tree in the books that's all" she giggled, "I don't know Aegon I've never seen your sword I don't know if it needs overcompensating,"

Aegon grinned, still teasing Y/n. "You think you're so humble, don't you? But don't pretend like you don't want your own tapestry just like me and Aemond. I bet deep down you want to be depicted with a thousand giant bugs as your loyal soldiers. And don't pretend like you're not curious about my sword size now. Perhaps I should invite you to the training yards more often to witness its full glory firsthand."

"why? I could find out now if I wanted"

Aegon raised an eyebrow, intrigued by Y/n's remark. He couldn't help but chuckle, amused at the audacity of her words. "Are you really suggesting what I think you're suggesting, little sister? You want to… see my sword right now?"

Aegon smirked, leaning closer to Y/n. "I could if I wanted"

Aegon chuckled, enjoying the playfulness in Y/n's eyes. "Well, what are you waiting for then? Go ahead, take a look."

she giggled and gave his nose a kiss before she knelt on the wooden floor and held out her hands "Sword please"

Aegon's heart skipped a beat at the small kiss, enjoying the playful mood between them. He smiled, amused by her request. "Alright then, little sister. You can have my sword for a moment." He unstrapped his sword from his hip and rested it in her hands, watching her closely to see what she would do.

she held the old sword on her hands but immediately tossed it on the floor "Sword please"

"Y/n! what are you doing? Why did you throw the sword on the floor? I thought you wanted to see it!"

"I do."

Aegon's confusion deepened. He picked up the sword from the floor and placed it back in her hands. "Here, take it again. But be careful with it. Valyrian steel is prized for good reason and it's not something to be casually tossed aside."

she immediately tossed it again

Aegon's eyes widened in disbelief as Y/n tossed the Valyrian steel sword again. "What in the name of the Seven are you doing? Valyrian steel is valuable and difficult to come by! Why are you treating it like a toy? Do you have any idea what that sword is worth?"

"sword" she giggled putting her hand on his belt

“Oh…” Aegon's confusion gave way to amusement as he realized what Y/n was really asking for. He chuckled, enjoying her playful antics. "Alright, you little menace. I think you've had your fun with my sword. But since you've been such a good sport, I suppose I can give you a different kind of sword to play with." With a smirk, Aegon reached for his belt and loosened his trousers slightly, then took Y/n's hand and placed it on his soft cock, "There, now you've got your hands on a different kind of sword. But remember, this one is even more valuable and needs to be handled with care. And it's definitely not for tossing around like a toy."

she pouted slightly "oh …"

Aegon chuckled at her pouty expression, finding her attempt at disappointment amusing. "Do I detect a hint of disappointment in your voice, little sister? What's wrong, is my sword not to your liking?" He grinned, teasing her.

she pouts and gives him sad puppy eyes "why doesn't your sword want to play with me Aegon?"

Aegon's heart melted a little at her sad puppy eyes, but he couldn't help but continue to tease her. "Oh it wants to play with you, Y/n, but it's a very special sword, and it only plays with people who deserve it." He smirked, reaching out to muss her hair affectionately.

"does it need rubs?" She asked taking him in her hand and stroking back and forth attempting to harden him,

Aegon chuckled, his amused expression quickly changing to one of surprise as he felt her hand on him. "Rubs? I didn't realize you were such an expert in sword care, little sister. But I'll admit, a few gentle rubs might help him feel… more playful."

Aegon couldn't help but smile at her innocence and the playful banter between them. Aegon's smirk deepened as he felt her hands moving on him, and he couldn't help but marvel at her naivete and confidence. "You're a natural at this, you know that? Just a few minutes ago you were tossing swords on the floor, now you're handling this one like a pro." He chuckled, enjoying the feeling of her touch and her innocent curiosity.

"Aegon! Why won't he play with me big brother?" She whines

Aegon chuckled, finding her innocent determination to make him respond quite endearing. "Why do you think, Y/n? Perhaps it's because you're playing with him too gently. Maybe you need to be a little more… assertive in your approach. Show him how much fun you can really be."

she nodded and began to kiss him pressing her lips softly to his hardening erection,

Aegon's eyes widened slightly at the sudden sensation of her lips on him, mixing with the gentle touch of her hands. He gasped slightly in surprise, feeling a rush of pleasure coursing through his body. "Oh… " He gasped, feeling himself grow harder under her touch. "That's more like it, little sister. You're beginning to understand how to handle this sword now."

she peppered kisses all over him, "more!" She giggled

Aegon groaned as her kisses drove him wild, his hardness growing with each touch. "You have the touch of a dragon queen, Y/n. You know just how to handle this sword." He couldn't help but laugh at her eagerness and the sound of her giggling as she continued "Yes, yes… more… I think you've nearly got it now, little sister."

she giggled and began lapping at him as she kissed, and rubbed clearly egar to get him as hard as possible

Aegon's breath caught in his throat as her tongue and kisses sent waves of pleasure through his body, his hardness growing harder under her touch. "Oh gods, Y/n… yes, keep doing that…" He groaned, struggling to speak as her touch seemed to take him over, bringing him closer to the edge. "I… I think you've finally found the correct way to play with my sword, little sister."

She giggled and pulled back tapping him with her fingers and giving him kisses playing with his now completely hard state, playing around him him like he was her own little toy,

"You're enjoying yourself, aren't you, little sister? Do you like seeing what you've done to my sword? Feeling the effects of your touch?"

"I wanna play with him everyday"

Aegon chuckled, a mixture of amusement and desire stirring within him. "Every day, hm? You're truly dedicated, Y/n. But I don't think my sword could handle that, even for a princess. He'll need a chance to rest and recover between all this play." He grinned, reaching out to caress her cheek gently."But of course, if you're willing, I'm more than happy to let you play with him again."

"every day!" She pouts "Please Aegon"

Aegon smirked, unable to resist her begging, especially after the incredible pleasure she had just given him. "Very well then, little sister. From now on, you may play with him everyday. He'll be at your disposal, ready to be wielded by your talented hands." He laughed, enjoying the spark of excitement in her eyes at his promise. "But remember, you must take care not to exhaust him too much. We don't want him breaking on your watch, hmm?"

"yay!" She giggled kissing him all over again

Aegon laughed softly, enjoying the feeling of her kisses all over him. "You're truly a wonder, Y/n. So playful and joyful, with such a fierce desire to learn." He ran his fingers through her hair, a smile on his face. "Just promise me you won't use that desire on anyone other than me while we're playing, little sister. This sword is for you and you alone."

"only my big brother" she giggled "Can I Aegon can I?"

Aegon chuckled, her innocence and eagerness bringing a warmth to his heart. He raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing on his lips. "You ask for permission now, do you? I like that. You're learning to be a good little sister, Y/n." he smirked, "Of course you can, little sister. Play with my sword whenever you like. It belongs to you."

She nodded and took him, she began to suck, and lap her tounge, moving her head back and forth

Aegon moaned softly as her lips and tongue worked their magic on him, his body shuddering with pleasure. "By the Seven, Y/n, you… oh… you've got the gift of pleasing a man." He gasped, his heart racing as he watched her, unable to tear his eyes away. He reached out, stroking her hair softly as she continued. "Just like that, little sister… just like that… you're doing so well…” Aegon's hand tangled in her hair, guiding her movements as she continued her ministrations. His breathing grew heavier, filled with pleasure. "Yes, that's it… just like that… just keep doing what you're doing, little sister…" He groaned, closing his eyes as he surrendered to the sensations she was giving him, his body completely in her control.

A knock suddenly came from the door, Aegon tried to stop her but she wouldn't stop, "Y/n… stop… someone's at the door…" But he was powerless to actually stop her, his voice failing him as the pleasure overwhelmed him. He tried to compose himself, but his breathing was heavy and labored.

she pulled back and peppered him with kisses as the door knocked again "we are betrothed. You are to be my king. There is surely no shame in a servent witnessing the prince be pleasured? Let them in. Let them see." She cooed for once the mad girl giggles where gone and she sounded like a targaryen queen before she returned to her work

Aegon found himself both surprised and aroused by her words and her shift in demeanor. The door knocked again, and he hesitated for a moment, weighing her words. Finally, he called out. "Yes… come in." He watched as a servant entered, taking in the sight of them together. His eyes widened, clearly shocked by what he was witnessing.

"Your uhh your grace -"

Aegon chuckled, noticing the servant boy's reaction and that the boy already got hard at the sight of Y/n doing this to Aegon. "Yes, boy? Speak your mind. What brings you here? And by the gods, close your mouth before you catch flies."

the boy nodded and did his best to look away "I uhh your mother has invited you both to dinner tonight in the royal chambers at nine." The boy nodded and watched as if knowing she had an audience she worked even harder and more seductively, moaning and letting Aegon play with her hair

Aegon nodded, his eyes twinkling with amusement as he watched Y/n's increased efforts. "Very well. We will be there." He turned back to the boy for a moment. "That will be all. Close the door behind you. After all we don’t need everyone knowing do we little princess?"

"no my master" she playfully cooed up to Aegon before she returned to her work

Aegon chuckled, enjoying her playful response as much as he was enjoying her mouth. "That's my girl" He smirked, looking down at the boy. "Get lost now. We have a few hours before we need to be anywhere and I intend to enjoy them."

the boy nodded and bolted from the room shutting the door again,

Aegon chuckled, leaning back against the couch as Y/n continued her work, clearly enjoying the newfound thrill of having a servant witness their intimacy. "You're quite the little minx, aren't you, Y/n? Playing with your king and putting on a show for that poor servant boy? You seem to be enjoying our game of secret pleasure more than I ever could have imagined." His hand threaded through her hair, guiding her movements as he savoured the sensations she gave him.

she giggled as she kept working not even slowing keeping up her moans her hands even moved to massage his stomach to help ease him to release

Aegon groaned loudly, the combined sensations of her mouth and hands bringing him close to the edge. He knew he wouldn't be able to hold out much longer. "By the gods, Y/n… you're going to make me.. I'm going to… oh… yes, just like that… just like that…" His body strained as he felt his orgasm building, his breaths ragged and heavy. With a final, shuddering groan, Aegon reached his peak. Pleasure surged through his body like lightning as he released himself into her mouth. His eyes rolled back, and he gasped for air, panting heavily from the intensity of it all

she giggled as she pulled back the moment he hit it meaning his seed now coated her face, hair, dress, and a little in her mouth "ummm tasty Aegon"

Aegon looked at her, a mix of astonishment and amusement on his face. He couldn't deny the sight of her, coated in his seed and giggling, was incredibly arousing. "By the gods, Y/n… you never fail to surprise me. You're like a wanton little dragoness, aren't you? Not caring how messy you get, as long as you have your fun." He chuckled, reaching down to gently wipe her face with his fingers, his eyes filled with desire.

she only giggled licking her hands and face excitedly "did I do good?"

Aegons' smirk widened, watching her lap up his seed with her tongue. "Yes, Y/n. You did very, very good. But you made quite a mess, didn't you? We'll need to clean you up before we attend dinner tonight."

"oww… No more play time?" She whines

Aegon chuckled, leaning down to gently kiss her forehead. He knew she was still somewhat inexperienced and didn't yet understand the consequences of her actions. "No more play time for now, little sister. We must clean you up and get ready for dinner. There will be plenty more playtime later, I promise you. But we don't want to keep our mother waiting, and we certainly don't want her or anyone else at the table tonight to see you in such a… disheveled state, right?"

she whined but nodded "fine…"

Aegon grinned, always a little amused by her impatience. "That's my good little sister. Now come here and let's get you cleaned up. We'll have you looking proper and presentable in no time." He took a nearby cloth and gently began wiping the mess from her face and hair, making sure to be careful and gentle as he did so. “Come on you can get ready for dinner in my chambers tonight,”

[dilemmaontwolegs]

The Perfect Life || CL16 {6}

Summary: After a confusing first night together it is time for the first public appearance with Charles. Warnings: angst, little bit of fluff WC: 2k F1 Masterlist || One || Two || Three || Four || Five || Six || Seven Taglist: RETIRED Head over to my dedicated library blog @dilemmaslibrary and opt to get notifications from there.

An awkward silence filled the large space when you cut the engine inside the old factory and let the roller door close behind you. Charles rather elegantly dismounted and let you lock the motorbike up without a word. You had tried not to look at him too much after leaving the club but it was impossible to avoid now that there was nowhere to escape. 

“I’m going to shower,” you muttered. Charles sat at the edge of the bed and watched you walk to the only internal door. The old plumbing creaked as you turned the hot water onto full blast because it never reached any decent temperature above warm. You couldn’t suppress the hiss of pain when the water hit your body, each droplet like shrapnel on your skin.

“Are you okay?” Charles asked through the door.

“Never been better, Charles.”

You stared at a spiderweb that had appeared since your last visit until the water all too soon ran cold. A fluffy towel swamped your body and you relished the softness on your bruises, grateful you had stolen it from your bathroom. When you stepped out of the bathroom you found Charles still sat on the bed but now there were two beers condensating on the wobbly side table.

“Help yourself then,” you murmured as you grabbed a fresh pair of clothes from your backpack. “Look and I will throttle you.”

Charles turned his back as you dropped the towel and pulled your panties up your legs. Bending over sent white hot pain flashing through your ribs and tears burned your eyes when you tried to reach behind your back for the bra strap. Without the adrenaline of the fight everything felt ten times worse.

You jumped when cold fingertips brushed your spine and swiped your hands aside. “Let me.”

“Rumour has it you only know how to take these off,” you said as he clipped your bra into place. 

Charles turned you to face him and his eyes drifted down your body, lingering on the bruise blossoming on your ribs. “Since when have you cared about rumours?”

“I don’t, but your reputation precedes you. And, just so you know, I don’t have any friends for you to move on with after this ruse is up.”

“I don’t believe that,” he chuckled. “I think Alicia is your friend.”

“Alicia is too nice for her own good but she’s still on the payroll. I don’t think it’s friendship when it’s paid for.” You frowned as your stomach dropped as you realised what he had said and took a step back. “Plus, she is happily married so you’re out of luck there.”

Charles took a step to follow and caught your hand. “That’s not what I meant.”

You scoffed. “No?”

“No. You’re not as alone as you think you are. You have people who look out for you, and that’s friendship whether you believe it or not.” You tried not to let the words penetrate the internal walls you had built but they crumbled a little when he carefully embraced you. “You also don’t need to keep fighting, you have control of your future now.”

“It doesn’t feel like it,” you admitted as you looked up under your lashes to meet his eyes.

“Then let me show you.” His palm cradled your cheek and his thumb caressed your jaw as you waited to see what he would do. “You can say no whenever you want. The choice is yours.” His eyes traced the shape of your lips before returning higher and his lips parted as he started to dip his head. “You are in control.”

It could have been the sleep deprivation, the crash of hormones after the fight, or the fact that he was as good looking as any of the models you had seen. But, whatever the reason for your weak resolve, you didn’t say no.

You didn’t say no when his lips brushed softly over yours, tentatively. You didn’t say no when he grew bolder and deepened the kiss, his tongue exploring the curve of your lips. 

“Stop,” you gasped when his hands began to glide down your body. They immediately froze and he pulled back with a deep breath. “I can’t tell if you are fucking with my head, Charles. You make me question everything I know about you.”

“I can only say ‘I’m sorry’ so many ways.”

“So you thought you would try fuck your apology onto me?”

“No,” he laughed. “That was purely self indulgent. Even when I couldn’t stand it I thought you were the most beautiful woman in the room.”

“I’m not having sex with you.”

“I told you, you’re in control,” he said with a nod. 

You returned the nod and jutted your chin to the bed. “I’m a cuddler, don’t read too much into it when you wake up with me invading your personal space. Or, you can take the couch.”

He looked at the ratty couch and shook his head before a grin grew. “I like spooning.”

You pointedly looked at sweatpants and lifted a brow. “Little spoon, I bet.”

Charles smirked and dropped down on the bed, making himself comfortable on your pillow. “Nothing little about it, babe.”

You scrunched up your nose and reached under the pillow for the Prema shirt you slept in but before you could pull it on it was ripped out of your hands. “Hey!”

“You are not going to sleep next to me in my brother’s shirt.”

“There’s not exactly a wardrobe full of options here,” you said as you tried to grab it back.

