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aperrywilliams · 21 hours

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If Anything, I Find it Educative (Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader)

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Author Masterlist

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Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader.

Summary: Spencer is not happy attending the annual FBI Gala this year. Having to socialize with a woman who only wants to seduce him makes it worse. But one not-so-fortunate incident could improve his night somehow.

Word Count: 6.8k

Warnings: Awkward Spencer. Morgan is stubborn about Spencer getting 'game.' Spencer spills facts about seafood (oysters), human biting, and cheating. Mention to Spencer's dick (only a phrase). Someone choking on food is described. A toxic relationship and job insecurities are described too. If I forgot something, let me know.

A/N: Okay, people. This is kind of an experiment: I want to know how you think the relationship between Spencer and Reader might evolve (if it evolves at all). Good friends? Romantic relationship rom-com style? An angsty romantic relationship? Friends to lovers? Just lovers? What important things do you imagine could happen to them? (canon or not). What could be the Reader's whole back story?

This is just a one-shot, but I am considering continuing it based on your thoughts and suggestions.

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Spencer's POV

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There are few things I hate more than being surrounded by many people at an event. Standing in the middle of a crowded party dressed in formal attire is one of them.

It is an uncomfortable occasion highlighted by uncomfortable clothes.

And this time, it's Hotch's fault.

Tonight, I should have been at home, wrapped in a cozy blanket and enjoying my new edition of War and Peace. But the annual FBI gala and Hotch's adamant request blew my plans.

"Strauss wants to see the whole team at the venue this year. And we are in a very thin line with her to ignore her wishes."

No one seemed conflicted with the idea of attending this fancy party. Even some of my teammates looked excited about it. While JJ and Garcia chatted animatedly for days about what dress they would choose, Morgan saw it as a chance to get to know the new female agents working at Counterterrorism. Rossi only wanted to know how good the scotch would be this year, and Prentiss took it as an excuse to have free drinks. For his part, Hotch seemed as calm as any day at work.

But me? I wasn't excited at all.

Reluctantly, I purchased a tuxedo for the gala. At first, I thought about renting one since I would hardly use it again. But my germophobic self made me think again, and I decided the expense would at least make me feel less uncomfortable.

Keyword: a little less uncomfortable.

Now, I'm standing at the entrance, scanning the venue, searching for a familiar face. The place is packed with agents from all divisions and their plus ones, so it's hard to find anything at all.

But a familiar voice pulls me from my struggle.

"Boy genius! Over here!"

Penelope is calling my name from a table in the corner. As my gaze lands on her, I can see Morgan, Emily, JJ, and Hotch there too.

A sigh of relief escapes my lips, and quickly, I stroll where my teammates are.

"Spence! You made it!" JJ greets me as I pull a chair next to Morgan to sit.

"We thought you weren't coming," Emily added before sipping her drink.

"I understood it was a requirement," I quipped, looking at Hotch. The aforementioned man nodded in agreement.

"It was, indeed. Have I to remind you Strauss is still mad about the whole ordeal with you stepping into a building with no vest and no gun?"

Hotch is right. Strauss made his life hell for a whole week until he notified my suspension.

I wince, remembering the incident in question.

Self-note: don't leave behind the vest and the gun again.

"You look very handsome, boy wonder," Garcia chimes, waving her hand and pointing at me.

I can't help but blush at the compliment. It's not she hasn't done it before, and I know she means well, but-

"Maybe pretty boy gets some game tonight," Morgan claps his hand on my shoulder, grinning.

That's why I don't like that kind of attention. At every chance, someone pips up and tries to play wingman or wingwoman for me. And although I appreciate their efforts, I like to move at my own pace. Even if some say my pace, it's more like a turtle's speed.

Giving him a tight-lip smile, I reach for a glass of water. I don't know how I'll survive this night.

Surprisingly, it is okay for now. I fall into conversation with Garcia and JJ, although it is more like me listening and them talking. Occasionally, I add some to the topic, and they seem receptive.

But Derek looks impatient to stand and march to a group of women talking on the opposite side of the venue, next to the bar. I don't look much into it until I feel his hand on my shoulder.

"You're oddly quiet tonight, pretty boy. What's up?" My sight darts from JJ and Penelope to Derek.

"Nothing?" I offer. My eyebrows creace. Derek snickers.

"I know what you need! Come on, let's enjoy the party and come with me to chat with those beautiful agents at the bar over there," he proposes. I shake my head.

"No. I'm good. You can go if you want. I don't think you need my help."

Derek rolls his eyes.

"Don't get dismissive with me. It'll help you to lose a little. I promise," he insists. And I know I'm losing my battle with him tonight.

"As if I had something interesting to say to them," I mumble, loud enough for Derek to hear.

"Don't say that. Surely, some would like to hear about, I don't know, oysters? And how they became a symbol of glamor or whatever. Because I'm sure you know that, right?" Derek points, grabbing an oyster from the tray a waiter offers him.

"Actually, oysters were not considered a status symbol until the 11th century, when the Crusades trunked access to seafood in Europe. Some researchers believe that-"

I'm about to explain the whole thing when Morgan cuts me off.

"See? Now, don't waste that knowledge with me, and let's share it with those gorgeous, shall we?"

I'm screwed.

I reluctantly stand to follow Derek. I know he's the best intention even if I won't tell him that. Maybe he's right, and I need to step out of my comfort zone occasionally.

As smoothly as only Morgan can be, he interrupts the conversation between three women by the bar. You would think they would return annoyed looks from the sudden interruption, but they did not. It is everything but that.

"Excuse me, beautiful ladies. Hope you don't mind some company. My friend and I thought it would be an honor to share part of your precious time tonight."

How the fuck can he do that?!

The result shocked me almost more than it impressed me. The three turn to us with flirting smiles flashing to Derek. And me?

That's new. And, of course, I have to blush furiously at that.

"Hey, handsome. Sweet talk, uh?" One of the girls teases Derek while the others giggle.

"I know I can do better, but you make me nervous, sweetheart," Morgan banters as smoothly as the beginning.

And that's it. We have their full attention now. Scratch that; Derek has their full attention now.

He asks for their names, and that's how I know the woman who spoke first is Vivian, and her friends are Julie and Ashley. The three of them work in the Counterterrorism Division.

"And who is your good-looking friend?" Ashley asks, skimming at me.

Why is she looking at me from head to toe?

Derek glances at me, and I understand it's time for me to say something.

"I'm Spencer," I wave.

Short and precise.

"Hi, Spencer. You are cute," Ashley points, and suddenly, my mouth goes dry.

As Emily once said, my IQ slashes to 60 when I'm in front of a beautiful woman. And Ashley is a beautiful woman. Her long, stylish blond hair, blue eyes, tan skin with perfect makeup, gorgeous smile, and a dress that accentuates her body in the right places. It would be stupid to say she is not attractive.

"Why don't we go to the dance floor while Ashley and Spencer get to know each other better, uh?" Derek offers to Julie and Vivian, winking at me.

Oh, Lord. Help me.

I don't think Derek or Ashley would appreciate it if I refused to stay here and run to the nearest exit. So I give Ashley a tight smile and prepare myself for whatever comes now.

"Well...?" she prompts, and I don't know what the fuck she expects me to say.

"Yeah. Nice party," I offer, hoping my attempt to small talk works.

Ashley's smile suggests it does.

"It is. Are you having fun?"

No.

"Yes! A lot! Are you?"

"Yeah. But I think it turns out better now," she says, subtly closing some distance between us with a playful look directed at me.

Is she flirting with me?

I clear my throat to appease some of my nerves. I need to cool off. If Derek can do this, I should try.

A waitress approaches us and offers some drinks. Ashley picks a glass of wine, and I prefer a flute of champagne. I don't usually drink alcohol, but I need it now.

"Slow down, boy. People would think I make you nervous," Ashley points seductively when she notices how I quickly down the liquid.

My eyes widen when she rests a hand on my chest and leans to whisper in my ear.

"I don't bite. Unless you want me to."

Okay. That sounds very straightforward.

I should feel flattered. An attractive woman is more than insinuating me right now; I barely said anything. But it doesn't feel like that.

Derek surely would tell me, 'Take it and play it, pretty boy,' but I don't feel like it. If we could engage in a kind of conversation, I would feel more comfortable. Don't get me wrong. I know what a potential one-night stand means, but I'm not good at it. That's how I am. Sue me.

I want to turn her down gently, so I do what I know to do, and people usually hate me for it: spit information.

"Compared with other mammals, like dogs and bears, humans don't have the strongest bite. Scientists measure the pressure exerted by an animal's bite in pounds per square inch or psi. The human bite force is 162 psi. The bite force of some dogs can reach 250 psi, while some bears have a bite force of over 1,000 psi. It's interesting, actually-"

Ashley is now looking at me, confused. She retreats his hand from my chest and hums, faking interest in what I'm saying.

As I go on with my info dump, I notice how Ashley changes her empty glass of wine to a filled one when a server offers it.

Aside from 'interesting,' 'oh,' and 'uhm,' she doesn't add more to the conversation - or more likely, my rambling - and by now, you would think she's tired of me. But no. For God knows what reason, she is persistent. I give her that.

Typically, I can ramble on and on, which is not the exception. The waiters and waitresses keep coming with drinks and food, and even I pick some for myself.

When they offer us a tray with oysters, I can't help but recall what Morgan told me before.

As I see Ashley ushering one to her mouth, I deliver an exciting fact about it.

"Did you know that raw oysters are still alive? Indeed, some people argue oysters might feel pain, and others say that because they don't have a central nervous system, they don't feel pain like other seafood species might."

Not looking at her, I focus on my oyster, inspecting it before continuing.

"If it's that so, the question is when they die actually. This is likely to happen when they are shucked rather than when they are chewed or swallowed. Scientists think this because an oyster's heart is right next to the bottom adductor muscle, so separating it from the shell kills it."

I should have known the lack of response wasn't due to the interest in the topic, although speaking was impossible for her. Her face's blueness and her hand on her neck now tell me something is wrong.

Fuck. She is choking.

I don't know what to do. She is choking on an oyster, and I'm paralyzed. The people around us start to scream as they see her turning blue. That picks everyone's attention, and I want to dig a hole to get into right now. But first, I should do something to help her. Before I can reach for her, a pair of arms hugs Ashley from behind and applies the Heimlich Maneuver. After a few thrusts into the abdominal area, we see the oyster fly from her mouth to somewhere on the floor.

At the same time, Vivian, Julie, and Derek rush to us to find out what is going on.

Ashley starts coughing, and some of her natural color returns to her face. The arms around her torso loosen, and that's when I notice the woman who just saved her life from choking.

Everything happens so fast that I barely register the slap across my face—Ashley's courtesy.

A collective 'Uhhh' is heard around us.

Before I can say anything, Ashley starts a rant full of anger and frustration toward me.

"Are you fucking crazy? Why would you say something like that? It's disgusting!"

Ironically, I'm speechless now.

What is wrong with talking about oysters?

"You fucking weird!" Ashley continues with her rant. It's like she has been holding it since we were left alone.

The woman who helped Ashley now looks between me and her with her eyebrow creased.

"Hey. You should take it easy. You're just recovering from-"

She can't finish the sentence since Ashley turned to lash out at her.

"Don't fucking tell me what to do! I almost died because of this pathetic nerd here who can't stop rambling about alive oysters! Just thinking about it makes me sick again!"

"Could it be a hint for not eating them anymore?" I muse, gaining a chuckle from the woman - let's call her the savior - and a deadly glare from Ashley. I recoil from saying anything else, and it is the wiser.

"I should have known better than to engage my time with you. Even if you actually pack a big dick, it doesn't worth it!" she whisper-yell at me, but loud enough for Derek, Vivian, Julie, and the mystery-savior woman to hear.

I'm utterly confused and embarrassed. What have to do my dick with all of this?

Derek is now dispersing the crowd around us as Vivian and Julie try to soothe her friend's anger, rubbing her back and arm.

I bet they see Ashley's wrath boiling and the high probability of her launching towards me to punch me. Their efforts to subdue her seem to work because, after a loud huff, Ashley only grabs her coat from Vivian's hand and spits at me: "Thanks for ruining my night!"

The three pass by my side to one of the exits venue.

I don't even know how I should feel.

I feel upset because my escape plan didn't go as planned. I feel relieved because Ashley didn't die. Hurt? Yeah, that, too. I didn't deserve a slap on my face. She calling me a pathetic nerd? Sadly, I'm not surprised. And it only confirms my theory I'm not good at this kind of setting.

With the show over and people not focused on me anymore, Derek approaches. I know what he wants to say, but I don't want to hear it. I'm done for tonight.

"Don't say it," I cut him off.

"I wasn't gonna say anything," he tells me with a sympathetic look, holding his hands up in surrender.

"Sure you not," I grumble. "And what was about that comment about my… dick?" I whisper to him.

Derek's face tries to remain neutral, but I know him better.

"What did you do?" I demand to Morgan, and he sighs.

"I may or may not have suggested a rumor about your attributes."

I look at him in disbelief.

"Shut the fuck up! You did not!"

"Come on, pretty boy. It worked! You caught their attention, didn't you?"

I shake my head, trying not to snap at him in public. Morgan can see the distress I'm carrying right now and relents.

"I'm sorry, Reid. I thought it would be a good chance for you to show yourself around. You're a good kid; you deserve to have a good time."

It's useless to engage in this argument again. I understand his good intentions, but like this? No, thanks.

"I better get going," I mumble, walking backward. I'm done for the night.

"Reid..." Morgan starts, but the shake of my head cuts him off. He sighs as I turn to head to one of the exits.

Walking through one of the venue's doors, I find myself on a lateral terrace. I stop for a moment to look around.

If there were different circumstances, I would be enjoying this view. To the front, you can see a beautiful and thick green shrubbery. Several fountains with little waterfalls and statues recreate a neoclassical garden. It is no coincidence since the property where the venue is located is a typical Jefferson's Neo-Palladian construction with high ceilings and large columns.

My architectural appreciation stops when my eyes land on a woman with her back leaning against one of the columns, her left hand resting on the concrete railing, and her right hand with a glass of wine. Her face is turned to the side, and she is observing the beautiful garden in front of her.

