#They did in fact fail however and lost their shit | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

shotmrmiller · 4 months

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pornstar au

f!reader x simon 'ghost' riley

3.7k words (sorry)

tw: teacher-student relationship but it's just a scene for porn. explicit. horrifyingly so.

You burst into the classroom and stride purposefully towards your professor, who is seated in his leather chair, engrossed in his work. Impatiently tapping your foot, you waited for him to finish marking essays. However, after 5 minutes, your patience with this unbearable man ran out.

"Professor."

He hums, a deep sound coming from the back of his throat yet doesn't look up from what he's doing. A real piece of work, he is. How fucking aggravating.

"Professor Riley," your voice takes an irreverent tone.

The hand that had been writing non-stop comes to a sudden pause, and he finally directs his attention to you. Meeting your gaze, his dark eyes are hooded, his lips set in a firm line. His job is to literally deal with students, yet he dares to look annoyed.

"Are you gonna tell me what's wrong 'r am I gonna have to learn how to read minds?" he states.

Taking in a calming breath, you clench the crumpled essay in your hand. "Can you explain to me why you failed me on this? I did exactly as you asked!"

He must know precisely what you're talking about because he simply turns back to the papers on his desk.

"Tha's your problem. You did exactly as I asked, with no thought behind it. Just wrote the bare minimum, if you can even call it writin'. It's copy-paste," Professor Riley sets the pen down and leans back in the chair.

"I need ya to use tha' head o' yours when in this class. Otherwise, you'll fail the rest o' your classes too."

Fucking hell.

Professor Riley shifts in his seat, seemingly done with the conversation, and finishes, "If tha's all."

Shit. Your pause is too long, and the director calls it. Fuck.

"I'm really sorry, Ghost, I didn't mean-" Your words of apology dissolve into thin air as his strong hand finds its place on your hip— giving it a gentle, but firm squeeze.

"S'all righ', love. Mistakes happen. Matter fact," his eyes drift from you to behind you to beckon someone with two fingers. "C'mere, you."

It's the set assistant, and he's brought the script with him. Ghost swiftly stops him from handing it to you, instead pushing it onto the assistant's chest. "Won't be needin' tha', thanks. Tell the director tha' we'll be ad-libin'. Now sod off."

The assistant follows his command in haste, scurrying off to follow Ghost's instructions.

"Hey," he murmurs. Your eyes meet his, feeling the intensity of it quickens your heartbeat. "Say whatever you like, just remember to follow the storyline, alright?"

Follow the storyline. In porn. The irony isn't lost on you, but you bite the side of your gummy cheek to keep from laughing. "Yes, sir."

He drops his hand from where he held you slowly, seemingly almost reluctant to let go. "Ready?" Ghost's thin lips curl into a smirk when you nod at his question. "Good girl."

Your fingers tightly grip the flimsy material of your uniform skirt at his praise, and warmth pools in your lower belly.

His good girl.

A high-pitched voice cuts through your thoughts, signaling the restart of the shooting. You exhale a long breath, unclenching your hands in the process.

Action.

"If tha' all." Ghost reaches for his pen when you frantically grab onto his Oxford sleeve.

"Wait, Professor, please! I can't," you stammer, "I cannot fail this class! My parents would kill me if I studied abroad only to flunk. The tuition—"

His tone is authoritative as he abruptly cuts off your lengthy excuse. "Enough. Nothing can change the mark I've given you."

Your ears pricked up at his wording, and the corners of your lips pulled up into a roguish smile. "No?" Ghost stills before turning to face you, countenance blank. "Nothing at all, Professor?" With a coy tilt of your head, your wide, doe-like eyes meet his as your fingertips trace an alluring path from his forearm down to his knuckles.

"I really can't convince you in any way to change that grade for me?" You lean on the edge of his wooden desk— skirt so short it doesn't even graze the surface of it— and lightly curl your hand around his pointer finger. "It can be our little secret, Professor Riley," you purr.

Ghost lifts a single brow, and settles back into his seat, arms crossed over his barrel chest as his eyes travel from your feet to your exposed cleavage, fixating on the soft skin peeking out from your uniform top.

"Please?" his hushed voice reverberates inside your skull. "I promise to be a good girl."

That catches his attention, eyes flashing to yours, the fire behind them hot— you hope it burns you.

"'Sat, right? Tha' changes things now, doesn't it?" Ghost rolls his chair back, away from his desk, and spreads his thick legs apart in invitation, arms resting on the rests— the dictionary definition of casual. "Convince me then, pet."

"Yes, sir." Sauntering to stand in between his legs, you swallow thickly— the bulge in his groin was quite frankly, intimidating. You've had large, but this was in a league of its own.

"You gonna do it from up there? I know I'm bigger than average but not tha' big." A huff escapes from your lips. A whole comedian.

Knees pressed into the cold, tile floor, you expertly undo the button of his trousers and with his help, pulled them down along with his pants— just enough for his cock to spring free.

Bloody fucking hell.

His cock is monstrous. It rested against his belly, heavy and thick. The pink tip slightly peeking from under his foreskin. There was a groomed thatch of coarse hair at the base, and his balls were also heavy— one hanging lower than the other.

Ghost leans forward and cradles the underside of your jaw with one large hand, fingers gently caressing the delicate skin of your cheek, while the other pumps his rigid cock in anticipation. "Not scared, are ya?" His grin was wicked. "I promise it don't bite."

Grabbing his wrist, you maneuver his hand so that his thumb now rests on your soft lips. "Might not, but I do, Professor." And catch the tip of his finger between your blunt teeth, the subtle sting of it making him hiss.

"Perfect, pretty girl," he says, almost inaudible. His words of praise are for you alone— not for the scene, nor the camera. You peer up at him through your lashes, mewling softly at the expression on his face.

His brow was set, hooded eyes sultry, a rosy hue across his cheeks and nose, and lips parted as he panted quietly.

Delicious.

Ghost then pushes his thumb further into your slick mouth and hooks it behind your bottom teeth, delicately pulling you closer to him as he tips his head down— taking his thumb out with a pop. His warm breath fans across your face as he moves closer until his lips connect with yours. He slid his tongue into your mouth, tasting of frosty mint and his own unique taste.

Your hands come up, fingers digging into the meat of his thighs when he grasps your wrist and moves it to the focal point of his desire— his breath hitching when you give his cock a firm squeeze. Ghost bites your bottom lip before breaking away, a guttural noise escaping him when you begin to stroke him. "Tighten your hand around—" he breaks off, moaning against your kiss-swollen lips when you comply.

He threads his fingers through your hair that sits at the base of your skull, curling them into a fist and tugging back— craning your neck, hair pulled taut.

"So obedient. Jus' f'me, love?" you hum cheekily, a mischievous grin spreading across your face.

"Would you hold it against me if I said no?" he chuckles under his breath, the grip on your hair tightening marginally.

"I'd say tha' you're lyin'." He sucks in a breath when you press down lightly onto his slit with your thumb. "Cheeky."

He loosens the hold he has on you, feeling your scalp prickle with tender relief, and relaxes back into the chair. "All yours, sweetheart."

That light wasn't getting any greener, so with a grunt, you shifted your weight, ignoring your aching knees, and wrapped your lips around his cock.

Barely.

The salty bite of his arousal and musk spread on your tongue as you took him in deep, stilling once he hit the back of your throat.

"Fuck, look at me."

Slightly tipping your head back, you do as he says, your throat closing around him as he slips in even further.

"Fuckfuckfuck," a hiss, "such a hot little mouth, just swallowin' me righ' up." Your lungs burn with the lack of oxygen, forcing you to pull back to gasp for air. Ghost squeezes himself at the base and taps your cheek with his saliva-coated length.

"A dirty slag like you, jus' takin' me like a professional. Tha' what you are? A professional cock sucker, love?" he taunts. Your pussy clenches when he calls you a slag, pressing your thighs together in the hope of some friction; Something to alleviate the throbbing ache in between your legs.

Ghost with eyes as keen as ever, notices. Damn.

"Oh? Little harlot likes to get degraded, does she? Reminded of her place? How I'd love to teach you exactly where you belong, but tha' wouldn't be you convincin' me to change your bad grade, now would it?"

His cock taps on your swollen lips. "Another time, hm? Now open. Make me see reason."

Ghost's wish is your command. With enthusiasm, you take him in your mouth, slowly bobbing your head, place a hand right under your lips, and twist with every push and pull.

It's sloppy, spit covering your hand, dripping down to his balls. Your jaw aches, a burning pressure a little under your ear, but what gives you the strength to continue is the loud moans coming from Ghost. He holds nothing back, his hand engulfing the crown of your head while he gently pushes you down. A performer down to his very bones.

You were about to pause the recording, the pain in your mandible and knees almost becoming too much when he suddenly pulled you off of him.

"Wha—?" Ghost seizes you by the upper arms, forcibly bringing you to your feet, disregarding your pained whimper, and places you on the sturdy desk.

He's curling his fingers into the waistband of your frilly knickers, slipping them down your legs and pocketing them. There's a quiet popping sound when he bends his knees, going eye level with your bare cunt.

In a hushed tone, you say, "This isn't part of the scene." Ghost drags his eyes from your glistening slit to your face, gaze suffocating, smothering the very air in your lungs.

"Just a taste, love." He curls one hand under your thigh, lifting it to perch it on the edge of the desk, the other he throws over his strong shoulder. The only sound in the room is your soft moans as he expertly slides his warm tongue through your slick folds, sending waves of pleasure through your body.

By god does he eat pussy like it's his job. Peering down at him, you can't stop the sounds that spill from your mouth when his tongue visibly splits your pussy lips open, flicking at your clit, lapping up your arousal like it is honey. You take hold of his short hair, tugging at the strands as each swirl of his talented tongue pushes you closer to your peak.

His eyes cut to yours when he presses a thick finger into you, drinking in your desperate expression as you keen, begging for more, blabbering about it being so good, yet not enough, please god more.

Ghost curls his finger, only taking a second to find your sweet spot, and pushes— bursts of light flashing in your peripheral vision. You begin to rock your hips unconsciously, chasing your ecstasy, and Ghost simply flattens his tongue, letting you grind against it.

You teeter on the edge of bliss, a tightening in your stomach, right under where his finger is. Shaky exhales leave you, the leg that's on the desk visibly trembling from the tension that threatens to snap you in half.

He presses a kiss to your sodden pussy, and croons, "Gonna come f'me?" You jerkily nod.

"Yes fuck yes, I'm gonna come for you, just for you, Professor Riley pleaseee—" your blathering turns into a high-pitched squeal as he lightly sucks on your pearl, hips lifting off the desk as a blinding orgasm crashes into you, pleasure bursting through your very core, cunt pulsating with every wave of ecstasy around Ghost's finger.

He wastes no time in rising to his feet and slotting his mouth over yours, the taste of your slick strong, potent on his tongue. Ghost breaks away, his breath smelling of your desire. "Exquisite, like ambrosia. Addicting."

Ghost's hand cups your sensitive quim and whispers, "Think you can take me? Tha' orgasm took a lot outta ya."

Silly question. "I'm a big girl, Ghost. I can take it."

He licks the front of his teeth and glances down to where his hand rests. "Course you can, love. Turn around f'me."

Your movements are sluggish as you turn over onto your stomach, rising to the tip of your toes as you present yourself to him.

Ghost grabs the sides of your waist, and flips your skirt up, tucking the edge into the waistband of it. His hands palm your cheeks, thumbs digging into the meat of your ass to spread you open, completely exposed to him.

"Fuck me if tha' isn't the prettiest sight I've ever had the pleasure of seein'." He doesn't acknowledge your scoff as he spreads your hands out, placing them flat on the table— enveloping your hand with his own, intertwining his fingers with yours.

His leans over your semi-prone body, cock gently prodding at your entrance, gliding easily through your folds. "Ready?"

Arching your back, his tip slips inside, just barely. That's your answer.

You can hear the smarmy grin that spreads on his face, and wanted to snark back but you're rendered mute when he pushes in. Your eyes cross at the stretch of his cock, a feeling so sublime you know that no one will ever be able to duplicate. Your fingers tighten around his as you mewl when he bottoms out, hips flush against your arse.

Ghost sucks in a breath through his teeth when you shift your weight, and whatever you did has him sliding in deeper— turning his hiss into a guttural groan. "Fuck, you have no fuckin' idea how good you feel."

Probably not, but you have every idea how good he feels.

"You okay, love? Took me so well like you were made jus' f'me. So warm and soft, tight like a vice around my cock. Pretty pussy split wide open, stuffed full of me." He speaks unfettered filth to you, dripping over your ears like molasses, thick and syrupy. Your head feels heavy on your shoulders— dizzy, drunk on his scent, his cock that's got you tearing at the seams.

Then he begins to move, pulling out until an inch remains inside, and pushing in until he's nudging the plug of your womb, feeling a deep pinch under your navel.

This is what it's like to get fucked by Ghost. The one everyone covets after, hoping he drags down the very heavens with his bare hands and lays it at their feet. And here he is, fucking you. A newbie, a fresh face no one knows yet, a name that'll probably never grace the front page.

You doubt his motives are altruistic, but goddamn does it not matter; Not with the way he's carving a space inside of you that only he will ever fit in, or the way he's curling his free hand around your neck, thumb pressed right over your racing pulse.

He lowers himself until his strong chest is to your back, his teeth nipping the tip of your ear. "The moment I saw you gettin' fucked by Johnny, I knew I had t'have ya." Your walls clamp down on him involuntarily, wrenching a pained noise from him. "Fuckin' hell, I knew this pussy would be magical."

Ghost's lips skim over the shell of your ear before pressing a chaste kiss on it. "Lemme hear how good I make ya feel, pet. Don't hold back on me now." He grinds into your arse, going in so deep that it feels like he's trying to push past the entrance of your womb. "S'alrigh'. I'll jus' have t'pull 'em outta ya."

He releases you, placing both hands flat on the desk, on either side of your shoulders. "Take em for myself, make 'em mine." Straightening all the way, he digs his fingers into the soft flesh of your waist.

"What a view. Perfection." He rolls his hips, rhythm languid, loud squelching noises coming from where he fills you. "Drippin' cream all over my cock, pet. Can't tell me this isn't 'cause of me."

How the fuck can he still talk? How is he coherent? Why isn't his brain turned into mush like yours is?

"Fuckin' ya speechless, am I? Oh, sweetheart, but I'm barely gettin' started." Ghost slowly pulls out, and curls his hand around your shoulder, nudging you to turn over. "On your back, now."

You lazily flip over, hair sticking to your sweat-slick skin, and he hooks his arms underneath your legs and drags you to the edge until your arse hangs from it. "I wanna see that pretty face when you come." He wastes no time in sheathing himself back inside your swollen channel, walls fluttering at the invasion.

Ghost hooks one leg over his shoulder to lean forward, pinning you to the desk with his upper body, and maneuvers your other to wrap around his wide waist. "That cock drunk look on your face makes my balls tighten, what a fuckin' expression you've got, christ," he growls. "Knowin' I put it there makes it all the better."

He gives you a chaste kiss on the lips and gives you a smile that is all teeth. "Now let's make you sing."

Grunting, he straightens. plants his feet firmly, stance wide, and begins to fuck you. The videos of the famed Ghost you saw are nothing, nothing, in comparison to real life. His full weight is behind every spine-jarring thrust, it makes your teeth clack, it rattles your brain inside your skull. He does it so perfectly because at no point do you feel any discomfort, not even a twinge. It's all a pleasure that blazes, an all-encompassing heat that threatens to swallow you whole, burn you from the inside out.

His cock punches the breath out of your lungs, wails clawing out of your throat, and it's so good, so fucking good— god, maybe he is god, you don't know, everything is so blurry, hazy—

All senses focus on the sudden touch between your legs, an expert thumb drawing tight circles on your slippery clit and there's no way you're going to survive this—

"There she is, the girl I saw in the video. Tha's an expression I see in myfuckin' sleep. Give me what's mine, pet. Let me feel you, cream all over my cock."

He's relentless in his pursuit of your climax, a wave of pleasure so intense, it just might drag you out to sea, drowning you.

Ghost, the fucking god of sex, stops his ministrations to spit on your pussy. Spit. From his full height, a glob of warm saliva drops to your mons, and he smears it with his fingers over your pussy lips before rubbing your clit. His thrusts slow in pace, turning into a firm snap of his hips, making sure you feel every ridge of his cock, and in less than a minute, your spine arches off the desk.

Your mouth opens into a silent scream, lids snapping shut as you break underneath him, warmth gushing from where he's continuously sinking into you, a steady, slow rhythm that never ends.

"Came all over me, didn't ya? Bet you didn't know you could even do tha'."

You didn't.

"Jus' for tha', I'm gonna give you somethin' in return, yeah? A little reward for bein' so good," he praises.

Your tongue is heavy in your mouth, swollen and thick, and unconsciousness creeps at the very edges of your mind.

All you can do is lie there and take it, his sloppy thrusts, his harsh panting until he moans, "'m close, so fuckin' close," and with whatever remnants of strength you have left, you use to squeeze him tightly— unwilling to let go because his come is yours now, you've earned it.

"Come in me, Ghost," you whimper.

That does it. He slams his hands on either side of your head and borderline roars out his release, cock twitching inside of your used cunt, filling you with his spend.

Cut.

Ghost's breathing is labored, a harsh pant that fans over your overheated skin, damp with sweat.

His brows are furrowed, his eyes squeezed shut, gulping in air and shivering in the aftershock of his climax.

To be fucked by Ghost is to see the Garden of Eden behind your eyelids.

Now you understand. You understand why he has no equal. He is unparalleled.

Jesus Christ, you're fucked. So, so fucked.

He slowly opens his eyes and peers down at you with a wolfish grin.

"Perfection."

A week later, your video with Ghost is the most viewed on the entire website. Not one other video even scratches the bottom of where your video sits.

Ghost truly is the king.

Curiously enough, your friend is the one who lets you know that Mr. life-altering cock himself never kisses during work. Not once in any video of his has he ever kissed, apart from a short pressing of lips to skin.

Your heart traitorously flutters at the thought of it meaning something more. Catching feelings when you get fucked for a living is not the move. But there's no stopping it from misbehaving, especially when you receive another script, to make another video with Ghost.

Another. one.

Fuck. Fuck!!

You cannot wait.