Charles caught the hem of his shirt and pulled it over his head in one smooth movement before tossing it on your shoulder. “There you go.”

“I like that one.”

Charles gripped the fabric and tore the shirt in half as your eyes narrowed. “If we are going to fake this, we are doing it right. My girlfriend won’t be sleeping in another man’s shirt.”

“Fuck you, Leclerc,” you swore. It was better to be swathed in his clothing than half naked in your own, that was the only reason you pulled it on and breathed through your mouth so you didn’t have to inhale the rich cologne that clung to the soft fabric. You couldn’t be blamed for your actions if your hormones liked the smell too much because one thing was certain: when he lay there shirtless you had no control over your filthy thoughts.

You turned out the light and threw yourself down onto the bed with a pained groan that had nothing to do with your ribs. It was difficult but you managed to turn away from the man whose eyes drank in the sight of his shirt on you. 

“Arthur said I wouldn’t recognise you in the ring,” he confessed in the darkness, “but I think that’s the first time I’ve really seen you.”

You didn’t know how to respond when your heart started to beat like a jack rabbit so you settled for a sedate, “Goodnight, Charles.”

The pallets groaned with his shifting as he rolled over and his arm curved low on your waist, missing your ribs. A soft kiss found a place on your heated cheek and he whispered his own, “Goodnight, Y/N.”

“You’re distracting me,” you muttered as you saw the shadow moving again. “Stop fiddling.”

Charles walked into the reflective field of the mirror after showering and he struggled to get the cufflinks into his Valentino suit. He walked around the table you were fixing your makeup at and held his arm out. “Can you please help?”

You fixed the shiny white gold pins into place before completing the finishing touches that completely concealed the bruises on your cheeks. The arnica had done its best to bring down the swelling but if anyone questions your puffy eyes you would just claim a rough night's sleep. 

“Can you zip me up?” you asked as you stepped out of the robe and into the gown chosen for the event. Charles knuckles traced your spine as he dragged the zip carefully up while you held your hair out of the way and the delicate touch sent goosebumps chasing in its wake. 

The Cannes Film Festival would be the first official outing with Charles and would publicise the relationship just in time for his home race. After the photos were snapped on the red carpet there would be no more privacy and every interaction would be watched by his eager fans. You knew what to expect - hate and hypercritical analysis were nothing new - but now they would come from run of the mill 20 year old females instead of millionaire middle-aged men.

A knock at the door interrupted the staring contest you found yourself in with Charles in the mirror and you stepped away to slip your heels on.

“The car is waiting downstairs,” Veronica said as she waltzed into your room. 

“Then it can keep waiting,” you replied while you chose an understanded clutch that wouldn’t distract from the dress. “I need two front row tickets to the opera next Saturday.” 

“But you have a-”

You held a hand up to interrupt her. “I didn’t ask for your opinion, just get me the tickets.”

Charles watched silently from the door, his phone and wallet in hand, and stepped aside to dodge the surly assistant that breezed from the room as quickly as she entered.

“We are attending the Palace dinner with Prince Albert next Saturday,” he said after Veronica had disappeared down the stairs. 

It wouldn’t be a Monaco Grand Prix without a Palace dinner and you had agreed to be Charles’ plus one. “I know.”

“Then why-”

“I don’t have to explain my every move to you, okay?”

His lips pressed closed in a tight line and he nodded sullenly.

“I’m sorry,” you sighed, feeling like crap for snapping at him. “I’m not used to having someone to explain my actions to.”

“I get it,” he said, but you got the feeling he really didn’t. He could talk to his family about what was happening in his life and they would listen, you didn’t have that luxury.

“We should go.”

The plush carpet absorbed your heel with each step and you held Charles’ arm a little tighter. Your father had been kind enough to remind you not to make an embarrassment of yourself and you really wished you had been able to take a separate vehicle. After escaping the last event with Charles they had made sure to keep you closer and stop that from happening again.

“Family photo,” your father said with a tight smile. “You too, Charles.”

“Yes, sir.” Charles stepped back into the frame and curled his arm around your waist, his palm warming your hip through your dress.

“Who are you wearing this evening?” the journalist beside the photographer asked, recording device at the ready.

“These divine pieces are from Bouchra Jarrar’s private collection,” your mother answered with a soft pat to your father’s suit jacket.

“And what is this knockout piece?”

You had far less enthusiasm when the attention turned to you. “Alexandre Vauthier, haute couture.”

“If only he knew what a knockout you really were,” Charles whispered in your ear, earning a real smile from you that the camera quickly snapped at.

“And you, Charles?”

“I’m not sure, she dressed me,” Charles said with a wink to you, charming everyone in the crowd including the reporter.

“He’s wearing new season Valentino but he was distracted by the Hypercar race when we picked it out.”

Charles’ laugh teased your skin and he shrugged innocently. “Forza Ferrari, baby.”

You eventually made it to the end of the red carpet and into the cinema for the special screening of some new drama film up for an award. The lights dimmed and the crowd fell silent with the opening credits but your entire focus was on the hand that slipped into yours.

“It’s dark in here,” you whispered. “You don’t need to pretend.”

“Who said I am pretending?”

The armrest was suddenly much closer as you found yourself gravitating to him and your cheek came to rest on his shoulder before the title even appeared.

“Pretending would probably be easier.”

“Probably, but it’s too late for me.”

You didn’t tell him but you had the exact same thought.

Click here for the next part.

[alchemistc]

visions are seldom all they seem

an: warning for a hint of dubcon hidden in amongst tommy's memories

They say when you die, your life flashes before your eyes.

That's a fucking fairytale if he's ever heard one. Tommy's had enough friends brought back from the brink, enough experiences of his own, to know that it's a crock.

When you die, you...die. You're there, and then you're not.

Tommy's legs are pinned, and there's smoke filling the cabin, and the last thing he'd said to Evan before he walked out the door was "Tell your father thank you, but I'm happily involved with a younger man."

There's something poetic about all of this, Tommy thinks, as he watches Garrett stumble to his feet, just beyond the door he'd managed to break loose to Tommy's left. Tommy hates poetry. Not necessarily as a general rule, but there's a lot of pretentious shit out there, and this feels pretentious. Maybe that's just the smoke inhalation.

"Kinard!"

Garrett's coming around the other side, lopsided and limping, but still pushing.

Thank fuck they hadn't been carrying passengers. He's pretty sure one of the blades had sliced clean through the hull behind him. He can't really look - there's something caught in his belt, pinning his back to the seat, and he's got one arm too fucked to reach for the blade strapped to his hip, and another that wouldn't reach if he tried. He's losing blood, he's losing time. He's done the math.

"Kinard!" Garrett's not having much luck with Tommy's door, which makes sense. The landing skid had done good work with the whole right side of the bird. Tommy's pretty sure the aftermath of that piece of work is the reason he can't move his fucking legs.

There are tools, somewhere nearby, that might have been useful, if Tommy hadn't used Garrett's clear concussion against him in an effort to get Garrett the fuck out.

It's funny, though. Funny that this is the way he goes. Not in the initial crash, which they'd somehow both survived. Not even from the blood loss, though Tommy guesses the coroner will have something to say about that being a mitigating factor. Probably won't even be the fire, which Garrett seems to have banked, a bit, with the extinguisher he'd scrounged from - somewhere. No. Four tours and a dozen plus years as a firefighter and it's the smoke that's gonna get him.

The windscreen is cracked. If Tommy wasn't in the midst of dying, he'd probably be thinking up the most professional way to tell his superiors that his windscreen isn't supposed to fucking spiderweb out like that, but -

Garrett's got the extinguisher in hand again, which is a nice thought, except he'd watched him drain it earlier. But he's not -

Tommy flinches when the canister makes contact with the windscreen and it cracks a little more.

He wishes he'd texted something better to Evan than a thumbs up emoji in response to his "Be safe" text. Gonna look real fucking ironic in a few minutes, here.

The glass webs out further when the canister makes contact again, and over the crackle as the flames kick back up, Tommy realizes that Garrett's yelling at him. Has been, for a while now, most likely. He can't really hear it, or contextualize it, but he's definitely yelling.

Something cracks. A few shards of glass sprinkle on down towards his knees. Garrett's voice gets louder. "--uckley's gonna kill me if I fuck up your pretty blue eyes, fuckhead, so close them right fucking now, Kinard!"

It's not like he has anything better to do than take orders. He follows his instructions.

The windscreen doesn't shatter - it's built not to - but a second later Garrett's got something wedged into the seal, tearing at it now that the things mangled enough not to be airtight, and Tommy isn't sure where he'd gotten a crowbar, or how the fuck he'd climbed the nose with a bum leg, but he's a little glad he'll be too dead to get the lecture from Garrett's wife on making sure his copilot doesn't do dumb shit.

"-kill you to - little leverage wouldn't - 'mon Kinard - 'mme something to work -"

Tommy's flagging. He can't really breathe, anymore. There's chance the impact shattered a rib or two.

The windscreen actually folds, under the leverage from outside, but Garrett still doesn't know Tommy's pinned. He'd have had a better chance if Garrett had just worked the fire, but Tommy doesn't plan to tell him that. As it is, he sucks in smoke and blinks through the haze as Garrett folds the windscreen farther back. "Hold on, Kinard!"

Tommy laughs. "Not going anywhere," he says, which aren't the last words he'd have chosen for himself, an hour ago, but - seems fitting, anyway. He gets a feeble cough out, and then things go blurry.

"Fuck you, Tommy," isn't the last thing he ever expected to hear, either, but - well. Today's been FUBAR since he took the chopper up, so.

Fuck you, Tommy it is.

---

The field behind his grandparents house is loud, in the soggy twilight - frogs and crickets and cicadas, a cacophony of noise.

Oh, Tommy's absolutely gonna be pissed if all his friends just didn't get far enough into dying for the flashbacks. It's not like he could have asked any of the ones who'd actually kicked the can, of course, and Tommy'd never been actually all the way dead before. Just - on the brink.

This isn't anything like Evan had described.

Tommy turns. And there's nonna, in her sapphire blue muumuu, flicked with gold trim, grey hair permed within an inch of its life. He can smell the romas she must have brought in from the sun at dusk, and the espresso poured into her fancy china next to her porch chairs - a rocking chair he'd never had a chance to fix up for her before she'd been gone, the Adirondack he'd stopped fitting into when he sprouted six inches the summer between sophomore and junior year.

Nonna grins.

Tommy watches a firebug flit by him.

He blinks, and Nonna raises an eyebrow at him - the same way she'd done the first time he tried to lie about where he'd gotten the bruise on his chin, or why his knuckles were scabbed over, or what he thought of the model on her favorite set of dog eared bodice rippers.

Tommy isn't sure what he could possibly be lying about right now, but he doesn't get a chance to ask. Between one blink and the next the night, the frogs, and Nonna's back porch are gone.

---

Tommy fucking hates Dorian Gray. The reasons had changed, over the years, but even more than being wedged into this fucking deathtrap of a desk, with it's lose nuts and bolts and the arm on the wrong side of his fucking body (because Tammy Pritchard always got the lefty desk in every fucking class and not a single one of his teachers had ever thought to wonder why his handwriting on his homework had better penmanship and an incredibly unsubtle smear of ink when compared to his in-class assignments): even more than the scent of Heather Chester's perfume and the reek of weed and Cheetos coming off of Barry Trott, in the seat in front of him; even more than the squeak of chalk against the blackboard as Mrs. Henderson posits the question of the day (What is so horrifying about the painting?); Tommy hates this fucking book.

He sort of wishes this memory had taken him back to freshman year instead - at least he could articulate why Holden Caulfield had been a whiny little bitch.

It's not like he could say -

Well.

Actually.

This is Tommy's death rattle. So.

"It's a mirror," Tommy says, like he hadn't all those years ago. No one notices that Tommy's a few decades too old and more than a few inches too wide to fit in his desk. "It's an indictment on everyone who ever had a hand in creating such a beautiful monster."

Mrs. Henderson doesn't look up. Tommy doesn't know why he expected she would.

She'd never listened to him before, either.

---

He'd been expecting his dad, next, which is his own damn fault.

Captain Turner's zipping his pants back up.

Tommy rises from his knees.

The paperwork is there on his desk. A glowing recommendation for the flight training he's been denied twice already. Tommy's throat feels gummy. He can't remember when Turner stopped using condoms.

This isn't how it happened.

"Open your eyes, Kinard."

Tommy's eyes are already open.

---

"I'm proud of you, son," Gerrard says, and Tommy would very much prefer it if he was just dead, already.

The thing is - the thing is Gerrard looks genuinely pleased to see him - a rare enough thing in general, rarer still because this is the older Gerrard, the one he'd shut the fuck down in front of the very first chance he'd been given to tell him exactly how rank Tommy really thought he was.

"You know when to give up," Gerrard continues. And.

Oh.

Well.

Did he have a choice?

"Of course there's a choice. Make the right one. Keep on making it, Kinard."

---

Pain.

Christ. Tommy's had shrapnel under his skin for decades, now - he's been blown up, and shot, stabbed once, although that was a grazing blow, really.

This is so much worse. He feels like he's hemorrhaging, like his lungs are constricting, like -

"You're no son of mine."

Yeah. That'd been worse than the IED by far.

"Dad," he says, but the damage is done. His room is in shambles, which Tommy thinks is overkill - his dad'd probably found the Blueboy Tommy had tucked under the mattress a long while before he had swept all his football trophies off the shelf and emptied what looked like the entire contents of his wardrobe onto the floor.

On the plus side, it looks like he'd actually ripped his annotated copy of Picture of Dorian Gray in half, too, so small favors.

Only.

This hadn't happened. This was his nightmare scenario, the horrific dream he'd had every day for six years until he got out of basic and the nightmare scenarios turned physically violent, instead. If his dad had ever known an inkling of Tommy's inclinations he'd ignored it until the day Tommy made him stop ignoring it.

He'd never found his dirty magazine - just the one, because he'd been too fucking terrified of having a second one lying around somewhere.

Those words he'd reserved for something else entirely.

His dad had thrown a bitch fit when Tommy'd enlisted in the Army instead of the Marines, but those words - those were the words he'd gotten when the father he hadn't spoken to in three years learned that Tommy'd gone for turnouts instead of a gun and badge.

How do you emulate your father and rebel at the same time?

"Love you too, pops," Tommy says, and waits for the blink.

---

"Oh," Tommy says, and blinks open his eyes. Keith smiles back. It's a charming little grin, the first thing that had caught Tommy's eye across the bar three months before this night. And it's not - the room is all wrong, and it'd been midday, not evening, six hours between shifts and the first time their schedules lined up in weeks. Keith is all lithe muscle and smeared makeup, barely an hour out from his latest shoot.

"Don't say it," Keith says, and shifts his weight against sheets that aren't even the right color.

Tommy had wanted to say it, though. Thirty-odd years and he'd never had the courage to say it to anyone who might say it back in a meaningful way, but Keith -

They'd been all wrong for each other. Conflicting schedules, conflicting lifestyles, conflicting expectations. Keith would spend the next six months flying back for hookups, jet setting around the world on a campaign for Dolce & Gabanna, and then text Tommy to let him know he should get tested and never reach out again. Tommy would fly his chopper over the aftermath of a tsunami and wonder how it felt to drown.

The hands on his skin are wrong - rough with calluses, working hands. Tommy slides his thumb across the palm of one and thinks it feels like home.

"Don't go back to sleep," Keith says. There's something playing on Tommy's TV, which had never been in his room when he was with Keith.

That had been a recent development, actually, and technically it wasn't even his TV, but when Evan's lease had been up it had just made sense to the both of them to -

"Monster truck rallies, really?" Keith says, but the volume on the TV is too loud to make out what he says next. His mouth moves, and the words don't make it to Tommy's ears, and when he blinks again he thinks he can hear sirens.

---

The chicken barely moves as Bobby passes it off to Officer Grant, and there's some sort of significance to this moment, Tommy knows, but Sal is too busy making smooching faces at Tommy, his laugh deep and bracing, for Tommy to figure out what that significance is.

Eddie is staring at him from the passenger seat when he swings up into the rig.

"You need to come back," Eddie says, and that stupid fucking mustache twitches. "You stupid bastard, you have to come back."