I know her. I've seen her before.

Although it is dark outside, the light from the venue's long windows illuminates the terrace enough.

My brain comes up with the answer in a fraction of a second.

Is the woman who saved Ashley from choking.

After what she did, nobody even thanked her. The worst part is knowing Ashley behaved that poorly with her. It's not fair. And it's my fault.

With that in mind, I approach her.

She seems too concentrated to register I'm just a foot of distance from her. I clear my throat to call her attention.

She turns her head with a confused look at first. But she offered me a kind smile when she realized who I was.

It's my first chance to look at her; with everything happening so fast, I barely noticed her trying to talk back to Ashley moments ago.

And now that I'm in front of her, I feel weirdly struck.

Besides her beautiful smile, her eyes hold a piercing gaze, but not the kind that frightens you. It's more like she actually sees you and gives you her undivided attention. With light makeup, her face lets you see some of her freckles. With her hair tied to one side, you can see her neck adorned with a simple gold chain with a compass-shaped pendant.

My not-so-subtle scrutiny is interrupted by her voice.

"Can I help you?" She asks, and my cheeks turn pink. But I'm here for a reason, so I clear my throat before speaking.

"Sorry. I - uh. I'm sorry for bothering you, but I wanted to thank you. For what you did back there," I say, pointing to the inside. "And, well, I want to apologize too. Ashley wasn't very kind to you, considering you mostly saved her life."

She tilts her head slightly, a frown forming, while contemplating what to say.

"Well," she starts. "I'll take the thanks. But I can't take the apologies."

Now, it's my turn to frown.

"Oh, okay. Uh - Why not?"

Not that she should do it. It's her right to do it or not, but I'm curious.

"Because you didn't do anything wrong to me, so you don't have to," she shrugs, like it's obvious.

"I kind of did. I mean, Ashley behaved awful, and I didn't -"

Before I can continue, she shakes her head to stop me.

"No. Don't do that. Why on earth do you want to apologize for someone else's bad manners, considering she treated you like garbage?"

She doesn't say it as if she is upset at me, more likely as if she doesn't understand why I would do that. And yes, she has a good point. But someone has to do the right thing, and that's what I say next.

"It's just the right thing to do."

She takes her time, mulling over my words and whether she believes me or not.

"Okay. You're correct. It's the right to do. And it's a shame most people don't do it. But I still believe it is not your responsibility here."

Something is telling me her statement concerns more than Ashley being impolite. But it is not my place to point that.

"But some people do. And that must count as something, I guess. "

It's curious how her look changes from pensive to more light-hearted.

"Okay. You win this time..." she trails off, not knowing how to refer to me.

"Spencer," I supply. She hums.

"You win this time, Spencer. And being that said, I accept your apology too," she added, sipping the remaining wine from her glass.

I smile, nodding appreciatively. It's a little gesture, but I feel better after what happened.

Silence settles between us, and I take that as my cue to leave. I had already taken enough of her time.

"Uh, well. Thank you again..."

I trail off, realizing I don't know her name.

"(Y/N)," she says.

"Thank you again, (Y/N). Hope you enjoy the rest of your night."

With that said, I should get on foot to leave the venue, as I had planned to do ten minutes ago, but for some reason, my feet didn't want to move, and I kept standing there. (Y/N) look at me as if I'm going to say something else due to the lack of movement on my part.

"Are you okay?" she asks, and now I have the same question for myself.

"Yeah. Yeah. Totally okay. Sorry, I'm leaving now."

Turning in my heels, I'm about to walk away when I hear (Y/N) 's voice.

"I didn't know that, you know? And, for the record, I didn't think it was disgusting."

I stop in my tracks to look at her with a raised eyebrow. When I catch what she is referring to, my eyes cast to the floor, and my cheeks turn pink again.

"If anything, I found it educative," she adds. I try to decipher if there is some teasing in her words, but I find none. She's being oddly genuine. Oddly, because I'm not used to people saying that when referring to the things I tend to ramble about.

"Thank you," I sheepishly say, my hands finding home in my pant pockets. "People don't tell me that very often."

A puff leaves (Y/N) 's lips before she says, "Ungrateful fuckers."

I chuckle at her choice of words.

Weird. It's the first time all night that I don't want to run away from here.

"Yeah. Something like that," I agree, and she smiles. Now I'm comfortable enough to make some conversation.

"Uh, are you from Quantico?"

"Yeah. A very adrenalinal position," she prompts, and I raise an eyebrow. "Finance Division."

I can't help but snort, and she laughs. "I told you. What about you?"

"Behavioral Unit Analysis," I reply. (Y/N)' s eyes wide in recognition.

"Wow. The one and only BAU."

"You know us?"

"Sure. I wouldn't forget a unit that has its own jet. I'm the one who enters the travel expenses from all Quantico," she explains. I hum, trying to figure out the amplitude of that sole task. "Like I told you, very exciting."

She is mocking herself regarding her job. But I find it impressive for a desk job. Not all people have the skills to run financials.

"Well, I agree it is not very adrenaline but very important. I mean, we have to travel around the country all the time. Our job depends on traveling."

(Y/N) has now an amused expression on her face.

"It's nice to know someone truly values what you do. Not even our boss does it," she points before letting a deep sigh escape from her lips. "Gosh, I'm being very judgmental right now. You're going to think I spend my life complaining about everything. I do sometimes, but I'm not always like this," she explains. I shake my head.

"I'm not judging you. Everyone has the right to say what things don't like or would change about their jobs."

"Well, thanks. Although I'm sure you guys have more reasons to be concerned. You risk your life on the field every time. That's huge."

She rests the empty glass on the concrete rail, adjusting her coat around her body. The air is chiller at this time of the night.

"You know? People say that a lot. And I agree. It's a dangerous job, but it's not better than anyone's for that reason, or whatever another reason for that matter.

Her eyes are analyzing me with curiosity. I'm not sure, but it's like she's having difficulty believing what I'm saying.

"Can I ask you something, Spencer?"

"Sure."

"Why are you here tonight?"

My eyes narrow at her question. Isn't the reason obvious?

"What do you mean? It's the FBI annual gala," I point out, knowing she already knows that too. She nods.

"Precisely," she starts. "And at the risk of being impertinent, I can say this environment makes you uncomfortable. When you were with that girl talking - scratch that, when you were talking, and she looked at you, trying to devour you with her eyes - you seemed like you didn't want to be there. Above all, knowing this kind of event is basically to show off to other bureau agents, I don't think is your notion of an ideal night."

If I wasn't impressed when we started talking - which I was - I am now.

She assumes my awe as discomfort.

"I'm sorry. I didn't want to overstep."

"No, no. You are okay. And let me tell you, your observation is completely accurate," I hasten to clarify.

"Yeah?" (Y/N) asks, and I nod earnestly.

"Yeah. Have you not considered applying for a position as a field agent?"

An amused laugh leaves her lips.

"No way! I would be a total disaster! And carrying a gun is not my idea of a dream job anymore," she points out, still laughing.

I chuckle, but her answer makes me think. Before I can ask for clarification, she calls me out.

"Hey, you didn't answer my question."

I didn't, although the answer is simple.

"My boss made me."

(Y/N) scoff in disbelief.

"What? Did he put a gun against your chest?"

Well, thinking better about it, maybe the answer is not that simple.

"Not quite, but you can say I felt it that way."

I tell (Y/N) how my team always worries about my lack of social interaction, which isn't that accurate if you ask me. However, some of the pressure of doing things that people my age would generally do is finally getting me and pushing me out of my comfort zone.

She listens to me with undivided attention and seems to understand what I'm talking about.

"Peer pressure, uh? I can relate to that to some extent," she agrees.

"That's why are you here tonight, too?"

My question makes her let out a deep sigh as her eyes focus on the garden beside us for a second.

"Not really. Who knows, maybe I do enjoy being here?"

(Y/N) phrases it more like a question than a statement. And I can tell she doesn't believe it either.

"Enjoying being apart from the crowd, in a lateral terrace barely illuminated and exposed to the chilly night air? I can think of several other places to do the same thing without the trouble of a gala environment."

Her cheeks turn a shade of pink, which tells me I'm right.

"Not fair, you are a certified profiler," (Y/N) complains, faking annoyance.

"And you haven't answered my question either," I remind her. She rolls her eyes playfully.

"Yeah, yeah. I know. Well, let's say I came here to prove myself something. Spoiler alert: I failed. That's why I have been mostly spending the night here."

I hum, knowing she is vague in explaining, but I'm not in a place to pry.

"Look, I would tell you more about it, but I'm sure you have to return inside. Your teammates are surely wondering where you are."

I can't help but snort, and she raises an eyebrow at my reaction.

"I'm sorry, but your assumption is far from reality. Considering what happened inside, they think I ran home. What I was actually doing before spotting you here," I admit.

"Ha! So it's true I'm holding you back but for a different motive," she triumphantly concludes.

"I didn't say that!" I complain with a hint of exasperation, to which she breathly laughs.

"I know. I know. I'm messing with you. Honestly? There are two reasons why I'm avoiding this topic right now. First, I don't think you want to hear the mess my life is these days, and second, I would kill for a coffee and a sandwich-" she pauses, stifling a chuckle before continuing. "Considering oysters are out of the table."

"Oh, come on!" I groan, seeing how she falls into a fit of laughter, so contagious that I can't help but join her.

"Sorry, sorry. Not very kind of me, I know. But I couldn't help it," she apologizes, still giggling. I bit my lower lip in amusement.

"Alright. It's okay. It's frankly funny," I admit, my words leaving my mouth before I can think of them. "Well, I could tell you more of those moments in my life - many of them - if you let me join you with the coffee and sandwich. I know a good place that is open at this hour. And you can tell me what kind of thing you wanted to prove yourself tonight."

Spencer Reid. Is that you?

I'm surprised by my sudden confidence, and it seems (Y/N) is, too. She hums, scrubbing her fingers under her chin while contemplating my offer.

"Okay, I'll take it. But don't tell me later that I didn't warn you about the mess of my life," she points her index finger at me.

"I won't. I promise."

Grabbing a cab is relatively easy since the FBI considered transportation outside the venue for people who won't be driving.

The fifteen-minute ride allows us to have a light conversation. That's how I know (Y/N) has been in the bureau for almost four years. Being an Accountant by profession and with a Master of Science in Finance from Georgetown, she was recruited for the FBI precisely considering her outstanding skills in the financial department.

She asks me about my trajectory in the FBI as well. I tell her about Gideon and the start of my life at the BAU.

Arriving at our destination, I insist on paying for the ride despite her resistance. I assured her that she could invite me to the coffee.

It must be a curious image for the patrons to see two fully gala-dressed people stepping inside a diner at eleven pm.

We sit on a bench facing each other.

A girl who can't hide her curious expression comes to take our order. As promised, (Y/N) asks for two coffees and two sandwiches.

"So, Agent Gideon recruited you for the FBI. Why did you accept? I would have thought you would be more comfortable in academics," (Y/N) asks, stirring a spoon of sugar in her coffee.

"I thought the same at the time. But Gideon saw something I didn't. He knew I wouldn't settle with learning and teaching for the rest of my life, and I needed it to be useful beyond that environment."

I explain how profiling has helped us to catch unsubs around the country and how worthy it is for me. I can't think of myself doing anything else. (Y/N) listen to me with raptor interest; it is nice to be heard that way.

"You know? I haven't heard someone speak passionately about their work in a long time. It's good you feel that way," she says with a hint of longing that doesn't go unnoticed by me.

"It is bold of me to assume you don't like what you do?"

Maybe I'm overstepping, but I'm curious. And (Y/N) doesn't seem bothered by my question. Shifting in her seat, she leans, resting her elbows on the table.

"Not bold at all, mister profiler," she teases. "But not always has been that way. I would say I started to feel uncomfortable not long ago. A couple of months, perhaps?"

I hum, thinking about what could have made her feel that way.

"It has to do with why you were at the gala tonight?"

She chuckles, nodding.

"Kind of. Remember I told you I wanted to prove myself something? Well, it has to do with what has been bothering me," she prefaces.

(Y/N) relates how things have gone well since she got into the FBI. She felt respected, wanting to do many things and learn everything she could.

That's how she met her boyfriend.

"I wasn't looking for a romantic relationship, much less at work. I wanted to be professional, separating my private life from my job. But he was so attentive and supportive. He always told me he was happy I felt fulfilled with what I was doing. He was so perfect I thought I had found my soulmate."

I don't know exactly where she is going, but sure as hell, that prick wasn't her soulmate.

"What happened?"

"One day, I wasn't good enough for him anymore. After two years of relationship, he started with harsh comments and criticism about everything I did and didn't do."

A humorless chuckle escapes her lips.

"I should have noticed. By then, he was promoted from desk duty and junior trainee to field agent. He had always wanted it, and I felt so happy for him. But that changed everything."

(Y/N) tells me about how her boyfriend stopped listening to her, and instead, every topic of conversation turned to his job, implying - sometimes saying it explicitly - that it was more important than hers.

"It's not only the fact we stopped communicating; it was realizing how low he thought about me and my accomplishments. At first, I tried to understand. Of course, he was dazed by this new life, full of danger and adrenaline. I could understand it. But when he started comparing me to his female colleagues and the things they were doing, way more important than the ones I was doing, it made me insecure."

(Y/N) takes time to collect her thoughts, sipping the remaining coffee from the cup.

"The insecurities got the best of me. At some point, I just wanted to run away and leave it all behind. I knew it was irrational, but I believed him. I even thought about changing my career and training to be a field agent. Good thing we broke up before I could do that," she admits.

"What stopped you? I mean, like you're telling this, you were going to change for him," I ask. She cast her gaze, averting mine. Her cheeks turn pink.

"I don't like to admit it, but the reason we broke up wasn't because I realized how stupid the situation was. We broke up because he cheated on me. I discovered it two months ago, breaking the camel's back."

Fuck. That prick was not meant to be her soulmate. And I feel the urge to have one or two words with him right now.

"I'm sorry." It's the only thing I manage to say. (Y/N) shakes her head.

"Nah. If anything, I'm glad it happened. Even if it broke my heart."

"He was at the gala, right?" (Y/N) nods.