@mishaglass

#call of duty #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley smut #simon ghost riley x f reader #simon ghost riley x reader #cod mw2 #cod mwii #simon riley x reader #cod #cod smut #simon riley x you #simon riley #pornstar!au #simon ghost riley x you

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tangibletechnomancy · 22 days

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The reason I took interest in AI as an art medium is that I've always been interested in experimenting with novel and unconventional art media - I started incorporating power tools into a lot of my physical processes younger than most people were even allowed to breathe near them, and I took to digital art like a duck to water when it was the big, relatively new, controversial thing too, so really this just seems like the logical next step. More than that, it's exciting - it's not every day that we just invent an entirely new never-before-seen art medium! I have always been one to go fucking wild for that shit.

Which is, ironically, a huge part of why I almost reflexively recoil at how it's used in the corporate world: because the world of business, particularly the entertainment industry, has what often seems like less than zero interest in appreciating it as a novel medium.

And I often wonder how much less that would be the case - and, by extension, how much less vitriolic the discussion around it would be, and how many fewer well-meaning people would be falling for reactionary mythologies about where exactly the problems lie - if it hadn't reached the point of...at least an illusion of commercial viability, at exactly the moment it did.

See, the groundwork was laid in 2020, back during covid lockdowns, when we saw a massive spike in people relying on TV, games, books, movies, etc. to compensate for the lack of outdoor, physical, social entertainment. This was, seemingly, wonderful for the whole industry - but under late-stage capitalism, it was as much of a curse as it was a gift. When industries are run by people whose sole brain process is "line-go-up", tiny factors like "we're not going to be in lockdown forever" don't matter. CEOs got dollar signs in their eyes. Shareholders demanded not only perpetual growth, but perpetual growth at this rate or better. Even though everyone with an ounce of common sense was screaming "this is an aberration, this is not sustainable" - it didn't matter. The business bros refused to believe it. This was their new normal, they were determined to prove -

And they, predictably, failed to prove it.

So now the business bros are in a pickle. They're beholden to the shareholders to do everything within their power to maintain the infinite growth they promised, in a world with finite resources. In fact, by precedent, they're beholden to this by law. Fiduciary duty has been interpreted in court to mean that, given the choice between offering a better product and ensuring maximum returns for shareholders, the latter MUST be a higher priority; reinvesting too much in the business instead of trying to make the share value increase as much as possible, as fast as possible, can result in a lawsuit - that a board member or CEO can lose, and have lost before - because it's not acting in the best interest of shareholders. If that unsustainable explosive growth was promised forever, all the more so.

And now, 2-3-4 years on, that impossibility hangs like a sword of Damocles over the heads of these media company CEOs. The market is fully saturated; the number of new potential customers left to onboard is negligible. Some companies began trying to "solve" this "problem" by violating consumer privacy and charging per household member, which (also predictably) backfired because those of us who live in reality and not statsland were not exactly thrilled about the concept of being told we couldn't watch TV with our own families. Shareholders are getting antsy, because their (however predictably impossible) infinite lockdown-level profits...aren't coming, and someone's gotta make up for that, right? So they had already started enshittifying, making excuses for layoffs, for cutting employee pay, for duty creep, for increasing crunch, for lean-staffing, for tightening turnarounds-

And that was when we got the first iterations of AI image generation that were actually somewhat useful for things like rapid first drafts, moodboards, and conceptualizing.

Lo! A savior! It might as well have been the digital messiah to the business bros, and their eyes turned back into dollar signs. More than that, they were being promised that this...both was, and wasn't art at the same time. It was good enough for their final product, or if not it would be within a year or two, but it required no skill whatsoever to make! Soon, you could fire ALL your creatives and just have Susan from accounting write your scripts and make your concept art with all the effort that it takes to get lunch from a Star Trek replicator!

This is every bit as much bullshit as the promise of infinite lockdown-level growth, of course, but with shareholders clamoring for the money they were recklessly promised, executives are looking for anything, even the slightest glimmer of a new possibility, that just might work as a life raft from this sinking ship.

So where are we now? Well, we're exiting the "fucking around" phase and entering "finding out". According to anecdotes I've read, companies are, allegedly, already hiring prompt engineers (or "prompters" - can't give them a job title that implies there's skill or thought involved, now can we, that just might imply they deserve enough money to survive!)...and most of them not only lack the skill to manually post-process their works, but don't even know how (or perhaps aren't given access) to fully use the software they specialize in, being blissfully unaware of (or perhaps not able/allowed to use) features such as inpainting or img2img. It has been observed many times that LLMs are being used to flood once-reputable information outlets with hallucinated garbage. I can verify - as can nearly everyone who was online in the aftermath of the Glasgow Willy Wonka Dashcon Experience - that the results are often outright comically bad.

To anyone who was paying attention to anything other than please-line-go-up-faster-please-line-go-please (or buying so heavily into reactionary mythologies about why AI can be dangerous in industry that they bought the tech companies' false promises too and just thought it was a bad thing), this was entirely predictable. Unfortunately for everyone in the blast radius, common sense has never been an executive's strong suit when so much money is on the line.

Much like CGI before it, what we have here is a whole new medium that is seldom being treated as a new medium with its own unique strengths, but more often being used as a replacement for more expensive labor, no matter how bad the result may be - nor, for that matter, how unjust it may be that the labor is so much cheaper.

And it's all because of timing. It's all because it came about in the perfect moment to look like a life raft in a moment of late-stage capitalist panic. Any port in a storm, after all - even if that port is a non-Euclidean labyrinth of soggy, rotten botshit garbage.

Any port in a storm, right? ...right?

All images generated using Simple Stable, under the Code of Ethics of Are We Art Yet?

#ai art #generated art #generated artwork #essays #about ai #worth a whole 'nother essay is how the tech side exists in a state that is both thriving and floundering at the same time #because the money theyre operating with is in schrodinger's box #at the same time it exists and it doesnt #theyre highly valued but usually operating at a loss #that is another MASSIVE can of worms and deserves its own deep dive

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sweatervest-obsessed · 3 months

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Some angst for your morning <3 Love a little fight scene.

wc: 700 (ish)

"You're trying to distract me."

You hummed and shook your head, "I have no idea what you're talking about."

It was very obvious that you were, in fact, trying to distract Spencer from his work. But you couldn't help yourself!

He had been ordered to take the weekend off, Hotch crediting 'burnout' as his reasoning. Spencer did not take likely to this, since it made him feel as though he was slipping, he wasn't good enough for the team.

You, however, were thrilled by the fact that Spencer was forced to take a long weekend.

"Yes. You are."

"Well maybe if you actually took the time off like you were suposed to instead of ignoring me all fucking weekend then we wouldn't have to make me feel like shit for asking for attention from you for one minute." You muttered under your breath, chucking the pillow down where you had been sitting, moving towards the kitchen and away from the living room.

What Spencer had failed to consider was just how happy you were to have him home for a weekend. He failed to recognize the assurance that came with him telling you his definitive whereabouts for three days. He failed to notice the tension leave your shoulders, the smile that edged it way onto your face. Spencer was too busy internalizing what Hotch had said about working to much to realize, that you were hoping to spend this time with him.

Not just sitting in the same room as him as he barely slept and did the exact opposite of what Hotch told him to do.

"What did you say?"

"Nothing." Came your voice from the other room, causing Spencer to frown, because he knew what you said, and he knew that you knew what he said---he could start to see the burnout when he realized how quickly he would spiral in his thoughts.

"Shit."

Placing the book down on the coffee table, he followed where you had gone to, stopping in the door frame.

"What do you want Spencer." Tone flat.

"I-I...You were hoping for more time together this weekend."

You snorted and turned to face him, crossing your arms over your chest. "Someone is finally back on their profiling game I see."

This caused Spencer's cheek to tinge red. He had failed to notice the basic signs of you being upset--Hotch was right. He did need time off.

"I'm sorry."

"That would mean more if it wasn't Monday night and you didn't have work tomorrow."

Spencer dragged a hand down his face. "I don't want to fight."

"I do." You said simply, looking at him expectantly. You were pissed, rightfully so. And up until now, you hadn't said anything. Admittedly, you should have said something to Spencer earlier. However, you were sure that Spencer wouldn't have actually given you his time or focus if you did.

"I--" He just looked at you. "I really don't know what to say to that."

"That's fine. You don't need to say anything. Maybe you should work on your listening skills instead."

"That's not--"

"Fair? I don't know, I think it is. Hotch told you to take the long weekend off to give your brain a break. And did you listen to him? No. I told you about plans I was hoping we would make for this weekend on Friday, that I know you didn't remember. And this whole weekend, you never actually listened to me, barely processing anything I said."

You took a breath, trying to calm yourself down in the moment, but not diminishing your thoughts, because you were right. And Spencer knew it to.

"What can I do to make it up to you."

You looked at him for a moment before shaking your head. "I really don't know Spence. I don't know." You brushed past him, headed towards the bedroom. It's not to say that you lost your fighting spirit, it's just that you were so severely let down by the man you loved that you didn't really know what to say anymore.

Spencer was unsure as to what to do. So he just stood there, watching as you walked away, not moving to stop you. Only flinching when the door to your shared bedroom slammed, and he was still on the other side of it.

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blkkizzat · 5 months

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꒰ა 𝘖𝘣𝘫𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘧𝘺𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘚𝘶𝘬𝘶𝘯𝘢: 𝘛𝘩𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘴 ໒꒱

a/n: IDK if this will be a series yet but I really wanted to turn the tables on the JJK men and write a drabble on what it would be like returning that alpha feral energy to them lmfao. for now this a one off! I may do more in the future. cw: trueform!Sukuna, canonverse, y/n being feral, dirty talk, fantasizing, intrusive thoughts and, of course, objectifying Sukuna's thighs. crack drabble lol wc: 925 Black fem coded but no descriptors.

You were with Sukuna in his throne room. The one task you were given was to stand next to him, look pretty and be silent while he handled business with the various cursed and sorcerer associates who requested an audience with him.

You fidgeted as you stood to his left, never good at remaining still.

Uruame stood to his right, stoic as ever.

But you did try your best to behave, eyes roaming around the room to find any source of focus.

There.

Your eyes widened before slightly narrowing as you honed in on your target, now perfectly entranced by–

Sukuna’s thighs.

You loved Sukuna’s entire body, but most of all you loved his thighs. No love couldn’t even really quantify your affections –you were obsessed.

Man spread out on his throne, a thick muscular thigh was exposed from Sukuna’s robes as he lounged back looking uninterested in whatever the curses in front of him were speaking of.

Unconsciously you chew your lower lip, letting your mind wander. You easily get lost in your thoughts of Sukuna's thighs.

Your mouth watered at the way the well-defined muscles beneath his skin created a sculpted landscape. It was a feast for your eyes and you didn’t fail to notice each subtle flex of movement they made.

Even the thigh still clothed in the fabric of his robe clung to the Herculean contours of the sinewy curves beneath them, rippling beneath the fabric in a way that made moisture pool in your panties.

The wide breadth of his thighs flaunted his sheer physical prowess, a testament to being The King of Curses.

It would feel oh, so good to relish the way his muscles flexed beneath you. Your hips would spread open near to the point of straining as you imagine vigorously riding his thigh.

Unintentionally you were turning yourself on more than you even realized.

Your thoughts spiral further to picture Sukuna making you get on your knees after. He would look down on you with the most devious grin as he commanded your tongue to clean up the sizable mess your filthy lil’ cunt made on his thigh.

Your stomach tightened at the thought of tracing the prominent vein on his inner thigh all the way up until you reached—-

A small whimper escaped you.

Shit.

Sukuna’s eyes immediately snapped to you, raising a hand to silence his cursed subjects speaking.

“What is it, Y/N?”

Sukuna was annoyed you couldn’t even manage to stay still for a few hours as he had long sensed your restlessness. However, the current level of distress he read on your features had him curious as to what changed.

“It’s nothing, my King.”

Sukuna was unmoved.

“I don't ask questions twice, Y/N.”

“Um, but it’s really nothing much at all… I-I, well…It’s just that uh, I was thinking…”

“Spit it the fuck out woman I don’t have all da—

“—you thicc as fuck Kuna!”

Utter silence.

A pin could drop and it would sound like the acoustics of a concert stadium.

Silence in general has always made you feel awkward and this was really awkward.

Sukuna wasn’t saying anything, likely processing your statement and the fact you interrupted him to make it.

More nervous than ever you couldn’t help what proceeded to spill forth, a dam of words broken as you attempted to explain yourself further.

“I-I mean your thighs daddy, you too thicc! You got the yams, thunder thighs, them wupples, hamhocks, you a real thighrannosaurus rex ,a thunty king even– y-you just thicc as fuck! Like damn daddy, ya know!?”

The reality of what you were saying didn’t hit you until you had finished and you slapped your hands over your mouth, your eyes wider than saucers.

You had been unable to be able to control the word vomit you’ve been oppressing.

Although you did have to admit in finally confessing your obsession you felt like a sinner absolved and a weight lifted from you.

No lies were told though, so who could really blame you?

Sukuna was still silent. His expression unreadable.

The curses in front of Sukuna are frozen. Worried that a single move would cause his ire to explode at them reducing them to mere molecules for even witnessing whatever had just occurred.

Uruame’s face, oddly the most expressive one of the bunch, was clearly questioning what in the ever loving fuck was wrong with you. But more than anything Uruame was puzzled as to why you were still even being allowed to take breaths.

More silence followed.

Yet after what seemed like a millennia to everyone else in the room, Sukuna finally spoke. His tone was calm, yet icier than the frozen temperatures outside his palace.

“You know how easily I can kill you, right Y/N?”

You nearly had to bite your own tongue off as your intrusive thoughts had zero regard for your own life and threatened to bubble up out of your throat again.

Honestly? If we're being real, you wanted nothing more than to drop to your knees and stick your head up his robes.

You would gladly die if it was from his massive thighs suffocating you, busting your skull like a tiny grape.

But then you wouldn’t be able to enjoy riding Sukuna’s thighs anymore and you didn’t want an afterlife where you couldn’t access Sukuna’s thighs.

Reluctantly, yet obediently, you gulped them down, swallowing any more embarrassment you could bring to The Curse King at this moment.

“Yes of course, dadd– my King.”

“Then stand there and shut the fuck up brat.”

© ʙʟᴋᴋɪᴢᴢᴀᴛ 2024. ᴀʟʟ ʀɪɢʜᴛꜱ ʀᴇꜱᴇʀᴠᴇᴅ. ᴘʟᴇᴀꜱᴇ ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ꜱᴛᴇᴀʟ, ᴛʀᴀɴꜱʟᴀᴛᴇ, ᴄᴏᴘʏ ᴏʀ ᴄʜᴀɴɢᴇ ᴀɴʏ ᴏꜰ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋꜱ. ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪɴᴄʟᴜᴅᴇꜱ ꜰɪᴄꜱ, ᴅʀᴀʙʙʟᴇꜱ, & ɢʀᴀᴘʜɪᴄꜱ. ᴛʜᴇʏ ᴀʀᴇ ᴀʟʟ ᴍᴀᴅᴇ ʙʏ ᴍᴇ ᴜɴʟᴇꜱꜱ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀᴡɪꜱᴇ ꜱᴛᴀᴛᴇᴅ. ᴛʜᴀɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜ.

a/n: when writing this I thought, what would @ryomens-vixen do? and here we are. lol. next up: still working on lactation kink yakuza!toji fic, ceo!gojo and nerd!geto fics.

tags: @littlemochabunni @biscuitsngravie @halobuns @honeeslust

Reblog to objectify Sukuna's yams but comments and likes are always appreciated!

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gay-dorito-dust · 2 months

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can you make HSR male character with a dead reader (I LOVE ANGST, I LIVE FOR ANGST).

for the characters, it's up to you, but if possible, please include Blade and Jing Yuan (if this topic makes you uncomfortable, don't do it)

Sorry for getting to this after so long and if it was shit.

Jing yuan:

It had been a while since your passing and everyone had seemingly forgotten your name and the fact that you had once lived amongst them.

However Jing Yuan didn’t, he refused to let himself forget the hold you once had over on his heart, mind and soul, or how your actions touching him in ways that he didn’t think were possible.

Life had lost its colour and appeal the moment you died and Jing Yuan had no need to feel excitement for things that he did before with you by his side.

The stars looked dull as though they were mourning you alongside him, the flowers you once given him didn’t smell as fragrant nor looked as healthy as they should’ve. Even the street food stalls didn’t seem at all appetising when you weren’t here to practically salivate over, and or give him the biggest pair of pleading puppy eyes over that never failed to elicit a chuckle out of him.

He stayed inside more often than not as everything outside might as well have been casted in black and white to Jing Yuan, with the only remnants being at your grave of which he often found himself sat in front of.

‘You once asks me what my biggest regret would be and I told you that I don’t live life with regrets, which was a lie and you knew it but didn’t speak up about it, whether it was out of respect or otherwise I’ll never know…not now at least.’ He says with a forced smile, the pain within his chest growing ever greater the more he relived your loss. ‘I am burdened with many regrets. Many of which that have threatened to squash with their weight, but loosing you will be my ultimate regret as with you I was starting to believe in forever in this life once more…only for forever to die with you.’ He concludes as he presses his forehead to your headstone and closed his eyes in hopes of feeling your warmth once more.

But all he felt was the cold, unforgiving and hard surface of your headstone as a tear fell from his eye at the reality that all aspects of you were truly gone forever…

Blade:

Your death was a tragedy Blade couldn’t forget.

It was engraved into every corner of his mind where it was made impossible for him to forget.

Even in his torturous dreams he was forced to watch you die in front of his eyes constantly and in the most horrific ways possible, all the while he remained helpless to stop any of it from happening.

Any remnant of you was clutched tightly in his hand under it bled from his nails digging into his skin, but he couldn’t feel it for he had grown numb. He’d even tie a piece of cloth from your clothes to the hilt of his sword or his finger in order to feel you with him wherever he went.

Just like you always wanted.

Blade couldn’t fully dedicate himself to being your partner but he was more than selfish with your attention and affection. He wanted it all. No, he needed it all for himself and gave you nothing much in exchange other than letting you hold onto him and kiss his scars.

He did love you in his own way and was building himself up to actually be your partner properly, only for you to die selflessly in his arms, whispering that’d you loved him before passing on from your wounds.

Blade thought he should’ve been use to death by now but your death hit him in a way that left him desiring death more than normal, in hopes that he could reunite with you and correct his wrong doings when you were alive.