---

"Just like that?" Tommy asks, staring at the transfer papers, and Nash looks at him like he knows too much.

"Have you changed your mind?"

Tommy's uses his middle and ring finger to pull the transfer papers closer to himself. Bobby hums, satisfied. "Good. I've got my eye on one of the new kids in training - hate to pass up on him."

Tommy shakes his head. "You still haven't replaced Sal. Who's even gonna train this new guy?"

Bobby's in his civvies. He's holding his rosary beads. Did he start out like that, or is this death knell just fucking with him now? "Not your time, yet," Bobby tells him, and Tommy doesn't -

---

"Just a little something I learned at the 118," Donato says with a grin, while Jerry eyes the blown up photo of Tommy and Evan kissing in the hospital lobby that's been hung up on the announcement board right next to Jill's kids butterbraid order sheet. One of the nurses must have taken it. Donato must have bribed one of the nurses to take it on the ride to the hospital. "We're, like, a base and a half away from wiener cousins, you know," she sing-songs, and Tommy tilts a raised brow her way.

He's still staring at the picture. When had Evan's hand made it that far into his turnout?

"I'm just saying, having been on the your end of those lips - congrats."

"Does it smell like smoke in here to you?" Jerry asks, and Tommy tries to swallow, tries to respond, but there's something stopping him from -

---

"Hey," Evan says. He's on nonna's rocking chair. The cicadas and the frogs are loud, against a backdrop of misty fields. It still smells like sundried tomatoes, but there's an antiseptic scent underneath it. There's a firebug perched on Evan's birthmark. "I'd, uh, really hate it if the last conversation we ever had was about my dad's weird obsession with you."

Tommy would also hate that. He goes to say so and can't speak. His chest is on fire, and his leg feels like it might give out if he takes a step forward. Evan's too far away, but he can still feel the calluses on Evan's fingers on his wrist, steady against his pulse.

"So, if you could just. If you could just open your eyes. Twitch your fingers. Um. I have a ring, and a speech, but I'd settle for like, you waking up to tell me you're leaving me for Andrew Garfield."

He's thinking of Andrew Lincoln, but Tommy can't get his throat to work to tell him so, or to remind him that Tommy actually hates that plot in Love Actually. Now Colin Firth...

The fingers slide from his pulse point to his ring finger. His leg screams. The cicadas drown out whatever Evan says next.

---

The lights in this room are too fucking bright. It smells of sterile metal and the cedarwood soap Evan uses. His hand is stuck to the bed.

"Tommy."

Tommy's pretty sure he's imagining the firefly perched on Buck's brow as he slides into his sight line, but the rest of him is real, and solid - his ridiculous fade and the curls askew atop his head and the slow blooming smile across his face, the hand sliding up his arm and the suddenly wet corners of his eyes.

"ey," he says, or tries to say - it comes out as croaky as the frogs that'd guided him through whatever strange dream he'd been having. He's losing the edges of it already, trying to grasp details even as they slip way. Evan's going to be so fucking disappointed they can't trade coma dream stories.

Evan hovers while a nurse looks him over, demanding ice chips from someone out in the hallway, and Tommy can't stop looking at him. He'd been dead. He'd been sure this was it, this time.

Tommy gets three ice chips down before he's allowed to speak.

"Why's the chicken important?" Which is - great. They've got him hooked up to good drugs. He'd meant to start off with the basics - I love you, and don't propose to me in a hospital room I know it's a Buckley special but I'd like to limit our significant moments here until they actually dedicate a wing in your honor. "Did Eddie shave the mustache while I was out?"

Jesus Christ.

Evan's laugh is wet, and his hand is wrapped around the cup of ice chips, instead of around Tommy's, which seem unnecessarily cruel.

"I love you," Evan says.

They say when you die your life flashes before your eyes. Evan informs him, eventually, that he'd crashed twice on the med-evac and been gone for a total of one minute eighteen seconds ("There's no significance to that. A coincidence," Tommy tells him. Evan doesn't fight him on it. Not then, anyway.) The flashing thing is still a crock of shit. Tommy's lost most of it before Evan gets around to 'you'.

Tommy finally gets Evan close enough to grasp his hand - slide his finger over the rough pad of his thumb, dig a nail into the forking lifeline in his palm. "Hey," he says, when Evan's grip goes tight, and tears well up in his eyes again. "Were you watching monster trucks while I was out?"

[berry-potchy]

Indulge Me

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x f!reader Rating: Explicit (18+ only please) Word Count: 7,072 Summary: You're a Spiderwoman who has ended up pinned underneath Miguel O'Hara in his lab one too many times. You're not sure what you are to him or what to call your relationship. And that would've been fine until your neediness kicked in and made you catch feelings. Surely, Miguel taking you to his room for the first time means something right? In which your lack of understanding of Spanish and denial of the hints Miguel drops are keeping you from realizing you already have what you want. Tags/warnings: pwp, p in v sex, rough sex, praise + light degradation, multiple orgasms and overstimulation, face sitting/riding, breeding kink, soft dom!Miguel, needy reader, recording, mirror sex adjacent, implied chubby reader, undefined relationship but soft feelings sprinkled in there as a treat, no use of y/n so lots of Spanish nicknames to make up for it, reader does not understand Spanish, brief sexy use of spider webs A/N: this is quite literally just a self-indulgent fic with most of my favorite Miguel x reader flavors. Not beta read but I hope you still enjoy it! (Translations are the end!)

Also on AO3

Edit: turns out some parts got messed up while I was posting here on Tumblr D: it's fine on AO3 though which is weird because I copied from this post instead of my doc because this has the correct spacing. Everything should be fixed now.

•🕷️────✧˖°˖🕸️˖°˖✧────🕷️•

Miguel has you standing in front of him between his parted legs as he sits on the edge of his bed. Even in this position, you were barely any much taller than him, only needing to tilt your head a bit to meet his red eyes. He looks at you from your face, down to the swell of your breast where his eyes are joined by a taloned finger on its journey downwards. You can’t help but let out a soft sigh as the sharp talon cuts through your spandex suit, fully exposing your soft chest to the cold air of his quarters. He would argue that the stretchy translucent mesh with a spiderweb lace design on your chest area didn’t do shit to cover the fullness of your tits anyway so he didn't understand why you even bothered with it. It was for style obviously but riling up Miguel O’Hara was a great bonus. You let out a shaky breath as he continued further down until he stopped right below your navel.

“Que linda,” he says in that low sexy voice of his, very different from the usual grumpy tone he uses to chastise you. He snakes his arms around your hips, bringing you closer to him and his hands find your plush bottom, giving them a rough squeeze. You are getting so worked up by how much attention you are getting from your usually sulky boss. Your heaving chest is right in front of Miguel’s face and his lustful gaze almost feels like it is burning you. The heat spreads from your chest downwards until it pools in the pit of your stomach and between your legs.

“You ruined my suit,” you pout, not really that upset about it. You think it was hot honestly but you just want to tease him “Am I supposed to go on missions with my whole chest out now? Walk around the HQ flashing everyone?”

“Of course not,” he says, rolling his eyes. He continues to take in your figure, hands gently kneading soft flesh on your sides “I’m making you a new suit. Should be done very soon. It'll be the same design but it will offer far more protection than this flimsy thing.”

“Making me a suit just like yours? What so you can control it hm? Deactivate it whenever you want to fuck me?” You laugh, wiping the imaginary tear in your eye until you realize Miguel is silent and looks like he’s been caught red-handed. You lightly slap him on his arm, flustered. “You’re a pervert, you know that?”

Instead of answering you, he brings his head forward to close his lips on a clothed nipple, his tongue flicking the sensitive erect bud. Your mouth opens as you let out a soft gasp at the sensation and you can feel the corner of Miguel’s lips twitch into a slight smirk. He teases your nipple alternating between flicking it with the tip of his tongue and giving it an audible suck. He pulls away for a split second only to give the same attention to your other nipple. You weave your fingers through his hair, pulling him closer to your tits. Your other hand is holding onto his shoulder for support as you urge him to keep going with your whimpers. His hands haven’t stopped exploring your body. His wide hands warm against your hips, ass, thighs, everywhere he can touch, squeezing your softness, committing every curve to memory.

“Migueeeel,” you whine, rubbing your thighs together to try to relieve the ache between your legs. You appreciate the attention to your nipples but your cunt was throbbing with need. You are so close to ripping the rest of your suit and panties off because the way the fabric is sticking to your wet pussy is becoming too uncomfortable.

“Miguel what, muñeca?” He pulls away, licking his lips. Those red eyes are now looking straight into yours and you feel yourself shiver. You try to look away but Miguel grabs your chin to keep you facing him. “Eyes on me. What do you want? Use your words.”

“Please,” your cheeks burn in embarrassment but Miguel just raised an eyebrow at you, unamused. “Stop teasing please.”

“Ah I see okay,” he says, taking his hands off you before standing up and walking to his closet.

“W-wait what are you doing?” you almost trip on your feet, knees feeling weak, as you chase after him. You grab his arm, tugging at it to get his attention as you pathetically look up at him.

“You said stop teasing so I’m getting you a shirt so you can go back to your world and get some rest,” he says as he looks through the neatly folded shirts in his closet. He’s stalling, pretending he was trying to choose one but he’s messing with you. There is no way he would let you go home tonight without getting at least a couple of orgasms wrung out of you. You aren’t leaving until he made sure you were stuffed full and dripping with his cum. You aren’t leaving tonight. Period. He knew you were too far gone with lust to figure that out yourself.

“Miggy, that’s not what I meant please,” you sob, pressing your body against him. Just the thought of being left unsatisfied was painful. “Please, Miggy, I need your mouth. And your cock please”

He finally looks at you and pulls you closer to him by your waist. You run your hands along his still clothed chest, feeling his heart beating with yours. You look up at him with glassy eyes, begging him to finish what he started. He coos at how desperate you were for release.

“You want my mouth and my cock?” he hums, still teasing. He easily lifts you up with one arm supporting your ass to carry you back to his bed. He’s carried you multiple times before but it never ceases to amaze you how he does it so effortlessly. Your legs instinctively wrap around his waist, hips bucking trying to get some friction against your still unfortunately clothed cunt. “Where do you want them, muñeca? You have to be more specific. Which one do you want first?”

“On my pussy, please. I need your mouth on my pussy. Miggy, I wanna cum on your face” you sobbed against his neck “And then- and then I want you to fuck me. I want you to fill me up with your cock. Only you can fill me up so good, Miggy. I need it.”

“Good girl,” he whispers right next to your ear, making you shudder “Now, was that so hard to do? Was it hard to tell me what you wanted?”

“Yes!” you bite his shoulder and you feel satisfaction when you hear him break character and snort. He shakes his head, smiling fondly while he sets you down on the bed.

"Qué voy a hacer contigo?" he brings his lips to your temple to whisper more softly "Qué haría sin ti?"

Your heart skips a beat at the gentleness of his tone. You’re not sure what he said but the genuine affection is evident. Intimate moments like this with Miguel are slowly becoming more and more frequent and you decide that you don’t mind it. You even crave it now. A satisfied sigh leaves your lips as you lean further toward him.

He pulls away but the fond look on his face doesn’t waver. He slaps your thigh, making the soft fat jiggle just how he likes it, as he moves to get settled in his bed.

“Put those lovely hips and thighs to use and ride my face, conejita.” He lies down, anticipating, patting his chest to encourage you to sit down.

You didn't need to be told twice. You rip off the rest of your suit, your heated skin meeting the cold air of his room making your nipples pebble painfully. You quickly take off your panties and toss them aside with your ruined suit. You squeal as you scramble to get on top of him. You position yourself on top of his waiting mouth, straddling his face but just hovering over his face, hands on the headboard to keep yourself steady. The smell of your arousal is almost too much for Miguel to bear at this proximity. The urge to lock you in his room for the next few days and not let you out until you’re thoroughly fucked and bred is getting hard to ignore. His fangs extend as his animalistic urges surface, yearning to bite you and mark you as his.

“Are you trying to tease me now? How can you ride my face if you don’t sit?” Miguel’s tone is deeper than it was just a second ago. There’s a certain roughness to it, a growl in his voice that makes your hole clench around nothing. He grips your thighs, fingers digging into the soft flesh, waiting for you to sit down or he’ll make you. He’s trying to be patient, turning his head a little to mouth at the fat of your inner thigh. He licks a stray trail of your slick up your thigh, stopping just a breath away from where you both want his mouth to be. You feel him sigh, savoring your taste like he just drank the finest nectar, a promise of what’s to come.

“But Miguel–” you yelp when he suddenly pulls you down by your thighs and you immediately feel his tongue lapping at your aching cunt, his nose bumping deliciously against your swollen clit. He wasn’t going to hear your excuses. The only things he wants to hear coming out of your pretty lips are your moans and whines for more. The way Miguel is sucking and devouring your wetness so eagerly makes your head spin and your grip on the headboard tighten to steady yourself for a moment. He teases your hole, licking around the small opening before plunging in as far as he can, feeling you clench around his tongue. He grows impatient at your lack of movement and starts rocking you back and forth on his face by himself. He flattens his tongue for you to grind your pretty folds onto.

“Miggy, feels so good,” you whine, bending over to look at him from under you. He’s so pretty like this, forehead scrunched up from how focused he is eating you out, and when you get a peak of his nose and his cheeks, they’re shiny from being soaked by a combination of your wetness and his own spit. You take one of your shaking hands off the headboard to brush the hair away from Miguel’s forehead only for him to guide your hand into a fist, grabbing his hair, urging you to use it as leverage to ride his face harder. And who are you to say no to that?

You move your hips to try to match the pace he set for you, your thighs burn but you pay it no mind. Not when you feel that familiar delicious knot forming in your core. Your head lolls to the side and your eyes screwed shut as you immerse in the pleasure, grinding your cunt harder on Miguel’s tongue, nose, chin, anywhere you can get some friction, getting desperate to reach your orgasm.

“‘M gonna cum, Miggy. Gonn’ cum on your face” you whimper. You take your hand off the headboard and bring it to your tits, squeezing them, pinching at rubbing circles on your pebbled nipples. Miguel doesn’t stop lapping hungrily at your pussy, shaking his head from side to side as much as your grip on his hair allows. He groans as he watches in awe as you chase your own pleasure.

So close.

You’re so close you swear you can almost taste it.

Miguel could tell from how your hips stuttered and your pace growing frantic, rougher. He gives your clit another suck and that finally pushes you over the edge.

You feel the sweet release consume you like wildfire, your body tensing, back arching, toes curling. You can’t even hear yourself scream Miguel’s name, curling into yourself as he continues to suck on your oversensitive, pulsating clit. His hands held your shaking thighs steady, not letting you close them. It’s all too much.

“Miggyyy,” you sob pathetically, pawing at his head and his grip on you. You finally manage to pry an eye open only to see him watching you intently “Too much. I can’t-”

He doesn’t stop. He continues to lick stripes at your puffy folds and flick the sensitive bud with the tip of his tongue albeit slower this time. He takes one of his hands away from your thigh and plunges two of his thick fingers knuckle deep inside your needy hole. He manages to find your sweet cushiony spot and puts enough pressure on it to make you see stars. That burning hot coil is back just mere seconds after your climax and if you could think at that moment, you’d think it’s unfair how he seems to know your body too well, knows just where to touch to make you unravel.

He adds another finger into your cunt, stretching you out for his cock, curling them inside you, and hitting your sweet spot over and over again. You know that it’s not enough, that it’s nothing compared to what’s coming for you. No matter how much prep you do it's going to be a tight fit and you can’t wait to be stretched to your limits once more. You stop fighting him, needing to chase after your orgasm, grinding your clit again on his tongue as he pumps his fingers in and out of your slutty hole.

Soon enough, you feel your second orgasm wash over you. You spill over his face, making a mess on his pillows and bedsheets. Your limbs go numb and this time you can’t even form words, just sobbing, babbling nonsense as your body shakes on top of Miguel. You would’ve fallen over if it wasn't for Miguel supporting your back with his free hand. You frantically tap his hand as you hiccup a pathetic “no more.”