"With the coworker that he chose to cheat on me. His current girlfriend."

Everything makes perfect sense now. (Y/N) was trying to prove to herself that the wound had healed. And from what she said earlier, it didn't turn that way.

She bitterly chuckles.

"Yeah. It's pathetic, I know."

Spencer, do something.

"No! It's not. Unfortunately, cheating is not uncommon, particularly in men. In 2020, IFS released a report stating that 20% of men have admitted to cheating, and only 10% have. In 2021, the Health Testing Centers asked 441 people who admitted infidelity to their partners and asked how long it took for them to tell their partners about it. 47.7% of the respondents told their partner within a week that they'd cheated. 26.6% of those have waited for a month, and 25.7% took six months or longer to tell their partner about the infidelity. And 60% of them said the affair started in a work environment."

And then again, the rambling. But instead of giving me a blank look, (Y/N) seems to consider what I just said.

"Maybe I shouldn't feel so bad about it then. Anyway, it hasn't been easy to get out of this. I thought going to the gala and forcing myself to see them together would be enough to get a closure," she reflects.

"But it still hurts," I supply, making (Y/N) hum.

"Yeah. I'm not ready, and it sucks. Not for him, but for me. I hate feeling so out of place, so dissatisfied with everything," (Y/N) retorts, leaning back and crossing her arms over her chest.

Her eyes look sad, and I want to do something to fix it, although I know that nothing I can say would be enough. Maybe joking will at least get her off the topic.

"And there I was talking about oysters all night," I sigh, feigning disapproval. Genuine laughter escapes her lips.

I didn't know that making her laugh could fill my heart so much with satisfaction.

"That's life," she adds, now checking the time on her cell phone. "I think I'll get going," she announces, collecting her things and preparing to stand.

"Can I walk you home? It's very late already," I ask.

"Oh no, don't worry about me. My building is not far from here."

I know she doesn't want to cause trouble, but it makes me uneasy about what could happen to her walking alone at this hour.

Thank you, BAU.

"Please?" I insist. (Y/N) raises an eyebrow.

"Aren't you already fed up with me?" she asks curiously.

"Non yet," I grin.

Not having the energy to put up a fight, she accepts my offer, and after paying the bill, we leave the restaurant.

The night is colder now, and both of us walk in silence with our hands in our pockets.

I can't know what exactly she's thinking, but at least I can't stop thinking about tonight. For someone like me, it's hard to fall into spontaneity, but with (Y/N), it wasn't a problem. That amazes me, and I like it at the same time.

When she stops walking, I get out of my thoughts.

"Here," she says, looking at the building we are standing by. "Thank you for walking with me," (Y/N) states, smiling. It's the same warm smile she offered when I found her on the venue's terrace a couple of hours ago.

"Of course. It's the less I could do."

And I mean it. She saved my night in so many ways she doesn't even know.

"Well, I need to say it was a pleasure to share this shit of a night with you and turned it less shitty," she says, grinning and satisfied with her remark.

I laugh at her statement. I couldn't have said it better.

"Thank you. It's the best compliment I have had in a long time," I joke, making (Y/N) giggle.

"You are welcome."

I have the question on the tip of my tongue. I would love to see her again, but what if she doesn't think it's worth it? I opt for the vaguest thing that comes to mind.

"See you around?"

(Y/N) thinks about it for a moment. Am I being too obvious? Before falling into a spiral, she smiles at me again.

"Yeah, sure. Why not."

I can't help but feel the excitement pouring from me.

"Great! Well, I - I'll go now. Good night (Y/N)," I say goodbye, slowly walking backward.

"Good night, Spencer," she retorts before entering the building.

I watch her disappear behind the door, and I think that while neither of us got what we wanted, maybe we got what we needed.

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A/N 2: I'm excited to know your thoughts about this!

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Spencer Reid's Taglist: @dreatine @nomajdetective @jayyeahthatsme @rosalinasam2 @averyhotchner @lovelyxtom @princessmiaelicia @pastelbabygirl19 @reidsbookclub @alexxavicry @gspenc @spencerreidisbae123 @calmspencer @pauline5525mgg @anamiad00msday @milivanili99 @laylasbunbunny @leahblackk @miaxx03 @missabsey @taintedstranger @khxna @hiireadstuff @pleasantwitchgarden @dysphoricsanity

#spencer reid #criminal minds #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #dr spencer reid #amanda perry williams #aperrywilliams #spencer reid fic #spencer reid one shot

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valeskafics · 3 days

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aegon (hotd) x niece!reader scenario where they're in an arranged marriage even tho they don't really like each other. their wedding night is horrible because he gets extremely drunk and barely manages to perform. she knows basic things about sex and why its done but it's just a unimpressive and weird experience for her bc he doesn't even try and she doesn't understand why people say sex is pleasurable. they don't do it again after that but sometimes he just gets drunk and at late night he goes to sleep in her bed instead of his own chambers. he does the same one night and sleeps till the noon next day. she's hanging out with her with her step-sisters in the balcony while he's passed out on the bed. he wakes up hearing their voices but doesn't open his eyes. when baela asks if he goes down on her, reader doesn't understand what the term means, so baela explains it to her and tells her its supposed to feel good. so reader tells her how they've only had sex once and she doubts that any sexual act with aegon will make her feel good. they don't know he's listening to everything they say and keep continuing on with their conversation. when her sisters leave, he finally gets out of the bed and reader is surprised to find him awake. she's like good morning and all he responds with is that "if you wanted to be treated like a silk street whore you could've just said so" he tells her to strip out of everything but keep her stockings on. he's already wearing nothing but his breeches so he removes them too. he tells her to get on the bed and she's a bit confused at that but does as he says. he goes between her thighs and without giving her any warning, he put his mouth on her cunt. he threatens promises her to make her pass out due to the pleasure and she's like "i doubt so". so he's like brace yourself and overstimulates her to the point where her cunt is literally swollen and even the slightest touch makes her scream and she's sobbing and begging him for a break. he's a man of his word tho so he only stops when he notices that she's been passed out for five minutes. they go on like this everyday and he teaches her new things about sex to make her the same level of a freak as her. they've already traumatized enough guards servants and courtiers, to the point where anyone doesn't even dare to go near their windows even during the day and the kingsguard assigned to them wear earplugs every night.

next thing you know their kids are bracing themselves every year for a new sibling and the family potrait painter almost wants to quit his job bc of the new editions he has to make in the paintings all the time. and daemon keeps getting concerned if the family is going to have a dragon eggs shortage soon

OH MY GODDDDDDD nonnie your brain???????? This is so-

Also I love daemon just sitting in the corner like “fuckkkk another one????”

#ask #anon ask

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forsworned · 2 days

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That Keegan post you made had me clutching my PEARLS! Your use of words was so masterfully done! I really loved the new vocab I learned while reading your work.

Your depiction of the relationship was also so so nice. Very loving and attentive and just so sweet. I could tell they loved one another and had already established boundaries that they knew they shouldn’t cross. The ending was lovely as well, a great way to tie things up.

Thank you for writing it! I’m excited to see what else your lovely brain comes up with!

-🧢

Whispers in the Woods: A Stranger's Shelter ft. OfftheGridCowboy!Keegan Russ

Sypnosis: When Keegan finds you petrified, running for your life from creatures unknown to you in the Haunted Appalachia trails after sundown, he takes you in for the night. Things get a bit crazy...

Warning(s): Mentions of Sexual Content, Violence, Petnames (?), Blood, Supernatural Horror (?), Eventual Smut, Barely Proofread, Reader is 28 and Keegan is 30, Reader is also AFAB

Word Count: 7.5k (enjoy keegan lovers ;)

Author's note: Blue cap anon thank you so much for inspiring me to write for Keegan. Honestly, I really love how this fic turned out and I hope you do too. I am so sorry I took so long to reply to you but you seriously warmed my heart so sosososo much when I read your message. I did not mean to put you on the back burner for this long/ Just know I have put so much effort into this to provide you a solid work so I hope that is a good enough excuse to have such a delayed response. Also so glad that you learned some new words LOL that really tickles me tbh, but I want to work more with the relationship that reader builds with Keegan in general or with any character x reader I write. So please enjoy this :)

edit: i think it's lowkey not living up to my expectations but ummm fuck it we ball

Sparks fly as the firewood in the pit crackles, casting an orange ember over you and the stranger sitting in front of you. His eyes, reminiscent of the cool, blueness of winter are lingering on you, and his heavy, leather jacket drapes over your shoulders to shield you from the chilliness of the early April evening. With his black cowboy hat slightly tilted upward, you note the black bandana covering most of his face, adding an air of mystery to his appearance.

"You really shouldn't be out here." His voice edges a precarious tone, though you cannot determine if it's toward you or whatever lurks in the abysmal woods. Maybe it was both. Your fingers curl around the distressed tanned hide, fiddling with the stitching of the material. A shudder careens through the columns of your spine, goosebumps trail over your skin, and the fuzz across your neck rises briefly.

"Don't look. Don't even acknowledge it." He instructs, steadying his gaze on you as he tinkers with the butterfly knife in his gloved hand. "W-what?" You gasp out, eyes reaming as your quivering vision sets on the embers of the pyre. A sinister presence harks over your convulsing body, heart palpitating out of your tightening sternum. But as soon as it arrives it departs and you're left heaving for the oxygen that was stripped from your lungs.

"I'm not gonna ask you again, what are you doin' walkin' around aimlessly in these mountains?" He repeatedly latches and unlatches the metal object in his hands, his gaze fixates on you. Truthfully, you were lost. When the engine of the old Dodge that you inherited from your grandfather abruptly cut out as you passed through a dead zone, it was all hauling ass from there on out. Classic damsel in distress situation.

Your father and he had both warned you about the Appalachian mountains. How apex predators inhabited the woods, preying on the innocent, ripping flesh apart on sight, or disappearing into the ghastly woods to never return. But, of course, you wrote it off as fearmongering. Never had you experienced the soul-crushing, harrowing existence of unidentified, cryptids lurking within the lacunas of the evergreens.

"My truck it—" You start to say, but the sound of him exhaling loudly cuts you off and you glance up at him with misery strewn across your features. Doe-eyes glimmering from the wetness that was welling in your oculars as your lips tremble. He outstretches his arm to the lantern on the perched log, "I've heard enough."

He begins to get up, extinguishing the flame, smothering it with what seemed to be a bag of salt and you felt fear creeping back into your system.

"Come on." As the pyre's embers fade, the lantern's switch emits a squeak, coaxing the oil flame to life, while the blood-curdling shrieks send shivers down your spine, ringing in your ears. And as if on cue, you cling to his side and he lets out a soft huff, feeling your arm coil around his.

The inferno acts as a bulwark from whatever is skulking around the both of you in the obscurity of the night as you move through the forest. You catch glimpses of shadows trekking about, seemingly running away from you now. A stark contrast from the previous frantic sprint through the woods in your petite, white frilly prairie dress that was now tattered at the edges and puffy sleeves. Now, you were safe. At least you certainly hope so.

A tiny light enters your line of sight in the distance, and you can only assume that that is his home. But you were still heeding the noises and images being molded in front of human eyes. It was as if the veil was lifted here, a supernatural existence in the vast mountains and woods of the Appalachia. You don't know whether to be terrified or fascinated, but you keep quiet as he silently leads you down the desire path to his home that is etching itself a little more into the horizon.

Approaching the home, you begin to notice the clandestine features of the house. A zephyr sweeps past you and the distinct smell of lavender and sage gently brims into your senses. You visibly shudder as the steps creak under your weight, your arm remains tucked into his own as he fishes out his keys and unlocks the door. Like a gentleman, he gestures to allow you in first and he follows closely behind, shutting it behind him.

"Shoes off at the door." He directs, treading past you as he tosses another piece of firewood into the lit fireplace.

What the fuck?

Is he just not going to acknowledge the paranormal manifestation that incurred upon them just now? The shadows of unearthly skinwalkers who infest the woods, who are prowling out there now as they barricade themselves from the outside? What is stopping them from forcefully intruding into his home?

You finally catch your breath for a moment, still feeling your heart hammering against your chest before you speak. "Are we not going to talk about what we just saw?"

"Nope." He simply replies, from another room and you blink back in surprise. Then it sinks in.

Of course, how could you forget? How can you forget the rules of the Appalachia, that were engrained into you as a child?

If you see something strange in the wilderness, no, you didn't.

If you hear something call your name, no, you didn't.

If you hear screaming in the Appalachian mountains, especially a woman's scream, no, you didn't.

If you feel something stalking you, do not run.

Never, ever, whistle at night.

Never go into the woods at night.

Never leave your windows open at night, even in the summer and honestly, the list dragged on and on and on.

Most of it falls on deaf ears never believing in the legends, and yet, here you are shaken up by things you never thought existed in a stranger's home who found it in his heart to shelter you until what you suppose would be dawn.

A wavering breath escapes you as you take a long gander at the well-maintained colonial home. The timeless and heirloom quality of the home becomes evident upon analyzing the vast array of paintings and framed photographs adorning the walls, each depicting individuals with strikingly similar features—dark brows, thick lashes, and mesmerizing steely blue eyes that seemed to penetrate your soul. You can't quite make out the framed artwork through your muzzy vision, but it's eerie the way you can't quite pinpoint why the face was so recognizable to you.

Exposed wooden ceiling beams motion your eyes to the inherited items and the mounted deer skull above the hearth. The warmth emanating from it felt different, soothing, lulling your quivery limbs. You oblige and kick off your boots, padding behind him as he draws out his gun from his holster and places it on the mahogany table. He removes his cowboy hat, hanging it on the horseshoe hat rack adjacent to the fireplace revealing his tousled short black locks. As he begins to unmask himself, a small gasp leaves your lips, fixating on his newly exposed features. And he was goddamn handsome and unusually reminiscent of someone from your childhood embarked into the backlogs of your memory, but of course, you brush it off.

And although he hears it, he does not acknowledge it as one hand grips the wooden chair and the other runs over his dark stubble. He's pensive. The last thing he needed was some heretic woman living under his roof for Lord knows how long. At this point, he decides that you are his responsibility and he cannot shirk from that for that would be unbecoming of a man like himself and he was raised better than that.