Now and then in moments where Blade was faced with death, he could feel a presence next to him that felt soft, warm and felt very much like the you he was forced to remember…

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bigfatbimbo · 2 months

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HATE SEX RIVAL LUTE idc dom reader dom lute my switch ass would be happy either way i just need need need this 🙏

Lie still, close your eyes girl, so lovely it feels so right —

Lute x reader,, 2.5 words

a/n — I literally did not mean to make this so long, I literally blacked out or something. Anyways, more Rival!Lute shit here, here, here and here. You don’t actually need to read any of those to understand what’s happening, though.

warning — heavy smut, afab but gn reader, VERY SWITCHY ROLES, dom reader but also dom Lute, scissoring, fingering, weird angsty sex, also it takes like 800 words for the sex to actually happen, honestly probably kinda cheesy

summary — After years of fighting with a sinner who’s well gifted in combat, Lute finally looses control and… well… they fuck.

The fight was close, just like always. Every move Lute made to strike was blocked gracefully by you. Her swift moves were countered by your calculated blocks, followed by your precise jabs in her direction.

Each extermination day, the dance was set in stone. You, a fowl sinner from the trenches of this mortal plane, would be in the very same place each year. Always to fight Lute, a skilled angel soldier with immense training and knowledge on the battlefield.

The odds should have been in Lutes favor, but just like last year and the year before that, they never were. It wasn’t that she lost the fights, because she would never let that happen. But it was the fact you kept up with her so well that infuriated her.

Her strikes became tougher, the growl in her voice unmatched.

“Someone’s angry this time, huh, Lute? You afraid of a good time?” You drew back with a smile, playfulness in your voice contrasted the blow you just laid to her stomach, “Or are you just tired of losing to a sinner?”

Lute hisses in response, falling behind you and grabbing the back of your shirt, spinning you around to get a better angle, “Don’t kid yourself, I don’t lose. You know that, demon.”

There was not only a venom in her voice, but an anger that could only be explained by the emotion of mild exasperation. She wasn’t tired of fighting or ‘losing’, she was sick of not winning. Her grasp on your shirt loosened when you took a millisecond to examine her position, which conveniently left her stomach exposed, before kicking her hard right where she was open.

Falling back, she yelped, not expecting the sudden pain. That was another thing that filled her with a bitter rage each year, angels shouldn’t be able to get hurt. And yet, you always managed to make her feel the slightest bit, if not a decent amount, of pain after a fight.

What she would give to make you feel the same thing, what she would give to make you feel that pain. She wasn’t obsessed, however, no matter the countless nights she’s spent thinking about it. And disregarding what she did to cope on those nights.

“Sorry, sweetheart. Didn’t mean to kick you that hard,” You drew in closer with your weapon, bracing yourself to lay a blow in. This year, it wouldn’t be a draw. This year, in your eyes, would be the year you finally win.

Your hands rise above your head, ready to strike, when you falter. Lute was looking at you with her usual glare of hatred, clutching her stomach, and calculating her next move. But it was your weak moments that certain thoughts overtook you. How could it be helped? She looked so pretty.

“Too slow, now you’re done for,” Lute sneered, smile growing as she lunged at you, spear clashing with yours as you barely block it. Your body’s were nearly pressed together, as she pushed the wood of her spear harder against yours, trying to break it.

Then her sneer flickers down, “What are you looking at?” She pants, catching her breath after the stimulating action.

“Your have—“ you breath, “—very pretty eyes.” Your eyes don’t falter with contact, until she looks down. Your superficial attempt to distract her, unlike usual, failed to work.

As if snapping out of a trance, she finally analyses the situation. This is it. All it took was that one moment, and your fucking finished.

“Well i’m glad you think so,” she starts quietly, “Because they’re going to be the last thing you see before you fucking die.”

She forcefully pushes back with the base of her spear, acting too quick for you to strike back, and swiping your feet.

“Finally,” she almost laughs, “Finally, I win, you vile demon. I win—“

You slide your foot behind her calf and tug her forward, making her fall into the space next to you, leaving you time to roll on top of her.

The wit in your voice was gone and replaced with bare survival instinct. Her hands go to grab her weapon but instinctively you pin them down.

With nothing left to do, you simply stare at eachother, catching your breath and panting heavily.

Lute glared up at you with confusion, anger, and then something else. The light fell on the top of your head, illuminating a vague sketch of a halo around it. But you were no angel, Lute knew that. And yet something about the way you were looking her made Lute think, if you told her you were sent from heaven she would not only believe you, but curse god himself for not sending you sooner.

Angels don’t make mistakes, they’re perfectly sculpted to be flawless, and this is something Lute has always believed. Which is specifically why the following events confused her. Your grip on her wrists weakened, given her an opening to break free. And still, that’s not what she did with her new freedom.

Strangely enough, when the constraints your hands acted as broke, she didn’t run away, or even fight back. Instead, she grabbed your collar, pulling you impossibly close, and doing something no one with the title ‘perfect’ would ever do.

You’ve always tested the limits of what she considered ‘possible’ as an angel. You condemned her with scars, when angels were incapable of getting hurt. You plagued her thoughts with lust, despite the ideas you filled her head with being overtly sinful for heavens standards. And now, you’ve provoked the, arguably, best exterminator soldier into making an irreversible mistake.

But the extermination wasn’t on her mind as her lips slammed against yours, nor was heavens consequences. The only coherent thought in her head was a simple idea; despite your hatred for her, you kissed her back. Not just eagerly, but with twice as much force.

And then, for whatever reason, reality came back to her. Brutal rage, no, violence filled her as she felt your lips on hers. To call it rage would be wrong. Yes, she did feel the necessity to cause harm to your well being, but something foreign dawned on Lute at that moment. An animalistic need for you, one that, despite being tainted by her hatred for you, was truly only fueled by it.

In one motion, she rolled you over, pining you to the ground by your shoulders and going back in for another kiss. Your lips were poison, that was undeniable, but the taste was sweet enough to distract from the deadly venom filling Lutes stomach.

“Look what you’re doing, sinner,” She hissed into your mouth, “Your turning the blessed into the damned, you slut. Haven’t you been cruel enough?”

Her words were spoke with such a blaze of passionate disdain, you almost were at a loss for words. Almost.

“Your seriously trying to blame this one me? I think it’s pretty obvious, Lute,” You speak inbetween mildly unpleasant, aggressive kisses, arms falling on either side of her hips as she pulls you into her by your shirt collar.

“You’re just dying to fuck me.”

Your words made Lute temporarily stop, shoving you down and removing her hands from your shirt, and shifting away.

You smirk at the annoyance on her face as she moves down your body, “Aw, sweetheart, don’t tell me I scared you away. I’d hate to loose the pleasure of your company—“

Her teeth launch into your neck as she struggles to pull your pants down, making you yelp in temporary pain. You feel her smile into the bite mark.

Lute breathes in anticipation, savoring every moment of her fingers dancing down to your belt, and slipping into your bottoms. How many nights had she spent thinking of this moment in utter, crushing shame? And how many hours afterwards had she berated herself for thinking such vile things?

She didn’t have to think anymore, and soon, you wouldn’t be able to. She relishes in the gasp you let out when she teases her finger to the opening of your pussy.

“Fuck!” You hiss as she slips her finger into your already dripping cunt, “Eager there, are we, Lute?”

Your confidence had already begun to falter. In this fight, it was true, Lute was winning. God, did she devour every shaky breath you took as she began to move her finger inside of you.

“You know demon, I wouldn’t have thought you’d be so wet so soon,” Her other finger teased your entrance, as her first one worked itself more aggressively as the seconds passed, “I just thought you’d have more self control. I guess there are just some fights you can’t keep up with.”

You let out a hiss of disapproval, “Fuck— uh, consider it a compliment Lute. That’s just how much I wanted your crazy ass.”

Lute snickered, your comment lacked your usual wit. You were responding for the sake of responding, not because you had anything clever to say. Pathetic, just as she suspected. Just as she always fucking knew you would be.

“And I doubt you’re doing much better over there, asshole,” You sneer, drabbling on for more than necessary, “Fuck, ah—”

During your fights, one of the things that infuriated Lute the most was your seemingly perfect composure, never once breaking your playful facade no matter how many blows you took. Now, your fragile character was finally breaking.

All the more reason, the next finger she added, she practically shoved inside you. “Aw, look at that. Prideful sinner,” She tutted smugly, “Looks like someone’s a sore loser.”

Her fingers worked themselves inside you relentlessly. Every single move implied pure, unrequited hatred. It was a sick kind of attention, but you’d kill to have it more. Despite the flirtatious demeanor of yours finally being compromised, you wouldn’t say it was in vain.

No, certainly not when she was finger fucking you so good. The anger was present and unbreaking with every thrust inside of you, only fueling what was the long burning fire of arousal within you. She would ruin you, just as you would do to her, and god, it was welcomed.

Every motion inside your right cunt led to an embarrassingly priceless moan from you, just as your witty comments turned into mumbles of hatred and fowl wishes upon Lute and her kind.

But just as your climax drew close, Lute pulled her fingers out. She glanced at them proudly, as if standing over a field of conquered enemies. She basked the moment in, before licking her fingers boastfully.

“You know, I really thought you’d last longer, demon,” She grinned, “But you really are pathetic, you know that?”

However, by then the neediness in your empty cunt had been replaced by a dull irritation at Lutes demeanor. You were enemies for a reason, and it seemed she forgot how equal the two of you were.

Too cocky, you think, and far too slow. In one swift movement, you flip her over, pining her to ground just as she had you just moments ago.

“Is that so, Lute? That’s big talk for someone who lost to a demon for years and years.” Your hands go to stop her wrists from shooting up, “I’m really not the pathetic one here.”

“I didn’t lose!” Lute struggled against your grip, but strength aside, your position prohibited her from shooting up to regain her control.

“And what to you call this, then?” Your grin had formed again, but it didn’t distract from the aching from your pussy, “Typical angel fashion. You never leave yourself open like that, Lute. You should know that.”

You scorn her as you free a hand to trail under her skirt and tug her panties down. You’re lucky you get them half way off before she jumps up again. Your hands are quick to catch hers, however.

“Hm, who’s the sore loser now?” You taunt, shifting the position drastically so that you have both wrists pinned down with one hand above her head.

While Lute struggles against your grip, you use your other arm to host her leg over yours, drawing both of your open cunts daringly close to each other.

“Don’t be stupid, Lute. Do you want me to deal with that mess or not?” The mess in question being her, as suspected before, soaking pussy.

She grimaced up at you. Before she had the chance to bite you back with a useless reply, you started sloppily grinding your pussies together, earning a moan of pleasure from Lute, and a groan of relief from you.

“Oh fuck—“ She curses breathily, leaning her head back and pushing her legs further into yours, chancing the friction between the two of your aching cunts, “This doesn’t— this doesn’t mean I like you, demon.”

“You know Lute, you’ve made that abundantly clear over the past session,” You speak through gritted teeth and furrowed brows as you start to move faster.

The slick, filthy, slapping noises that filled the area with around you, filled Lute with an all too familiar feeling of anger at her losing battle.

“Your fucking perverted sinner filth,” Lute spat out, cutting her sentence off with a terrible hoarse moan, “You were the dirt of the earth when you were alive and now your— ah— even worse in hell.”

“Uh-huh,” you remark, focused on the grinding of your parts against hers, having to take a moment to gather a reply. “I get that you hate me, dumbass. You don’t have to waste your breath—“ you groan with pleasure, “—I’d like to not hear your terrible voice right now, thanks.”

“Fuck you,” she growls, but the threat of her bite is nearly completely gone when her sentence is punctuated with the arch of her back.

Your speed only increased as you felt the building of your climax, and from the way Lute looked right now, you guessed hers followed soon. In all truth, you didn’t really hate the sound of her voice. In fact, the desperation in it made you swell with incredible pride. But then again, you guessed she felt the same way about you right now.

“Fuck, Lute, ‘m close,” You moan, mostly to yourself. You thought about throwing in an insult at the end, after all, it seemed like the only way you were able to hear each other, but you decided against it.

She didn’t need to hear you, but you did bask, like her in your desperation, in her cries below you. Despite the immense, and probably foreign pleasure she felt, the jeers never stopped.

Even in an intamiate moment like this, she was still the “mediocre angel” and you were the “vile demon.” And even closest to both of your climaxes, you were sure to remind each other.

But it was then that both of you realized, between the switching of positions and roles, the year long build-up to the final ‘winner’ was worthless.

The fight, just as usual, was a draw.

a/n — THE SONG TITLE WAS ‘Tear You Apart’ BY SHE WANTS REVENGE BY THE WAY. Boy, this one’s been in drafts for a long time.

I forgot how much fun it was to ruthlessly project onto characters! I have no one to thank but my life for being so terrible and confusing and awful and terrible and

#hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel x you #hazbin hotel smut #dom reader #inbox open #sub reader #lute x reader #lute x you #hazbin lute x reader #hazbin hotel lute x reader

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whyse7vn · 4 months

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KIM NAMJOON

RANDOM 01:

!gc namjoon who has never experienced peace since joining the group

!gc namjoon who feels like being in the group has aged him 50 years

!gc namjoon who despite this would rather drop dead than have not met all of you

!gc namjoon who knows every single member like that back of his hand

!gc namjoon who often worries his members find him boring

!gc namjoon who forced everyone to download life 360 while on tour because you all wouldn’t stop getting lost and it was stressing him out

!gc namjoon who has a fun fact about everything like fr everything its kinda crazy

!gc namjoon who still to this day checks the life 360 app (that thank god none of you have deleted) every morning afternoon and night to make sure everyone is safe

!gc namjoon who has now reconsidered his position on having kids if parenthood is anything like looking after his members you can count him out actually!

!gc namjoon who on one random night in 2017 went to an equally random art gallery on his own “impulsively” and definitely NOT because you briefly mentioned you needed “artsy guy” in your life

!gc namjoon who after the “impulsive” art gallery trip which he actually did enjoy way more than he expected to seemed to have a complete personality shift finding interest and beauty in the smaller and simpler things in life

!gc namjoon who won’t admit this out loud but one of the reasons he hasn’t learnt how to drive yet is because he enjoys the fact that you drive him everywhere, you’ve even given him the silly little nickname of “number one passenger princess” that makes him feel all giddy inside

!gc namjoon who always puts his members first

!gc namjoon who wouldn’t of minded having you as his roommate but when 21 year old jungkook came to him all puppy eyed and nervous asking namjoon if you would like the idea of living with him all joon could do was smile “that’s a great idea kook! i’m sure she’d love it”

!gc namjoon the most patient man you know

!gc namjoon who buys you flowers for every single major holiday without a fail

!gc namjoon who once set you and jungkook’s kitchen on fire

!gc namjoon who has almost asked you to be his girlfriend a total of 5 times so far

!gc namjoon a true gentleman and romantic at heart

!gc namjoon who gets so upset when you refer to him as RM whether it’s a joke or work related it’s joon to you always and forever

!gc namjoon who for every piece of artwork in his home from paintings to poem books can relate said artwork to one of his members, he finds comfort in collecting pieces that remind him of his favourite people

!gc namjoon who genuinely freaks out if the group chat isn’t active at least once everyday

!gc namjoon who went through a really intense gym phase and would genuinely force all his members to wake up at 6 am and go on runs with him. however the whole group run thing only ended up lasting around 3 days turns out yoongi is really not a morning person and jimin surprisingly was (at the time) and that does not mix well !! long story short yoongi punched the shit out of jimin while tae recorded, you and jin laughed, hoseok was on the brink of passing out, jungkook was crying… for some reason? and namjoon was stressed safe to say group runs or work outs never happened again after that and namjoons intense gym bro lifestyle slowly mellowed itself out

!gc namjoon the groups designated decision maker no matter how small all large the issue what joon decides is right and final an unspoken agreement between the members

!gc namjoon who often wonders how you all put so much trust in his words and decisions honestly it scares him a little a LOT

!gc namjoon who hates boba

!gc namjoon who allows you to meal prep for him, he thanks the lord you do this for him actually saving him from having to cook for himself most days

!gc namjoon who is really good a board games

!gc namjoon who talks in his sleep

!gc namjoon who is quite a traditional man

!gc namjoon who doesn’t believe in hookup culture, flings and friend’s with benefits

!gc namjoon who prefers cute dates, long walks and sharing interests

yet !gc namjoon who lets you lead him into an empty room away from the obnoxiously loud party thrown for jungkooks 24th(?) birthday

!gc namjoon who from then on lets you steal kisses from him

moments with him

!gc namjoon who doesn’t believe in “casual”

!gc namjoon who can’t do “casual”

!gc namjoon who is aware of his feelings and of everyone’s feelings

!gc namjoon who knows his members like the back of his hand

he knows their realising their own feelings

each others too

he knows jaehyun was a wake up call not just to him but to everyone

!gc namjoon who knows he’s running out of time

!gc namjoon who wishes he was selfish

wishes he was an asshole

a self serving piece of shit

who wishes he could just shout from the rooftops how utterly obsessed and fuck he’ll admit it at this point in love with you he is

he wishes that he could love you without hurting others

!gc namjoon who has become a casual in your life

a casual kiss

a casual fuck

a casual dinner

casual moments

!gc namjoon who has become accustomed to being your romantic casual because despite initially not believing in the concept namjoon is more than willing to throw away all his morals and beliefs if it means he gets to have you hold him for a night, kiss him for a night, be with him for a night

namjoon is willing to do pretty much anything and everything to be a part of your life, a temporary go to, name it and he’ll fill that role no questions asked

kim namjoon is willing to be

your casual.

—

tags: @piw6n @92jinnies @birdie-vhs @kooksmilitarywife @hob3loveofmylife @jujubiism @bloopkook @ratchetpizza1 @myntalks @arloo00 @watamotee33 @y2kcy3brz @taiwan0618 @freyadanvers @gguksbeloved @raetf @bbsantc @winuvs @medicinemybish @bxnnyhime @leleluvsbts @baetukki @zyaaaszn @thelilbutifulthings @jazminethecreator @k4ngelz @jmnscutie @sopebubbles-replies @cynicalyoongs @lightningpussy54 @eunthv @gigiiiiislife @lowkeykin @elissasimp

#bts crack #bts fluff #bts imagines #bts text #bts x y/n #bts fanfic #bts x you #bts x reader #bts fic #namjoon × reader #namjoon x y/n #rm x reader #rm x y/n #!gc namjoon #gc offline #kim namjoon

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whxre-bxby · 1 year

Note

hear me out... CNC with mansk, lyle or quaritch??? or all three??? hcs plz??? take this as payment 🍕🍕🍕🍕🍕🍕🍕🍕🍕

-🍔mm chezburger

Thank you for the idea and the pizza <3

Forced Miles Quaritch Smut

x recom Y/N

WARNINGS: This is a forced CNC scenario, Smut, Angst, bad language, I’ll do HC (hurt/comfort) to not make it super brutal lmao

This is not for everyone! Don’t read it if you are sure you don’t like this.