Miguel relents and lets you catch your breath for a second. He kisses your puffy cunt one more time before moving you to lie on your back on the bed. He lifts your head to turn over the soiled pillow and fluff it up before getting you settled comfortably. You watch as he catches the dripping wetness from his chin with his equally soaked fingers and sticks them into his mouth, eyes rolling back and moaning at your sweet taste. You feel your cunt throb at the lewd action and you can’t help but let out a needy whimper from the back of your throat. It’s so unfair how much he affects you.

“Ay, pobrecita,” he coos at your flushed face with fat tears running down your cheeks as he nudges your legs apart with his knee and settles between your parted legs. “too much for mi conejita to handle? I know you can take more. Your pussy is so slutty, isn’t she? So needy. I doubt two orgasms is enough.”

He cups your face with one hand, thumb wiping away a tear on your cheek, his other hand brushing your hair away from your face, knowing how much you hate the feeling of it sticking to your skin. Your lower lip is jutting out in an adorable pout that he can’t help but kiss, catching your lip between his teeth. You scrunch up your nose and push his face away as you try to steady your breath.

You can see his naked chest rise and fall faster than usual, his mouth open to catch his own breath. You didn’t even notice when he disabled his suit but your eyes are thankful as you drink in the sight of his warm brown skin, stretching across the expanse of his unfairly defined body. He looks like he was sculpted by the gods themselves, taking extra care to give him the most perfect proportions. How lucky are you to see this masterpiece up close? It would be a sin to not enjoy the view.

Your eyes trail down from his strong broad shoulders to his massive tits, and even further down to see his cock standing up proudly against his navel, the head dripping beads of precum and smearing it against his abs. Pride blooms in your chest as you realize that he’s just as affected as you are.

Your throat suddenly feels so empty. You lick your lips as you tear your eyes off his cock to look up at his face only to find his hungry gaze meeting yours. His eyes glint with danger as he takes in the sight of you in your post-orgasm haze, seemingly plotting his next move.

You didn’t have to wait long because, of course, he can’t keep his hands away from you.

He moves closer, making you spread your legs further. His hands grab at the back of your thighs to push them towards your torso, your knees almost touching your chest. Your dripping cunt twitches as it’s exposed to the cold air. Your hole clenching on nothing, begging to be filled.

“Que rico. Podría acostumbrarme a esto,” he says, his voice deep and rough with lust as his hands rub up and down your thighs, squeezing, feeling you. He drinks up the sight of you, so bare and exposed, all for him to take. “I could watch you like this all day. Maybe take a video of you right now so I can watch your pretty cunt pulsing, crying for me, anytime I want. Or…”

He takes his cock in one hand, running his thumb on the swollen tip to spread the beads of precum around, pumping his shaft with a few languid strokes. You yelp when he slaps his thick, heavy cock against your puffy folds.

“I could tie you up like this and keep you here for my own pleasure.” He starts moving his hips at a torturously slow pace, sliding his length along your wet folds, getting it lubricated by your own slick. He brings his hands back to your thighs and pushes them even further until you’re practically folded in half. “Keep you here to breed. Fill you up with so much cum and you’ll stay like this so it will surely take, yeah?”

“Don’t threaten me with a good time, Miggy” you hiss as the tip of his cock keeps bumping into your throbbing clit “What’s stopping you from doing so huh? You have your web and your little surveillance bots. Put them to good use.”

“Of course, you’d love that, my pretty little slut,” he chuckles, shaking his head as he lines up the tip of his cock with your hole. Your eyelids flutter as you hold your breath in anticipation, waiting for that delicious stretch of being filled by his massive cock.

“Eyes on me, cariño,” he commands and you obey, looking up at him from under your lashes “That’s it, good girl.”

He starts to slowly press his cock into your greedy hole. Inch by inch, he sinks in, knocking the air out of your lungs. Midway, maybe, you can’t tell, there’s just so much of him, you start to feel a little faint, your shoulders tense and your mouth stuck hanging open. You feel so full of him, almost like he’s going to split you apart.

“Breathe for me,” he coos as he slowly presses more of him into you, filling you up more than what should be possible. He drapes your legs over his shoulders, his chest pressing against the back of your thighs as he uses his now free hands to cradle your face. You suck in a breath as he instructed and try to even out your breathing. “There you go. Keep breathing. Relax for me. Thaaat’s it. My sweet girl. So good for me.”

You preen at his words, warmth flooding your chest and going straight down to your pussy. His hands stay on your cheeks, his thumb rubbing soothing circles on your skin as he pushes the last few inches in. You put your hands on top of his as you lean into his touch. He starts to grind his hips slowly, gently, getting you used to his size. The coarse dark curls at the base of his cock tickle your sensitive clit and the head of his cock softly probing at your cervix makes you roll your eyes back and whimper from the fullness.

“Eres tan hermosa. No sabes lo que me haces, cariño,” he leans in to capture your lips into a deep kiss. Soft and gentle until both of you wanted more. One of his hands finds the back of your neck to tilt your head as he pleases as he tries to devour you. His tongue licks into your mouth and his fangs graze your lips with every movement. You hum against his lips as you feel him start to pull his hips back, letting his dick slide halfway out before snapping his hips forward to plunge himself back inside, his balls lewdly smacking against your ass. And he keeps doing it over, and over again making you moan oh so wantonly.

“Estás tan rica. Estás hecha para mí, mi amor,” he whispers against your lips. The breathlessness and the hint of desperation for release in his voice make you shiver. His pace picks up, thrusts growing rougher with it. The wet sounds of him sliding in and out of you and skin slapping against skin echo around his room. The only other sounds you can hear are your combined sounds of pleasure, calling out each other’s names.

You pull on the hand that Miguel has on your cheek to lace your fingers together, his large hand easily dwarfing yours, his talons folded back to not hurt you. Your other hand slips between your bodies, travelling downwards to feel where you two are connected. There’s a deep rumble coming from Miguel’s chest and he presses your sweaty foreheads together, looking at you through half-lidded eyes. Your tight heat is milking his cock so perfectly and at this rate, he’s not going to last long.

“Miggy,” you whine, keeping your eyes on his. His irises seem a little more brown as he looks at you so tenderly, making you feel like you are going to melt into a puddle of goo. He brings your joined hands to his lips to kiss your knuckles and you think you really just might turn into goo.

His thrusts get messier and more frantic You feel the familiar coil building up in your stomach. You lift your hand from between your legs to press firmly against the area below your navel and the sensation is electrifying. You can feel his cock pistoning in and out of you from where you are touching. You can feel him rearranging your insides, molding your pussy to accommodate him and only him, ruining you for anyone else.

“Mi niña hermosa, mi niña linda. Mía. Toda mía.” he moans into your ear, almost whiney and you know he’s near the edge. He starts peppering kisses on your neck, licking, sucking, grazing the sensitive skin with his fangs but not sinking them in yet. He takes the hand you aren’t holding to rest on your hand on your lower stomach. His thumb reaches further down to stroke your clit earning him a shaky whine from you.

“Cum for me again, hermosa,” he lifts his head to look at your flushed face. You’re sure you look like a mess but to him, you’re more beautiful than the brightest twinkling stars on a clear night sky. “Let me see your pretty face when you cum.”

And with that, you’re gone, pushed over the edge, screaming his name, squirting clear liquid up to his chest. Your eyes roll to the back of your head, your hold on his hand tightens, and your legs on his shoulders shake and flail from another intense orgasm. There’s ringing in your ears but you faintly hear him cooing at you, whispering sweet words you can’t quite understand.

Miguel is still fucking into you with messy, frantic thrusts and ragged breaths but it doesn’t take long for him to follow, not when your velvety walls are pulsing, contracting on his dick. He puts a large hand on the space beside your head for support, his claws tearing through the pillowcase, as he drives his hips into yours a few more times before spilling inside you with a deep growl. He paints your insides with his cum as he rides his high with a few more shallow thrusts. You clench around him trying to squeeze as much cum out of him with your tight hole and he whimpers your name.

Both of you pant in unison, trying to catch your breath after that life-altering orgasm together. You turn your head to the side to kiss the inside of Miguel's wrist next to your head. Miguel doesn’t want to move. Everything is too perfect at that moment. You’re perfect.

But he has more plans for you tonight.

He takes your legs off his shoulders to wrap around his waist as he adjusts the both of you so he can lay down comfortably on top of you, putting most of his weight on his elbows on the bed. His dick still plugged in your hole, keeping his seed inside and refusing to part with your tight heat.

“Miggy,” you softly call him, looking at his relaxed face resting on your shoulder, eyes closed.

“Hm?”

“... pull out.”

“No.”

“Please?”

“Fine, but only because I want to,” he grumbles, clearly not wanting to pull out. He gets on his knees again so he can at least watch your sloppy hole fluttering as he slowly pulls out. A thick milky ring of your combined fluid sits at the base of his cock. His eyes darken as he sees your cunt trying to clench at air and his cum starts to drip out of you. He can’t have that. He collects the trail of cum with his fingers so he can stuff them back inside of you.

“Miggy, come back here,” you pull at his hand and when he doesn’t budge, you add “You can just cum inside me more later. I need cuddles.”

That gets him to leave your fucked out hole alone. For now. Miguel kisses your stomach up to the valley between your breasts to your neck and lingers on your lips. He goes back to his earlier position on top of you. You drape your arms around his neck as you hum in contentment against the kiss. He smiles and moves to mouth at your sensitive neck, planting soft kisses, licking and sucking as he moans and pants in your ear.

“Miggy, I’m sleepy now,” you turn to look at him. You know what he’s doing. You know that he’s trying to turn you on again. And it’s working.

“You can do one more, mami. One more for me,” he says. He’s almost pouting, almost begging “You said I can cum in you again.”

“I didn’t mean right away. I just came three times already” you whined wrapping your arms around his broad chest. you want to feel him close.

“Mmm, you can cum four times. Maybe more because you’re such a needy little whore,” he murmurs into your neck, not stopping his ministrations. “My cum slut who loves being bred. We’re not going to end the night without your tummy full of cum I promise you that, cariño.”

You roll your eyes at him but you don't push him away and instead start playing with the short curly hairs at the back of his neck, ignoring the way your pussy shivered at his perverted words. You find comfort in his warmth and weight on top of you. You inhale his familiar deep masculine scent and it almost lulls you to sleep until you feel something wet and hard poking at your thigh.

“How are you hard again?” you say in disbelief as you look down and sure enough, Miguel’s dick is erect and ready to go for another round.

“It’s been a while since we had sex and my hand could only do so much to make up for your absence, cariño,” he huffs as gets up on his knees to turn you over and slap your ass. The sound of his palm meeting the sticky wet skin of your ass is undeniably lewd. “And what about needing to get you pregnant does not make sense to you? Get on your hands and knees for me. That baby is not gonna make itself.”

You plant your knees on the mattress and present your ass to him but you don't bother to lift your upper body from the bed. You keep your face down against the softness of his pillows. You didn't want him to see the giddy smile on your face from hearing that he hasn't slept with anyone else. His cum starts dripping out of your hole, coating your clit with creamy white and Miguel almost cums again on the spot.

“Don’t make me repeat myself.” His large hands grab at your ass, kneading them. His thumbs spread your puffy lips apart so he can watch your cunt try to keep his cum inside. You groan as you force your arms to lift you up. “There’s my good girl.”

He smacks your ass which earned him a yelp from you. His lips curl up as he watches the flesh of your ass jiggle from the impact.

“Get on with it,” you whine, wiggling your ass to entice him to move faster. For someone who wanted to stop at the third round, you sure are impatient to be filled again.

“You are going to be the death of me,” he chuckles as he guides his cock back inside your wet heat. “There you go, mami. Back where it belongs.”

You moan loudly as you feel him grinding his hips, driving his dick as deep as he can reach inside you. Your eyes flutter close, as you savor the stretch of your hole around his fat cock once more. You couldn’t agree more with his words.

You hear Miguel from behind you input a command on a device. It beeps obnoxiously like it’s mocking you. It’s the last thing you want to hear while he is balls deep inside you, his girthy cock stretching you deliciously and filling you up so good. You think to yourself what was so important that Miguel can't put his gizmo down and enjoy the feeling of your warm, tight pussy on his dick? Right after insisting you can go for one more round?

You are about to snap at him for being ungrateful until a hologram appears in front of you. It shows a live video feed of his very own bed and a clear view of your fully naked self on your hands and knees getting ur insides rearranged by your boss. Your hair is a mess and your makeup is all smudged from how he made you cry from all the begging and overstimulation earlier. And he looks so big compared to you, having to bend low to align his hips with yours. You didn't even notice the recording devices planted around the room until now from how your brain was so fogged by lust. There seem to be at least three around the room from different angles. Well, it turns out he wasn’t just bluffing when he said he could record you earlier.

You wonder if he always had those set up. You haven’t really been to his room before. The few “encounters” you had with Miguel happened in his laboratory on his silly little platform, both of you too consumed by lust to think about moving to a more private area. It’s rather unlikely that they’re for actual safety reasons when they all just record the same area. You entertain the idea that him taking you to his room tonight is not just a spur-of-the-moment thing, that he might have all of this set up for tonight for when he has you writhing in pleasure on his bed. How thoughtful, you think. It makes you clench around his dick.

"You really are a pervert," you quip to annoy him. Clearly, the urge to mess with him hasn’t been thoroughly fucked out of you yet. You didn't even get to laugh at your own childish remark when Miguel abruptly starts thrusting his hips without warning, harder this time, dragging out a surprised whimper from you. His tip is bullying your cervix, testing the line between pleasure and pain but you love it. Your eyes meet Miguel's intense red glare on the screen.

"You're still talking," he tuts, his head shaking like he's some kind of pet owner trying to reprimand a disobedient pet "Let me fix that, cariño.”

He brings his large calloused hands back on you – where they belong, you think to yourself, echoing Miguel’s words. His left hand is firm on the flesh of your waist, you are sure they are going to bruise once he’s done with you. His other hand fondles your breasts, the sharp talons on his fingertips lightly grazing your soft skin. You know that when you look at yourself in the mirror tomorrow morning you’d look like you barely got away from being mauled by a feral beast, evidence of how Miguel O'Hara had his way with you and how you enjoyed every single second of it.

You cry out his name, chanting it like a prayer. He’s so deep inside you that you can almost feel him in your chest, his thrusts fucking the air out of your lungs.

“Miggy, Mi…. Mig– ah, ah Mi– haaaa –guel ahhh”

Your eyes roll back at the continuous assault on your sweet spot and your cervix with every deep thrust. High-pitched whines come out of your throat as your arms give out from under you, making you fall face-first on the soft mattress. It all feels so good but overwhelming. You think you’re going to pass out.

“Que rico, mami,” he pulls your hair so you can face the screens. “Look at yourself. Beautiful. Taking my cock so well. Don’t worry. I have this all recorded if you’re too cock drunk to watch yourself now, cariño.”

You can't say anything back. You try really hard to come up with something but the only word that comes out of your mouth is “please” over and over again becoming progressively needier each time. He wraps his arm around your waist to pull you closer to him, his chest flushed against your back, allowing him to rock you back against his forceful thrusts.

“Gonn’ make sure I put a baby in you tonight, cariño,” he growls in your ear. “I can’t wait to see your tummy swell in a few months. You’ll look divine, I won't be able to take my hands off you even more.”

His eyes are back to a glowing red as they meet yours that are glazed over by tears and lust. His hand tightens his hold on your hair making you tilt your head further, exposing more of your neck for him to suck bruises on. Your tits are bouncing freely at his aggressive pace. Coupled with the high-pitched moans coming out of your mouth, it’s all so pornographic. It makes you feel like liquid fire is running through your veins and pooling into your stomach.

“You’re gonna cum for me? Let go. Come on. cum for me, mami,”Miguel grunts in your ear, his hand on your hair letting go so he can greedily grab at your tits. “I wanna feel your cunt pulsing on my cock. Can you do that for me? Of course, you can. Going to milk me dry.”

And just like that, you throw your head back on his shoulder, eyes screwing shut as another wave of orgasm crashes down on you. Miguel follows closely, filling you up with more cum that drips down your thighs and on the bedsheets. Your body slumps back against his, too tired to keep yourself upright. You don’t even have the energy to open your eyes, content with feeling Miguel’s warm body against yours.

“I got you,” he says, wrapping his arms around you and moving you to lie down on the bed. You hum in contentment, letting him care for your tired body. He bends down to plant a kiss on your forehead before he pulls away. You miss his touch already.