He glances up at the painting of his father above the hearth and you take note of the reflective state. His daddy was the embodiment of a Cowboy. Gentlemanly, charming, nifty, and always genial, providing the best hospitality a person could provide. No way, he'd accept Keegan kicking you to the curb, leaving you out for those creatures to rip you apart. Plus, his father would simply rise from his grave and kick his ass.

"You hungry?" He pays no mind to your lingering, bewitched eyes as he moves to the kitchen and you like a lost puppy trailing behind him. "Got some leftover potato leek soup."

And as if on cue, your stomach growls and he glances at your hand over your tummy. You flush from the embarrassment of your stomach being that raucous. He cocks a brow at you and you can't tell if he's amused or annoyed. Probably both. "Go sit." He points his chin to the table by the fireplace and you pad back to the living room, the tempering sensation of the flames causes you to become drowsy. You loll your head to analyze his stature. His figure towers over all of the antique appliances in the kitchen, muscles flexing as he prepares to reheat the soup on the stove. Rolling up his sleeves to reveal his taut, tanned forearms to open the cabinet and pull out the loaf of handmade sourdough, slicing it evenly and efficiently before tossing it in the toaster.

His form becomes a bit hazy as you lay your head against the top rail of the chair, mesmerized by the allure of his broadened shoulders, and soft pink lips that all by hide the peeking tongue indicating his concentration in preparing you a homecooked meal. Keegan never has guests over, in fact, no one is ever daft enough to come running around this way anyways because locals know better and tourists are too scared shitless to even enter this part of the Appalachia. He likes it like that, away from everything and everyone, being able to maintain his family's ranch that was inherited by him at the ripening age of 18.

His mother moved out to the suburbs because the death of his father was far too devasting on her already weary soul to continue living her days out on the farm. But Keegan doesn't mind it. He handles the livestock with ease, providing care to the birthing cattle, and maintaining the operations of the facilities as a whole to keep his honest living thriving. It's all in a good day's work for him. So caring after you shouldn't be too much of a hassle right?

You're suddenly awoken to the soft clatter of the bowl being set on the wooden table, the savory aroma of potato leek soup, and freshly toasted sourdough bread. He sets a glass of water beside you before he pulls his seat adjacent to you with his food.

"Eat." He orders, waiting for you to take a spoonful of thick soup. You hesitantly lift the spoon before glancing up at him. He blinks back at you, realizing the weight of his indiscretion, and whisks the soup with his spoon before noshing on it as if to tell you that is not poisoned nor drugged. Your other hand takes the bread in between your fingers and he mirrors your actions, claiming a bite from his own and you visibly relax.

The soup is scalding to the touch, but you welcome the sensation when you get a taste of the heavenly whipped soup. Not a single lump, just the smoothest, most savory supping of such a simple hearty soup instantly heartening your disconcerting body right down to your unsteady hand.

"I'll fix your truck as soon as dawn breaks." He flashes a glance before breaking his bread and scooping it into his soup. "Make yourself comfortable in the guest bedroom." He gestures with his hand to the upstairs.

"Oh, I couldn't—" You begin to say, but he will have none of it.

"You're not going out there until the sun's out." He replies simply, as he lifts his glass of water and sips from it. You observe the way his Adam's apple oscillates under his stubbly throat and you swallow thickly when you realize he's gazing at you keenly.

Warmth spreads to your cheeks and your eyes are now following the pattern of the wood grain. "That's…very kind of you."

"'s just the human thing to do." And there is an emphasis on the word 'human'.

You begin to play with your soup, scooping it up and letting it fall back into the bowl. "Right." Your voice is soft as you try to block out the memory just moments ago.

He narrows his eyes as if to study you. "What's your name?"

You glance up at him, and you're almost a bit hesitant to tell him. You almost want to lie, but you decide otherwise. "[Name], and yours?"

"Keegan."

"Keegan what?" You press. He raises a brow at you as he chews on his bread.

"Russ."

Russ. An esteemed surname that was echoed throughout your household during your adolescence. Presley Russ was a handsome and genial man who appeared at your father's porch steps every so often, tipping his hat at you with that charming smile and those glacial hues that made your heart jump. He'd invite your daddy out for nights at the rodeo or sipping on Highland Gaelic Ales on the porch from the afternoon til midnight, biding his time between Maryland and North Carolina.

You never quite caught glimpses of his son when you were living out on the ranch before you moved out for college, but you did remember a time when you ventured out past sunset in the abandoned village in the Black Hills you knew better than to be in when your daddy had to travel to Wheaton for the grand opening of his old buddy, Presley's restaurant accompanied by his reclusive son who you never remembered the name of. But for God's sake, who was stupid enough to go treading alone around the same location as the filming of the Blair Witch Project?

But you were a skeptic at best until you heard the unrelenting repetition of your name being called which led you astray, causing you to stumble over your own feet and ultimately collide with a rock that rendered you unconscious. Soon enough, you felt yourself being carried back to your home in the arms of the Russ boy with the hardened steely gaze that intently stared down at the knot forming on your forehead. You had never shut your eyes so quickly and the sound of his soft chuckle, caused you to be even more embarrassed as you were being handed off to your worried parents who were more than relieved and thankful to have retrieved you.

Of course, you had to act like you were unconscious. It was already humiliating enough that you were old enough to know better, but being ferried by a cute boy like you were some helpless damsel in distress was just mortifying.

But that was long forgotten by you in hazy summer days during your teen years before you went off to college and moved out into the city. In reality, you had written it off as a dream, a hallucination concocted by that vivid and graphic imagination of yours. That was always the case with you and the Appalachia. Always the non-believer.

But part of you was hoping that maybe he didn't recognize you after all this time, and yet the way he is staring you down is beginning to feel like otherwise.

"Blair." He suddenly says matter-of-factly as he taps his finger at the table and nods again. "Blair." A small toothy grin creeps on his lips before he chuckles.

Your eyes reaming as your heart drops to your stomach. "What?"

"Black Hills, you're the daughter of the farmer right up in Garrett County."

You feel the warmth blooming on your cheeks. He knew. "I—How do you remember that?"

"Knew you looked familiar." He dives back into his steaming soup. "Was tryin' to figure out where I'd seen that necklace of yours." He juts his chin, pointing to the family heirloom that kisses your clavicle. It had been passed down for generations to the women in your family as a symbol of health, wisdom and longetivity. You feel for the 20k gold pendant with lilac and sage engraved into the soft metal.

He looks as if he's stifling another snicker. "Think you pissed yourself a little when I found you unconscious."

Now that gets you real flared up. The abrupt change in mood was beginning to wrack your nerves. You sigh knowing that at the very least you were in good hands. Familiarity begins to set in as he breaks the ice, creating a more comfortable atmosphere between you two.

"I did not!" You puff your cheeks out at him and he's tickled pink by your endearing, agitated reactions.

His gleeful grin only grows to his eyes. "Now, who willing goes into the woods by themselves when they know damn well what kind of activity breeds over there, hm? Gotta death wish if you ask me, kid."

You open your mouth to say something, but it clamps shut. You don't know whether to be abashed by the way his face lights up like the stars in the heavens above, or by the fact that he remembers that you pissed yourself a little through your favorite pair of khaki parachute shorts in a known marked area where people have gone missing. The stark realization of it being a tangible memory was mussing at your trepidation towards him. But he's teasing you now and it stirs a strange kind of desire in your lower belly as you uncomfortably shift in your creaky wooden seat.

Pushing your bowl away, you avoid responding by guzzling down your water and then calmly placing it back down.

"I'd like to get ready for bed now, if you don't mind."

He jovially raises his eyebrows as he munches on the last of his bread. The smirk still curled up on the corners of his pinkened lips.

He wipes the crumbs off his hands and thumbs either side of his mouth before he gets up, gesturing to you. " 'Course not."

You stand up and politely push your chair in as you track behind him up the croaking staircase. Your body is practically heaving with every step and by the top of it, you're feeling a bit winded. Keegan decides to keep his comments to himself as he ushers you down the grandiose hallway. The walls are painted ivory, and wall sconces are tapered candles on held-up aged tin nailed into the parapet. Hardwood floors are well kept, but the small divots in between the grain quickly reveal the age.

He jingles the knob to what you suppose is the guest bedroom, but it seems to be locked. His fingers fish into his pocket and you watch as he phalanges through the set and then finally picks out the antiquated rusty skeleton key. It's honestly a bit jarring that it requires a key to fasten the door, but at this point, if you're being kept away from the monsters lurking outside you'd be happy to be his little prisoner for now.

He pushes the door and it moans open, though much to your surprise it's polished and orderly. In the middle of the room is a wooden four-poster queen-sized bed, with a princess-like sheer white canopy that surreptitiously envelops the bed. The furniture is a bit more romantic with detailed carved patterns on the bookshelves that line up against the wall to the vanity that sat adjacent to the bed. The carmine curtains that drape over the large window, easily maneuver you to the balcony, and the soft calling of your name beckons you to open it…

A sturdy hand clasps over your shoulder and you jolt as you turn to him. He's shaking his head as he towers over you and you look so goddamn feeble with those damn bambi eyes of yours shimmering in the tiny sliver of moonlight that peeks out from the window. He tears his gaze away to tread over to the window, squeezing it shut with the velcro he sewed into the fabric and reinforces the window shut.

A sharp exhale leaves his nostrils and his eyes are on you again. "I totally can see why you ended up the way you did." He glimpses over your dirtied and frayed dress, skinned, bloodstained knees, and contusions running up and down your legs. God, he makes it so easy to feel self-conscious.

He licks his lips as he hovers his hand over the knob to his right, and signals you over. You begrudgingly stride over and you're just as impressed at the bathroom. From the massive mirror above the traditional wooden undermount double sink vanity to the wine-red clawfoot freestanding bathtub. Little golden trinkets pinstripe the rosy walls with the soft warm lighting of the hanging flowery ceiling light fixtures. You squint your eyes when he adjusts the radiance to a white glow with the dimmer light switch before he opens the drawers one by one.

"Towels, robes, spare clothes, toiletries. Gimme a shout if you need anything else."

You open your mouth to say something and his eyes playfully narrow at you. "—within reason, missy."

Your bottom lip reflexively juts out. You hate to admit it, but you were quite the spoiled child. Never receiving more than a gentle chide from your parents and always silver-spooned to the nines by your grandparents. The truck was an exception. More of a parting gift from your grandfather that was left to you for the sole purpose of memorabilia scored into every inch of the tarnished vehicle. You hope that Keegan is capable of fixing it since most parts were made by discontinued distributors and they were definitely not easy to come by as they were expensive.

"Christ, spoiled rotten, weren't ya?" He ribs, nudging you a bit and you frown at him.

"Was not." You childlessly retort, but the small smile on your face betrays your feeble attempt at contempt.

Fuck, she is so cute. Keegan thinks as he assimilates your hilly yet winsome appearance. Just as cute as he remembers when he was seventeen, ignorant of the malignancy that poisoned his father's lungs.

"Not as much as your daddy spoiled you." You shoot back and cover your mouth with your hands as his brows lift in half surprise and half revelry.

"Blair's got jokes now, huh?" The elicitive nickname indicative of your former years sends another rushing warmth to your face and you begin to shoo him out.

"I'd really like to be clean now, thank you." You cast a scowl his way and he's putting his hands up in surrender as he backs out of the bathroom followed by the bedroom.

"I take it that the lady needs her privacy now." He leans against the doorframe with his hands stuffed into his denim jean pockets that are dusty and darkened with wood ash and the smell of the campfire lingers on his skin.

"And her beauty sleep." You add on, folding your arms. His jacket is still resting over your shoulders and he chuckles at your Hello Kitty print socks. The way your hair was mussed up in the soft glow of the lantern lamp on the night table was starting to arouse him a bit.

Fuckkkkkk, you were so adorable. It might have taken every atom in his body not to bend you over the mattress and spank you for being such a dotty woman before pressing his cock past your velvety folds as he makes you apologize in the form of incoherent, dirty little whimpers.

But the thought is quickly dismissed as it's formed in the sullied cogitations of his mind.

"Good night, [name]." He murmurs in his husky voice yet there is a hint of mischief in his tone that sends a frisson up your spinal column.

"Good night, Keegan." You susurrate, as you slowly shut the door and his expression remains the same as your view of him narrows until it disappears behind the threshold.

"Christ." You mutter to yourself as you begin to get ready for bed, as you feel the rush of collywobbles in your stomach start to well up a craving for the cowboy. The time on your cracked phone screen reads 2:03 AM and a wave of exhaustion crashes over you at the realization. Had you really been out there for seven hours?

The warm water soothes your aching bones and forming scabs scattered across your body as you gently exfoliate your skin. Thankfully, Keegan had enough sense to drop off a first aid kit by your door before you slipped into the bath. You weren't looking forward to the sting of the antiseptic, but you were more than grateful to be alive and have all your limbs attached. As you close your eyes and let the sudsy bath take away your worries, a coaxing voice is entrancing you. At first, it begins as a hushed lull intermingled with what sounds like your name and a bit of white noise that makes your brain all fuzzy and warm, but it becomes audible. Forming coherent luring words that resemble Keegan's deep, raspy voice.

Drown, drown, drown.

And you promptly find yourself submerging into the tub and the stillness of the water is subduing, but something is instigating you to open your eyes. You push away the thought, taking in the tranquility, settling into the comforting sensation of weightlessness. And yet, the feeling is not leaving you. You internally sigh as you move your body to the surface, but you remain dormant. Your eyes shoot open and your blood runs cold.

Above is one of the most fear-inducing creatures that you have ever laid your eyes upon holding you down on either side of your shoulders with slender claws digging into your flesh. It resembles a caribou skull with elongated antlers but its eyes were a violent vermillion that penetrates your soul. Its body was dark, rickety, and harrowing. Bones astute against the matted onyx fur and its tongue hanging out of his jaw like it was ready to devour you. Panic surges through your veins as you thrash about but it drives its talons further into your skin and you shriek out in pain. Water enters your lungs, your heart is stammering at cardiac arrest speed and you're choking out for dear life. This is it. This is how you die and the worst part about it is, you couldn't even call out for hope from the man who saved you just moments ago.