Word count: 4799

This is my fanfiction and my fantasy and it’s kinda fucked up but I’m into it.

Click here for Masterlist

Authors Note: I was going to do Mansk/Quaritch/Lyle again but for this scenario, it definitely doesn’t fit all the characters.

I’m leaving Lyle out of this one because this is not like him at all. He would never do this because he is a softie, no matter how angry or worked up he is.

I hesitated with Mansk because he would never dare to do this to a human or recom y/n. However, he has beef with real Na’vi. If he’s having a bad day or a mission went really sideways, he would probably have no mercy on Y/N if she’s Na’vi too. Literally would take out his anger on her. (giving racist white American vibes so he would despise Na’vi in certain scenarios) (100% degrading Y/N)

Quaritch might do this to human or Na’vi Y/N if they are really pissing him off or he’s in a really really bad mood. Recom him is morally better off than human him, but his character still stays.

For example, after Spider rejected his offer to come with him and Quaritch left on his Ikran, he would be fuming for the next few days. If he were to come across a real female Na’vi, the man will take out all his anger on Y/N with no hesitation.

Human or recom Y/N would have to be purposefully messing up his missions or doing everything he hates, then the man would lose it.

(In general, I don’t think any of their characters would actually ever do this, this is just fanfiction displaying an extreme situation)

Finee I’ll add fluff to the end

The missions we’ve been on have been going to shit lately. I saw that it was agitating the Colonel. Nothing was going as planned. Each time we went out there we were attacked and outnumbered; someone always ended up injured or almost killed.

That didn’t stop me from showing my disagreement and dissatisfaction. He was the Colonel for a reason after all, wasn’t he? He’s responsible for these missions and for his soldiers. I don’t understand how he can be failing his job so badly.

Seeing the state of my other fellow soldiers just fueled my anger. Lyle had an injured shoulder and couldn’t move his arm. Ja had his leg wrapped in bandages. The team was suffering and basically useless in this state, yet he kept sending us out there.

I noticed he would start catching my glares and I could see that he hated them.

He hated that it wasn’t working out for him but he hated that you weren’t staying loyal to him. As a marine, you should listen to him because he was your superior. Picking up on your bad attitude had him enraged. The fact that he felt some type of sexual attraction to you since he laid eyes on your recom self made him more hateful. He resented you because of the way you behaved to him now. Before, he thought of you as his top soldier.

Perhaps you had forgotten your place and were in need of a reminder.

Every time now, when he would give orders you would doubt them or mumble some rude comment. Once you even snapped at him when he called you out for your behaviour.

Miles was suffering himself. He was unable to take care of his everyday increasing arousal. This was discovered when he realised masturbation didn’t do it for the Na’vi body. So he tried to suppress it, thinking it would go away but it just started building up and was now on the verge of collapsing down on him. He felt that he couldn’t go on like this much longer.

First, he lost Spider. That had him upset. Then, his mission started going sideways. But on top of all that, the main thing having him this riled up, was you.

Little did he know, I was dealing with my own problems. The more team members were injured, the more work I was assigned to do. At the base and during a mission, I would have to cover more ground than usual to keep things running and it was overwhelming.

On top of that, my body had started acting up and like Quaritch’s, I quickly found out that trying to solve the problem alone did not help. In fact, it probably made my needs worse.

Another thing neither Quaritch nor Y/N directly knew, was that their scents grew stronger. Luckily, Y/N was not required to work with that many other recom’s because they were mostly injured, but she had to see the Colonel on a daily basis. And every time she entered the room, her scent filled his sense and worsened his critical state. The same thing happened to her, but the female scent had more power than the male musk.

Miles’ tail would hint at his feelings, flicking around excitedly without him noticing. He was too entranced by you. But you just understood his body language as him being irritated again. What you didn’t see was the way his pupils would dilate when he smelled you. It awakened something primal in him and he couldn’t be around you for too long otherwise he might lose control over himself.

Seeing him in all his sculpted glory made things more difficult for you too, but you could still think clearly.

It was late in the evening. The clock just passed 10 pm and I had tended to Lyle. He had his weird little requests like wanting to eat something specific but he couldn’t get it with his injury or he would insist on working out so I had to assist him while lifting weights.

I was walking to my room which was down the hall and to the right. Opposite me, on the other end of the hall, Quaritch appeared and was heading to his own room that I had just passed. I refused to acknowledge his existence, keeping my head down and fiddling with my bracelet.

Quaritch spotted me the second I spotted him and he cursed himself for bumping into you now. He had just isolated himself in a room for the past hour to get his senses under control. Once he had calmed down, he left to go get some sleep, but apparently, the universe wouldn’t let him because he had to walk past you. And he was in a critical state, which he managed to hide with his confident walk and long strides.

He wondered whether you would greet him and watched you intently as he neared.

Once he reached you and you both walked past each other, your scent hit him again. It was so sweet to him now, even more so than before and it made his body tense. The fact that you were wearing only a sports bra and shorts from your workout with Lyle didn’t help him at all. You did in fact not greet him and he had enough of your bratty behaviour.

I made sure to avoid eye contact and was about to let out a small sigh of relief after passing him but suddenly I felt something tug me back by my braid.

I gasped, wanting to scream when a hand wrapped itself around my hair but another hand was firmly clasped over my mouth. My body was pulled back against what I assumed was Quaritch’s chest and he held me in a firm lock while I struggled against him. With my eyes blown wide, I gripped his arm, trying to release myself from him. Eventually, my wriggling calmed down and he walked back to which I could only stumble with him.

The light of the hallway faded out as I realised I was being dragged into a room. It also just happened to be Miles’ room. I could tell by the coat on the doorknob and the smell.

He turned me away from the door and I heard him lock it behind him before he released me. I stumbled forward and gasped for air, turning around and facing him. The light was off and we could only see each other through the specs of light on our skin. I never properly saw his patterns before. They always showed one’s strong facial features.

He stood still and I noticed that he seemed taller than ever. I gulped, immediately feeling intimidated and trapped by him. I was too tired to argue with him or fight him.

My fear reached the same level of presence as my arousal and I wrapped my tail around my leg for comfort while I hugged my waist with my arms, taking a step back from him. I heard him growl and then he leaned down and turned on a desk lamp, which lit most of the room up.

His eyes met mine before they started to shamelessly roam my body. I turned away, trying to hide myself with my arms.

I didn’t think I would meet anyone on my way to my room.

Miles seemed to hate how I hid from him and with a few swift steps, he was around me again.

His hand wrapped around my neck, making me look up at him. I gasped again, my ears straining back, showing my fear and anger.

“You’re gonna pay for your attitude.” he snarled, his own ears tilting back showing his emotions. My heart was racing and I felt his pulse on his palm as well. He was just as aroused as me and it made me hate and resent him more. Him thinking he could solve this through whatever this was made me angry and I scratched his arm.

Miles pulled away, seeming taken aback by my reaction and I hissed at him, trying to desperately create some distance between us.

This riles him up to his limit. His hand grasps my wrist, pulling me back to him so quickly I don’t have time to move it out of the way. He turns me around, pinning both my arms behind my back before pushing me onto the bed. I fall face-first into the mattress and he scoops me up and arranges my position so that I’m not hanging off the edge anymore.

I cry out and struggle but he just scoffs.

“No one’s gonna hear ya, sweetheart, it's just you and me.”

“You asshole.” I swear at him, trying to kick him off.

“Watch it, or else I really won’t hold back.” he warns me, harshly squeezing my wrists to emphasize his point.

“Your mine to deal with.“ he snarls close to my ear before his hand is running down my back, feeling my hot skin. He stops at my shorts and when I feel his fingers linger at the waistband and tug at it I protest.

He wasn’t allowed to find out I was in heat. That would be the end of me.

But I was helpless and could only wait for time to pass while I felt his hands almost rip my shorts down my legs.

Quaritch audibly groaned seeing me in my very revealing underwear and delivered a stinging slap to my ass. I yelped out in pain and when the second one came, I buried my face into the sheets to try and cope with it.

He then pulled my panties off and I heard him sigh.

“Fuck- look at you. So ready for me.” he mumbles, his hostile tone slipping up.

My cheeks heat up and I feel how not only the rest of my clothes are stripped from me, but my pride with them. I let out a muffled sob which Quaritch instantly picks up on.

But he couldn’t care less right now. Seeing the state you were in and feeling the need in his body flood his senses, he could only act on his instincts.

“It’s not… for you.” I manage to say, struggling to breathe properly.

He cocks an eyebrow and my snarky remark and I hear a breathy chuckle.

“Really?” he asks, sarcastically. “This here, isn’t f’ere me?” His hands trace down the skin of my inner thighs and rubs over it with his thumb, nearing my heat. Immediately, goosebumps erupt on my skin and I shiver in anticipation. Next, another slap is delivered to my ass which has a red mark on it.

“Quit lyin’. You’re mine.” Quaritch snarls.

His hand grips my jaw, forcing it open and stuffing it with my panties. I comply, knowing I can’t fight him and he taps my cheek in praise before focusing on what he was doing before.

My hips were pulled off the bed while my upper body stayed pressed into the mattress by his firm grip, holding my arms behind my back and pushing me down. I tried maintaining stability so that I wouldn’t fall over and spread my knees apart a little. What a mistake that was.

My scent was stronger than ever now and my bare pussy was on full display. His free hand rested on my ass, while he just stared. My tail was throwing a tantrum of its own, flicking around and showing my impatience, so he didn’t even have to move it out of the way.

His hand then drifted down slowly and I tensed up when I felt his fingertips run through my folds. I bit my lip and clenched my eyes closed, trying to resist the feeling of pleasure.

Quaritch noticed me tense up and grinned.

“Bitch in heat.” he chuckles. “Looks like I’m not the only one suffering.”

Suddenly I feel him push a finger all the way into me and my eyes shoot open and I whine out, involuntarily arching my back.

No matter how hard I try to suppress my desires, Quaritch knows how badly I need him. He’s seen my state and it reflects his, except that he has control over this situation.

“No need to hide it, baby,” he growls, moving down to whisper it seductively in my ear. “your body’s betraying you.”

And with that, he starts to move his finger in and out of me before adding a second.

I bite my lip to the point where my fangs are threatening to penetrate my skin. He was right, I knew he was. I also knew I couldn’t hide it any longer or keep up my streak of fighting and arguing with him. So I gave in.

My hips pressed up against his fingers and the second that happened, his ears perked up and his eyes shot to my face. He saw my flushed cheeks, glossy half-lidded eyes and needy expression and that was all the confirmation of submission he needed.

“That’s it, be good f’ere me.”

I let out a small sob because the heat in my groin was becoming unbearable and while his fingers felt so fucking good, they made me crave more and thereby made my desires go through the roof.

Miles was also becoming more desperate for any type of relief. His dick was straining his pants and he was painfully hard because he hasn’t been tending to his needs in the slightest for weeks.

Quaritch removed his fingers from my dripping pussy, licking them clean in two strokes of his tongue and humming at the taste. It made him feral and he was sure that if anyone were to walk in on you, he would be unfazed because he was so lust-driven and you were lust-drunk. He would also definitely fight anyone who would try and take you away from him. The Colonel needed to claim you as his. No matter whether it influenced your relationship as colleagues, at this moment in time, neither of you could think straight. All professionalism was long gone.

He continued to hold your wrists behind your back while one of his hands was hastily trying to open his belt and free his aching cock from its restraints.

The shuffling made me keep still and listen, my ears no longer pulled back. My tail slowed its movements and eventually stilled in anticipation.

Miles groaned once he had finally managed to push his pants down but it didn’t stop there. His skin felt as hot as yours and all his clothes suddenly felt like an obstacle in his way to claim you. They seemed to restrict his movements so everything had to go.

He let my wrists go for a split second, swiftly pulling his tank top over his head after discarding his cammies.

His hands are back on my body in an instant and my wrists are released. I look up at him but then I feel him tug my sports bra over my head.

I sigh at the feeling and he bites down on his lip, letting his hands roam over every bit of exposed skin, making me moan lightly. The noise makes his ears twitch and he focuses on our needs once again. My arms are pulled back behind my back once again and the mattress dips as Quaritch positions himself behind me.

Quaritch notices one of his fingers twitching from how needy he feels and it surprises him because this is unlike his character. Then again, his body also happens to be unlike him.

He adjusts his weight evenly on both knees behind you and places his free hand on your hip while the other isn’t giving you any indication of letting your wrists go.

Suddenly, my hips are pulled back and my ass is gently pressed against the Colonel’s lower abdomen. I can feel his throbbing dick against my skin and I gasp while he just lets his ears relax a little and sighs. Finally, you both can solve your torturing feelings.

He grinds himself against your hot, wet skin and groans.

Feeling him rubbing up against me makes my eyes flutter closed again.

Suddenly, his hand lets go of my hip and I feel my braid get picked up from my shoulder. I try to turn my head and follow his movements but he pulls it behind me, so I can only rely on my other senses to figure out what he was doing. I had a feeling I knew what was about to happen. But if he would bond us, it would be permanent and that didn’t seem like such a good idea if I still have to work with him in the future. I struggle again, whimpering out protests and warning ‘no’s’ but Miles wasn’t listening. His full attention was focused on our queues. He pushed my back down and pinned my hips down with his body weight, before his other hand reach for his own queue. He brought it forward and pinched the base of mine which made my eyes go wide. He watched the tsaheylu for a few seconds before pinching his own queue. Eyes wide, he brought them together and watched how the strands reached out for one another, before binding and becoming one. The bond shot through both our bodies, reaching every nerve at every spot on the body. Suddenly, I felt all of Miles and I knew he felt all of me. It was something completely humanly indescribable. It just felt right to Miles. He took a few deep breaths to steady himself and relish in the new feeling.

Without further ado, he pulls away and thrusts his hips forward. He didn’t even line himself up with my pussy, this man was so hard it just worked straight away. He didn’t manage to push all the way in the first time though.

I moan, arching my back into him again and he closes his eyes. It hurt a little, but I tried to ignore it.

“Fuck- so tight.” Miles groans, his hands gripping onto me to keep him grounded in reality. He picked up on my tension and pain, but nothing was going to stop him now. He felt it too, but his body's needs were stronger.

His hips retreated before thrusting forward once more, eliciting a slight squelching sound from the swift movement. I whine, feeling how much he is stretching me. I’d never felt anything like this and I needed a few minutes to get used to it.

A few minutes were way too long for Quaritch. The man was flooded with pure primal instincts and no common sense anymore. As I said, Quaritch was lust-driven. His ears were strained back, his body muscles flexed, his tail either flicking around or stretched, and his fangs slightly bared. Occasional growls were heard from him that I haven’t heard before but they made him that much more attractive.

He started to find a steady pace and kept on forcing himself deeper into me. My ears were tipped back too, my tail caressing his torso.

The pain was starting to fade and both of us could sense that. Which is why Quaritch let his thrusts get rougher and soon his hips were relentlessly drilling his cock deep into me. I felt him in my lower stomach but I couldn’t look or feel for it. He held me in place, not letting me move a limb.

“Goddamn, sweet’eart…” he mumbled, losing himself inside you. “Ya feel so fuckin’ good.”

I cry out when his tip hits what I think is my cervix and realise he is balls deep inside me.

Suddenly, he stops and pulls out. Within seconds I’m laying on my back and he pulls my legs apart, blocking them from closing with his hips. Then before I can think a single thought, he’s back deep inside me. I throw my head back and grab the sheets next to me with one hand while the other holds onto my braid which is flung over my shoulder.

“Oh my god-” I mutter out, unable to keep still.

Quaritch leans down closer to me, resting his elbows and forearms on either side of my shoulders. His rutting against me doesn’t falter for even a second.

He reaches out and wraps his right hand around my throat again. I look up at him through half-lidded fucked out eyes and he swears under his breath.

Just seeing you look at him like that could make him spill himself into you already now. But he wanted to feel this pleasure for as long as possible with you.

Our breaths mix and our eyes lock.

“You goin’ to quit being a brat now?” he asks, his cocky side still very much present.

“Miles- I’m so close…” I whine, having to close my eyes and break eye contact. His hand releases my neck and he slaps my face. Not harshly, but just enough to get my attention and have tears stinging in the corners of my eyes. He raises his eyebrow and I realise my mistake.

“Sorry, sir.” I breathily answer but he doesn’t react.

“Answer.” Quaritch demands. I frantically nod.

“Yes, sir. I’ll stop.” I reply in a more desperate tone than I would have wished. He seems to like that, a grin forming on his face but his teeth are still clenched together and his jaw is tensed.

“Good girl.” he coos, rubbing his hand over the cheek he slapped before returning it to my throat. The praise and pet name have me clenching around him and he curses again.

“Fuckin’ hell. You like that, huh? Little slut.” he snarls, still grinning and I moan. Everything was becoming too much.

“Please- I’m gonna-” I say, unable to form words because of how harshly his hips were slapping mine and how deeply he was drilling into me. Yet somehow, it felt amazingly good.

“Only if you scream my name, baby.” he grins, leaning down to my ear to say that. “Let everyone know who’s fuckin’ ya this good.”

I moan again just from his words. “You- so good.” I mumble in bliss.

He squeezes my neck, unsatisfied with my noise level.

“You, Colonel Miles fucking- nghh, Quaritch!” I scream, throwing my head back and he chuckles.

“Who’s fuckin’ pussy is this?” he asks, clearly demanding an answer and I just spill the first words that come to mind.

“Yours, sir!” I cry out and he grins even more.

“You’re goddamn right.” He says, somehow managing to pick up his pace again. I arch my back off the bed, my hands holding onto his shoulders and my legs wrapping around his waist, pulling him even further into me.

This turns Quaritch on to the point he knows, he can’t hold it much longer.

He takes one look at my teary eyes and he can feel how close I am.

“Please, sir I’m so close…” I mumble. “Can I cum?”

Quaritch is not just pleased but almost proud that you asked. To him it meant you learned your lesson and he trained you properly. How could he say no?