A beeping sound lets you know that he turned off the monitors. You feel him taking the soiled bedsheets, getting up from the bed to get fresh ones. You have half the mind to reach out to him and tell him he can clean up later so you can cuddle now. Your mouth, however, doesn’t want to move so instead you groan as you blindly reach your hands out.

Miguel chuckles at your antics, walking back with fresh sheets and a damp towel to wipe off the sticky mess from your body. He sits next to you on the bed and brings the towel to your tear-stained cheeks, gently dabbing the area around your eyes to get rid of the messed up traces of mascara and eyeliner. You take your hand to rest on your chest trying to calm your wildly beating heart.

The comfortable silence, unfortunately, doesn’t last long. You hear the unmistakable voice of Lyla cut through the air.

“Heeeey, bossman! Heeeey, girlie!” she drawls and your eyes snap open as you snatch the sheet from Miguel’s hands to cover yourself.

“Ay, coño! I thought I said no alerts tonight,” Miguel looks pissed, rubbing his face in frustration before moving to turn off his watch. “It can wait until tomorrow.”

“Wait, wait! Sorry to interrupt the big night, Miguel, but it’s an emergency. Trust me you’ll want to fix this now,” Lyla raises her hands in surrender before Miguel presses a button. She turns to you, looking apologetic and asking for help “Then you can go back to babymaking, right, dollface?”

“I–” you flush, choking on your own words. You begrudgingly turn to Miguel, your lower lip caught in between your teeth. You lower your eyes as an ugly feeling crawls up your chest.

“It sounds important. You should go,” you whisper, not trusting your voice to speak up any louder. “I’d say I can be back up but I can hardly move so you’re on your own, big guy.”

Miguel sighs and gets up, telling Lyla to send him the information and that it better be worth his time.

You are already sexually satisfied and tired – that’s what four orgasms could do to you – but you are a little upset and sulky that Miguel has to be called in for work right now. Stupid anomaly or whatever it is. It’s probably important and a universe out there might be in grave danger. But you can't help feeling like shit about it though.

You like how soft Miguel gets when he cleans you up after sex. You like it when he picks up your tired form and whispers soft words to you in Spanish. Plus, you were looking forward to cuddles. What’s the use of having sex in his room on his bed if not to cuddle afterward and wake up next to each other the next day? And then, suddenly, in the early morning light, realize that you’ve been madly in love with each other all along. Okay, you are more than just a little upset.

Miguel notices you pouting and your eyes getting glassy with tears as you try to roll off the bed. He shoots his glowing red web at you, trapping you where you are before going back to readjusting his watch.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he asks, walking back to the bed as he makes sure his suit is all good and ready for the mission. He kneels on the bed to drag you to lie on your back.

“What are you doing? I'm going to take a shower,” you sniffle trying to avoid his eyes “I’ll take care of myself. you should go”

He hums as he takes both your wrists in one hand and forces them above your head to secure them together with his webs.

“Miggy?” you look at him and there’s a spark of mischief in his eyes. He darts his tongue across his lower lip and you feel a shiver run up your spine.

He doesn’t respond. He only keeps looking at you like he’s going to devour you once more. He brings your legs up to the position he had in before, knees to your chest, cunt fully exposed to him. You blush and your heart starts pounding in your chest. He shoots out more of his web, making sure you’re comfortable and your legs are securely tied in that position.

“Good?” he whispers and you nod in response “Words, cariño.”

“Perfect,” you moan, your chest heaving with need. He smiles at you fondly, caressing your cheek with a curled finger, and plants chaste kisses on your temple, your nose, and the corner of your mouth until he reaches your lips. He hums in contentment as he savors the feel of your lips against his. Then, he pulls away reluctantly and puts on his mask. He sets his watch to the right coordinates opening up a portal to wherever the universe needs saving.

“I’ll be back as fast as I can. I’ll make sure that anomaly regrets ever being made for interrupting my plans for our night,” he grumbles and gives you one last kiss through his mask for good luck. “And then it’s going to be all about you for the rest of the night, hm? I promise.”

He walks into the portal backwards so he can look at you until it closes and takes him away. Your heart flutters in your chest, anticipating what’s to come as you feel the webs digging deliciously into your soft flesh.

•🕷️────✧˖°˖🕸️˖°˖✧────🕷️•

Translations:

Que linda - how pretty

muñeca - doll

cariño - dear/darling

Qué voy a hacer contigo? - What am I going to do with you?

Qué haría sin ti? - What am I going to do without you?

conejita - little rabbit

pobrecita - poor thing

que rico - “[you] look good” (literal: tastes good)

Podría acostumbrarme a esto - I could get used to this

Eres tan hermosa. No sabes lo que me haces - You're so beautiful. You don't know what you do to me

Estás tan rica. Estás hecha para mí, mi amor - You feel so good. You were made for me, my love

Mi niña hermosa, mi niña linda. Mía. Toda mía. - My beautiful girl, my sweet girl. Mine. All mine.

mami - mommy (as an endearment for a partner)

coño - pussy

A/N: so many thanks to my friend who helped me with translating and giving me tips on some better Spanish terms to use 🙏

[urhoneycombwitch]

foreword: just a lil roommate!eddie x reader blurb loosely based on this anon. lead up to phone sex, +18 mdni as always

wc: 600

___

The plastic of your landline phone has warmed to the temperature of your cheek, and your limbs feel heavy under the weight of your quilt. On the other end of the line, Eddie sighs in similar repose, six states away.

“Gareth still snores, for the record. Not even the van’s engine can drown him out.” He’s lamenting over missing you as a roommate, telling you all the worst parts of sharing small vehicle spaces and shitty motel rooms with a bunch of boys.

Corroded Coffin still has four more stops on their tour, and Eddie’s finding the traveling life of an independent artist nigh unbearable.

You hum, mock sympathetic. “Poor you. Would hate to be drowning in a pool of groupies and drinking myself blind every night.”

“Shut up,” Eddie laughs, goodnaturedly. There’s a rustling on the other end, as if he’s lying down to get more comfortable. “You know you’re my only groupie. And besides, the boys went out in their cups tonight, not me. I’m by my lonesome in the room right now.”

You can picture him clearly in your mind’s eye, stretched face-up on the mattress, band tee riding up to reveal the dark happy trail you’ve caught glimpses of before. Saliva pools in your mouth; you have to swallow before responding. “Wow. Refused a wild night on the town just to call me?”

“Sweetheart, don’t act like you don’t know you’re my favorite person to spend time with.”

The sincerity in his voice makes you squirm. Feeling suddenly too hot and restless underneath the covers, you shove them down past your hips for some air flow. “I’m flattered. Bet you say that to all the fans, just to get in their pants.”

“Nah. Just you. And besides, it’s working, isn’t it?” Eddie’s voice gets gravelly. There’s the distinct sound of jeans getting unzipped, then faded rustling. A sharp, quick inhale, then- “What are you wearing?”

A laugh bubbles out of you, humorous even while you scold, “Perv.” Your fingers toy with the lace band of your underwear, giving it a snap you hope is audible. “You really need sex that bad, you’re calling it in?”

“S’different with you.”

Eddie’s fucking up the routine. It’s supposed to go like this, when he’s gone- he waits a few days to call, then when he does, you both keep up the pretense of regularity with the usual bickering. And then it devolves into phone sex.

He’s not supposed to bring up how much he misses you, and he’s certainly not supposed to say, out loud, that you’re different than the rest.

Your fingers are frozen on the soft plane of your stomach, heart thumping wildly in your throat.

Eddie must realize his mistake, the ice where he’s skated out past undefined boundaries spiderwebbing cracks. He retracts, lies flat again, a smooth recovery in the form of an appeasing sigh before saying, “Sorry. Just miss you. Gonna tell me what you’re wearing or am I gonna have to use my imagination?”

“God forbid.” Relief floods your system, fingers gliding easily underneath the line of your panties with the safety of familiarity. “You’ve probably got me in fishnets and heels. Hate to burst your skeevy bubble, but I haven’t done laundry in a week. I’m in an old t-shirt and plain Jane undies.”

Eddie makes a soft, seeking noise that makes the heartbeat between your legs pulse. “For the record, I was imagining you naked, but this works, too.”

“Y’gonna come back soon and do my laundry?” It’s getting harder to speak, breathy little whines intermixed, pad of your finger collecting the arousal seeping from your core to drag it upwards. “Always do it better’n me.”

“Oh, yeah.” In answer to your own noises, there’s the wet sound of Eddie’s fist around his cock, moving in steady rhythm. “Next week and I’m yours, babe. I’ll use the good stuff. Fabric softener. You name it-”

“Fuck.” It’s searingly domestic dirty talk. You’ll be coming undone in minutes and he goddamn knows it. Your finger swirls, breath catching again, and Eddie coos encouragement down the line.

“That’s right, sweetheart. You’re all I wanna hear.”

[sunafc]

Caught in the web – 0.5 spiderman and the lifesavers

masterlist

notes:

– y/n mostly uses her private so she can freely talk about her life without people knowing she's spiderman

– y/n uses her main only to post stuff about the volleyball team or to post pictures

– y/n is manager of the volleyball team because she needed some extra credit

– yachi is a fashion designer major she's super good and makes all the spiderman suits for y/n !

– kuroo is a chemistry major and he helped y/n with making the spiderwebs

– kenma is a computer science major and kind of an hacker and he helped yachi and y/n to project the suits and installed all the tech stuff in it

– y/n would've just been a girl bitten by a spider with some random powers if it wasn't for her friends lol

– they all met in high school and now go to different colleges but are still friends and live close to each others

– kuroo and kenma are kind of together but haven't really made it official yet

– i forgot to put a bio in kuroo's and kenma's accounts but i just realized so whatever 😭

[erosiism]

SACRIFICE | YANDERE DUKE X M!READER

prompt: the moment you sacrifice your life for him | reader is childhood friends with claude (OC), both are planning a rebellion to usurp the throne.

character(s): duke, you

warnings(s): slight blood

note(s): male reader, second person, past tense, not beta read, excerpt from my fic on wattpad, to make amends

FIND MORE MOMENTS OF CLAUDE AND THE READER HERE.

When planning a rebellion, assassination attempts are inevitable. This time round, another bout of mercenaries have come, demanding your blood. Demanding the Duke’s blood—Claude’s blood.

The arrows had nicked your skin, but it hadn't been serious. "It's fine. And besides, it's nothing to worry about. I won't ask for much, Claude—I do not need such things in the light of such situations. I'm realistic. If I have to die for you to be Emperor, so be it."

You assumed you had asked out of obligation—a lover's obligation, if you will. You assumed that this was the answer he had wanted to hear.

You had gravely mistaken.

"...What?" Claude's voice was the most strangled, the coldest you had heard. "What are you talking about?"

You paused. "...Why do you look so angry?"

"I told you to stop sacrificing yourself for me, Y/n, I told you. Is everything I say to you a joke? Do you not care when you get injured or when you suffer? You promised me you wouldn't be so careless."

"I don't get why you seem so furious." With the current situation and your mounting weariness, your tone has become sharp. Cutting. "It's common sense. Get a grip. You want the crown, so there are sacrifices you have to make."

"I don't want the crown."

You smiled hysterically. "Don't jest."

"Not if you are going to sacrifice yourself." Claude said stubbornly.

Your eyes finally stopped roving around the area to focus on him. "Don't be idiotic. I've worked for this my whole fucking life and now you don't want it?"

"Y/n," Claude started, "once we get back to the manor, I'll immediately issue a—"

"No!" You found your voice raising, "you don't get it. So what now? I'm the fucking fool who has been wasting my whole life on a goal that you don't even want? You don't want to be Emperor? So what? Have you been stringing me along, and have I been following you like some kind of blind person?"

"Y/n," Claude whispered. "We can talk more later. For now—!"

"—No, Claude. Take those words back." You murmured, "I thought you were tired of regret. You said it yourself when you told me you loved me. So why are you saying things you're going to regret?" You asked wearily, "why?"

"I love you."

You opened your mouth, about to retort. 

Then you saw a flurry of motion. 

Something in your brain clicked, and before you could fully process your own actions, your mind had acted before your body. Your eyes had caught the final assassin — but he was already holding an arrow, the string pulled, the target right towards Claude. You saw flashes of him in his death, bleeding out, dying, last words disappearing from his lips.

There was a high chance of either of you being killed: but it was all a gamble — a risk you were willing to take.

You pushed him to the side, and the both of you tumbled away. The arrow narrowly missed Claude—and burst of mana came forth from his fingertips. There was one last cry of agony that came from the assassin, before he died. Meanwhile Claude held you close to him, the both of you shuddering.

He stilled.

You two were so very near the edge. Your legs were dangling off, your body limp in weariness. Beneath you the edge of the cliff had started to crack, little by little, spiderweb fissures forming.

"Y/n," he spoke desperately. His fingers were slippery from blood. "Quickly. Take my hand. Quickly."

"And bring you down with me?" You laughed, "no."

"Y/n."

You looked at him then, stubbornly. "All of your life you said you wanted to be Emperor."

"Not if it means you sacrificing yourself, like you are now." His fingers were clambering at yours. He was holding your hand like it was a lifeline. You could feel yourself dragging him towards the precipice. Soon your hands would let go and you would plummet with him.

He had to become Emperor.

Or was that your dream, and not his dream?

"Let go."

"No."

"I'll make this easier for us," you said calmly, "I despise you, Claude. I hate you. So now let go."

Claude shook his head. "I love you."

You looked at him. Your pulse was ebbing with his. Death would free you from the torment of parting with him. You had talked about him to countless of others like he had made this universe, like he had aligned the stars. You loved him selfishly, greedily. 

Your other hand reached out to clasp his hand. The cliff was starting to crack. If you didn't act now, you would both be dead.

Claude's eyes widened. With brute force—the last bit of energy you could muster—you wrenched your hand out of his—shoved him from the blossoming cracks and to even ground—and the last thing you saw was his tortured expression as you plummeted down and the edge broke off from the cliff. 

"Y/n!"

You wanted more of Claude. In your mind you were dressing and adorning him with light; you were wrapping him with blankets of devotion, acceptance. You had given yourself to him. You longed for him, in the ways you had never longed for anyone else. You were absorbed in his warmth, his love, and you really, utterly, devoutly—longed for every bit of him. 

"I despise you," you murmured. The second seemed to blur as you awaited excruciating pain. 

Almost like a plea to yourself. You knew what the words really translated to.

You despised the Gods.

like/reblog! comments are always appreciated

[the-kr8tor]

In Pursuit of Blood: Vampire or Cowboy?

A/N: just something silly that spawned in @pleaktale and I's dms lol enjoy!

Pairing: Vampire! Hobie Brown x fem! Reader

Word count: 1.8k

Synopsis: the camera crew finds something amiss.

Tags: No use of Y/N, no specific physical description of the reader, CW blood mention, Vampire! Hobie, Hobat 🦇, Vampire AU, mockumentary AU, set in the WWDITS universe, FLUFF

In Pursuit of Blood/vampire! Hobie Masterlist

Navigation

Buy me a ☕?

The camera enters Hobie's familiar abode. Red velvet curtains that drape along ceilings and windows greet the camera crew. There's a noticeable lack of dust and spiderwebs around the place, books properly shelved, and no evidence of blood on the now spick and span floors. There's even a fancy lavender scented candle sitting on the newly polished grand piano that's placed inside the interview room that was formerly known as the living room; or as you humorously called it when you moved in— the ‘undead room’.

Even with the mansion clean of any grime since the last time the crew visited, there's a lack of you or Hobie lingering around the vast corridors. The flame on the candle flickers, the producer expects Hobie to jump out at them any second now with his fangs out to scare them. After a beat, there's still no trace of a vampire telling them to fuck off.

There's a sigh behind the camera, the lenses zoom in and out of the opened supply closet that was left open where buckets of murky water sits. Used cloths are hanging from the shelves, jugs of soap and bleach sit half empty next to the dusty fabric. The entire place is like a ghost town where the occupants hurriedly left their dinner on the table, but this time they're cleaning supplies. The crew is left scratching their heads, not even a sound can be heard except for their footsteps against wood, and wires dragging across the floor. The camera whips around the quiet place, paintings upon paintings are the only sign of life left hanging on the walls.