But just as you're accepting your fate, the muffled sound of a gunshot pierces through the air and within seconds the skinwalker is incapacitated and then dead. Soon enough, you're being hoisted out by Keegan's strong hands, as you cling onto him naked, wet, and heaving for oxygen.

Water expels out from your esophagus and you're trembling even harder than you were before when he found you, grasping to him and he's immediately talking you down.

"It's alright, you're okay. You're okay." He soothes, one hand tenderly caressing your soddened hair and the other is gripping your body tight as he pulls you out of the tub. He wastes no time unplugging the drain and wrapping you in a large towel to cover your naked body. In all seriousness, Keegan didn't even take a second to gander at your naked form when he was gathering you out of the tub and he makes that clear that his sole objective was to eliminate the wendigo that trespassed into your sanctuary.

He could've sworn that he had locked up every single opening in the house as he does every single night. It was like clockwork to him ever since his father had shown him the ropes to the place.

"…Kee-keegan." You splutter out as you continue to clutch onto him and your body is saturating him with water. He doesn't care though, that was the least of his worries. Your eyes are reaming and glossy as you dare to peek down at the creature that was seconds away from letting you meet your maker, but there's nothing but ash on the tiled floor.

"It was—" You begin, peering up at his harking steely eyes and his jaw tightens.

"It's gone."

"I don't understand." You shake your head, trying to make sense of what just happened, but the soft clatter of the rifle hitting the bathroom counter delineates your scattered mind. "Oh. But—"

"Get dressed." He softly prompts and you shakily let go of his t-shirt and he hands you an eggshell-colored peignoir as he averts his gaze. He's cognizant of the post-distress and panic you're in, so makes no indication of reallocating himself away from you as you slip on the fabric nor does he provide an explanation for what just occurred.

And to be honest, you didn't want to know. There was nothing more disturbing than the encounter with death in the form of a mutated caribou that leaves you shaken up. Everything just seemed too difficult to wrap your little head around, so let him take care of you.

A fresh towel is on your head, soaking up the wetness tangled into your hair and you relax at his balmy touch.

"Thank you." You mutter as your eyes are cast downward, eyeing the imbued, darkened spots on his nightshirt.

He delicately hooks his index finger and thumb between your chin and lifts it upward as he dabs at your features with the towel. And then it lingers. His intense yet pensive gaze, his stout calloused thumb that is now brushing against your jaw shortly followed by your quivering bottom lip. His jaw ticks.

"I'll sleep in here tonight."

Your heart jumps rampantly against your chest. "What?"

"You almost died if it weren't for me."

"Yes, but it's not—!" You fall short of words yet again and you're tearing your gaze away from him. As dire as the situation was (and it was), Keegan cannot help himself from being just the tiniest bit entertained by your endearing little mannerisms.

"I'm not gonna sleep next to you in bed." He deadpans. Normally, he would let you stumble over your words, but exhaustion is seeping into his bones and even as a noceur himself he was in desperate need of some z's. "The armchair over there quite comfy."

You follow his eyes to the brown leather recliner that was beside the bed and then back to him.

"I'm tired, Keegan." You profess, leaning your head against his chest and he's absentmindedly rubbing circles into the small of your back.

"I know."

Typically, you wouldn't be this comfortable with a stranger but given the unusual circumstances that were currently trying to slaughter your ass, you found yourself seeking solace in him.

"Let's get you into bed."

And soon he's leading you back to the bedroom, his hand is still on the small of your back as you walk on wobbly legs. He peels off the comforter and you sink into the mattress feeling like royalty in your crisp, clean nightgown, in your large princess-like bed, surrounded by plush pillows as the light in the lantern flickers. It casts shadows over his dashing features. The flame turns his glacial eyes into a soft apricot and an expression flickers over his visage—concern.

He's harping over your safety and the intruder that happened to bypass his heavily guarded home. No tripped wires, no movement detected on his cameras, and not to mention not a single sound was made until he heard your thrashing in his room across the hall. If he hadn't been there in time—

"You saved me, though." You drone, shutting your eyes as you tuck yourself into the cotton sheets.

His hardened glare softens at your words and how you look at ease now. A testament to your full, unshakeable faith in him. God, you were so quick to trust, it honestly scared him a little for you.

He scoffs. "How can you be so sure that I wouldn't hurt you?"

"Because your father would resurrect and beat the absolute shit out of you if you even dared to think about harming me." You state with a sly smirk on your face.

Keegan's expression briefly falters before he lets out a snicker, acknowledging the truth in your bold proclamation. "Crafty little critter, aren't ya?"

You giggle as shift under the sheets. It's almost a bit disturbing how you are seemingly fine and brushing off the situation. "Maybe."

He peers down at you for a moment and the welcoming feeling of your radiance starts to crawl into his chest. Almost like you were right where you needed to be, in his home, in his bed under his safeguarding. He wants nothing more than that. It's almost a bit perturbing how you are seemingly fine.

"Go to sleep." You mumble.

"You go to sleep."

"No, you first,"

"Who else is going to shield you against creatures of the night?"

You pause for a moment. "Good point."

He smiles as he walks over to the armchair, gun propped up against his left leg as he sits to face you. You're already curling up in a ball, and your chest rises and falls at a tranquil pace.

"Good night, Blair." He feels his eyes drooping as his vision becomes bleary.

You chuckle at the idiotic nickname. "Good night, Cowboy."

The remnants of tiny, foolish smiles are left on your faces as you drift off to sleep in your respective spaces. The last passing thought that crosses your mind is Keegan's tender gaze and his fingers brushing against your lips. Keegan wonders what is making you so giddy before the world around him fades out.

As morning breaks, sunlight filters through the curtains, casting a gentle glow on the room. The spring breeze wafts into the wisps of your hair and your eyes flutter open. The seat in front of you is now empty and the balcony door is wide open, and yet you're calm as you rise out of bed. Birds are chirping and the incessant droning of cicadas buzzing loudly against your eardrums is merely white noise when you recognize the low rumble of your truck's engine pulling up. There is an urgency that surges within you and soon you're sprinting out the door, and the heat of the cobblestone stings at the soles of your feet but you don't care.

The engine cuts and Keegan climbs out of the truck, sleeves rolled up in his army green henley, and he's wearing a clean pair of relaxed, light-wash jeans that skim the leather of his Tecovas. He peers up at you with wintry hues, tipping his hat, and in that instant, you're transported back to your childhood—Mr. Russ, tipping his hat with those same eyes and that glorious smile that always made your heart race.

The resemblance was both striking and uncanny, but damn, you were totally not complaining.

"Mornin', little lady. You're up quite early." He puts his hands on his hips and he's no longer the stone-faced, vendetta-filled Cowboy that you met last night. He's your friendly Appalachian Cowboy who provides you the sweet, sweet southern hospitality with a charming smile and a bit of a North Carolinian twang that sets your groins on fire.

"Mornin', Cowboy. Fixed my truck, did you?" You lean against the French iron wrought railing with your ruffled hair and white nightgown, rippling in the slight draft that carries the healing scent of sage and lavender. The fabric forms around your body and Keegan notices how it traces the outline of your curves and how the sun is hitting you just perfect enough for you to look like a literal angel.

But it's still the unrelenting, disconcerting feeling that creeps up on him when he looks up at you so unbothered, airheaded with that buoyant grin on your face. Was it really just a facade?

"Fixed it good enough for you to get back on your way." He turns from you to the truck and then back to you. "By the way, where were you headed?"

"Back to the old man." You cross your leg over the other, waiting for his response. He watches as the skin of your legs peeks out from under the peignoir and it's a bit enticing.

"I didn't contact him if that's what you're askin'" His hand acts like a sun visor to block the light out of his sensitive eyes to take a good gander at you.

"I would hope not. Don't need to send him into cardiac arrest." You joke and you see his shoulders shaking a bit, suggesting a chuckle.

"Made you breakfast."

"Yeah?" You simper, leaning a little more against the railing.

He can't help the way his grin broadens as he peers up at your flirty form. "Careful now, can't have you comin' back home with a broken neck, can we?"

Shit. Shit. Shiiiiit.

Goddamn him and his pretty face. He's already heading inside as you're locking in on him, but Keegan isn't one to give you the satisfaction. He'll play the long game and he'll enjoy every minute of it. From the way you're sitting next to him at the table with your dress bunched up to your thighs to the way you sensually lick your spoon covered with cream and he's internally chuckling at the mess you've made on the corners of your lips, feigning gullibility to get a rise out of him. Admittedly, it's hot. He wants nothing more than to lick your fingers clean and sloppily kiss your sweet cream-laden lips.

Mmmm.

He doesn't say anything. Just enjoys his breakfast and keeps his gaze lowered like a gentleman. The company of a beautiful woman is enough for him on a fine Sunday morning like this.

You can only wonder what he's thinking as you act like a giddy schoolgirl who's trying to get the attention of her professor. Not that you had a significant age gap with Keegan, but in his original line of work there was a massive lapse. Being a retired Marine had probably mentally aged him over give or take 10 years would have been your best guess. And leaving the farm to his cousins in his absence probably impacted him even more, well, according to your gossip girl of a father at least.

He made trips down to NC every so often to check on his favorite, reclusive cowboy, sometimes tending to his facilities when need be. You never tagged along though. In your mind, you were a city girl who didn't mind dressing up as a cowgirl if she saw fit. So coming down from your city job, in the comfort of your sweet loft that overlooked the NOVA skyline didn't exactly make you miss the Appalachia trails.

Still, it is nice being back here with a somewhat familiar stranger in a home you had only seen the outside of because, for the majority of your life, you had so desperately tried to force out the rural in you. Call it toxic, but leaving the mountains always felt like the haze had lifted from your brain. It was unsettling to be here for too long.

"You're nervous."

You glance up from the runny eggs that you have been working on for the past twenty minutes. You give him a sheepish grin. "This place makes me nervous."

"Itching to go back to the city, huh?"

That elicits a small chuckle from you. "And what do you know about me?"

"Well, according to your father," He says in a knowing tone and you narrow your eyes at him as he gives you a coy smile. "you love the city too much to move back."

"I don't think I'm too good for it. Here, I mean."

"Didn't say that. The Appalachia isn't for everyone." He butters his toast and then munches on it and soon it vanishes into his mouth. The night before is washed away from your memory, but Keegan loses track of his thoughts as he stares at the leftover jagged lines embedded into your skin from a creature that he knew you wanted to forget. A glance at his watch and he's up, wiping his hands and mouth with the serviette that was on his lap before he places it on the table. "You ready?"

"You got somewhere to be?" You raise your brows, not quite ready to leave yet.

"Matter o'fact I gotta date with an employee from Tractor Supply Co in about an hour, and it's thirty minutes out."

"New livestock?" You sip at your coffee.

A sad smile graces his lips. "Yeah, my last eldest cattle just passed away a few weeks ago."

You frown. "I'm sorry."

For a moment you swear you saw him get teary-eyed, but he quickly shakes himself out of the grief, grabbing his keys as he downs his glass of ice water. He stops himself for a moment as you get up to push your chair in and he can't help himself from tracing his fingers over the claw marks on either side of your shoulders. You shudder from the remembrance and his touch.

"[name]," He starts to express but your mood sours.

"Stop."

His expression falters and so does his hand as he lets it drop to his side. You didn't want to remember any of it. He notices how you clutch onto your necklace and he drops the subject.

"Your trucks waiting." He takes your hand and deposits the keys into your palm.

You give him a tight-lipped smile. "Thank you."

You begin to approach your truck and you feel relief washing over you as you run your hand over the tarnished, rusted hood of the Dodge before you open the driver door. As you climb in you notice that all your belongings remain untouched. Scattered cassette tapes, polaroids, and the little Hawaiian girl that swayed with every movement still plastered onto the dash. The leather seats seem to have abrasions, revealing the cushion beneath, but you write it off as a bear maybe deciding to try and access your vehicle after you had abandoned it.

"…[name], ….[name]….!"

You're snapped out of your stupor, recollecting your thoughts as you glance over at him leaning his body against your truck. "I checked the vehicle, it's all clear for you to go. Should make it back alright."

"Why wouldn't it be if you fixed the engine?"

The look you give him is blank, free from concern and any worry that may have been left on your face from last night.

He nods, pushing his hands into his jean pockets. "Right, well, it was nice seeing you all grown up."

That provokes a reaction. Heat is rising to your cheeks and Keegan is standing there looking cool as ever as he takes off his hat and wipes the sweat off his brow before putting it back on.

"Thank you." You say with more feeling, only your eyes acknowledging the horrors of last night. And that's enough for Keegan.

"You take care now." He tips his hat with a good-natured grin and you snicker at his little cowboy bit.

He waves to you as you back out of his driveway and you glance over from your rearview mirror as his towering figure disappears and so does any anamnesis from the evening prior. Or at least, you told yourself that.

And that was April. Months have gone by and Keegan doesn't exactly expect you to keep in contact. He's even surprised to hear a, '[name], says hello, by the way.' from your father during their weekly check-in.

And he definitely does not expect to see your truck in his driveway when he's coming back from milking his cows for the day with his new set of eyes that's in dog form, wagging her tail in anticipation as she sits.

"German Shepherd, eh? Suits you." You simper at him, leaning against the pillar of his home with glossy lips, and a cutesy red paisley swing dress that just barely covers your thighs. Your boots are hardly broken in as they dig into the grassy field and your hair is a little disheveled in an endearing way.

"Name's Miley." He peels off his gloves, shoving them into his back pocket. He's completely taken aback by your sudden presence, though he's not one to complain about a pretty lady showing up at his door.

"Hey, Miley." You coo, holding your hand to her and she's immediately reciprocating your energy tenfold as she jumps up and down, causing you to giggle and pet her soft fur.

Keegan doesn't even need to say anything as he glances down at the German Shepherd and she's already sitting on the ground between you two.

"Miss me?" You ask, coyly.

"Could ask you the same thing, Blair." He tilts his head to the side, eyeing you suspiciously. Something was off.

"I was just in town."

"Uh huh."

It doesn't take long before the act drops and distress is carving into your features. Lips are trembling in fear as your eyes begin to water.

"Something's been following me, Keegan." Your body naturally falls against his chest and his breath hitches a bit at your contact and the smell of your perfume wafts into his senses.