“Whenever you’re ready, baby.” he mumbled, lowering his head and resting it in the crook of your neck, while his hips continued to rock you back and forth.

With his permission, you finally came undone, repeatedly crying out his name which he loved. All the pressure you have felt for the past week or two was finally being resolved and you felt your orgasm rip through you, making your entire body quiver and shake.

You squeezed around Quaritch and he cursed under his breath again before thrusting into you one last time as deeply and hardly as he could. He stilled his hips and his muscles flexed once again as he released himself deep inside you, stuffing your pussy full of his cum. His fangs slightly bit down on the skin of your neck as he felt his own wave of pleasure hit and drown him for a few great seconds.

I had come down from my high and cradled his head with one hand, while he regained his breath. Our chests were heaving and the room was quieter now. I traced down his neck, fumbling around with his dog tag. I felt him smile against my skin before he lifted himself off of me and just stared down at me.

I wondered whether he felt regret because he wasn’t showing any emotions right now. Maybe the reality of the situation just hit him now and he could be disgusted that he was in a bed with me. But then his gaze softened, in a way I’ve never seen. I didn’t feel like I had the Colonel infront of me, but just Miles if that makes sense. He didn’t seem as intimidating all of a sudden and I just watched him wide eyed.

He pulled out and I closed my legs, still unsure of how he felt. He seemed to be trying to read my own emotions which made me feel very observed and I tried retreating in myself, hugging my body with my arms, trying to perhaps cover anything even though he’s seen it.

“I’m sorry, Y/N…” he whispers, seeming almost sad.

Miles was disappointed in himself. He knew he had crossed a line and he wasn’t sure whether you even wanted that. You were his soldier after all and his responsibility. It wasn’t fair that he would ever even put you in a position like that, but he did. And he felt guilty, seeing how beautifully you looked up at him, even after all he had done. As if you were awaiting further instructions.

What he hated was that he took advantage of your loyalty and obedience.

My ears perk up at his words and I tilt my head to the side. It genuinely took me a few good long seconds to figure out what he meant. He saw my confusion.

“I shouldn’t have done that.” he says and I feel my heart drop.

“Oh…” I whisper, looking down at myself. He did regret it.

Now Miles had his head tilted, wondering why I reacted like that. Then, it made sense to him.

“No, Y/N I mean I shouldn’t have taken advantage of you like that.” he says and I look up at him again, my tail hugging my knees.

“But I feel better now.” I say, trying to help him understand that he did infact help me with my body crisis. His ears perk forwards.

“Do you regret it…?” I ask him. He thinks about his answer.

“Only if I hurt you.”

“You didn’t…”

“Then I don’t.”

I smile up at him and his posture relaxes a little in relief.

“I wanted it as much as you did.” I force myself to say, putting my already gone pride to the side. My cheeks form a blush again and he takes it to heart.

He nods, smiling to himself and we both just sit on the bed, staring at each other.

“Would you like me to leave?” Quaritch asks, ready to give you space even if he preferred not to. He wanted you to feel safe, even if it wasn’t with him around. Then again, he asked because he would feel just as bad if he were to leave you alone after using you to his liking.

Even though it was his room, he felt as though he had intruded in your space.

“Can you stay?” I ask him, knotting my fingers together and letting my tail swish down on the mattress. His eyes light up and he smiles.

Quaritch then leans over and turns the light off but his room still isn’t fully dark. He lays down next to me, pulling his blanket over us, tucking me in a bit before covering himself. I smile at his actions.

This was a new side to him and I liked it a lot.

The bond we formed was permanent and it had created a new sense of closeness between us. I felt safer with him now. Our queue’s had already disconnected but his energy was much more present to me now. We both knew we were connected together in some way for the rest of our lives now. It was deeper and more meaningful than our jobs, so we ignored that side and just focused on each other. He pulled my body against his and rested his arm on my waist, cradling me to him.

Before falling asleep, Quaritch placed a soft kiss on my cheek and I wanted to throw myself on him and cuddle. Luckily, my self-control was back, so instead, I hugged his arm and we fell asleep.

973 notes · View notes

fandomxpreferences · 1 year

Text

You Can't Kill Me

Masterlist

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x Pogue!reader

TW:mentions of mental and physical abuse, mentions of violence, angst, I think thats it

Summary: Ward may be able to intimidate Rafe, but those tactics don't work on you.

Word Count:1.4k

A/N: I don't love how this turned out but im posting it anyway bc somebody needs to stand up for our boy

Ward Cameron is everything you hate wrapped up in a neat bow. He's greedy, selfish, and a manipulative liar. Worst of all, he plays the role of a doting husband and father in public.

He's a textbook abuser, all the way down to the carefully constructed smokescreen that gives the allusion of a perfect all-American family. It's all schmoozing and practiced laughter around anyone that's not his namesake, but the sharpened teeth come out behind closed doors.

You've been dating Rafe for two years now, much to Ward's displeasure. Your boyfriend has skirted around the topic, insisting that his dad is just hard on him.

However, after an entire lifetime of growing up around people like Ward, you see right through him. He's never shown his true colors to you; even going as far as calling you his daughter to maintain the elaborate ruse.

Under the surface, he knows he can't con you and that makes you a threat. You're not easily manipulated and gaslit like the Cameron siblings, and he hates that you're a wild card in a neatly organized deck.

He can play house all he wants, but you're painfully aware of the ugly truth. He hates you, and though Rafe has never told you as such, you know he's been whispering in your boyfriend's ear trying to sabotage the relationship since he first introduced you as his girlfriend.

He's destroyed every single one of his son's relationships, and he despises the fact you can't be scared off.

When you first met Rafe, he was spiraling. He was knee-deep in a coke addiction and had rage issues that rivaled Hulk. He was lost and confused, completely shrouded in his father's shadow. The two of you started as friends while he worked on himself, and after a few months, he was in a better place.

He's always credited you with saving him, though you insist that's not the case.

"You swooped in and saved me, Y/N." Rafe whispers as he holds you under the sheets. You shake your head and glance up at him.

"No, Rafe. I just gave you the strength to save yourself. You did all the hard work and you deserve the credit."

Though your boyfriend has made progress, he still doesn't stand up to his father the way he should. He takes the verbal lashings and occasional physical assaults with his head down, and Ward takes that as still having some form of control over his son.

You're watching from behind a door as Ward lays into Rafe, screaming about how he fucked over the family and needs to 'man up'. It's been about ten minutes, and you've remained silent as your boyfriend shrinks into himself.

However, you perk up when you hear your name mentioned and it occurs to you just how deranged the elder Cameron is. You know he's done some shady shit; Rafe has told you how dangerous he is and tried to protect you.

"This all started when Y/N came around. Maybe I need to kill your little pogue fling so you can start to see clearly again."

Rafe may be afraid to speak up but you're not, and Ward is about to find out just how sharp your tongue really is.

"Many have tried, all have failed. I've gone toe to toe with men that make you look like a trembling chihuahua, Ward. What makes you think you'll get me before I get you?"

Both men look startled at your sudden presence as you emerge from the shadows with a wicked glint in your eye.

"Your first mistake is assuming you're more dangerous than me."

Rafe's eyes widen at the thinly veiled threat, and suddenly Ward's wrath is laser-focused on you.

"What did you say?"

You roll your eyes and take a step closer, never breaking eye contact.

"You heard me."

He turns back to Rafe now, his features softening as he prepares to play the victim.

"Rafe, you have to see how bad she is for you. For us! You've changed, son."

You can see the turmoil in your boyfriend's blue eyes as they dart between you and his father, and block his body with yours.

"You mean he's not as easy to manipulate and control. Rafe's been doing your dirty work for years. You turned him into your sick twisted little puppet and I cut the strings."

Ward's eyes darken and you smile as you realize you struck a sore nerve. Ward may be used to confrontation, but he's not used to someone else holding the reigns. He bites because he has to; it's the only way he can control the narrative he wrote.

However, you bite because it's fun. Arguments have always been a pastime for you, something you've perfected over the years. Kooks may have Pogues beat in every other walk of life but when it comes to fighting, whether physical or otherwise, you'll always come out on top.

Rafe's hand squeezes your waist and Ward practically snarls as the mask comes off.

"Listen here you little bitch-"

He's cut off when you take another stride forward, now chest to chest with the man.

"No, you listen you psychopathic piece of shit. Your reign of terror is over. You lost. Kook rules don't apply to me, and so help me God if you so much as raise a finger to me I will pump you full of lead and claim self-defense."

He falters for a moment, genuinely taken aback at your brazen threat, before scoffing.

"You think they'll believe a pogue?"

You can tell he thinks he's got you, but his face drops when you smile.

"No, but they'll believe Rafe."

Ward's eyes narrow and he's so close to you now that you can feel his breath fanning across your face in short pants.

"I'm your boyfriend's father."

He doesn't even sound like he believes himself and you recognize fear in his eyes as he tries to appear unphased.

"Why do you think you're still breathing?"

You pause to allow him time to snark back, and when he doesn't you continue.

"You may have everyone else fooled, but I see you for what you are. You blame everything on Rafe, but the reality is you're the one that fucked up. Everything Rafe has done was because of you."

You feel Rafe pull you back slightly and relax into his arms.

"It's okay, Y/N."

You shake your head, eyes still burning holes into Ward.

"No, he needs to hear this. Did Rafe make some bad choices? Yes. Did those choices bring heat to your family? Sure. But all he wanted was your love and approval. The difference between you two is that he did what he did because he thought it was the right thing. Everything you've done is for another dollar in your pocket, and you're okay with throwing your kids to the wolves if it means you come out ahead. You're disgusting."

Ward lunges for you, and you don't even flinch before Rafe pushes you behind him.

"Don't. She's right. My whole life I've been begging for your attention and acceptance. I'm done."

He doesn't give his father a chance to respond, grasping your hand in his and pulling you out the front door. He doesn't stop until he's buckled you into his Rover and he drives away from the sound of screaming and shattering glass.

"I'm proud of you."

His eyes leave the road for a split second to glance at the side of your face and you look over.

"Thank you. For saying you're proud of me and also for defending me."

Your hand reaches out to grab his and you squeeze gently.

"Of course. You know if you need me I'll come running."

He gives you a grateful smile and you hesitate for a second before continuing.

"Also, if you ever want me to beat his ass just say the word."

You say it so casually and Rafe's laugh echoes off the windows.

"I'm serious! Put us in a boxing ring and I'll show him how Pogues do things. Closed fist, no gloves or anything."

He shakes his head at your antics and brings your knuckles to his mouth to give them a soft kiss.

"Who knew my girl was so scary?" He teases and you feign offense.

"Everyone except you apparently. You think of yourself as big bag Rafe Cameron, the toughest guy in OBX. Everybody else knows I'm the one they should really be afraid of."

You can't even finish your sentence without laughing and your heart soars when he joins you.

"I love you."

"I love you too, you big softie."

#rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron fic #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron angst #rafe cameron #outer banks angst #outer banks fic #outer banks imagine #outer banks

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waynes-multiverse · 2 months

Text

Plastic Hearts – Part 22

Pairing: Director!Dean Winchester x Actress!Reader

Series Summary: Los Angeles, 1985. Y/N’s a young actress without any success, hopping from one failed audition to the next until one desperate mistake brings her to her breaking point. Dean Winchester, on the other hand, is a grade A asshole and washed-up director at the end of his career, known for his godawful slasher movies in the 70s and his love for blow, booze, and women. Lost in the toxic Hollywood life, their paths cross when one hopeless little wrestling show changes their trajectory.

Chapter Warnings: +18, language, injuries, hospitals, jealousy, drug use, angst, smoking everywhere 'cause it's the 80s, girl fights, a whole lot of FLUFF

Word Count: 6.9k

A/N: Thank you guys so much for all your comments last week! So happy to bring these two idiots back to your screens of choice and give them an ending they deserve! Now, buckle up! We have some bitchy moments in this one 👀😇

<< 21 || Spotify Playlist || Series Masterlist || Main Masterlist

22. Girls, Girls, Girls

The gym smells of blood, sweat, and tears tonight. More so than ever before. The tensions run high.

It’s the first live taping since the show’s official cancellation. The first three matches have already run their course, the rest of the women joining Dean in his office, using the platform as the perfect viewing room. It’s like an NFL suite at Super Bowl. Everyone’s drinking, celebrating, and has gathered here to watch the biggest match of the night:

Red Sparrow vs. Liberty Bell

Usually, the green-eyed director would be bothered by the constant chatting, shrieking, and yapping. But tonight, he could care less as he passed the director’s crown on to his spawn, leaving Claire to man the booth and direct the show on her own, putting her AV skills to the test.

After all, the show’s already canceled. What’s the worst that could happen? Might as well let a rebellious teenager call the shots. Who gives a shit! Isn’t it awesome to be this carefree?

“Can you guys keep it down?” Claire hisses with an annoyed roll of her eyes, her shoulders tense with stress as she tries to concentrate on the monitors. “I’m trying to direct a show here! I can’t fucking hear anything!”

Amused, Dean chuckles. Now, his daughter finally knows what it’s like to be in his shoes. He’s tried telling everyone for ages that these women are fucking annoying and that being a director ain’t easy.

While the women are busy talking up a storm and pay attention to the match, Dean sneaks to his desk and opens the first drawer. He pulls out his pack of cigarettes, but it’s not a smoke he’s in the mood for. To his surprise and shock, however, the little bag of white powder he hides in there is gone.

Did he put it somewhere else?

Frantically, he starts opening every drawer, moving stuff in and out of them. He rummages through his folders on his desk, sees if he placed it there somewhere, but it’s nowhere to be found. His green eyes then dart to his kid and an eerie feeling settles in his stomach. Surely, Claire didn’t take it, right?

Like father, like daughter, it echoes through his mind.

He always loved the fact that his kid was so much like him – the love for good movies, the humor, the sass, the sheer unabashed talent. But not in that regard. God, does he hope she didn’t inherit his drug addiction, too.

“Claire?” Dean knows he has to be careful in his questioning, not wanting to alert the other women in the room to the pressing issue. But his daughter skillfully ignores him, too focused on her current task. “CLAIRE?!” he barks loud enough to rattle the entire office.

Yeah, okay, that wasn’t as smooth and inconspicuous as he had hoped, but he’s fucking panicking on the inside, alright? He has entered worried dad mode.

Don’t act so fucking surprised, okay? He has evolved like man is supposed to do.

In all honesty, Dean wanted to get completely clean two weeks ago. As soon as Y/N waltzed into his office and slept with him, he swore he’d never touch the toxic and nasty stuff again. He was done, and this time, it’d be final. No going backsies. But he had one teeny-tiny baggy left, and well, he hates to be wasteful. So, his plan was to slowly stop and keep the withdrawals at a minimum. And it worked great so far. It hasn’t snowed in four fucking days.

“What?!” his kid grunts back, audaciously annoyed.

“Did you snoop through my drawers and take my smokes out?” Dean asks her in his best dad voice. He’s gotten quite good at it since he practiced it over the last few weeks.

Do your homework!

Eat your vegetables!

Tell that fucking boyfriend of yours to stop sneaking in through the window, or I’ll get my gun!

“No, I don’t smoke!” Claire huffs without missing a beat and doesn’t take her eyes off the monitors even once.

Dean believes her. Usually, when she lies, there are a few seconds of thinking that pass by before she comes up with a reasonable excuse. Not that he buys any of them, but whatever. This time, though, she answered right away, and he knows she has no idea what he’s even talking about.

So, did he misplace it? You’d think he’d be more careful with drug storage, but sometimes it’s a glass of whiskey too many, and stuff gets lost. Did he leave it in the car? Is it at home?

But then it dawns on him. Joanna.

The blonde storms into his office, forcing the director to look up. Her mascara is smeared across her cheeks, her hair disheveled and overall she seems upset and out of breath.

“I need my own goddamn dressing room,” Barbie demands. “I can’t get ready and in the right head space with all of these women down there. I’m the star of the show. Some of us need peace and quiet to wash the shit of the world from us before they have to fucking perform!”

“Whoa, whoa, easy, alright? Sit down,” Dean tells her calmly and gestures to the seat in front of him, where the blonde immediately plops down with an exhausted huff. “You can get ready in my office tonight, okay? You want a drink? You look like you need one.”

Jo nods with a sniffle and accepts the flask he’s offering her, almost downing the whole thing.

“What’s going on? You good?” Dean checks. Usually, he wouldn’t care about the blonde’s feelings, but since she’s up against Y/N tonight, he wants to assure himself nothing goes wrong.

“Yeah, it’s just… Sam.” She scoffs and takes another swig. “He’s got a new girlfriend. His secretary, Jessica.” The blonde rolls her eyes at the name. “Who knows how long he’s been fucking her. Our divorce isn’t even final.”

Dean nods understandingly as he rises from his chair and pats the blonde’s shoulder. “I know. Divorce is shitty. You’ll get through this. Trust me.”

“Shit…” Dean mumbles.

He left an emotionally vulnerable woman alone in his office with a bunch of booze and drugs. How could he be this stupid and reckless? He doesn’t even suspect Jo took the coke on purpose. She was probably looking for a smoke and stumbled upon it, thinking, “What the hell? My day is already shit, maybe this makes it better.”

Dean knows because it’s usually what he thinks as well when he’s at his lowest. How do you think he got addicted to drugs in the first place, huh?

Here’s how: two divorces and a failing career.

“Boss?”

“Dean?!”

“Dad!”

The green-eyed director snaps out of his thoughts and turns to the room full of women upon their calling, all of them looking quite panicked and worried. It’s like a fox got loose in the coop.

His brow furrows as he approaches the booth and big windows, trying to see where the concern is coming from. “What? What’s going on?”

“I think there’s something wrong, boss,” Donna informs him. “That’s not the fight they’ve practiced during training. They’re going off script.”

Fucking shit…

“Dean, what the hell is going on?” Billie cocks an eyebrow at the director, but he can’t get himself to focus or reply as his green eyes are glued to the match downstairs.

Dean’s too cynical to believe in a God and has certainly never prayed before, but tonight he can’t help it and utter a quiet prayer, hoping for a goddamn miracle.

His heart is racing as he watches the match unfold. There’s nothing he can do about it. Nothing can stop it. It’s like watching a fucking car crash as a bystander on the sidewalk.

Looking at Y/N’s face, he can see that she’s panicking as well and getting scared. It breaks his goddamn heart. The actress tries to talk to the blonde and get through to her but to no avail. Killer Barbie is on a mission, and her target is clearly Y/N.