The camera enters Hobie's record room where portraits and things full of sentimental value from your ancestors lie. There's no one in the room, not even a lone spider is left on the ceiling. A whispered “where the fuck are they?” Can be heard from the boom mic guy. The front doors were left unlocked for the crew to enter so that means that you and Hobie were expecting them.

The crew continued on, they passed by the front gates and the porch when they first entered so that means you weren't there doing your afternoon stretching. And with the sun still up, Hobie cannot be caught outside lest he crumples into dust. So there's only one place they need to check, Hobie's mysterious bedroom. The crew hasn't stepped foot in the room just yet, or even seen it for that matter. There was just no need for them to enter, until now. If he's missing, he could be sleeping inside his coffin, and where Hobie is, you'd be there.

Sure enough, when they climbed up the stairs and into the long hallway, the crew sees ripped packages scattered on the floor. Plastic packaging and boxes from an online shop are left like bread crumbs that lead towards the bedroom door that's left ajar.

Every person on the crew quietly makes their way to the door, an almost impossible feat considering there's seven of them lagging behind the main camera. The hallway grows dimmer, as they walk, the light left inside the room acts as a lighthouse to the stalking documentary crew. The cameraman is the first person who made it in front of the door, he kneels down silently despite the heavy camera on his shoulder. He turns the lenses inside the ajar door, peeking inside. With an adjustment of his lens, he zeroes in on your giddy face, grin wide and happy, hands occupied with what looks like a bat doll in front of you.

“So. Fucking. Cute!” You squeal, fists shaking from the adorable sight. You sit on a comfortable chair with Hobie's desk in front of you, already taking hundreds of pictures with your phone.

While you were too occupied with your dress up bat, the camera zooms in on the toy bat. Meanwhile, the other crew members peek overhead, trying not to make a peep whilst they look for Hobie inside the room. His coffin is wide open, red plush velvet lining around the strong oak resting place. The producer is sure that she saw a polaroid of you tucked inside the velvet, and an extra pink pillow with a matching blanket inside. Her thoughts are interrupted by Jared the cameraman, who's currently tugging at her sleeves. She follows where the camera points, failing to see anything except for the unmoving bat, she taps her tablet awake to see what the camera sees more clearly.

She almost gasps at the sight. The camera has fully zoomed in on the bat’s face where a dozen or so piercings lie, the same piercings a certain vampire has. The said bat/vampire has a cowboy hat on, complete with a tiny feather decorating it. Instead of Hobie's black leather vest, a brown fringed vest has replaced it. There's even a gun belt around his tiny waist that has a very miniscule gun that glints in the yellow lamp of his desk.

Bat Hobie's eyes just stare at you, slowly blinking, nose twitching but not from annoyance. The crew can see that he's staying still for you, something they've never thought was possible in their six months of filming him and you. The camera lenses zoom out, showing the vast costumes on the floor next to the desk. There's the classic vampire cloak that's laying on a red chiffon dress, (oh Jared would kill to see bat Hobie in that) a chef hat next to dozens of plastic toy shoes that they're not sure would even fit a bat’s feet. But of course they're proven wrong when you carefully lift up bat Hobie's foot to place the cutest (most accurate) cowboy boots on each of his tiny feet.

You squeal again, Hobie puffs up his chest, posing for the camera. “Hell yeah! Just like that and you're on the cover of Vogue, Hobie!” They can all tell that the cowboy outfit is his favourite from the way he poses.

There's more unopened packages next to you, but you're still not satisfied with his look. In between your fingers, you hold a gilded sheriff badge. The crew watches as Hobie rejects the badge with a screech. He bares his fangs, for a moment, the crew is afraid that he'd bite you, forgetting that he's not an actual bat but an actual vampire that could drain you of your blood within a minute. You're not phased about it, not one bit. The pout on your lips and your puppy dog eyes can be seen from the camera. Hobie shakes his tiny head, large floppy ears swaying around as he moves.

You sigh, relenting. Hobie waddles his way towards your hand, taking it in his claws gently, and then he does what the crew would never expect from the most powerful vampire they've ever known. Hobie leans into your palm, giving you a little kitten lick across the pad of your finger. And then you do the unexpected, even in the entire crew's wildest dreams they could never think of it; based on how you, a vampire hunter from a renowned vampire hunting family could interact with a vampire you were tasked to kill three years ago. You lean down to kiss his fluffy cheek, he even has his eyes closed the entire time, savouring your affection yet chaste kiss. Chuckling, you're still not satisfied, you peck him once again to his delight. Hobie makes a purring sound from the kiss, the crew is sure that they cannot air whatever they're seeing.

“Aww, okay, no badge.” You shift in your seat, talking softly at bat Hobie. Ducking down towards the boxes to take a plastic horse, Hobie now has the perfect view of the peeping camera crew.

His stare freezes them in place, they don't know if he's embarrassed by the whole ordeal they caught him in, or Hobie's trying to intimidate him with a look. Either way, the camera crew is petrified.

“Horsey?” You ask, still oblivious to the danger that lies behind Hobie's red beady eyes. “Or no horsey?” You poke his fluffy side, sweetly calling his name. “You okay? What's wrong? We can stop if you're not having fun anymore.” The crew can barely recognize how sweet you're talking to him. Especially just last week you threw a knife at his head because he watched an episode without you.

Hobie flicks his eyes away from the crew, they sigh audibly, feeling their blood rush through their veins once again. They've seen what true fear was like, and you don't envy them when you turn around towards the sound.

“You guys are early. Again.” You nonchalantly say. “We're not done yet. Do you guys mind closing the door?” The crew is still frozen behind the door, some are gasping for air, some are just flat out terrified.

A puff of black smoke appears, and Hobie in all his glory, comes into view behind the fog like a theater curtain opening for him. He's in his regular clothes, but for some reason, the cowboy costume you've put on him also grew with him. The fringe vest fits perfectly on him, the spurs on his cowboy boots shine in the yellow lamp as he sits on the desk, one leg up on the table as you continue to sit in front of him while you're taking more photos of him.

“I don't understand the logic but holy shit this is the hottest thing ever.” You gasp, the shutters of your phone camera clicking relentlessly. Hobie glances at you, face hidden behind the brim of his hat, shadows covering his face. You smile at him, eyes roaming over him, fingers tugging at the hem of his vest. “Goddamn.” You sigh.

“Later, love. I need to get rid of pests.” He says with a nudge of his boot on your leg, there's tenderness hidden underneath it. But his eyes tell the opposite, with a flick of his hat, the crew has the perfect view of his eyes. The pupils of his wine red eyes move about, shaking in anger. “Get out.”

There's a gust of wind as he quickly moves to the door, crouching down, eye to eye with the camera, he stares at the lenses until the glass cracks. With a glance towards their terrified faces, they all run away for their lives. As if Hobie would actually kill them, especially if he can just tell them to delete the footage. Worst case scenario, he can delete the memory from their minds. It will be like dragging a file towards the trash bin icon but instead of a file it's their brains. They'll just get a headache for a few days, even so, he doesn't want to do that. Maybe he can reason with them by telling them (in front of their camera) a story during his time in the 1920s. Or maybe just pay for the lenses he broke.

As the entire crew runs, the mics capture your muffled yet loud laughter behind the door when Hobie slams the door shut.

Support banner by @/cafekitsune

[leonslutkennedeeznuts]

Lovin' Your Skin | Tattoo Artist!Leon x Fem!Reader

"With that, Leon flexed his arms so you could get a better look. He was covered in ink. You wanted to spend all day and night tracing your fingers over the works of art inked onto his skin, hearing his stories about what each tattoo represented." (AO3) | Tattoo Artist Leon credit:  tanya.gavva

You didn’t even want a tattoo but you figured it wouldn’t be that bad. Your pain tolerance was low, you weren’t 100% certain the design you’d picked would look good on your skin forever but Leon was sooo gorgeous. Just to be near him in the tattoo parlor for a few hours would make everything so worth it. Or so you’d thought.

Leon was covered in tattoos. He had sleeves on both arms and you could see the beginning of a neck piece as you stole a few glances at him here and there. He was so focused the few times you’d gone by the shop to watch him work. He was your friend’s tattoo artist. This was all her fault really. Months ago she’d asked you to come by with her for yet another tattoo and when you’d seen the blonde haired beauty of a man who did the work, you were head over heels.

“Name’s Leon,” he’d said as he shook your hand.

Leon. A name you wanted to be screaming every night.

“What makes you want a tattoo,” he’d asked you as your friend checked out her finished piece in the mirror behind him. “It can be addicting, I must warn you.”

You didn’t want a tattoo. You wanted him. Same difference.

“Always thought about it,” you lied, awkwardly laughing. You hoped he couldn’t read the lust on your face as you caught a glimpse of him licking his lips. “Yours look really cool, very intricate.”

With that, Leon flexed his arms so you could get a better look. He was covered in ink. You wanted to spend all day and night tracing your fingers over the works of art inked onto his skin, hearing his stories about what each tattoo represented.

“Wow,” you whispered, stepping closer to get a better look. “You did these all yourself?”

Leon shook his head. “Most but not all. Couldn’t reach my back but I designed that piece myself.” He winked at you before asking. “You want to see it?”

It was pathetic how fast you shook your head yes. Leon’s body was a work of art in itself. He made a little show of taking his shirt off for you, your friend laughing and shaking her head in the background still eying her own ink. How she was immune to Leon’s charm and sex appeal was beyond you.

Leon had a rose tattoo that started the sleeve on his right shoulder, in honor of his grandmother he’d said, that led into abstract shapes, you spied a spiderweb on his elbow and even a sea turtle on his inner arm, an Eagle on his neck- you stopped trying to decipher everything and started to take in the view of his abs. He’d been getting tattooed since his 21st birthday, something he’d done with his friends on a drunken dare after failing out of the police academy but quickly discovered his love of the profession.

After opening his first tattoo shop at 27, he started designing and doing his own tattoos as best as he could to promote his business. Now he was booked up months in advance. He always made time for your friend though.

His chest wasn’t covered yet, he’d mentioned thinking of leaving that bare for now. You imagined how your hands would rest perfectly on his pecs as you rode him into oblivion.

Leon caught you staring, you weren’t really hiding it. You wondered if he was tatted up from the waist down as well, how your untouched flesh would look against his in the heat of passion, how you wanted his name breathlessly leaving your lips-

“Do you want a tattoo, seriously?” Your friend’s voice cut through the sexual tension like a knife. “I think she’s lying, Leon.”

“No, I’m serious! I do want one. I have a Pinterest board of ideas,” you spat out hurriedly. “Here,” you said, lifting up your sleeve to show the spot on your wrist where you wanted to be inked.

Leon, still shirtless, took your wrist into his hands, eying it and you. “A wrist tat, hmm? I’d be honored to be your first,” he’d simply stated. Still shirtless. Still eyeing you in disbelief.

If he wanted to call your bluff, so be it as long as he was calling you.

“Yep and maybe a neck one too, ya know, one that people can’t see unless I wear my hair up.”

Your friend rolled her eyes and began to grab her purse and car keys. From what you’d seen her tattoo was beautiful, a bright Koi fish on her left shoulder to match the aquatic sleeve she was getting done eventually.

“I will believe it when I see it, Y/N. Don’t waste Leon’s time just because you think he’s hot,” she chided jokingly as she went to the door.

Leon put his tank top back on and handed you one of his business cards, letting his fingers linger on yours for a bit too long to be an accident.

“Well, Y/N, if you’re serious here’s my contact information. I don’t have any openings really in the next few months but text me and I will see what I can do for you.” He winked at you again. “Want to see this Pinterest board of yours.”

“Oh, right, totally! I’ll send you the link.” Great, now you had to create a Pinterest board of tattoos that you hoped Leon thought were cool. Your eyes lingered to the perfect pout of his lips then to his cerulean eyes. “I can’t wait to set up my appointment with you, Leon.”

You weren’t planning to actually get a tattoo. You just wanted a way to talk to him really and the guy owned a tattoo shop, clearly that was something he was passionate about. What better way to get his attention than to get him to tattoo you himself? Right?

—-------

It was Leon that actually called you first.

After that evening in his shop, you realized that if you did reach out to him that it would be obvious you weren’t really serious about all this. You were sure women flocked at him all the time with lies about tattoos to get him in their bed. You wouldn’t be the first.

Your friend was no help. She claimed that Leon either had a girlfriend already or was hooking up with a fellow artist at another shop.

“Her name starts with J, I think,” she’d said deep in thought. “Or maybe it’s the redhead biker chick from that bar.”

But you forgot all about that when you got a call from an unknown number a few days later.

“Leon?”

“Yeah, it’s me,” he confirmed with a slight chuckle. “I never heard back from you about the tattoo, was wondering if you changed your mind about seeing me.”

You always wanted to see him. From the few times you’d met he had an effect on you but he was a huge flirt. Maybe he was just trying to get a new client aka more money, nothing personal.

“Oh, I- the tattoo,” you sighed and decided to come clean. “Look, Leon, I don’t know about that anymore.”

“Understandable, I honestly figured as much.” You heard some faint background noise of a horror movie playing in the background. Seems like he was home alone on a Friday night too.

“Well, in the spirit of being honest, Y/N, I was hoping to just see you again. Tattoo or not.”

You almost dropped your phone in shock. You didn’t know what you thought Leon’s type was but it definitely wasn’t you. He seemed like a total badass, a bad boy. You were a goody two shoes overachiever working a boring 9-5 while Leon was a daredevil risk taker.

Plus you were pretty sure Leon was a little over six years older than you. Which made his admission all the more arousing. You couldn’t help the throbbing you felt between your legs now.

“Cat got your tongue,” he teased, clearly enjoying this.

“No, I’m just kind of shocked,” you admitted. “I didn’t think I was your type really.”

You thought back to the women your friend had mentioned Leon dated. You’d seen them both in passing, looked nothing like you (or one another) but they were gorgeous. You felt so basic by comparison.

Leon was silent for a bit, you almost thought he’d hung up before you heard him clear his throat. “Hmm, how about I take you out tomorrow night and show you how much of my type you are?”

It was a date.

—-------

You don’t know exactly how this happened. One minute you were agreeing to let Leon walk you to your apartment door and the next he had you wet and begging for him to fuck you, his lips on your neck definitely leaving hickeys for everyone to see that you were his. The date had gone very well to your surprise and now it was about to get even better.

First thing you noticed about Leon was that he was an amazing kisser. His hands were feeling you up all over, just enough to get you hot and bothered and leaning into his embrace silently begging for more. He sucked your tongue and grinded into you, almost dry humping on the couch before you couldn’t take anymore and told him where your bedroom was.

Leon was an animal in bed and yet still a total gentleman, which you kind of expected but nothing prepared you for the real thing. He didn’t have tattoos from the waist down, and yes you looked quite thoroughly while you were down there with his dick sliding down your throat.

You’d never enjoyed giving head before tonight, before you’d met Leon and heard his whispers, groans and moans as you sucked him. At this angle, he was able to play with your pussy and rub your clit as you licked his pre-cum covered tip before attempting to deep throat him again.

“Fuck, Y/N, so good, you’re such a good girl,” he moaned. He slipped a finger, then another into your wet pussy. “Mmm, so tight, baby.”

You couldn’t talk if you wanted to with him so deep in your mouth but you moaned around his cock, causing him to cuss under his breath and pull out completely, not wanting to cum just yet. He rubbed his shaft on your swollen lips, your mouth almost desperately trying to suck him back in.

Leon took his fingers out of your pussy and sucked on them. “Gonna enjoy eating you out,” he whispered, kissing his way down to finally taste you. “I won’t stop until you cum.”

You could’ve finished right then and there just hearing him say that. When his tongue licked your center then up to your clit, you almost screamed. It felt so good, too good. You didn’t think you were going to last long at all. Seeing Leon’s gorgeous flush face clearly enjoying the taste of you was already too much and he’d only just started.

He held you by the back of your knees, pressing them into your chest as he licked, sucked and ate you like a man starving. You’d never cum from this before, never had someone so into it. You were squirming and bucking into his mouth earning more moans from him. When his tongue dipped into your pussy you did scream, his name leaving your lips over and over as you squealed and released onto his tongue.