Fuck.

mini taglist: @keegansshark @soapsgf @milkteaarttime

#call of duty #call of duty imagines #keegan p russ #keegan p russ x reader #keegan russ x reader #keegan russ smut #call of duty x reader #cod x reader #cod ghosts #call of duty ghosts #call of duty smut #keegan x reader #cod keegan #keegan russ #keegan smut #eventual smut #alternate universe #cod au

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rosewheresheshouldntbe · 3 days

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Rose shouldn't be on top of the Hazbin Hotel with Alastor. Actually, why is she even in Hell? She's only like 14-16 years old here!

#how did she even get there? do we even really want to know?#where are your parents? this isn't a place for you lol #or at least I don't think it is #im also posting this to give both fandoms psychic damage :) yknow as you do lmao #but also because editing silly things is fun!#there is no canon for the roses I edit unless you want to somehow make one lol headcanons are fine idc I'm just here to be silly #& put my favorite hs character into various situations she shouldn't be in or isn't canonically in #rosewheresheshouldntbe #rose lalonde #homestuck #hazbin hotel #alastor #alastor the radio demon #originals

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sykostyles · 12 hours

Text

subject to change 1.1.1 (a check in)

wc: 2.2k summary: in which Harry shows y/n something new but it involves his store. part one part two

a/n: hi again! its been a while! I'm sorry I kinda disappeared, but I promise I have been around. After reading miss @gurugirl update the other day for bfd!Harry I needed some more breeding kink so I snuck some in here as well. I hope you all enjoy!! I’ve missed you all!!

cw: smut, use of sir, exhibitionism, breeding kink, cream pie, standing sex, brief spanking, choking if you squint, unprotected sex, p in v, fingering, oral (f receiving), if there's any I missed pls let me know!

Ever since that night in the hotel with Harry, your relationship had been going strong. Every night, you’d go into his bookstore, and take claim on one of the couches in the seating area to work on your daily editing while he worked on closing down the store. He’d watch you make your concentration faces and think they’re some of the cutest things he’d ever seen. Sometimes you’d even meet a reader and have a chat with them as they perused the store. More people were stopping in lately to purchase holiday gifts for their loved ones, it helped that your latest release was always fully stocked at Harry’s House.

“You look annoyed,” Harry commented, taking a seat next to you on the couch.

“I am,” you huff, leaning into his side as he wraps his arm around your shoulder, placing a kiss atop your head. “I can’t figure out this idea, it's not anything we’ve done before so it's hard to imagine.”

“Well, Sweets, we’ve done quite a bit. Can you be more specific?” Harry always asks for the exact thing you want, making you squirm and he loves it.

“Like whe–when you get turned on from the possibility of getting caught.” your skin starts to get clammy from talking about these things out loud; it always did.

“Oh, you mean exhibitionism?” his hand runs up and down your arm, leaving goosebumps with every pass.

“Is that what it is? I thought it was voyeurism.”

“No, that’s when you get turned on from watching other people.”

“See there’s so many terms i don't understand yet,” whines leave your lips, he just chuckles at your mini meltdown.

“I can show you if you want,” he whispers in your ear in your favorite tone of his voice, his warm breath tickling your skin.

“Sh–show me?” When he speaks to you in that tone, it doesn't take long for your core to throb.

He nods in response, a grin on his lips. “Mhm, but you have to be a good girl and wait until I close up. Can you do that for me, baby?” he asks, taking a hold of your chin and placing a kiss on your lips. You form a cute smile, your eyes glazed over in anticipation as you nod your head in his hold. “C’mon, baby you know better. Need words from you,” he laughs.

“Yes, sir.”

“Good girl,” he gives you another kiss, “You stay here and work on your story, I’ll be back there closing down. I’ll let you know when I’m done, okay?”

“Yes, sir.” you nod excitedly, making him chuckle.

About thirty minutes have passed and you’re getting antsy. Harry’s never made you wait when you were feeling like this before, so you don’t really know how to act. You stand from the couch, and make sure the door is locked before making your way back to Harry. So what if there was still five minutes before closing? You were feeling needy.

“Thought i told you to wait?”

“Can’t sir,” you whine, leaning against the counter next to him as he counted the money in the register, not paying you any real attention.

“Too bad,” he continues slipping the bills between his fingers as he took mental note of the amounts before writing it in the book.

“Please, sir?” you begin fidgeting with the hem of your skirt, playing with the material as you look down to the floor.

No answer.

“Sir?”

Nothing. He just keeps counting the money

Your tone switches, you’re tired of being ignored. “Harry.”

He still doesn't respond, just sets the money down and looks over to you with irritation laced in his gaze. “Turn around,” he grunts, taking hold of one of your wrists. Harry walks up behind you, pressing his front into your back, making your hips dig into the counter in front of you. You hiss at the feeling. “What happened to you being my good girl? Hmm?” he takes hold of both of your hands, placing them on the counter in front of you. “Keep these here, yeah?”

Harry slides his hands down the expanse of your body, squeezing your hips as he makes his way south and gliding his hands up your skirt and tearing your panties off. The tearing sound makes you gasp. He slides the scraps of what was left into his pocket for safekeeping.

“Now, any of those people out there–” he begins to whisper in your ear. He pulls your hips back, leaving you in a slight bend, your lower half still pressed against him as he speaks.”--can look in here and see you being a little whore for me,--” he flips up the hem of your skirt exposing the skin of your ass.”--So I suggest you go back to being my good girl and be quiet.” Your eyes remain locked front; staring straight out the window as the people walk by without a clue.

He begins massaging the skin of your ass before lifting one hand off and bringing it harshly down against the surface making you jump and yelp loudly at the contact.

“Quiet,” he growls against the skin of your neck. Sliding his hand over your asscheek, he makes the journey around to your front, teasing where you want to feel him most. His other hand snaking its way around your throat, pinning your head against his shoulder as he begins to rub slow circles over your clit. Quiet pants leave your lips at every pass.

He speeds up; testing your ability to keep quiet. You take your bottom lip between your teeth when you feel him slide two of his fingers deep in your core, scissoring them inside your gummy walls. Every twist of his wrist makes you want to scream out his name, but you know the fate you’d meet if you did. Tempting, but also horrifying to be seen by all the people walking about, buying gifts for their loved ones. Your legs begin to shake once his fingers repeatedly stroke over that spot he knows you love.

“You gonna cum?” Harry asks, knowing full well you’re about to. You nod as much as you can in his hold in response. “Then cum.”

And you do, hard. The grip he kept on your neck was the only thing keeping you standing. A mixture of grunts and gargle sounds fall from your lips as you teeter over the edge and he pulls every bit of arousal from you possible.

“Which hole do you want stuffed, pet? Hm? Which hole should I stuff with my load for all of those people to look over and see?” His words feel like a dull blade running up the curves of your throat, setting your skin ablaze even more so than the fading orgasm he brought you to with just his fingers.

Harry lets go of your throat so you can speak, “My pussy please,” you choke out, leaning forward on your elbows against the counter below.

“Yeah? Wanna feel me fill you up full of my babies? Hm? Wanna be all swollen and plump for me?” his primal insticnt to mark you as his in for any passersby to see.

“Mhm! Need it so bad, Sir!” whines leave your lips faster than you can comprehend the words coming out.

“Gonna give it to you, Sweets don’t worry,” he opens the front of his pants, pulling his cock from the confines of his boxers before swiping his thumb over his tip to smear the precum around the surface. You feel him rub his length up and down your folds, tapping it against your clit making you a whiny mess underneath him. “Gonna be quiet for me or do i need to shut you up early?”

“Shut me up early,” you beg, wanting whatever he’s planning on giving you. His hand smooths up your back, wrapping it around your face, covering your mouth and pulling your head back as he pressed into you. Your eyes cross at the stretch and your muffled whines fill the air.

“Such a good pussy,” he moans softly, “always sucking me in so nicely. Think I’ll make a home in her.” you moan in response. “Yeah? Want me to make my claim for good? Knock you up?” You nod your head faster than you can process his question; you just know you want whatever he’ll give you. “Hm, do you think you deserve it?” you nod some more.

His thrusts are tantalizingly slow as hes speaking to you; never quite giving you what you want. He’s repeatedly giving you languid strokes but then switching, and pulling all the way out and then shoving just the tip back in; driving you mad. You want more. You need more.

“I don't think you do, I have to cover your mouth in order to keep you quiet so these people aren't disturbed outside. Doesn't seem like a very ‘good girl’ thing to do.” you whine at his words, wanting more.

“Please,” you try to muffle, he just repositions his hand across your mouth.

“Sorry pet, what was that?” Harry teases.

“Please!” you yell out after pulling his hand from your mouth to finally speak. An older woman hears your words, looking into the store. She just smiles at you and moves along, not thinking anything about the scandalous position you were in. A harsh smack lands on your ass in response.

“Gonna have to work on keeping you quiet,” Harry reaches down, pulling your torn panties from his pocket and balling them up. He pulls your head back again. “Open,” he demands. You lull your tongue out as your mouth falls open. He offers you a warm stream of spit before tucking your torn panties into your mouth and forcing it shut. Harry lets go of your head, coercing your upper half down on the counter, and taking hold of your hands as he finally sets a more brutal pace, driving your hips forward into the counter with every thrust.

Whimpers and whines fill the air as well as the sound of his clothed hips making contact with yours. “Fuckin tight pussy always treats me so well,” Harry grunts, “Gonna fill it up nice n’ deep for you, sweets.” Whines of approval leave your lips. The coil in your belly is pulling further and further as it gets ready to snap. “Gonna cum again, baby?” he asks. You nod your head fervently at his words, making him chuckle. “Give it all to me, pet. Cum for me,” Harry pleads.

His pleas make the coil snap; sending you over that metaphorical peak. Feeling your walls clench around him so tightly sends him into his own orgasm as he chases his own high. He buries himself inside as deep as he possibly can as he releases his load into you. “Fuck, sweets, gonna milk me dry."

Sticky sounds fill the air around you as he continues thrusting in and out of you, unable to let go of the warm feeling. He’s imagining the look of fucked out bliss across your face and he smiles as he comes down. The feeling of you still wrapped around his cock feels like heaven to him. He’d stay like this forever if it was feasible. He was addicted to hearing the whimpers fall from your lips, though he thinks he'd rather hear you call his name from now on. Nothing compared to that for him. Knowing he was the one giving you the pleasure you were feeling.

After he pulled out, harry was quick to clean the mess between your legs with his tongue. Quickly dropping to his knees behind you, deftly ignoring your pleas of “too much,”

“Just cleanin’ up our mess, baby,” he spoke against your core; the vibrations almost too much. You reach back, attempting to shove his head away but he slaps your hand away.

“So that was exhibitionism?” you asked, slipping into the bed beside Harry as he pulls you to his chest.

“Mhm, kinda hot right?” he asks, placing a kiss atop your head.

“I liked it. I was so terrified and turned on when that woman looked inside,” you admitted, pulling the covers of his bed up and over the both of you.

“I’m glad you liked it, and I’m also glad I’m the only one with access to my security cameras in the store.” he chuckled against your hair.

“Oh god, I didn’t even think about that.” you laughed. You begin thinking back to the act, and how he talked about getting you pregnant. “Would you really want a baby with me?” you asked timidly.

“Course I would. I mean, right now wouldn't be optimal timing, but I’m not against the idea. Why? Is that really sticking with you?”

“Mhm, I liked the idea of having a little bit of you with me forever.

“I like that idea too, Sweets,” he places a soft kiss against your lips.

“Now what about voyeurism?”

c/n: hello babies, if u made it this far I LOVE YOU! leave me a 😈 if u’re here :))) thank you all for the love along this couples journey. I’m not ready to let them go either. I’m thinking of just carrying on with their story? Maybe? Perhaps? But I also have a few other ideas I want to work on! We shall see my loves. Let me know what you’d like to see though! 🩵

#harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles one shot #harry styles imagine #harry styles fic #harry styles fanfic #harry styles x reader #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x you #harry styles x fem!reader #harry edward styles

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blueballsracing · 1 day

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Can u help me understand Lestappen please? I’m trying to get into it because it’s a popular ship and I don’t want to miss out on great fics and stuff.

But I see Tumblr posts of MV and CL that scream “HEART EYES” or “HUSBANDS” and…I don’t see it. I can’t suspend my disbelief. Like I get they’ve been competing for 20 years or whatever but I don’t get anything other than profesh respect. And when we regularly see how they are with other people, like MV with Daniel or Lando, or CL with Carlos, Lestappen looks even worse.

Can you please help me see the Lestappen light?

hi anon! lemme break it down for ya. the reason why lestappen is such a popular ship is bc not only of the mutual respect that they have for each other, but the history they have, and their interactions have been pretty cute and all.

even max and lando don't really interact that much, and lando goes as far as to say that "he's not my bff, don't ever say that again" when asked about him and max's relationship. and max with daniel–well, max has always loved daniel and had a crush on that man since his first days in f1 so... different dynamic for sure. charles with carlos interactions... they are cute and all but i think their racing dynamics are just so awkward? esp i think that the ferrari politics deffo affected their relationship and all. cross-team dynamics between charles and max have a nice dynamic, but i'll break down some of the key events

lestappen lore timeline!

2012 - when the inchident occurs - you just need to watch this video. it's just so funny. no words can explain this 😭

2014 - when max essentially recommends charles to race for his old f3 team, van amersfoort racing, a dutch team. and the team boss had a lot of positive things to say about the two <3

2019 - the singapore flag incident... mr. i know geography and i love flags SOMEHOW doesn't know the difference between the singapore flag and the monaco flag

2019 - when we get to austria 2019. essentially, charles is about to win his FIRST ever f1 gp with 3 laps to go, and max pushes charles off track, overtaking him and eventually winning. charles is FURIOUS on the podium. and then they have to share a plane back home but max is all like "oh yeah we're good! 😊 he's talented and he will have his first win this year for sure! we have at least 15-20 years of racing together still! 😊" and then on the plane charles unfollows max. max does the same 😭

2022 - jumping forward to austria 2022, when charles wins the race! and they have this GAY ASS PODIUM

austria is lestappen holy ground.