And then, it all happens fast. Jo throws Y/N onto the mat and grabs her leg, raising it up by the ankle. There are tears in Y/N’s eyes before an audible crack echoes through the gym. Y/N screams out in pain. Jo drops her foot and backs away in shock, hands high in the air. The entire gym becomes mum, only a few quiet gasps uttered by the audience bounce off the tall walls.

Dean’s heart is about to explode as he bolts down the stairs and almost takes a fall. He hasn’t even reached the ring yet and assessed the damage, but he already blames himself. This is all his fucking fault. Donna warned him, and he didn’t listen. Y/N was obviously not fine, and neither was Jo. How many goddamn warning signs did he choose to ignore? And for what? For fucking ratings no one even cares about?

Y/N’s agonizing scream rings in his ears as the director makes his way to her. Rufus is already there in his referee costume, trying to help her as best as he can. Dean’s so close he can practically count the steps to the ring. Has this gym always been this huge? It feels like he’s been running a mile.

But then, he’s abruptly stopped by Cas’ announcer voice and what his green eyes find unfolding in front of him.

“And here comes a camera guy to save our Russian warrior!”

Oh hell, no!

Dean should probably be glad that someone is helping her and not let his jealousy win. But does that someone really have to be fucking Benny of all people? The green-eyed director truly thought he was done worrying about that guy. Now, however, he has to watch that douchebag heroically carry Y/N out of the ring while the audience cheers and claps.

It’s his worst goddamn nightmare. Well, that and Y/N getting hurt in the first place.

“Put her down,” Dean demands fiercely as he faces Benny, his blood boiling as he watches the actress hold on to the guy’s neck and wince in pain. A bit of guilt mixes with his jealousy at that.

Don’t be an asshole. Focus, he reminds himself. Y/N’s more important than your fucking ego.

“What? No,” Benny denies his request with a confused and irritated frown.

“That’s an order,” Dean grits boldly.

“I don’t care. She’s hurt,” Benny snaps back with emphasis and acts like Dean doesn’t know what that means. “Fucking fire me if you have a problem with that. The show’s done anyways.”

That fucking little prick…

Dean purses his lips in frustration. What is he supposed to do now? Rip her from the guy’s arms? Start a fist fight?

“I can take her. I’ll drive her to a hospital,” the director insists with a little more reasoning.

“Let’s take my limo! There’s enough space for her,” Ruby chimes in as the whole pack of women flock to the rescue and worryingly gather around Y/N.

Great. More helping hands is what Dean needs right now.

“No, we’re taking my car,” Dean maintains, trying to remain calm amongst the concerned chatter. “Baby’s backseat got plenty of space, alright?”

“True,” Bela agrees with a dirty smirk.

Dean sighs, Billie rolls her eyes, and Y/N frowns at that. Dear God, these fucking women…

“How about we ask Y/N what she wants, huh?” Dean proposes, knowing the actress will surely pick him. God knows she’s picked him yesterday all night long…

Benny smiles as if he could win this battle. “Fine.”

“Y/N, sweetheart, what d’you want? Who do you wanna go with, huh?” Dean asks, lowering himself down to her with a gentle look in his eyes and a warm, caring smile.

“I don’t care!” Y/N whines with pained features and a high level of annoyance. “I just wanna go to a hospital! Any hospital in any car.”

Fair enough, Dean thinks dejectedly. Still, she could’ve done him a favor and picked him. He hates losing to a fucking camera operator.

“My limo it is!” Ruby exclaims and bolts ahead to the parking lot, keys jiggling in the air.

With a triumphant smirk, Benny turns and follows Valley girl outside, Dean swallowing down the urge to punch the guy as Y/N throws him an apologetic look over camera guy’s shoulder.

These fucking women…

Dean has floored the gas pedal of the Impala, but it’s fucking LA, so an hour was spent standing in traffic on the freeway. Moreover, he had to gather Claire and Cas as well and check on Jo, while Benny and the girls were already at the hospital with Y/N.

When Dean finally arrives, he rushes through the glass doors into the waiting area of the emergency room, Cas and Claire on his heels. His group is easy to spot, considering they’re all still in their fucking wrestling costumes.

His hands ball into fists when he sees Benny holding an ice pack to her injured ankle as she sits in a wheelchair, the girls scattered around Y/N on creaky hospital seats as they keep her company. He hates that camera guy is taking care of his girl. It should be him by her side, not some fucking footnote in this story.

“Hey, what the fuck is going on? Why is she still waiting?” Dean asks furiously, charging in full-throttle. His heart is burning for Y/N, and nothing can extinguish it.

Hell, if she isn’t getting help soon, he’ll burn this goddamn hospital down.

“Because she’s not a gunshot wound?” Ruby answers wryly, earning her glare.

But Dean supposes party girl has a point. It’s an LA hospital in a bad neighborhood.

“Want me to lick your wound? Saliva helps with blood clotting,” Meg offers as she holds Y/N’s hand tightly.

“She’s not even bleeding,” Cassie counters with a raised brow.

“She might be bleeding internally,” Meg argues and places her palm on Y/N’s forehead, taking her temperature.

“Stop it! You’re freaking her out,” Charlie scolds from the seat behind her.

“Why is this taking so long? My friend is in pain! Do you hear me?” Meg whines, calling to the nurses’ station.

Why are girls so exhausting? That question has been running around Dean’s mind for months now. He’s still lacking an answer.

Ignoring the female turmoil around him, Dean lowers himself down in front of Y/N and finds her eyes, smiling gently. “Hey, sweetheart. How are you doing, huh?”

“Dean!” Y/N smiles broadly when she recognizes him, her face lighting up and beaming brighter than the fluorescent lights above her. It warms his heart.

The director’s head then tilts slightly, inspecting her closer. She seems awfully chipper for someone in pain. Her pupils are gigantic, too.

Ruby leans in and whispers, “I gave her a Valium… and then half a Klonopin.”

Ah. There it is. She’s fucking high. That explains it.

Dean reaches out his hand and caresses her pink cheek, feeling her lean into his touch. “You feeling good, sweetheart?”

“I’m awesome,” she replies with a drowsy giggle.

He grins. “Yeah, I bet you are…”

Is it weird he’d like to fuck her in this state? Right, probably not a good time to ask those questions. (But he swears he wouldn’t take advantage of her. Just play with her and test her senses a little.)

“You’re so pretty,” Y/N tells him dreamily, making him blush hard as she touches a few strands of his hair and plays with them.

“And the first pill is kicking in,” Ruby notes, amused.

A nurse then finally walks into the waiting room with a tired gleam in her eyes and clears her throat to catch everyone’s attention. Dean can’t blame her. He knows it’s like a fucking circus in here.

“Good news. We have a bed ready, so I’ll take her back and all of you can leave?” the nurse explains and looks at the wolf pack hopefully.

Meg stares her dead in the eyes and replies flatly, “Not a chance.”

Yeah, Dean could’ve told that nurse those girls weren’t going anywhere.

Benny rises from his position and attempts to push Y/N’s wheelchair, following the nurse. But Dean will be damned if he lets him. Provocatively, he pushes the camera guy aside and scowls at him, making his territory and claim clear. The girls aren’t the only wolves in this waiting room.

“I got her. You can leave,” Dean growls with a deathly stare. “My show, my actress. I’m the director, and she’s my fucking responsibility, got it?”

Benny raises his palms in surrender and takes a step back. He already knew he lost when Y/N only had eyes for Dean as soon as the director showed up. A pill-high never lies.

The nurse helps Y/N into a bed in a small, quiet room. As they wait for a doctor, Dean impatiently paces the room, fuming away on his smoke. If you can’t tell, he’s far away from relaxed.

A man in a white coat with a friendly smile then finally strolls in and introduces himself. “Hello there, Y/N Y/L/N. I’m Dr. Gabriel Piccolo. Are you with the circus?”

Dr. Sexy, as Dean refers to the guy, lifts an eyebrow at Y/N’s unusual costume. You’d think as a doctor at a hospital in Hollywood, he’d see more people like this.

“I’m an actress on a wrestling TV show,” Y/N replies, not offended by his question in the slightest.

“Oh, uhm, I’ll have to watch it,” Dr. Sexy says politely and then gets straight down to business, cocking his head at her injured leg. “Okay, so left ankle. We’re gonna have to cut off this boot.”

“Oh! No, no, no. Sorry, these are important.” Y/N protectively throws herself over her knee-high army boot.

Dean sighs a little. Even high on pills and in unbearable pain, Y/N still prioritizes her silly job. “Alright, Doc. I got it,” the director relents and shoots the man a look.

Carefully, Dean unties her laces, loosening the shoe enough. “I’m gonna go slow, sweetheart. Just take it easy, alright?”

Dean flashes her a smirk and watches as she bites down on her lower lip, nodding. She inhales sharply and whimpers when he slips the boot off her foot. His fingers smooth over her leg, soothe the skin, and elicit a shudder from her. He can tell the action turned her on, can see the goosebumps rise on her arms as she presses her thighs together. He can practically hear her drip.

He smirks devilishly. Y/N sends him a knowing frown.

Dr. Sexy clears his throat and interrupts their heated moment, causing Y/N’s cheeks to flush furiously.

The doctor then assesses her ankle. It’s swollen and the skin a purplish-blue. Dean knows it doesn’t fucking look good. He guesses it’s not a simple sprain.

“Can you feel your toes? Can you wiggle them?” the doc checks. Y/N does as asked and moves her toes as best as she can. It’s not much though before she winces in pain. “How does that feel?”

Dr. Sexy touches the swell on her ankle, and Y/N squeezes her eyes shut and locks her jaw, a tear rolling down her cheek.

“Fucking hurts,” she grits through strained teeth.

“Okay, we’re gonna take some X-rays. See what we’ve got,” the doc finally says and disappears out of the room.

Y/N exhales an exhaustive breath and looks at the director. “Distract me,” she prompts with desperate eyes.

“Well, I’m not gonna be my regular chipper self,” Dean quips, making her laugh. He smiles, too, and leans in closer. “How about this?”

He wiggles his eyebrows and then dips his head, claiming her lips in a blistering kiss that makes her legs quiver. His tongue slips inside her mouth, swipes deep as teeth scrape her lower lip. Upon her first moan, he draws back with a smug smile.

He leans close to her ear, whispering against her shell, “You know if curling your toes didn’t hurt, I’d make you come so fast on my fingers right now, baby girl.”

Her eyes widen. She gasps and gently hits his arm in a scolding manner. “Dean!”

“What?” He chuckles and pecks her crown. “It’ll be alright. Don’t worry so much, okay?”

The girls then soon flood the room, one by one providing endless entertainment that surely no other patient at this hospital receives. Y/N’s a fucking star here, although she always is to Dean.

First, there was Claire, who practically emptied the vending machine, buying sweets and snacks for every taste (with Dean’s money). He’s nothing more than a wallet to that girl.

Meg, on the other hand, stole more pillows and blankets from other patients, making sure Y/N was as comfortable as possible. Ruby read Cosmopolitan to her and filled out the magazine’s sex quiz, intriguing Dean a lot.

Every girl pretty much brought their unique sense of entertainment, making Y/N laugh and smile so much she almost forgot why she was here. Only one woman was missing from the wolf pack – Joanna.

As Y/N is finally wheeled away to her X-rays, Dean decides to join the other women in the waiting room. He’s more than happy to discover that Benny actually left when he can’t catch sight of the guy anymore.

Guess the director is the true winner, after all.

Donna then approaches Cas, who’s nervously sucking on a cigarette in the corner by the vending machine, and hands him a clipboard with a hospital form.

“Y/N doesn’t have insurance, and we don’t know what to fill out,” the blonde tells him and meekly saunters back to her seat.

Cas frowns and looks at the women in disbelief. “How could she not have insurance? She’s a professional wrestler.”

Billie arches a sarcastic eyebrow at that and replies wryly, “Yeah, employed by Novak Productions, who doesn’t provide health care.”

Cas swallows guiltily and purses his lips. “How many of you don’t have insurance?”

Almost every woman in the room raises their hand, except for Jo, Billie, and party girl.

That tracks, Dean thinks and is not the least bit surprised. Judging by Cas’ shocked expression, though, this revelation clearly shatters the privileged rich boy’s world.

The producer nods earnestly. “This is my responsibility, and I will take care of it,” he promises. Dean gives him a pat on the back, letting Cas know he’s doing the right thing. If the producer hadn’t footed Y/N’s bill, Dean surely would have.

The director then glances around the waiting area, noticing the sad faces and depressed mood. “Alright, she’s not dying, okay?” he tells them and catches their attention. “You guys did a great show tonight. Why don’t you go back to the motel?”

“Great?” Donna cocks a brow at his word choice. “We were amazing.”

Charlie looks up at him, a hopeful look in her eyes as her red hair shimmers in the fluorescent light. “You think we get our old time slot back, Dean?”

Dean smacks his lips, scratching the scruff on his chin. He then shakes his head. He can’t lie to them. Knowing what he knows, he also knows it’s over. “No, I don’t. I think we’re gonna die at 2am… But we’ll die on our own terms, alright?”

Nodding, Ruby sighs loudly. “I’ll drive everybody home. And then, we get drunk while we ice our knees.”

As the girls start to gather their belongings and rise from their seats, Jo rushes through the glass doors. The women punish her with little glares on their way out. No one buys it was an innocent accident. In fact, Dean’s pretty sure the wolf pack believes the blonde tried to murder their beloved leader.

Dean, however, doesn’t.

“She’s in room 3,” he tells Jo without further comment.

The green-eyed director didn’t know what he had expected when he sent Joanna into Y/N’s room. Maybe that they’d talk like adults, get it all out in the open, and finally make amends. Be best friends again.

But maybe that was a little naive of him.

It all started out innocently. Dr. Sexy entered the room with a set of X-rays and left happily a few minutes later. Meanwhile, Dean and Cas smoked in the hospital’s corridor and drank the most awful-tasting coffee out of plastic cups.

Then, the mood started to shift. The guys could hear the girls arguing with slightly raised voices, just loud enough for it to drown out into the hallway.

“Eight to ten weeks? It’s not that long,” Jo could be heard saying.

“It’s the rest of the season. I won’t be on the show,” Y/N threw in through gritted teeth. Dean could hear the upset in her voice.

Jo scoffed, brushing it off. “Well, we’re getting canceled anyways, so… It’s just a job, you know.”

“No, it’s not!” Y/N’s voice went up a notch in volume. Dean knew she was close to reaching a boiling point. This wasn’t good.

“Okay, geez, you don’t have to lash out at me. I did not mean to break your ankle, okay?” Jo countered, pushing all blame off her.

“I don’t fucking believe you!”

And that was the turning point. That’s when the yelling started. The one that could be heard throughout the hospital, spilling into every room and probably several floors.

“No, no, no…. See, that was an accident, Y/N,” Jo says with a jittery voice. “Unlike the time you accidentally fucked my husband! TWICE!”

“You made out with my prom date on prom night!”

“That is not the same thing, and you know it!”

“Oh? Is it the same thing when you hooked up with your co-star at your stupid soap wrap party one week before you got married? And coincidentally, Sammy was born nine months later! Is he even Sam’s? ‘Cause he looks a whole lot like what‘s-his-face!”

“How dare you!”

“You didn’t even love Sam! You only married him for his money!”

“You don’t have the fucking right to say anything about my marriage!”

Cas swallows down a big gulp of coffee, sharing a nervously concerned look with Dean. “Should we, you know, go in there?”

Dean’s eyes widen as he vividly shakes his head. “Fuck no! Are you nuts? We stay right here. Look, men are simple. They throw a few punches and then share a drink. And women… Well, women do fucking this. Bottle everything up, even for years sometimes, till it fucking explodes. Trust me, they need this. Let ‘em get it outta their system.”

Fucking women…

“Oh, do I have the right to talk about your power complex?” Y/N yells. “Or do I have to schedule a meeting with all the producers?”

“I’ve earned my title!”

“Right, your fucking work ethic is legendary! I’m so sick and tired of apologizing about Sam! I don’t care anymore! I have eaten shit for months! I have done everything I can think of to make this right!”

“You can’t make it right!”

“Great! Then I’ll stop trying!”

“Fine!”

“Yeah, fine like you telling me I should get raped to save our show! The show you don’t give a shit about!”

“God, you’re so melodramatic! I just figured you’re already screwing our director for attention, what’s one more network executive!”

Cas blinks at Dean with wide eyes and a raised brow. “Are you-… Are you and Y/N dating?”

Dean averts his eyes to the blue wall opposite him and wordlessly sips his coffee. He has a feeling the girls’ fight is about to take a turn, going into a direction he doesn’t particularly care for. Why can’t they just leave him out of it?

Cas, however, takes Dean’s silence as what it is – an admission. The producer’s face lights up with joy. He excitedly rubs Dean’s shoulder and gasps giddily. “That’s so great! You haven’t dated anyone since Amara! I’m so happy for you! I love Y/N! Are you guys getting married? Did you buy a ring? Can I be best man? You know what they say, third time’s the charm!”

Dean scowls at the producer and heaves a deep sigh. “Calm the fuck down, would you? No one’s getting married.”

“Go to hell! I’m not fucking Dean, okay?” Y/N denies Jo’s accusation loudly.

Dean thinks she’s a hell of an actress. If he didn’t know for a fact that he was balls-deep inside her last night, he would’ve bought that little lie.

“Oh please! It’s so obvious!” Jo counters. Dean can practically hear the exhaustive eye roll that followed. “He’s following you around the gym like a lovesick puppy!”

That’s what Dean was afraid of. He does not like where this conversation is headed.

“He is not! Shut the fuck up!”

“Are you really trying to fucking lie to me, right now? I’ve known you since middle school!” Jo snaps. “And he certainly fits your glorious dating choices! Drug addiction? Check! Asshole? Check! Commitment issues? Check! He’s perfect for you. I’m surprised your slutty ass didn’t jump him the first day!”

“Oh, fuck you, you fucking bitch!”

“Slut!”

“Whore!”

Then, more yelling, more accusations, and more tears follow before Jo storms out of the room and bolts past the boys down the hallway.

Fucking girls…

“I’ve never felt so guilty about anything,” Cas mumbles next to him, completely distraught and shaken.

Dean scoffs. “Geez, you’ve lived a charmed life.”