“Leon, I’m cumming,” you whined in an almost broken voice, your toes curling and your eyes rolling back into your head. “Oh fuck, too much,” you begged, trying to wiggle out of his grasp to no avail as he kept licking you, refusing to waste a drop of your cum. “Leon, please.”

When Leon said he wouldn’t stop until you came, what he really meant was that he wouldn’t stop until you came twice. Despite the cramp in your legs you gripped his blond hair so hard you knew it was painful for him but he didn’t seem to mind, sucking and tonguing your pussy with more vigor than before.

He slid two fingers back into your pussy and you almost accidentally kicked him due to overstimulation. You were almost boohoo crying as Leon was just eating you out without a care in the world. You had no idea what you’d do when he finally fucked you, your nails clawing up his tattooed back leaving your own imprint on his skin even if it didn’t last forever.

Leon moaned and hummed against your cunt knowing how close you were again already. “Cum for me again, Y/N.” After a few more thrusts of his fingers against your g-spot you were seeing stars. “Now.”

This time you were sure the neighbors heard you. You’d be embarrassed at how pitiful you sounded later because right now you were in the throes of passion. Leon held you down with no effort as your body jerked and bucked against his eager mouth.

Nobody had ever made you cum this hard, reducing you into a blubbering mess, begging Leon to fuck you as your sweet cum covered his mouth and jaw.

“Holy shit,” you managed to breathe out when he finally freed you from his grasp. You didn’t know if you were floating or still laying on the bed at this point. If he told you it was Christmas day you’d believe him, your mind was so frazzled. “Fucking Christ, Leon.”

His Cheshire cat grin appeared above you, eying you with pure lust and pride. Leon had never been with someone so vocal before, it definitely stroked his ego.

“Believe me now?” Leon didn’t wait for you to respond before rubbing the tip of his cock against your almost sore clit.

“How about now,” he teasingly asked before slapping his shaft on your pussy.

He was so hard, almost painfully so. He’d wanted you since the first time you’d met but figured you weren’t into guys with tattoos. Go figure.

“Leon, please, just fuck me already,” you begged. You arched your back into his embrace, staring into his eyes as kept teasing you. “I’ll believe you when you fuck me.”

You knew Leon wasn’t going to be a missionary kind of guy, nothing wrong with that position but after having it so often with your lackluster ex, you wanted something a bit more. Being folded like a pretzel on the edge of your bed as Leon slid into you, his thick cock hitting that spot inside of you that had you whimpering- just what the doctor ordered.

With a pillow under your head you had the perfect view to watch Leon fuck you hard, deep and fast. Your slick was covering his cock, the sounds of your wetness and his balls slapping against your ass the soundtrack of your fuck session as the mattress creaked underneath you.

He was caressing your bouncing tits, squeezing and pinching your hard nipples just enough to keep you on edge but not enough to push you over just yet. You could barely decipher what you were even saying, just heavy breathing, squeaking and squealing Leon’s name over and over, praising and thanking him.

“You’re taking me so well, sweetheart,” you heard him whisper above you. Leon was in awe at the sight of your tight, little pussy creaming on his cock. He made sure to get you nice and wet so you could take him all without pain. “Fuck, Y/N, I want to fill you up.”

You gripped his tattooed arms to stay grounded to reality as your orgasm crept up on you, trying to memorize every piece of ink on his flesh in case this was a one time thing- in case you were actually dreaming and he wasn’t really here with you.

“Yeah, cum in me, Leon,” you heard yourself saying. It was like an out of body experience. You honestly felt like you’d disintegrate when you finally came on his fat dick. “It’s your pussy, baby. Only yours.”

Leon thrust into you slowly as you both came hard, bodies shaking and aching as you messily kissed one another, hands roaming all over while Leon grunted and came inside of you. You made sure to rub and caress his back as he did so, enjoying how he gave into your embrace as he filled you up until his cum began dripping out.

You still weren’t sold on getting a tattoo any time soon but dating a tattoo artist who was a beast in bed wasn’t the worst thing ever, you figured as sleep took over you both.

[intuitive-revelations]

FLUXES [Celestis: Engineered Participants / Technologies] Example: "DOCTOR, The"

[Image description, courtesy of @quailfence: a series of pictures of text, alternated with screencaps and gifs from Doctor Who.

1: Text: Fluxes: [Celestis: Engineered Participants/Technology] Individuals transposed backwards in time but not too far in space, using a very high chaotic limiter setting and tied to their home period by a thread of biodata

2: The Eleventh Doctor stands in the future corpse of his TARDIS, looking and a pulsing stream of light that has replaced the console. He says, "That is the scar tissue of my journey through the universe. My path through time and space."

3: Text: He raised a finger. 'Look. There.

Now she could just make out the thread in the moonlight. It was just a faint reflection, maybe a foot or two long, about a metre off the ground. A taut strand of spiderweb hanging in the air, not attached to anything.

'What is it?' Fitz asked.

'It's only partially rotated into three dimensions,' he said. He pushed his finger right through the glimmering line, without affecting it. 'That's why it looks one- or two-dimensional. The rest is still perpendicular to what we can see - woven into higher space, or the time vortex…'

'Yes,' said Fitz, 'but what is it?' 'It's what your friend mistook for a ley line.' The Doctor was scuttling around the silver thread, peering at it from every angle, getting more and more agitated. 'It's part of the fabric of space-time itself. What DNA is to your genetic code, this stuff is to biodata. And it's all just exposed here now. Personality, history, memory, perception, all vulnerable…'

'I'm going to have to ask you again, aren't I?' said Fitz.

The Doctor said, 'It's me.'

4: The Fourteenth and Fifteenth doctors in the TARDIS. 14: "But you're fine?" 15: "I'm fine, because you fixed yourself. We're Time Lords, we're doing rehab out of order."

5: Text: The subject is turned loose in his or her own history, and the limiter setting allows tiny actions taken by the future version to have considerable effects on the past version. The biodata link then transfers these changes to the future version, which alters it, and thus alters the changes made to the past version. Therefore, the individual's history is kept constantly in flux.

6: The Fugitive Doctor says, "Let me take it from the top: Hello, I'm the Doctor."

7: Text: Let me finish. Think back to that time when you went to see your previous selves.

8: Ten, Eleven, and War talk to each other. Ten: "You're not actually suggesting that we change our own personal history?" Eleven: "We change history all the time. I'm suggesting far worse."

9: Text: 'Maybe there's no one home on Gallifrey,' said the boy softly. There was just the one of him.

The Doctor looked at him, cupping the small white cube in his hands. The boy said, Maybe they all left. Or maybe the whole planet's being destroyed, and undestroyed, and destroyed, and you just caught them at the wrong moment.

10: The TARDIS by the ruins of Gallifrey

11: Text: 'It's impossible,' said the Doctor. 'It's impossible for my people. Our past is unreachable. What's written can't be unwritten.'

'Who said your history can't change?'

Another boy answered, 'Someone from his history.'

And another: 'Maybe it's the second-biggest lie in Time Lord history.'

12: Dhawan!Master tells Thirteen, "You are the Timeless Child."

13: Thitreen stares at a ruined house. Swarm whispers in her ear and tells her, "All the memories you've lost, all the people you've been. It's all in there, contained within that house."

14: Text: And it was like the Doctor's home. As if his ship understood the loss of the House and had compensated to fill the emptiness. Shadowy corridors, alcoves and stairways, a secret at every turn. Like being in the Doctor's head. Like his life, for that matter, the details of which were strewn like flotsam across the floor.

15: Text: 'Sweet,' said the little boy. 'That's my favourite of your origin stories, too.'

The Doctor opened his eyes. He had been laughing, he realised, he felt that lightness in himself. The boys had all moved away, behind him, leaving him facing the empty dark of the warehouse.

'What do you mean?' he asked. His voice sounded very small.

'Is this the version where they banned all mention of his name, and yours, for consorting with aliens? Or the one where he got every record of himself deleted from the files?'

'Feel free to believe either of them,' snapped the Doctor, 'or both of them, or neither of them. If you're curious about my past, I want there to be as many wrong answers as possible.'

16: The Eighth Doctor tells someone, "I'm half human. On my mother's side."

17: Text: 'Well he's a hybrid, you know that. A Gallifreyan not born of Gallifreyan, the one who unites the two races and brings good old human niceness into their alien society. Aliens need that, y'know.'

'A human hybrid? She saw the contempt in his curling lip. 'Pseudoscientific nonsense. There's no evidence,' he repeated.

'He's allowed to be different. He's got a prophecy and everything.'

18: Lady Me says, "By your own reasoning, why couldn't the Hybrid be half Time Lord, half human?"

19: Text: Someone giggled. 'Let's play pin the tale on the donkey.'

'Maybe you didn't use to have a father.'

'Maybe you're living in the middle of a time war. Maybe there's an Enemy out there -'

The Doctor shouted, 'I'm not listening!'

'- who's rewriting you when you're not looking!'

'Maybe you weren't always half human.'

'But now you've become always half human.' 'Maybe you weren't always a Time Lord.'

But now you've always been a Time Lord.'

'Maybe you originally came from some planet in the forty-ninth century. Fleeing from the Enemy who'd overrun your home -'

'I said I'm not listening! Laa laa laa laa laa -'

'- and you've just been written and rewritten and overwritten, ever since.'

'Pin the tale!'

'How d'you know it's not true?'

'How could you know it's not true?'

The voices crowded in. 'How would you know, huh?'

'How would you know?'

'How would 'How would you 'How 'How would you know? you know? you know? know?'

'Why would I care?' shouted the Doctor.

The boy fell silent.

20: Lady Me asks, "Am I right? Is it true?" Twelve replies, "Does it matter?"

21: Text: However, the one group from the Homeworld which has excelled at flux-engineering is the Celestis.

22: Two asks the Time Lords, "Now then… what about me?"

23: Tecteun tells Thirteen, "Which is ehy we engineered the Fluyx: Shut the universe down and you within it."

24: Text: Even Mictlan itself can be considered a kind of enormous flux, an endlessly-shifting realm so cortosive to the rest of history that its heartland has to be kept on the outer skin of the universe

24: The Fourteenth Doctor tells Donna, "I invoked a supersition, at the edge of the universe, where the walls are thin and everything is possible."

25: The space station from Wild Blue Yonder

26: Text: There are suggestions of a stable middle-ground between the two fates, in which the physical matter of the flux is lost but the meaning of the subject/ victim is retained, a series of memetic connections with no flesh to support it. Yet this entity exists only on a purely theoretical level, relying on the perceptions of others to survive at all.

27: The Twelfth Doctor walks up to the TARDIS console. He says, "Can't wait to hear what I say." Glancing at the viewer, he adds, "I'm noting without an audience."

28: Text: You know what Sam represents. If a tree falls in a forest and no one's there to hear it, does it make a sound? Stop me if I'm getting too abstract here, but if a Time Lord saves the world and nobody witnesses him doing it, does history care? She's your witness. The thing you need to make you whole.

29: The First Doctor looks at the viewer and says, "Incidentally, a Happy Christmas to all of you at home!" End description.]

[Plain text: Fluxes [Celestis: Engineered Participants / Technologies] Example: "Doctor, The". End plain text.]

@dw-described

[chaosheadspace]

#11 for the kiss asks, in joy!

Thank you, I hope you feel better soon!

This one ran away from me a bit. Got a little steamy, too. Enjoy!

Dream steps into the waking, into a humid summer's day, just at the beginning of August. The pavement and walkways gleaming wetly, shallow puddles glistening with the sunlight creeping around the edge of the rain clouds. Had he cared to manifest lungs, the air would sit thick at the back of his throat, and had he just the faintest shred of human circulation, he no doubt would immediately have taken off his coat.

However he is Endless, a starlit void in a cold, porcelain vessel, and so he does not notice that the climate should have been uncomfortable to him, perplexed glances from more reasonably dressed humans sliding off his air of disinterest, unnoticed, unimportant.

Dream cannot shake the feeling of being late, a shameful, bitter curl at the back of his tongue, an uncomfortable weight in his throat. At their first meeting after his imprisonment, they had agreed to meet more often, more frequently than the previously agreed one hundred years. Technically, he is well within that range. Maybe even early, by his own understanding of time.

But, a faint thought chimes at the borders of his thoughts, not by human standards. Not by the human understanding of time.

They have last seen each other a year ago, and Dream is unsure how to approach Hob now. Should he apologise, like last time? Should he pretend that nothing is amiss? There was not, not really, but Dream had forgotten, and the few times he had been reminded—by Hob’s own dreams, no less—he had been loath to interrupt Hob’s sleep.

Hob’s dreams, that still linger at the back of Dream’s mind, carefully plucked out of Hob’s dreamscape, remembered, gently held, secretively tucked away like treasure.

His feet have reliably taken him to the New Inn, where Hob is busy wiping down the outside tables because of the recent sudden downpour. He’s wearing shorts and a t-shirt, stray raindrops or maybe sweat glittering on his arms, his neck, leaving dark spots on his shirt. Dream wonders if Hob’s hair would be damp if he were to tuck the stray strand behind Hob’s ear, if he were to slide his fingers into it. How it would feel to draw them through stray droplets caught in soft arm hair, to gently tap the cleft on Hob’s chin. The preserved dreams at the back of his mind flare to life, reaching out for their kindred thoughts.

He steps closer to the tables, closer to Hob, and Hob looks up.

His whole face changes, falling from surprise into delight, a big smile lighting up his features. Hob leaves the towel on the table he was wiping down and rushes over to Dream, and then Dream is enveloped in a tight hug.

Hob is warm, as warm as the sun, and his arm around Dream is strong, comforting. Another human might have found it crushing, but for Dream it feels like just the right amount of pressure to keep him tethered, to keep the myriad of voices inside him at bay. Hob smells of sweat and damp fabric and the shampoo he uses, brought up by the humidity. The stolen dreams at the back of his mind stir and sigh, warming his insides, cracking a fine spiderweb into the inside of his porcelain shell.

And then, oh, then Dream feels against his cheek first the faint rasp of stubble, followed by the soft press of lips. It burns into him like a nova, like star fire, and Dream’s insides spring to life; lungs, so a small gasp can fight itself out of him, a stomach, a place for the sudden hunger taking hold of him, guts into which the feeling can sink, hundreds of thousands of nerve endings with which to feel Hob’s warmth, his closeness, the humidity of the day, a hundred points of contact, and Dream wished he’d taken off his coat, wishes he could feel more. Dream feels hot, so hot, his insides and mind spinning, spinning, falling, reduced to the single, velvety touch of Hob’s mouth.

It is over as suddenly as it happened, Dream’s hand twitching, out of his control, to reach out for Hob once more.

“I am so glad to see you, my friend!” Hob exclaims. “And so soon, too! Let’s go inside, get you out of that coat. Would you care for a lemonade? It’s homemade.”

Dream clears his throat. “I would… try,” he rasps.

Hob beams, and again his dreams reach out for him, reach inside Dream, pulling up fire and longing. “Well then,” he says, turning, expecting Dream to follow. “Come on in.”

Dream thinks of taking off his coat, of sitting opposite Hob again, of sharing a drink, lemonade, he had said, of Hob’s lips around the rim of a glass, of the invitation to see Hob’s flat, that he politely declined last time.

Dream follows.

send me a kissy prompt or read the other ones here

[thyme-in-a-bubble]

the water heater

lilac, chapter three

a/n: ...don't ask me how late it got when i wrote this.... i was on a roll that day and time just turned into a weird soup.

summary: “Dad, please, for the love of god, just–,” you spun around, though the unexpected figure that stepped into the low light caused your fury to fade away in an instant, “oh, uh, you’re not–, uhm, h-hi.”

warnings: lumberjack!frank castle x reader, lumberjack AU, pete castiglione era, past domestic violence, crazy ex trope, slow burn, renovating an inn, totally inaccurate description of tinkering with a water heater just for the sake of making them fall in love

word count: 1137

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“Well, maybe if you just–”

“Dad! Just–…” you swallowed the rest of the heated statement that nearly escaped your lips, mentally counting to three before glaring back at the man who was breathing down your neck, “do you remember when I was 12 and you had the clever idea of attempting to install that new sink in room 5?”

Already knowing where this story was gonna go, Harvey quietly replied, “…yeah…”

“And just who, pray tell, fixed it after you made the pipes uncontrollably spurt out water, consequently flooding the entire room?”