2020 - when we get this wonderful clip of sebastian asking whether or not charles thinks max is pretty.

seb: is he pretty? charles: *giggles and then silence* OH WAIT. i thought you said 'is he british?' i was like, that's not physical... *panicked leg shake* i don't know!!! *laughs again*

charles not wanting to answer if max is pretty... we should take that as a yes <3

2021 - the year of their baku love tree <3 according to an old turkish custom, when a couple get married, they plant a tree together, and they water it to symbolize their marriage and their hope for leading a happy and beautiful life!

and then jumping forward to 2023 in baku, they have the SAME IDENTICAL TIME during first runs in q3. only max is first bc he did his lap first.

2022 - cota! before the press conference they talk and max goes "fresh again?" and charles starts GIGGLING. like yeah we know u were drunk celebrating 🙄

2022 - secret santa! when charles has max for secret santa and this guy just. gives him f1 2022. with THREE OF HIS FACES. and has a card and writes "one edition for my BIGGEST FAN." not normal about this at ALL.

2023 - charles admits to drinking red bull after he couldn't say in an interview but then likes a tweet later 😭

2023 - paddelgate. max loses to charles in october

and then they're supposed to play together in december!

but then... Max stays up until 4 am the night before the match (doing a 24 hour charity stream) and sleeps in and misses the entire event. 🙁

ok i could literally go on and on about them but i'm going to end it here with a couple quotes:

"Of course I have a lot of respect for Max. He has done very well and I have a lot of respect for what he has achieved. When we drove in karts, we dreamed of Formula 1 together and here we are now! He has the title I won and I have a lot of respect for that."

"I always thought that, if I'd make it to F1, Charles would also make it."

#lestappen #max verstappen #charles leclerc #f1 #formula 1 #my posts #f1 fandom #f1blr #asks #lestappen lore

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remnantsofthepast-if · 1 day

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Update - Chapter 9 (Act 1 Finale)

Chapter 9 – According to plan

Everything is ready to set sail for your destination. The cycle is ending and it's time to say goodbye, but a certain individual might have something to say about it.

---

Finally, the last chapter of the first act of Remnants Of The Past has arrived! I think back now, and it almost feels like yesterday when I started writing this story. It has certainly grown much more than I initially thought, and I am grateful to all those who have reached this point ^^.

Returning to the chapter itself, besides the final stretch of the story, I also bring some good news that I've been wanting to share for a while! As you know, I've been editing the entire story before finishing it, adding things, tweaking others, and removing some that didn't quite convince me, but there were two things I didn't want to mention until they were completely finished.

Firstly, I've added a friendship route! My idea has always been to make a romance story that accompanies the adventure, so I quickly dismissed the option of making a separate route without any romance (I'm a romantic, I can't help it), but this was when I planned to lock the romances at the end of the act. However, the flow of the story decided that it would be in Chapter 4, and I understand that some may find it harder to stick with one so soon, so I started thinking about adding an alternative route to enjoy the story without MC having a romantic interest, and here it is!

But this doesn't mean that the story will be shorter or less enjoyable if you choose for your MC to remain single! The scenes with the ROs have been adapted to this route, and you can spend time with the characters in a completely platonic way. Sometimes you'll be able to choose who to hang out with, and other times the encounters will be random.

And lastly, the second thing I've added, which excites me more than I thought, is that the mysterious individual is officially an RO! I know some of you were eager to give love to this character (or at least try), and I'm not going to be the one to stop you! However, this RO will be very, very different from the others. Much slower, and with details that I can't mention because they would be severe spoilers, but the option will be there for those who want to take it. To do this, you must choose for MC to remain single for now in Chapter 4.

And that's not all, this character now also has a female version! How cool is that? :D The downside to this, though? All of you who use a save file prior to this update will see the pronoun variables and encounter several inconsistencies that will take you out of the story, because in that save these variables do not exist, so you'll have to start from the beginning.

IMPORTANT NOTE!! This complete first act will be completely free for one week.

On Wednesday, April 24th, the free version will be replaced by the demo that will cover up to Chapter 4, and the purchase version will be available on both Itch.io and Patreon for all those who cannot purchase it through Itch.io.

I hope you enjoy this chapter! I've revised everything as thoroughly as I could, but I may have missed some things. If you see anything strange, don't hesitate to contact me or submit a report here!

#rotp update #update #remnants of the past #interactive fiction #rotp if #if #act 1 #act 1 finale

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f4iry-bell · 2 days

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@emelia07 sorry i couldn't directly answer the ask, my stupid ass accidentally posted midway editing. ANYWAY, this quite long for an one shot and there will be a part two (for the lovers part). lowkey longan huntzberger vibes

She drove him to the absolute end of the world. And with just two sentences, it's all Jameson Hawthorne has been thinking about. Jameson likes to party, in his own way, not the silly college parties that he gets invited to. But he was in college, and is in college to meet people, make friends, and have fun. Maybe these people can learn a thing or two from him.

So he accepted an invite and went to a party. The biggest mistake he made since he joined college. Because that's where he met her.

Being in a party full of stupid men was enough to piss Y/n off, on top of that she saw a man with probably a narcissistic personality disorder. There was a group of people talking, one of them was her friend, her friend called her over and got her involved in the conversation. She was surprised how many people were interested in Jameson Hawthorne.

“Have you smoked weed”

“What is the most expensive thing that you own”

“What is do you like”

Tons of questions were asked to him.

“I’m a man of riddles and games. There isn't a single riddle that I can't solve” He told them with a confident smile.

Y/n didn't know much about this man, but she had the urge to humble him.

“I have a riddle for you.” She said, grabbing his attention.

Jameson liked it, a challenge. He thought, a random girl at a random college party, how hard the riddle could be?

“What has no wings, but flies. Has no eyes but knows every colour” She said. Everyone was confused, including Jameson himself. He tried to think of an answer but he didn't get one. He tried to think of something mythical, something metaphorical. But he couldn't get anything that fits.

“Quiet now, are we?” She smiled so proudly of herself. Jameson didn't answer, just stared at her intensely. She was the one to break eye contact and leave.

Jameson spent days looking for an answer, he even asked his brothers for help. None of them could figure it out. He was not the type to give up. But there's a first time for everything, he thought. He headed to the girls' dorm and knocked on her door. Going to parties come handy, you can easily find any girl’s dorm room.

She opened the door. “You need something?” She asked him.

“Answer” It was all he said, his pride was too high to form a complete sentence.

“For what? We don't take any classes together” She acted like she doesn't know what he's talking about.

“Quit the act. You know what I want” He said calmly.

“Oh, you mean the riddle? I thought you could find the answer to any riddle” She smirked.

“Well, since last week I can't. Now, answer.” He asked.

“Where are your manners?” She raised an eyebrow.

Jameson rolled his eyes. “Please?”

She smiled. “The answer is; nil”

“Nil? As in nothing? Doesn't make sense ‘What has wings but can't fly—” He was cut off by her.

“Yeah, yeah. It doesn't make any sense because there is no answer. I don't know the answer either, I just randomly made it up without having an answer.”

Till this moment Jameson was amused and intrigued by this girl. But now? He was frustrated. He was speechless.

“Do you know how much time I spent on this ridiculous so-called riddle?” He was mad.

“Wah, wah, wah. I don't know and I don't care. You got your answer, now bye.” Then she slammed the door.

Jameson calmed himself down. It's just a stupid thing. He can't let it get to him. But it did, she did.

He tried hard not to think about her, and how she played him but he failed every time. Sometimes he even admired it. But he wants to get even or a step ahead of her. So, he joined her journalism class and sat right next to her.

“That's my friend’s seat” She told him.

“Not anymore” He smiled.

“You're not even in this class” She stated.

“Not anymore” He gave her a cheeky smile.

“You're interested in journalism?” She asked.

“I'm full of surprises”

“Whatever”

Jameson learnt that she is on top of the class, and likes to stay that way. So he decided to compete with her, he has barely any interest in journalism but he wants to get back at her. Finally, there was an actual competition between them. There was only one spot left in the Yale newspaper. The editor said whoever writes the best article gets the spot.

Y/n had too many ideas to write about but she finally settled on writing about the secret society, but she needed information and it's already too late. Tomorrow is the submission, so she sneaked inside the library at midnight and even picked the lock of the restricted section to get access to the newspapers there. She found nothing except a Yale newspaper which had a bunch of suspects on who could be that year's members of the secret society, and she headed towards the library exit. To her luck, Jameson Hawthorne was standing right there, he looked like he was waiting for her.

“Too late to be here, don't you think?” he asked. “I must let you know, I do admire a good lock picking” He said leaning against the door frame.

“I could ask you the same question” She said ignoring the last sentence.

Jameson smirked. “I was just wandering around the campus and found the library door slightly open and look what I've found inside”

“You're seriously not going to tell me, are you?” She asked. “We're not like in 4th grade or something”

“It'll get you suspended, and I’ll get the spot” He shrugged.

“Oh, so this is how you want your win? By getting me suspended?” She chuckled, she knew by now that Jameson Hawthorne likes to win but he also likes to play.

He raised his eyebrows and nodded. “Very well. You still haven't answered my question.” He noted.

“I came to look for information for my article. Not that it's any of your—.” She stopped her sentence midway and took a look at his outfit. He was wearing a suit with a tie which had blue and white stripes. He was also holding a hat and it looked like something was inside the hat. Who would wear a suit with Yale colours and hold a hat on a wednesday at 12:45am?

“Wait, you're part of the secret soceity, aren't you?” She asked, curiosity filled.

“One never tells” His eyes drifted to her hands which held the newspapers. Jameson smirked and then spoke. “Good night, Ace” And then he left.

“Wait!” She called and ran after him. “Tell me about it,” She asked.

“Like I said, one never tells” And then he walked away.

Two days later Y/n searched for Jameson everywhere and found him in the cafeteria mixing up random drinks. She slammed a paper on the table.

Jameson looked at it. “Mm, I see you've read my article” He smirked.

“You stole my idea!” She tried not to yell.

“Really?”

“You don't even care about this paper, or the spot.”

“Listen, Ace. We both wrote about the same thing, one just did it better than the other. And the better one gets the spot.” He explained with a sly smirk.

“Because you are a member! Obviously you'd know more than me!” She pointed.

“Better luck next time” He was still smirking.

“Screw you” With that she left. Jameson obviously didn't know why the spot meant so much to her.

Jameson noticed that she didn't sit at the usual spot, instead she sat at the back of the class and she looked so tired, almost like she had been crying. He wanted to go and sit next to her but what's the point? He won the game. She is no longer a part of his life, right?

#jameson hawthorne #jameson hawthorne x reader #the inheritance games #the brothers hawthorne #the grandest game #grayson hawthorne #xander hawthorne #avery kylie grambs #nash hawthorne #the hawthorne brothers #avery grambs

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deception-united · 2 days

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I’m kinda at a weird faze in my creative life right now, I want to write something, but I’m still hung up on the skills of writing not the art of it. I tried to condition myself into writing just for the fun of it yet I’m always left wondering if there a better way to get my point across. Maybe that’s because for my age…I should be writing better.

My question is, how do I just write just for the fun of it, and how do I increase my vocabulary? I’ve heard people say to use the dictionary, but that really eats up time and most words people never use in an actual conversation. Anyway that’s my question.

Thanks for asking! Here are a few tips:

Freewriting

Balancing the desire for improvement with the enjoyment of the craft itself can be a challenge for some writers. Different things work for different writers, but an exercise I like to do is freewriting. Freewriting is a technique where you write continuously for a set period of time without worrying about grammar, structure, or content. It can help to bypass your inner critic and tap into your creativity. Set a timer for 10-15 minutes and write whatever comes to mind, without stopping to edit or revise or even come up with a comprehensible plot. Make it nonsensical. Just write.

Experimentation

Try experimenting with different styles and genres. Don't feel confined to one particular type of writing. Trying out different writing styles and drawing inspiration from other writers can help you discover what you truly enjoy and where your strengths lie. Explore various forms of expression and writing to find what resonates with you.

Draw Inspiration

Something I like to do when I'm reading books or fanfics, and highly recommend if you're trying to increase your vocabulary and improve your writing, is take note of descriptive phrases or words that I like for future reference in my own writing or as inspiration. Or I'll write down words that I don't know so I can come back and check their definitions—I keep a list of those, too.

Integration

Once you've collected a list of words and phrases you like or don't know, challenge yourself to incorporate them into your own writing. Experiment with using these words in various contexts—prose, dialogue, poetry, different situations—to deepen your understanding and comfort level with them.

Remember, writing is a journey, and there's no one "right" way to do it. These suggestions could be effective for you, or you might find another method that suits you even better. Embrace the process and keep honing your craft at your own pace. Happy writing!

#ask #writeblr #writing #writing tips #writing advice #writing help #writing resources #creative writing #writer inspiration #writer problems #writer stuff #writing problems

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unexpectedstormy · 3 days

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Why Podfics are Important

A big part of why I like podfics so much is because to me it is an accessibility feature. There are times when I cannot look at a screen due to light sensitivity or I don't have spoons/brainpower to interact on Tumblr or or I'm too unfocused to read a fic but I still wanna be distracted and think about blorbos and podfics are perfect for that.

The problem is that there aren't very many of them.

When I first discovered them, I filtered for LU fics with no smut or MCD and there were only like 27 podfics. I listened to all of them in about 2 days. I was disappointed there weren't more, but the ones that were there were all excellent. So I asked myself why not try my hand at making them?

It took me about a week to figure out how to record audio, edit, where and how to host it, and how to link to AO3; and now that I know how to do it, I can record and post a fic in a couple of hours. You don't get alot of attention or fanfare for doing it--podfics are nowhere near as popular as ordinary fics, but it's a public service and its just plain fun. Actually its addicting. Every time I finish recording and posting a podfic my brain is like a sled dog pulling on a rope begging "More! Do more podfics!"

In an ideal world, I think every fic should have a podfic version. It would benefit everyone, not just disabled people. Not only are they good for low spoons time, they're also great for ordinary times when you're doing chores or riding the bus or something and you want something to listen to, just like you would listen to any other podcast. Not to mention the fact that by making podfics, you get to learn the valuable modern skill of recording audio and posting it.