“Thought I was gonna have a wrestling show, and no one was gonna get injured?” Cas shakes his head at his own nonsense. “What the fuck is wrong with me? I destroyed our little family! I mean, Y/N is a gimp.”

The director rolls his eyes and sighs. “Don’t be so hard on yourself. She’ll go on to have a full life, okay?”

Somehow that causes Cas to smile cheekily. He nudges the director’s shoulder. “With you?”

Dean sends him a thundering glare and dumps his burning cigarette bud into the producer’s coffee cup as he walks past him and returns to Y/N’s room.

Dean sat quietly next to Y/N as a nurse put a cast on her leg. The ankle, much like the women’s friendship, was broken, and the actress was out of commission for the foreseeable future. She hadn’t spoken a word yet, only sniffling and crying silently to herself. Dean left her alone and only handed her a tissue every now and then, figuring she needed some time to calm down and think. But he still wanted her to know he was there in case she needed him.

As the nurse finally leaves, Dean reaches out his hand and takes hers, drawing comforting circles on the back of it. Patiently, he waits till she’s ready to look at him.

“Well, I won’t be needing these anymore,” Y/N mutters with a pout and dumps her army boots on the little bedside table. “You should give them to Claire. She’d make a great replacement Red Sparrow.”

Dean purses his lips. It takes a lot out of him not to roll his eyes at her dramatization. He supposes that’s what he gets for falling in love with a goddamn actress – fucking theater no less. But he knows she’s really going through it right now, so he’s willing to cut her some slack.

“Relax, I’m not giving your part away,” he assures her with an easy smile.

“Well, you have to, if you want to keep the storyline moving forward,” she mumbles grumpily.

“Who cares? It’s just a TV show,” Dean argues.

However, that particular line seems to anger her. “Everyone keeps saying that. It’s not to me,” she contends and finds his eyes, her teary-eyed and desperate look boring into him. “I have people now. People who come with me to the ER. People who care if I’m hurt.”

Dean nods his head in understanding. He knows Cas and Y/N are essentially right, as much as it hurts him to admit it. They are a little family – a weird and incredibly dysfunctional one, but a family nonetheless.

“I know. I’m sorry. It’s just the easiest thing to say, you know?” he says and lets out a sigh. He rests his palm on her thigh and squeezes reassuringly. “How’s this? I don’t wanna make this show without you. I’m not gonna make this show without you.”

Y/N sucks in her lips, forming a tight line as she stares at her hands in her lap. “I thought we were all replaceable.”

Dean’s lips twitch with a smile. He lifts her chin, forcing her to look at him. “Well, you’re not, sweetheart.”

He leans closer and kisses her ardently till her toes curl. When she hisses slightly in pain, he pulls back, both of them chuckling.

Then, Dean swallows the heavy lump in his throat. He knows he has to come clean, literally and figuratively. He takes her hand in his again. This time for his own comfort.

“Listen, uhm, tonight was kinda my fault… on some level, at least,” the director starts.

Y/N’s brow creases, but she brushes it off with a disbelieving snort. “Why? Did you tell Jo to break my ankle?”

Dean chuckles lightly, although he doesn’t feel like laughing, considering he’s scared to death she’ll dump him in a few seconds once she hears the truth. “No, uhm, but she might’ve found something in my office that caused a lack of judgment on her part. I-, uhm, I might not have been as clean and drug-free as you believed me to be.”

“Oh. I see…” Y/N bites her lower lip and averts her gaze back to her hands, her fingers fumbling in a nonsensical pattern like a nervous tic. And then, she doesn’t say anything for serval minutes, while Dean slowly feels himself go crazy.

“So, uh, where do we stand? Are we mad? Disappointed? Disgusted? Sad?” Dean pries and pokes for an answer.

“I guess, uhm, disappointed,” she says finally. Dean sighs internally as his heart tightens. He had hoped it wouldn’t be that one. It’s the worst one. “And sad,” she adds.

Strike that. This is the worst one.

“Okay, uhm, good,” he replies before noticing her cocked brow at his answer. “I mean, not good-good, obviously. Just good to know where we are… So, where are we? Is this-, you know, is it over? Between us?”

Y/N glances at him slightly and takes a thoughtful breath. “No,” she says, and his heart rejoices with relief. “I kinda already knew you’re not perfect.”

Dean’s brow furrows momentarily before he smirks cockily. “Agree to disagree.”

Y/N tries to hide a smile at his joke. She’s unsuccessful in her endeavor. She squeezes his hand in reassurance. “It’s not your fault. It was still Jo’s choice,” she tells him. “Are you, you know, still…?”

Dean vehemently shakes his head. “No, no, I’m not. I haven’t for a couple of days, and I won’t anymore. I promise. Especially after tonight. I learned my lesson. I’m done with it. For good.”

“Okay,” she accepts.

Dean frowns a little because her forgiveness feels too easy, but he doesn’t get a chance to prod some more, her soft lips on his shutting him up for now. The kiss is fervent and sweet all the same. It makes his head spin and provides him with a completely different high – a much better one.

“Well, looks like we’re gonna have to get creative with this thing, huh?” Dean grins smugly and gently pats her cast.

Y/N throws him a raised look that borders on amusement. Of course, all he ever thinks about is sex. But she doesn’t mind a little sexy goofiness in her life right now and leans in for another kiss. He is a pretty fantastic kisser, after all.

“I got markers!” Cas hops cheerily into the room with a few pens held high in the air, watching the two of them quickly pull apart with red-tinted cheeks. The producer smiles adoringly at them. “You guys! Look at you! This is so exciting!”

“Oh, uh–”

Dean sees the panic spread on Y/N’s face and quickly swoops in, sending Cas a friendly but threatening look. “Hey, uh, buddy? Keep this between us, alright?”

“You got it! My lips are sealed.” Cas winks and locks his lips with his fingers, but his excitement isn’t even close to disappearing. “And I paid your bill, by the way!”

“Oh, Cas, you didn’t have to do that,” Y/N tells him sweetly and seems clearly flattered by his care.

“Yes, I did, ‘cause you couldn’t possibly afford it,” Cas says bluntly and uncaps a marker, signing his name on her cast. “And I felt so guilty.”

A knock on the door makes the three look up and watch Jo hesitantly amble inside, her head lowered in resignation and guilty admission. She holds up a duffel bag with a nervous smile.

“I thought you might wanna leave the hospital with pants on, so I brought you your favorite sweats from the motel,” she says and hands Y/N the peace offering. Y/N accepts it with a small smile. Jo then glances awkwardly at Dean and Cas. “As you may have heard, Y/N and I got into a big fight,” she explains the general tension in the room.

Dean nods curtly. “Oh, yeah, everybody heard.”

“Yeah, the cashier at the gift shop couldn’t stop talking about it.” Cas chuckles, causing Y/N and Jo to blush in embarrassment.

“So, what’s the plan, Dean?” Y/N looks expectantly up at him like he’s an oracle with all the answers.

Lucky for her, though, he’s cocky enough to provide them.

“You know what? We got four episodes left, right? Fuck it. No one’s watching. No one cares. Y/N can’t even walk. So I say we do whatever the hell we want,” the director suggests and grins broadly. “Let’s just set the weirdos free and see what the fuck happens.”

“I hope you guys have fun,” Y/N mutters with a hint of bitterness in her voice.

“Oh, you’re not getting out of it,” Dean interjects her pouting and self-pity. “You’re like a one-woman idea machine. I need you. Where we’re going, you don’t need legs.”

Jo smiles encouragingly at her and sits down on the edge of the bed as Cas hands her a marker. The two women then chat as if nothing ever happened, while the producer and the director share a confused look over the sudden ceasefire. But they take it as what it is – a gift from above.

Girls…

“Hey, uh, there’s something I need to do,” Dean says then. “Are you guys okay here to keep Y/N some company? I’ll pick you up right after.”

The three of them nod, and Dean feels confident enough to leave Y/N’s side. After all the emotional turmoil and chaos over the last week, the director direly needs an appropriate outlet.

The Impala pulls into the parking lot of H-ELLTV in Anaheim. It’s early in the morning, the sun barely up but still powerful enough that the beams sting his green eyes. Maybe it’s also the lack of sleep that causes it to hurt more.

Drugs aren’t an option. It’s too early to drink, even for him. And sex would’ve been possible, but he doesn’t want to be the ass that asks for it while his not-girlfriend is suffering in the hospital.

So, here he stands, next to Dicksuck Roman’s spot, where a beautiful dark blue Aston Martin V8 is parked.

Ever since Y/N told him what that creep tried to do, Dean’s been raking his brain with different revenge fantasies. Sure, he could cut off the guy’s dick and make him eat it, or cook his balls over a BBQ grill, or chop his head off and dunk it in acidic cleaning supplies. But Dean knows the only way to truly hurt a man is through his car.

The green-eyed director then pops open Baby’s trunk and hauls out a golf club. It was a gift from Cas that came with an invitation to hit the green in Pasadena for “networking purposes.” As if. Cas eventually accepted that Dean would rather kill himself before setting foot in that country club. (He might’ve also threatened to kill everyone else in it, which scared Cas enough to drop it.)

Dean’s heart soars high to the cloudless sky above as he administers the first few blows, shattering the front window and thoroughly denting the scratch-free and glistening hood.

Not anymore, Dean thinks with sinister joy.

He stops mid-swing, though, when Crowley walks by. The two men look at each other for a moment. Will the manager call the cops? Will Cas have to post bail on top of paying hospital bills?

But Crowley only bobs his head in acknowledgment. “He pisses off a lot of people,” he offers as an explanation and strolls ahead into the building, not paying Dean any more mind.

So, Dean continues hitting and swinging and batting until his lungs burn and his arms hurt. Only then does he drive back to the hospital across town to pick up his friends with a lightener heart.

23. Every Breath you Take

*sighs blissfully* Aah, some sweet fluff before all the drama starts... (And yes, I consider this chapter less drama and lots of fluff. That's how far we've come 😂)

Let me know how you've enjoyed this part! Are we rid of Benny for good? Is Y/N going to break Dean's plastic heart? 👀

TAGS:

Jensen: @alwaystiredandconfused @xlynnbbyx @lyarr24 @deans-spinster-witch @blackcherrywhiskey @deansbbyx @foxyjwls007 @ladysparkles78 @roseblue373 @zepskies @agalliasi @yvonneeeee @hobby27 @iamsapphine @globetrotter28 @mxltifxnd0m @lacilou @feyresqueen @suckitands33 @onlyangel-444 @syrma-sensei @perpetualabsurdity

#plastic hearts #dean winchester #director!dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x female reader #dean winchester reader insert #director!dean winchester x actress!reader #dean winchester series #actor au #dean winchester au #supernatural #supernatural reader insert #supernatural au #supernatural fanfic #dean winchester fanfic #dean winchester x y/n

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katshelluvacritic · 4 months

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Not sure if you've seen the finale of the show yet because I'd love to hear your thoughts on how absolutely useless Charlie was once again

I’ve pretty much all the eps for season 1 so you don’t have worry about the spoilers.

As for the ep, I’mma just immediately rip the bandaid off and say that I had to watch it again to remember what happened, yet my brain is still kinda processing it again so I’mma type this to the best of my ability and if I do miss some parts I do apologize.

To start off with one of the things I didn’t like that included Charlie (mostly a personal nitpick) was her “battle fit” (if you could even call it that)

I feel like it should be self explanatory but I’ll explain anyway; for one, the fact that Charlie wearing what I like to call “the evil star butterfly cosplay” just doesn’t make sense to me. Like even though I don’t like Vicky’s fit either, at least she’s wearing something that could cover her skin to lessen the risk of cuts and injuries.

Charlie however is not only wearing a dress but also HIGH HEELS, which realistically would prob have her dead from the spot because for one, you can’t run in heels and two, like I said before she’s at higher risk to be injured compared to Vicky.

Like I’m honestly shocked that she only got a few rips from her clothing and a few bruises, like I get she’s the princess of hell but damage is still damage.

Not only that since Charlie is a princess then, wouldn’t she have access to wear royal armor??? Assuming she did (because there’s gotta be a reason to where she got that shield from), why didn’t she just wear that???? I feel like it would’ve been the most logical thing to wear since after all, YOUR GOING TO WAR AGAINST DEMONS.

Also speaking of the shield, why does she only have a shield and nothing else? You would think that since she’s the princess of hell she’d have some sort of weaponry but no.

She just guards herself a shield while occasionally throwing up magical fireworks like if that’s gonna do anything. Like, I get all niffty did most of the time was stab already dead angels before she killed adam, but at least she actually tried to do some damage compared to Charlie.

And then Razzle and Dazzle.

Listen, I can understand her not being able to save sir pentious because she was trying to protect Vicky and a lot of stuff was going on but why did she summon them? Isn’t she the daughter of lucifer? Wouldn’t she have transforming powers or something to get up there

I mean we’re shown in this gif that he can transform into different animals as he so pleases and can EVEN GROW WINGS.

Wouldn’t Charlie technically have those abilities? And even if she doesn’t have those abilities, these fuckers have guns and cannons with them that could shoot/blast Adam down.

Also gotta love the fact Charlie just stays on the roof of the hotel and watches the Lucifer and Adam fight happen UNTIL ADAM RAY BEAMS THE HOTEL IN HALF, ONLY FOR HER TO BE SAVED BY LUCIFER was so dumb. Women do SOMETHING WHY WERE YOU JUST STANDING THERE????

then like the ending. Omg the ending…

“Omg guys I lost sir p and the hotel guys, I failed” PENDEJA. YOU DID JUST DICK ALL DURING THAT WAR OTHER THAN WAVE SOME SHIELD AROUND WITH SOME FIREWORKS. CRY HARDER. BOO HOO I GUESS.

And I just gotta say, I doesn’t entirely include Charlie but like these parts of the lyrics

What???? Tf you mean redemption may take a while???? We’re still going with that??? After the war against heaven you guys just had??? Did Charlie forget what happened in episode 6, where like there was some shit about heaven being a lie and this evil place???? Why are you guys still trying to redeem sinners when YOU Charlie, realized heaven is evil???

But don’t worry, they rebuild the hotel guys! They can live happy ever after right?

Even though like… let me check my notes…. Oh right! Angel is still stuck with valentino, husk’s soul is still taken away by alastor! Oh yeah, I guess viv forgot about that part I guess.

I know I’ve already said this to friends of mine but ngl this episode especially just reminded of this one page from sonichu where Chris and his chars execute a guy in an electric chair but make it viv’s characters and Adam/heaven.

But uh, yeah. I don’t like Charlie, I don’t like this episode, I don’t like this series. I don’t know anymore.

#hazbin hotel critique #hazbin critical #hazbin hotel criticism #hazbin hotel charlie #Kat’s ask’s #like seriously who thought this was a good episode besides viv???#this is so bad

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anangelcanonlygosofar · 1 month

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Why Did So Many People Hate Aziraphale?

When the ending of Season 2 happened the majority of the fandom lost their collective shit. They went utterly bananas. A main theme that I kept coming across was the strange and insulting sentiment that Aziraphale "rejected Crowley" or that Aziraphale "chose heaven over Crowley" or that Aziraphale "Was an arse for leaving Cowley", etc.

When I finally got around to rewatching Season 1 of Good Omens and then watched Season 2 of Good Omens and finally saw some context for the ending, I was/am even more baffled as to why people were so cruel to Aziraphale.

Why had they failed to hear what Aziraphale said to Crowley? Why hadn't anyone taken a moment to realize that Aziraphale respected Crowley's choice to not return to Heaven with him? Why did the collective fandom just completely ignore the WORDS, ACTIONS, and EMOTIONAL RESPONSES that Aziraphale expressed in the heartbreaking finale?

Maybe it was the simple fact they just couldn't cope with what they saw. Maybe the fandom needed someone to blame other than Neil Gaiman himself. Or maybe, the fandom just failed to take a moment to carefully comb through and observe the small, tiny details that are far more important than the big, dramatic moments that fill up the runtime.

However, what I noticed most is the total disregard for Aziraphale's lines in the last scene between Crowley and Aziraphale in season 2 episode 6. So this is where I'll Start.

HE WORDS:

Some of his dialogue was/are as follows:

"He said I could appoint you to be an angel. You could come back to Heaven and... and everything, like the old times. Only, even nicer."

"But Heaven...well, it's the side of truth, of light, of good"

"Come with me...to heaven. I'll run it, you can be my second in command. We can make a difference"

"Crowley, come back, to heaven! Work with me! We can be together! Angels..doing good!"

"I...I need You!"

"I...I forgive you"

Do these lines of dialogue give any indication that he rejected Crowley, or chose Heaven over Crowley, or that Aziraphale was being an arse?

No, they do not. These lines of dialogue clearly show that Aziraphale WANTS to be with Crowley so they BOTH can be angels DOING GOOD and MAKING A DIFFERENCE. Aziraphale wanted Crowley to be redeemed so that he could join Aziraphale in Heaven and be on the side of TRUTH, LIGHT, and GOOD.

Aziraphale didn't want to leave Earth WITHOUT Crowley, however, he was forced to because Crowley rejected AZIRAPHALE'S offer to come back to heaven. So instead of forcing Crowley to come back to Heaven with him, even after the awkward kiss, Aziraphale decided to let him go and sacrificed his happiness to SAVE THE WORLD FROM HEAVEN!!!!

It was not easy for Aziraphale to leave Crowley or even Earth or even his bookshop. HE sacrificed EVERYTHING so he could fix heaven's broken system and stop God and the Angels and Metatron from repeatedly trying to destroy the Earth just to win a dick-measuring contest with hell.

Aziraphale doesn't like war. He despises war due to witnessing the rebellion in heaven AND watching the humans go to war and kill each other repeatedly for over 6,000 YEARS. What Aziraphale did was something nobody will ever be able to understand until they find themselves in Aziraphale's shoes.

It's not easy being an angel, who has been forced to "bear witness" and "not intervene in human affairs" because doing so will go against God's "Great Plan" which may or may not be a part of God's "Ineffable Plan".

Aziraphale cannot stand by and let Heaven destroy all life on Earth. Of course, he knows that Heaven isn't all truth, light, or good. He knows Heaven is broken and needs to be reformed. He knows that Crowley is right about Heaven being toxic. Just because he knows that Heaven is toxic and not as truthful, enlightened, or good doesn't mean he's not somewhat in denial.