“…you did…”

“That’s right,” you sucked on another tense breath before continuing, “so, unless you’ve somehow improved that skill since then, which, I’m sorry dad, but I highly doubt that you have, please, just let me handle it alone.”

“…alright, fine,” he ultimately backed off, nearing the basement stairs, “but I’ll be right up by the front desk if you need me.” 

“I won’t,” you called over your shoulder as you redirected your attention to the hopeless pipes, “but thanks.”

Letting the illuminated spot from the small flashlight clutched in your palm guide your vision, you checked each and every rusty tube. 

After too many pokes and prods, you finally found the source of the problem. Stepping over towards the main pipeline you bend down and reached through tickling cobwebs to turn the paint-chipped knob clockwise, shutting all of the water off.

Before your spine managed to straighten back out, you felt your blood begin to boil as you heard the sound of heavy footsteps once again ascending the crooked staircase.

“Dad, please, for the love of god, just–,” you spun around, though the unexpected figure that stepped into the low light caused your fury to fade away in an instant, “oh, uh, you’re not–, uhm, h-hi.”

“Hey,” Pete’s deep voice echoed throughout the dim space, sounding the way that hot chocolate felt. 

“Uh, not that I’m not thrilled to see you here, in my basement of all places, but, um, what are you–, what can I help you with?” 

“Nothing ma'am,” he took a step closer, “it’s what I can help you with.”

“Excuse me?”

“Well, Harvey sent me down here to take a look at something.”

“Oh, did he now…” that was the last you needed in order to lose your patience.  

“Yeah,” Pete’s eyes tracked your form as you riffled through the open metal toolbox and yanked out a wrench. 

“Well,” you huffed as you began to loosen the various hexagon-shaped fittings snug on the pipes spiderwebbing out from the bulky water heater apparatus, the labour of the task presenting itself in your vexed voice, “you can tell my dad that I’m still just fine and don’t need any help!” the tool on your palm then inadvertently slammed against one of the pipes, the clanging and therapeutic blow snapping you enough out of your ire to take a step back. Squeezing your eyes shut a moment, you let out a deep sigh before parting your lips once more to speak, “I’m sorry, it was very kind of you to offer your help, but I’m okay.” 

Fully expecting him to just take off, his stationary stance caught you off guard, “so, the water heater’s acting up?”

“It’s fucking ancient, that’s what it is,” you replied as you returned to twist the remainder of the fittings, “should have updated it long ago, but no, no, that never happened,” you continued to grumble mostly to yourself at this point, “of course it’s much more fun to let me handle it down the line when the hot water outlet is completely rusted over and clogged up to the point of no return, you know, that’s just so much more fun…” your words then faded away as you attempted to turn a knob that in no way wanted to corporate.

Quietly cursing underneath your breath, you tried to put all your weight into it as you strained to turn the stuck fitting. 

But just then, from out of nowhere, you felt the wrench begin to turn, but that victory wasn’t the only thing you suddenly felt. Engulfing your own, the comparatively massive hand of Pete enveloped yours as if it wasn’t even there to begin with, helping you turn it as though the metal was made out of butter. 

Blinking up at him after it finally twisted completely, his intimidating stature seemed even more towering up close. 

“Uh,” you slipped your hand out from under his calloused palm, “thank you…”

“No, problem,” you promptly whirled around to avoid his piercing gaze, busying yourself by riffling through the toolbox without any purpose whatsoever, “so your old man’s not helping you out in renovating this place?”

“Well, he’s brilliant at a lot of things, but those skills in particular have never really been in his bailiwick–, wait…” you kept your back turned to him as you asked, “how do you know that I’m renovating?” 

“People in this town like to talk, a lot,” he breathed out the essence of a laugh, “and that includes your father.”

“Ah, okay…”

Spinning around once again, you kept your eyes steadfast on the dusty pipes, though after what only felt like a second, Pete unexpectedly proposed, “hey, what do you say I lend you a hand?”

“What?” 

“Well,” hands clasped together in front of him, the digits on one of them dug into the palm of the other as he spoke, “I’m no stranger to fixing things, so it might help make it fly by a bit faster than if you try and get through it all on your own.”

Unable to detect if this was just some strange joke or not, you verified, “I’m sorry, but are you legitimately offering me your help in renovating this place right now?”

“Yes.” 

“Seriously?” you bellowed a little louder than you’d intended, earning just a small nod from him in confirmation, “I–…” you blinked back at him, downright dumbfounded, “that’s incredibly generous of you, but I can’t really afford to hire you right now…”

“Oh, I’m not asking you to hire me, just let me help out a bit.”

“Pete, I can’t let you do that, not without any form of compensation.”

“Well, then just pay me in free coffee till it’s done,” he attempted to joke, though it didn’t manage to crack a smile on your lips. 

“This is not funny, Pete.”

“No, it’s not,” he continued, still in a startlingly light-hearted tone, “you clearly don’t know yet just much coffee I tend to drink on average every day,” seeing you not budge an inch, he then dropped the attempt with a gentle nod, “fine, how about we just take a look at a price at a later date? Decide on it later when it’s all done, and you start making a profit again?” 

© 2023 thyme-in-a-bubble 

[cod-imagines-fanfiction]

Jealous Alejandro kidnaps Valeria's girlfriend to be interrogated by the 141 (2.3k words, part 2)

Summary: Valeria despairs when you don't answer her calls and immediately returns to her residence, only to find you gone. In the meantime, Graves presses you for information, and Alejandro starts to understand why Valeria hides you so well.

TW: mentions of cheating, toxic Valeria and very toxic Alejandro (OOC but I think it adds juicy drama, sorry for ruining him!). Mentions of death and violence. apologies for the imperfect Spanish, I've been using Google Translate! I titled this as 'Valeria's girlfriend' but I ended up writing them as kind of unofficially married. Link to part 1 Link to part 3 Link to A03

Valeria knew something was wrong when you didn't pick up the phone. In all your years together, she never had to call for you more than once, you were always at her beck and call. Her face turned to stone as the call went to voicemail, it felt like her heart stopped and then started again with fire and poison. In hindsight, she should have worried about your safety first, but unfortunately, her insecurities got the best of her. Anger seethed within her as she thought of all the ways you had betrayed her the moment she left you alone. Infidel! Her right-hand man Rafael was looking at you closely when she left, no? How could she be so blind as to trust you? Of course, you were jumping around with her men behind her back - you seemed all innocent and pure, but sure enough the viper within revealed itself and finally slithered out of her tight grasp. Immediately, she called Rafael to check up on the house, and when he also didn't pick up the phone, she cut her trip short and packed her bags. El Sin Nombre doesn't need to explain why she's leaving early! She commanded her business partners to figure it out amongst themselves as she went to her chopper and rushed home. Her hands shook as she navigated the helicopter, her mind unable to stop thinking of all the ways you were intertwined with Rafael on your marriage bed; desecrating your marriage vows. Of course this would happen. Why would fate let Valeria get away with the betrayal she'd inflicted on Alejandro? It was only right that her karmic debt would catch up with her.

It was as she was lowering her helicopter on the freshly cut grass of your home that she began to realise her devastating mistake. Doors were left open with the curtains billowing with the wind, broken glass from shattered windows littered the entryway and, worst of all, dried trails of blood lead a path from the house to the bushes. Her heart caught at her throat as her eyes roamed frantically from one catastrophic sign to the other. Guilt coiled around her stomach and she cursed her darkness for having doubted your loyalty when really, you were fighting for your life. "Mi esposa," Valeria whispered as rushed out of her helicopter, the blades still cutting the air as she ran indoors, not even bothering to be cautious of any enemies that could still be lurking within the shadows. She knew there were bodies dumped behind the green bushes that you so tenderly cared for, but she couldn't make herself check for you there. Part of her hoped you were smart and had the time to hide somewhere good, but she knew you were as helpless as a child when it came to things like this. You, who were so kind and good, left to fend for yourself. How could she possibly think you'd remain unharmed within this field of work? Valeria selfishly forced a divine light like you to live in the shadows with her, of course you'd get snuffed out eventually. If not by Valeria's own hand, her selfishness and greed, her need to possess and own you at all times, then by the selfish and greedy hands of others. All these thoughts rushed through her as she ran from one hallway to another, rushing to your part of the mansion. Memories of violence clung to your home like spiderwebs, she could see the struggle that ensued in the doors left open when you'd normally keep them closed. In the flower vase that you lovingly refilled every week that now lay on the floor shattered, shattered like her heart. The flowers lay on the floor, dying.

"Mi corazon...," she whimpered and came to a stop right before your bedroom door, one hand clutching her chest as she stood there, too afraid to step in and face your fate. She could only hear the wind catching on your curtains and the light humming of your electric blanket. She could already picture the catastrophe. You were in bed, lathering your lotions on, probably adjusting your night light because you were too afraid to sleep in the dark without Valeria next to you. You were all snuggled for bed, probably waiting for her call on the phone, when somebody came for you. "God, give me courage," she said as she stepped inside and lifted her eyes.

It was as if you evaporated into thin air. She saw the marks your body left on the bed where you lay on it and your phone was still there. Valeria's eyes scanned every inch of the space, no blood or other fluids were on any of the surfaces. You were either taken, or whatever happened to you happened elsewhere. All your belongings were still there. She didn't want to have false hope, so she willed herself to look at the bodies left by the bushes. She charged through the rest of the houses, taking note of all the mess. Her chopper was still on as she crossed the garden you tended to, the sweet smell of roses faintly covering the stench of blood lifting from the pile of bodies. Rafael was there, along with the rest of her men who manned the house in her absence. Treacherous relief washed through her because you were not there. This was the most devastating attack that Valeria had ever experienced in all her years and she could not think of anyone that hated her enough to do this. A rival cartel? Unlikely. They were violent criminals, sure, but they still kept a code of conduct amongst themselves. El Sin Nombre was the biggest competitor out there, no one was so stupid as to do this.

Valeria went to the security room and saw the CCTV footage. Her heart stopped when she saw an all-too-familiar figure invading her home. The tall, dark man cut through her men and made his way directly to where her wife lay. It's like he knew exactly where she was. "Alejandro?" Valeria's heart dropped as she watched Alejandro prepare to break the door and attack her wife, who was shrouded in a naive innocence where she could never comprehend the attack she was about to experience.

Angry tears threatened to spill from her glassy eyes as she saw Alejandro's hand grab you by the throat and drag you out of your marital bed. The same bed that you made love in every night, now permanently defiled with the way he violently dragged you out of it. Bruises from his fingers would have definitely formed on your soft skin by now, if you were still alive. Valeria watched on as Alejandro handcuffed her wife and pushed her through the hallways, saying something to her ear whilst parading her through the home she was supposed to be safe in. It was no coincidence that Alejandro stared directly at one of the cameras as he pushed her wife forward, looking directly at Valeria's eyes. This was no incidental operation; this was deliberate and malicious. More so, it was fucking personal. Yes, this was where Valeria ran her operation, but it was also the home you and her nested in so lovingly. And now it was trampled all over by men in uniforms, just like those fallen flowers. She forced herself to watch on as you were put in a helicopter and disappeared in the night sky.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------ "I hope you're ready to talk now, sweetheart." After a few hours of silence, the door to the container you were kept in opened, bringing in some rays of sunlight before shutting again. The American, whom you now knew was called Commander Graves, entered along with Alejandro. It had been many hours since your abduction, you had no way of telling how long exactly. But you were tired and restless, and cold. You thought they might move you to a cell at least, but they made no effort to transfer you out of the metal container. Too afraid to say anything when not spoken to, you sat still and waited. You wondered if Valeria had noticed your absence yet but even if she did, how could she find you? "I'm not sure what to tell you, sir." You remained polite hoping that courtesy would make up for your lack of talking. "Don't be like that, there's plenty to tell. How about we start with this little business trip of hers?" Graves circled around you, placing his hand on your shoulder before finally coming to a stop. " What'du hear about it?" Graves had many years of experience underneath his belt when it came to interrogation, especially the violent ones. And so did the 141. That was made very clear from the beginning. If this was any ordinary member of the cartel, they'd have buried them by now. But spouses were different; you hurt them and there'll be hell to pay. Even worse, there'll be no chance of making a deal with Valeria. "Like I said, I just know she went away for it, sir, that's all."

"Hm," he said and dropped his hand. He moved to stand right in front of you. "Well, you must know something. You know she's El Sin Nombre. You know she runs the biggest drug cartel in Latin America. You know she runs an international operation, you know she has friends in many places. What am I missing here?"

You looked up at him. "That's basically it, sir. It's a drug operation. But I don't know where it comes from, who her manufacturers are, or how she sells it. She doesn't deal with small details." Graves was starting to lose his patience, and not with her but with Alejandro. He couldn't understand why he insisted on extracting a housewife instead of the real deal. Here he was trying to gather intel on those Russian missiles with a trophy wife who hasn't had a day out of the kitchen, let alone discussions with the biggest terrorist organisation in the world. It was time to cut loose and make the call. "Hermano, take over for me will ya? I'll be right back." Graves walked away, wondering what General Sherperd will think of this whole situation.

You were alone with Alejandro now, who paced up and down the compound like a restless animal. You wondered to yourself how similar he was to Valeria, she had the exact same habit when she was stressed. They were very similar in temperament; too similar. Aggressive, hard-headed and dominant. Part of you gloated at the whole situation. Here was a Colonel of the Mexican Army, a well-decorated military man, wasting his time with you, someone quite irrelevant in the grand scheme of things, all because of- "Your wife," he said, disrupting your thoughts and you suddenly realised you were staring at him. "Is that correct?" He nodded at your ring finger. "Yes, sir," you replied timidly. He was exactly like Valeria, and it worked in your favour. You've spent so many years living with your partner that it was almost too easy to deal with people like her. People who could fill up a room with their presence; intimidating, powerful people who could hurt you badly. The sort of people who made the world go round. People, in other words, who could be domesticated.

Because violence and intimidation aren't the only ways to get what you want. Alejandro scoffed, "you've come a long way from that food stand, huh?" He looked at you with a faraway look in his eye, his mind having entered that shrouded area of the psyche where apparitions of the past hover, always eager to glide into the present in the form of memories. Your heart softened both at the memory he was referencing and because, at that moment, he seemed so pitifully sad, having lost himself in reminiscence.

Many years ago, you helped your Abuela run her restaurant in Las Almas, which stood very close to where the Mexican Army had its headquarters. Your Abuela was a genius in strategy and profited a lot from the laziness of soldiers who couldn't be bothered to cook for themselves but who also didn't want to eat whatever the Army served. And that's how you met Valeria, who was regularly sent by her teammates to fetch a group order. Valeria picked up the food because it was expected of her, an unfortunate burden of being one of the youngest women in her squad. But over time, she did it because it meant she got to see you. To everyone's surprise, when Valeria ran away to work for the cartel, that quiet girl in the small restaurant vanished too. "Alejandro." His eyes snapped back into yours. "Lo siento mucho. I really didn't know about you and Valeria. I am not that kind of person." You knew exactly what this was all about. Sure, they wanted to get El Sin Nombre and Valeria *was* the head of the biggest drug operation in the world. And she *has* made Las Almas dance to the rhythm of her tune for the past decade. But this was all just a big temper tantrum. And if you played your cards right, you could leave unscathed. You continued, "Whatever happens, I just wanted you to know that. I am truly sorry. I never meant to hurt anyone."

Something changed in his eyes. You could already picture what was about to happen. After your sincere self-flogging will come his pity, then the remorse. He might chuck you in a cell to show that he's treating you like the criminal collaborator that they all think you are, but soon enough he'll arrive bearing the fruits of forgiveness. Just like Valeria, you told yourself. Like moths to a flame. "Hm," he mumbled to himself, his eyes roaming all over you. "I get it now." He cocked his head to the side, "eres una cosa encantadora." At that moment, you felt a change in the air, something dark hovered between you two. It made you shiver.

"Tell me, Y/N. Have you ever been with a man?"

Hope you enjoy this part! Promised tags: @justmare @sleepiemain @caffeineliker @lesvii @silas-222 I'll bring Valeria and her partner together in part 3! I've also thought of a cute backstory for them that I want to get into :) also sorry for ruining Alejandro, i made him so toxic in this fic 😭