It's not easy being trapped and suffocated by a cult-like institution whose sole purpose is to keep you from leaving the said institution. It's not easy watching humans committing atrocity after atrocity, and not being able to stop it. It's not easy watching God kill innocent people and children just because they can't get along.

Aziraphale has struggled to figure out what, "doing the right thing" is and how far he's willing to go along Heaven's/God's plans of destruction until he just can't anymore. All Aziraphale has had to keep him going along with Heaven's/God's plans is his faith that Heaven/God knows what they're doing and that complete destruction and devastation will never truly come to pass. Only to find out later that Heaven and God don't necessarily see eye to eye and that God themselves are super unreachable, even in a time of crisis.

Aziraphale has done EVERYTHING he was told and more and it still wasn't enough to keep another armageddon from happening. Since he can't completely stop it on earth, he HAS to return to heaven and find a way to stop it from happening from there, which may prove fruitful and pointless.

What most fans didn't register or realize is the fact that Aziraphale chose to return to heaven for very UNSELFISH reasons. A part of him knew Crowley might say no to returning to heaven with him, so he decided that if that was the case, then he would let Crowley go, so that he, Aziraphale, could fix heaven and permanently SAVE THE WORLD... something he CANNOT do if he stayed on Earth.

Why is this so hard for some fans to see and/or consider? Why is this something only a few fans actually talk about? Why was there so much Aziraphale hate when there shouldn't have been?

It's not Aziraphale's fault that he couldn't stay with Crowley. It's HEAVEN'S fault that Crowley and Aziraphale can't be together because they (Heaven) are too war-minded and emotionally stunted to realize how many innocent people will die just because they want to measure dicks with Hell.

HIS ACTIONS:

The second thing I noticed happened a lot was the initial total disregard for Azirphale's body language and/or actions during the last scene of Crowley and Aziraphale in the final episode of Good Omens Season 2.

Throughout the scene, we see Aziraphale exhibit the following nonverbal cues:

---initial happiness

---confusion

---Distress

---Anxiousness

---restless hand movements

---pacing back and forth

---sadly looking around the bookshop

--etc.

These nonverbal cues show us that Aziraphale went from being extremely happy to an emotional wreck, especially after the awkward kiss.

Aziraphale excitedly told Crowley about his promotion expecting Crowley to be happy for him (Aziraphale), only for Crowley to grow irritable and angry. Which confused Aziraphale and slightly angered him, yet he still somewhat understood Crowley's response.

As the scene goes on you can tell that Aziraphale is desperately trying to keep Crowley from leaving at first, but relents after the awkward kiss and fully accepts he lost Crowley for now.

Aziraphale really wanted Crowley to say "yes", however, it did not pan out that way. So Aziraphale just gradually quieted down, shorted his verbal communication, and tried his best NOT to have a complete emotional breakdown in front of Crowley.

Not once did Azirphale exhibit any controlling behaviors or actions. When Aziraphale and Crowley came to an impasse and Crowley ultimately left, Aziraphale didn't even go after Crowley. He let Crowley go because going back to heaven to fix it and stop the second Armageddon was more important than fixing his relationship with Crowley, and because Aziraphale knew that when everything calmed down, and the 2nd coming was adverted, and there were no more threats then maybe he would be able to have a proper long talk with Crowley and explain why he did what he did and said what he said.

HIS EMOTIONAL RESPONSES:

Some fans also didn't really register how many emotional responses Aziraphale had in the last scene with Crowley in the season 2 finale.

Aziraphale went from ecstatic and happy to confused and slightly angry, to confused, overwhelmed, and heartbroken.

He started the scene excited and ecstatic about his job promotion and he was nearly exploding with joy when he initially told Crowley the "good" news. Only to become confused and a little angry that Crowley didn't seem happy for him and flat-out yelled at him.

At first, Aziraphale is stubborn and confused at Crowley's response to the supposed good news, yet he still listens to Crowley who eventually can somewhat incoherently say that he loves Aziraphale and wants to be an us.

As the scene progresses Azirapale starts to restlessly fidget, heavily breath, and frantically look around as he realizes that the conversation is going south faster than the sinking of the Titanic. You can see on his face that he's trying to understand what Crowley is trying to say however, he just can piece it together that well.

Aziraphale understands that Crowley does indeed truly love him. However, Aziraphale also realizes that he too loves Crowley in return and is now getting increasingly overwhelmed to the point that he can't form coherent words.

During the awkward kiss scene, you can see that Aziraphale slightly and very briefly goes to hold/caress Crowley's shoulder right before the rough parting between him and Crowley. At this point, Aziraphale is confused as to why the kiss happened, is overwhelmed by the fact he kind of liked and wanted another one but it simply wasn't the right time, and is heartbroken that he has to leave Crowley, but he doesn't know for how long.

CONCLUSION:

Throughout the entire scene, Azirphale actually struggles with Crowley's disappointment and anger in response to Aziraphale's job promotion, with the idea of leaving Crowley and returning to heaven alone, and with how the hell he is supposed to cope, let alone function without Crowley to talk to.

Nowhere in the scene does it suggest that the decision to return to heaven was easy or simple for Aziraphale. He struggled like a bitch and he still left for heaven heartbroken and without Crowley.

Yes, the ending was sad, but there shouldn't have been Aziraphale hate in the first place.

So I leave you with this:

So why the fuck was there so much Aziraphale hate?

#Don'tBlameAziraphale #Aziraphale #good omens 2 #good omens theories #good omens thoughts #good omens tv #good omens #BlameHeaven #Heaven #Hell #LeaveAziraphaleAlone

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alice-after-dark · 16 days

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Late Night with the Radio Demon - Sing Me a Song

Alastor is bored and visits his favorite human.

Alastor's POV for once! Normally I want this au to lean a little more on the dark and horrory side of things, but this popped into my brain space so here, have some short fluff of silly boys being silly.

And, as usual, gotta tag @hiemaldesirae!

When Alastor appeared in the young man's apartment, he was greeted by two very pleasant things.

The smell of something cooking.

And a lovely melody drifting out of the kitchen.

Half a love, never appealed to me

If your heart, never could yield to me

Then I'd rather have nothing at all

All or nothing at all

The first voice crooning that delightful sound Alastor immediately recognized as the glorious Frank Sinatra. A true pity that Alastor had passed only a year before the man stepped onto the music scene. He would have been delighted to play the man's music on his show. The second voice singing along however...truly, his human never failed to entertain. He made his way towards the kitchen.

If it's love, there ain't no in between

Why begin then cry for something that might have been?

No, I'd rather, rather have nothing at all

"My, my! So full of surprises, Vincent!"

The human yelped, jumping and nearly dropping the knife he was holding as he scrambled to turn off the radio. He whirled around, leveling the demon with a glare as Alastor made himself comfortable at the table.

"Do you have to do that?"

"Oh my, no! But it's far more fun!" The Radio Demon leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table and tucking his hands under his chin. "I wasn't aware you could sing."

His human looked rather adorable, flushed in the face like a shy schoolgirl. He looked away from Alastor's gaze. "I don't usually...it's just a casual hobby...my dad used to sing a lot and I guess I just picked it up from him."

Alastor tried not to let his mood sour at the mention of a father figure. Well, at least not everyone had to put up with a piece of shit contributing the second half of their chromosomes. Thankfully, his human provided a quick distraction.

"So why are you here? Did you come for your favor?"

Oh dear, he'd nearly forgotten! "Of course! Can't let it go to waste, now can I?"

His human sighed. "Okay, so what do you want?"

Alastor tapped his chin. He didn't really have anything he truly needed at the moment, but it wouldn't be right to let the TV host get away without upholding his end of their bargain for the day. An idea formed.

"Well, you were so quick to turn off that radio upon my arrival that I didn't get to hear the end of that lovely song. Why don't you finish it for me?"

His human blushed again. Ah, he did so enjoy the sight of him flustered. "You...you want me to sing for you?"

"Indeed! In fact, why don't we take it from the top?" Without waiting for further commentary, Alastor tapped his microphone and music began to fill the small kitchen. His human turned back to his cooking, shoulders tense and awkward, but nevertheless began to sing. Alastor leaned on his hands and watched him. As the song continued, the TV host began to relax, losing himself in the music as he returned to cooking. Alastor wondered if he even remembered the demon was there.

Please don't bring your lips so close to my cheek

Don't you smile or I'll be lost beyond recall

The kiss in your eyes, the touch of your hand makes me weak

And my heart, it may grow dizzy and fall

And if I fell under the spell of your call

I would be, I'd be caught in the undertow

So you see, I have got to say no, no

All or nothing at all

He really should get his human to sing for him more often.

All or nothing at all

Nothing at all

There ain't nothing at all

Nothing at all

---

All or Nothing at All by Frank Sinatra

#late night with the radio demon au #hazbin hotel #hazbin vox #hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel au #human vox #hazbin hotel vox #vox hazbin hotel

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itsgrimeytime · 5 months

Text

Magnolia in May (Part Twenty Two) || Rick Grimes (TWD) x Greene!f!reader Regency AU

Parts 1-20, 21...

Taglist: @loliakeoghan23 @belaballs @curlycarley @queenie32 @mgparker

rick grimes taglist: @golden-hoax @mgparker

AVAILABLE ON AO3

Inspiration (in honor of Speak Now Taylor's Version): Enchanted by Taylor Swift.

Summary: Your town was small, not the smallest you knew, but anyone of high fortune was the gossip of the week. Predictably, Richard Grimes was a thing of whispers -rumors of a search for marriage among the grassy hills. You weren't one to buy into town gossip, but something about him... just seemed a little too intriguing.

TW: none.

[[A/N: y'all we got some jealousyyyyy. A little bit of that steam in this one that comes with regency era. Guys, I can't believe I wrote this. I'm like fangirling over my own shit. Just... be ready. Thanks for reading !!! ]]

The ball that Rick was throwing was essentially in your honor -a courting announcement. You weren't particularly sure why he wanted something as big as a ball, but you supposed with the riches he had, it would be an obvious choice.

You hadn't tried to talk him out of it, per se, but you had questioned his intentions.

"Why something so substantial? So big? Isn't it more formal for such a thing to occur between the family?"

"I shall be relentlessly proud to court you, the whole town should know so."

You blushed rather crimson at such a choice of words and failed to question any else.

And you blushed even further crimson when he relayed such sentiments to your Father upon a similar sort of questioning.

The outsiders, however, had no such idea that the ball had a purpose. Some, in fact, believed it was to set up Mr. Grimes and provide him with a higher lady than what the rumors had circulated. Your family wasn't exactly the richest, nor were you the poorest, but to be pursued by Mr. Grimes was something that had a societal line that you did not meet.

So, an appropriate amount of rumors had spiraled from that just as well.

As the rumor mill twirled, the guest list grew longer and the company became more sophisticated. Where women of great fortune went, men of great fortune went.

And you were certain such people would believe to be much over you, perhaps even push you out of the way to get to Mr. Grimes. You were certain such things would happen, and you would retain your grace throughout. At least, hopefully.

It was only a few minutes in, when you lost Mr. Grimes -pulled away by a damsel, or perhaps a father eager to meet such a man. Despite his promises of otherwise, you knew such things would happen and decided to glide around the ballroom.

You were among the first few guests to arrive, including your family, and had watched as the ballroom filled with wide eyes.

Women in the fanciest stitch work you'd ever seen, and men in just the same. Hair perfected, and jewels hanging from their necks, you felt quite out of place. Despite you wearing your best dress, you were still levels below such company.

You supposed you might've looked a little lost, and that's why he approached you.

"Madam," he spoke with a sort of accent you did not recognize, "-are you looking for someone?"

You turned to such a noise and met eyes with a man -one with the stitchery you could hardly believe existed. His hair, blonde, was perfectly retained, and a shiny broach laid square on his left lapel. His aura made you feel quite awkward.

"Yes, in fact," you responded, a little tightly -sort of bittersweet smile, not a true one, "-I'm looking for my sisters, or, rather, my Father."

"Is he in attendance?" He asked, curiously gazing over you, and you felt quite stiff, "-Why would he leave you alone in such a mess? A stunning damsel surrounded by less-than-suitable suitors. It's a recipe for disaster."

"Thank you, sir," you echoed, a little hollow, "-but I argue I can much fend for myself in such situations... with an undesirable suitor."

He seemed to pause, looking at you, "Yes, certainly. You seem to fend for yourself well."

You were silenced, unsure of what to say. The tone he'd reached was quite troubling, and some part of you wished your Father was near. Perhaps, you could wish him there-

"Would you like to dance?" He asked, hand outstretched as if he'd expected such an answer to be yes.

You rather didn't like such assumptions.

"I..." you began, a little lost as to where or what to say -you had a minimal amount of room to breathe here, "-I'm sorry but I cannot. I'm being courted and such a dance would be rather disrespectful to him."

"Has such a man have no respect for you?" He asked, and you merely stood stiller, "-Leaving you to the dogs is quite frowned upon, in fact, do you know where he is now? Has he abandoned you in the most critical sort of event-"

"I certainly have not," spoke a more familiar voice, one that had you calmed within the second. Your arm latched onto his without a second of doubt, and Mr. Grimes surely felt the way your fingers squeezed.

"Mr. Grimes," the man seemed to speak of shock, "-I apologize for such misfortunes, I truly-"

"I will ask you to leave, politely," Mr. Grimes interrupted, "-but if you choose to stay, I will ask much less politely."

"You mean leave the whole event?" He asked, rather quickly -nervously, you noted, "-I believe such a thing is rather severe, is it not?"

"Not at all," Mr. Grimes echoed, something cold in his tone, "-if you've been ineloquently pursuing my lady. Or perhaps on the grounds of you making her uncomfortable, I believe still that such a punishment is not very severe."

"I don't wish to disrespect you-"

"You already have," Mr. Grimes spoke, directly, brash, "-by disrespecting my lady, you have done the same to me. So, I request you leave."

"Very well," the man cleared his throat and stepped toward the exit without so much as another word.

"I am very grateful for such a rescue," you spoke, softly -rubbing your thumb gently onto his sleeve, "-I wasn't sure he would be shaken off easily."

"This is exactly why I wished for such a party," he sighed, dislodging your hand and turning toward you, "-when they know you are courting me, they will leave you be."

"Mr. Grimes," you started, "-as sweet as such an idea sounds, I do not need you to protect me. I'm very well capable, I've dealt with such people all my life."

"I do not wish you to," he hummed, soft and quiet, "-ever again. And I'm certain once it's announced, you will be unbothered. Even if I have to be by your side every outing-"

"Mr. Grimes, I'm capable of being alone-"

"Are you?" He asked, and you found yourself rather speechless, "-What if such a man as the previous comes to approach you? How would you get out of that situation?"

"I'm not-" you echoed, a little lost at such a tone, "-I'm not sure, but I would. Because I have before, I'm not something so weak as to not get a man away from me. Do you believe that I am?"

"No, no," he sighed, something in him faltering, "-you are not weak. I... I suppose I am."

You righted, suddenly seeing a much different Mr. Grimes, "Do you wish to speak outside the ballroom?"

"Not-"

"I believe we should," You leveled with him, "-to explain some things."

"Alright," he echoed, "-but only for a moment."

The two of you stepped out into the hallway, quietly so, avoiding any wandering eyes. It was a matter of honor at such a point, two people should not be sneaking off in such circumstances. Especially without a courting announcement.

The hallway was eerily empty, all staff gathered for the ball -you'd never quite been alone with him like this. Something in your spine stiffened.

"Is this about Lori?" You asked, cutting to the chase, sure, but it was important, "-About the affair?"

"I suppose so," he echoed, a little lost, "-in the grand scheme of things."

"I love you," you started, carefully, he seemed to be hanging onto every word, "-if you don't believe and trust that, I'm not certain we can make it."

"I know," he spoke, grabbing your hands, "-I know you do. I believe with all my heart that you love me."

"But do you trust it?"

"I... I should," he said, openly.

"Mr. Grimes-"

"Please," he interrupted, quietly, "-when we're alone like this call me Rick. I request it."

"Rick," you responded, your mouth cradling such a word -something far too special leaving your lips, "-I'm truly sorry she betrayed your trust, and you know that. But, I am different. A different woman! You must understand my heart is true to you only."

"Y/N-" and something in you startled for a moment but you continued.

"Never have I loved as I do with you," you hummed, something pricking at your eyes, "-I know you have loved before, a great love I'm sure. But I... I love you like nothing- no one else in my life."

"Y/N," it was slower this time, something caught in his throat.

"I love you," you echoed out, hoping he could hear you, "-and perhaps you've said those words before, but I have not. And they mean much more than a simple... simple feeling."

"Y/N," and he spoke it a little breathlessly like he couldn't believe you stood in front of him.

"You must believe th-"

Before you could finish a word, Mr. Grimes had leaned forward and connected his lips to yours. It was a slow sort of endeavor, a gentle press, but filled with emotion. Your hands raised to cradle his face, brushing across the little stubble he had there, as you sighed into his lips.

Your heart pounding in your chest, you had no idea what to do, but he was guiding you. It was the mere first step from what you knew, just the press of lips but it felt so much more then. Like he was pushing everything he felt into his lips, his hands, his fingers holding gently onto your arms.

Your knees were bound to go wobbly soon.

You pulled away first, something in your head stirring, pulling his face back from yours, you watched as his blue eyes blinked open -a sort of twinkle there you'd never seen before.

"I love you," he spoke breathlessly, and he pressed into you once more -catching your gasp between the seal of his lips.

Still, it remained a gentle press of lips, but he was pushing into it. His hands cradling your face now, he merely pushed into you more -you weren't sure you could get any closer.

He was the one to pull back this time, eyes shining and lips a rosy sort of red, and you were sure your face ran a little crimson. Okay, very crimson.

You weren't sure what to say, as he gather you up in his hands -pressing into your cheeks with his fingers, your eyes couldn't help but dip to his lips once more.

"We must head in now," he spoke, breathlessly, "-I'm not quite sure how much I can hold back... And... And you deserve such things properly."

"Properly, yes," you swallowed.

Mr. Grimes looked at you, and something in him snapped as he leaned forward again.

"One more couldn't hurt, could it?"

You were rather speechless, "Just one more."

He was a breath away from your lips now, you could feel his words whispered across them, "Just one more."

You weren't quite sure you believed him.

#rick grimes #its griming time #stuff n' thangs #rick grimes x reader #rick grimes x y/n #rick grimes x you #rick grimes x y/n fanfiction #twd #twd rick #rick grimes fanfiction #rick grimes oneshot #magnolia in may

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