I have a motto: "Try anything once," meaning, I'm game to try out learning any new thing and there's no commitment to do it long term or even do it more than that one time. Its just fun to learn and experiment. I've been trying a new thing every year for the past several years and have had fun gaining a bunch of oddball jack-of-all-trades skills like slacklining, longboarding, watercolor, digital art, and podfics.

I'd like to encourage everyone to try making a podfic and seeing how they like it (it does take a couple of podfics to really get your feet under you though). If you like it, or if you're willing and able to, making more podfics would be an invaluable service to provide for the fandom. And if you can't make podfics for whatever reason, why not just listen to a podfic and drop a kudos or comment or something to let the person doing them know that you appreciate it?

If anyone wants to know how to podfic, please feel free to reach out to me and I'll do what I can to help. Also, I'll be putting together a "how to make a podfic" post in the near future so keep an eye out for that.

#reposting this because something went wrong with the last time I posted it #podfic #fanfiction #linked universe

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kiiboslostahoge · 2 days

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A Tech-Demon's Weakness

Summary: Vox is much more angry than usual now that Alastor's back, and it's causing issues with the WiFi. Velvette makes Valentino calm him down, and the man decides to have some fun in the process.

Notes: These guys are supposed to be the most evil mfs even compared to the other overlords, why tf was their scene in the finale so cuteee agghh,😭😭😭, approx 1.5k words

Valentino had a problem. A large problem, in fact. One that he never usually had.

Vox. Vox was too angry to do his fucking job. It made no sense - Vox was supposed to help calm him down, not the other way around!

"That bitch keeps ruining my connection, Val! Some employee lost a day's worth of editing because it couldn't save!" Velvette had said before shooing him off. "Go calm him down so he stops making everything buffer! At this rate, we'll have another blackout."

Couldn't she do that herself? Valentino wasn't meant for these sorts of affairs! If only Vox was here to calm him down - he always did such a good job with that.

Wait. Vox couldn't calm him down, Vox was the one who needed calming! God, why was Vox so angry? The Alastor thing was cute to watch, but not when it ruined their Internet speed.

"Ugh, but I wanted to-"

"Shoo," Velvette said. "Do your job."

Velvette wasn't sympathizing at all, not like Vox did! Valentino was going to get back at that flat-faced man for causing him such a headache.

From Vox's lair, he could faintly hear swear-filled shrieks.

God, this was going to be such a pain. Valentino almost wanted to make Velvette do it but instead, but she'd just yell at him to calm down, and knowing how blindly rageful Vox was right now - that statement would only make him more angry, and the WiFi would only get even worse. Valentino didn't think he could handle the WiFi getting worse than it already was.

No. Calming Vox down would be easy, he knew it. He'd just need to resort to- Unconventional means.

What were the means in question? Valentino would decide that when he got there. He had a small mental list, though.

He sauntered downstairs, where Vox was hissing, furiously eyeing the screen, tracking Alastor like a cat would a laser pointer.

"That old-timey fucker doesn't know shit about this fucking-"

At some point, it had begun to seem like Vox was swearing for the sake of it. The action made sense, though. He had quite some anger to get out, and swear words were an excellent method of expelling anger.

"Vox," he crooned, because he was going to have fun with this. Unlike some demons who happened to have a flat face, a hatred for radio, and hypnosis powers, he wasn't an uptight little bitch.

"What is it?" The reply came instantly. "I'm busy."

And though that was ordinarily true, right now, Vox seemed like a typical chronically-online easily-trolled loser rather than the CEO who had almost all of the Prie Ring under his thumb.

"Relax a little, would you?" Valentino said, pinching at where Vox's cheek would've been were he not a TV screen and earning himself a slap of the wrist. "I hear you're getting a bit worked up over the radio demon."

"Of course I am! He's a-"

Before Vox could introduce anymore colorful swears that even he'd likely never head of, Valentino poked him in the stomach pointedly.

"Ah-ah," he said, unable to be anything other than endlessly amused by this. "You have to calm down, Vox! Can't you see you're acting irrational right now? Why, Alastor could never-"

He was cut off by Vox's static-filled rage.

"Oh, don't even start!" Vox said, but before he could continue his rant, as Valentino's hand accidentally grazed the back of his screen, he let out a static-filled yelp.

Valentino couldn't help but grin. Right. That was one of the best ways to force Vox to calm down.

The thing about the tech demon was that he was ridiculously, mortifyingly ticklish. And with that ticklishness came mortification. Emotional and physical sensitivity? There was nothing more exploitable than that.

"I almost forgot, darling! How could you possibly have let that happen?" He said, and though his statement had little elaboration, Vox knew what he meant.

A gulp was heard.

"V-Val, don't you fucking dare."

Really, though, how could Valentino possibly have forgotten about this? Vox's reactions were much too amusing, and Valentino hadn't even touched him yet! He'd have to do this more often.

"What should I refrain from doing?" He asked, savoring moment of this. A poke to Vox's side, followed by a velp. "This?"

"Prick," Vox said, looking away.

There was really no point to being insulting, was there, now? But this was an opportunity for Valentino.

"I'm hurt!" He said, feigning a pout. "You're so mean to me."

Vox grit his teeth at that, but before he could retort with whatever string of insults he had in mind, Valentino took the chance to dig his fingers into Vox's neck.

Already, Vox was struggling to hold in his laughter."

"I- haah- f-fucking-"

And then, Valentino reached his antenna.

"H-Hahahate you! Gah, fuhuck!" Vox squirmed futilely, namely, it was futile he wasn't actually moving away. Valentino hadn't bothered to hold him down, because for some reason, Vox never did manage to actually pull himself together and actively attempt to leave.

"Aww," he crooned, not bothering to give Vox a break. "Is big bad Vox so ticklish he can't help but lose his mind at the slightest touch? You know, I wonder what Alastor would think if he saw you now!"

Any hope of Alastor taking him remotely seriously would be crushed at that moment. Vox pouted, and at that moment, Valentino couldn't help but wonder.why he found a literal Flat screen television's pouting so adorable.

"Shuhut u-up!" He laughed, more giggled like a child, and it was, in all frankness, quite difficult to take him seriously. "L-Lehet me go, or I swear, I'll-"

Valentino prodded at a small wire end sticking out, and Vox's laughter devolved into pure static.

"There we go," he said.

After a while, Valentino finally had his fill, letting Vox go. Now, it was time to get his work out of the way and-

Wait, what was he here to do again? He'd forgotten.

Nevertheless, he was faced with a huffy, pouty Vox. What could be better?

"Come on, darling!" He said, placing a condescending hand on Vox's back, patting him as if he were a child. Because really, that was exactly what Vox was acting like right now. "Did you really loathe it that much? It isn't my fault, you know how I am. I just had to exploit your complete and utter inability to move away properly."

"Don't bring that up again," Vox said, voice low, almost a growl.

Valentino just tilted his head in amusement.

"What? Your utter inability to escape my clutches? I couldn't possibly do that!" He said. "It was much too amusing. You, completely able to leave at any moment, and yet you couldn't even muster up the brainpower to recognize your obvious escape! Honestly, if I didn't know much better, I'd even believe you were enjoying it!"

Vox slammed a fist on the table, eyes wide with embarrassment.

"S-Stop talking, prick!" He said, and the dots quickly connected in Valentino's head.

Oh. That was what was going on.

"You liked it, then?" He asked, though he already knew the answer. It was just funny watching Vox squirm.

"No I don't," Vox said, attempting to regain his typical demeanor - and succeeding, though Valentino knew him too well not to notice the shakiness of his voice. "I'm not even ticklish. Really-"

His right eye spiraled, and for a second, Valentino felt his thoughts cloud.

"Don't you trust me on that, Val?"

Vox's hypnosis wouldn't work that easily. Valentino quickly put an end to that by reaching for the loose wire, completely breaking Vox's concentration.

"G-Gah! You-"

"I should tell Velvette," Valentino said with a chuckle, because he knew how fearsome the thought of anyone knowing Vox's newfound secret would be, especially someone with as much of a penchant for blackmail as Velvette.

"D-Don't," Vox said. "Please."

Vox used the word 'please'? Miracles, it seemed, were not to miraculous after all.

Nevertheless, the mention of Velvette reminded Valentino that he, sadly, had things to do other than mess with Vox. Like get his WiFi back up to task.

"I won't," Valentino said. "If you stop watching the princess's hotel all the time."

Vox's eyes widened.

"And stop watching for that fucking Radio Demon? I don't really know why you think I'd ever do that."

"Then I suppose I'll just tell Velvette-"

"No, wait! Deal," Vox said, eyes filled with panic. Valentino smirked, drawing up the contract.

"Sign here, darling!" He said, and Vox hastily scrawled his signature onto the contract. Those things were good for more than getting souls.

"Fuck you," Vox said. Feisty once again, it seemed. Though he'd likely calm down shortly after. Hopefully with that, swear words would regain meaning to Valentino. It didn't feel ad gratifying to use them anymore - Vox had been using them so often they'd begin to feel like ordinary words.

Valentino just stayed silent, feeling his face stretch into a grin. He could vaguely make out Vox shooting him a concerned look.

Whatever. He'd discovered a new weakness of his dearest Vox's. And oh God, he was going to have so much fun with it.

#hazbin hotel tickling #lee!vox #ticklish!vox #ler!valentino

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scarletsinnerz · 19 hours

Text

FREE MLP COMMISSIONS.

EXAMPLE OF MY ART BELOW:

[I did not draw the background, it's a screen shot from the MLP fim series]

Howdy guys!

I'm opening a Instagram store for LPS and MLP commissions, adopts, pfps, and more! It's still a wip so nothing is for sale yet. And because I don't have too many MLP drawings to show for example, I thought I would open a few FREE commissions!

Instagram store link here.

[I'd also like to sell LPS clothes, stickers, customs, etc. eventually as well, but it'll be a while before that happens-]

I can draw an original character of yours, whether that be a random MLP OC or I can draw your pony sona/self insert. I can also draw any of the canon/fandom ponies from the My Little Pony: Friendship Is Magic series.

Or if you'd rather, I can make/design an adopt for you! You can give me some details/ideas you'd like included, or I can make the character from scratch and completely surprise you! I can also make a pony sona for you if you don't have one already. You can give me some details about you (things you like, fave colors, etc). And again, I can surprise you or you can tell me what/how you want to look like and I can draw it for you! (coat color, mane and tail color, length and style, cutie mark, whether you want to be a pegasus, unicorn, or Earth pony).

And if you don't know, I can choose for you on which I think best suits you out of the three! Whichever you'd like. We can go over and discuss more details if you want as well.

Don't be afraid to ask me any questions you may have!

The commission will be done digitally by me on procreate. It'll probably take me a week or a few to complete as I can be busy irl and I'll have multiple comms to do. So I ask you for your patience as I make this for you. Thank you.

I will be taking a total of 3 FREE commissions for now. But I may take more in the future. I'll make an edit on here and on my profile once all of the slots are taken. It is first come first serve, to make it fair.

Now for commission rules:

You can post it anywhere you want, but you MUST give me credit.

You cannot remove or alter my watermark/signature in anyway. This includes if you're using it as a pfp.

You cannot claim the drawing as your own creation, even if it is your OC, as I was the one who created it. Especially because the drawing is free, I think it's only fair that I receive credit in exchange.

I have every right to decline your comm for whatever reason.

I will only draw one character per commission. And it will be with a plain background only, as I don't have the time to draw backgrounds for everyone.

Please give me everything you have on your character that you want me to have in mind when drawing them.

You can print the artwork, but you cannot claim the drawing itself as your own creation. Again, please give me credit.

I reserve full rights to the image and it's use unless otherwise agreed upon.

I will do everything I can to make my customers happy! If you have a problem with anything, please let me know. I'm sure we can figure it out together.

That is everything for now, sorry for writing so much. ^^

REMEMBER THE COMM IS COMPLETELY FREE. 3 SLOTS OPEN ONLY!!!

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adelheidvonschicksal · 1 day

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hiii!! how are you? god, it's my first time requesting and I'm super awkward but I've been kinda having this dark mc brain rot! what would the love and Deepspace boys do with a secret gambler mc who's just like yumeko jabami? that'd be so interesting! feel free to ignore this ask if that makes you uncomfortable and have a nice day!

🎲 LND Scenarios with Dark Gambler!MC

🎲 Synopsis: Love and Deepspace men dealing with their dark gambler partner's eccentrics.

🎲 Pairing: LND x GN!Reader

🎲 Content Warning: sexual undertones, mild humor, no pronouns/looks mentioned (Jabami is for the aesthetic), Zayne is the only one vibing, there's no mercy in kitty cards!

🎲 A/N: Thanks for letting me take a crack at your request. I never watched Kakeguri but I think I got the vibe! I did tone the behavior down a little to fit LND more but I think you'll be satisfied. Zayne's part turned into my favorite even though I had the hardest time thinking of a scene for him!

“Let me have a turn.”

Xavier shudders at the dark aura he senses behind him despite the sweet smile plastered on your face. It’s almost like seeing a demon reflecting in the glass of the claw machine but in the form of an angel. He knew it was a bad idea to come to the arcade. He was no good at the machine no matter how much he tried and the nearly empty bowl where his tokens once laid was the proof.

“It’s alright. I didn’t think I could get it anyway. I’m not really good at this game.”

You frown at him. “It’s not you, love. These games are designed to cheat people out their money. It's disgusting really.”

Xavier gulps at that word. Cheat. If there was one thing you hated in this world, it was unfairness. The crooked smile forming on your face forces him to return eye contact with the special edition bunny plush he’s failed to get time and time again. Somehow, he sees fear in its eyes.

“I’ll get it for you.” Your hand reaches into the coin bowl; each clink makes his throat tighten as you finally pull out one of the coins between your fingers. “That bunny will be coming home with us.”

Xavier knows there’s little he can do when you sound that determined. Luckily, you won the bunny in two attempts.

“Ta-da! A fluffy bunny for my fluffy bunny.”

A sense of relief washes over him when the round rabbit hits his hands. Maybe he was being overly paranoid. However, his relief is quickly buffed out by anxiety when he sees you place another coin in the machine. It’s only a few seconds before the chimes of the machine go off again. Then, you pass him another toy, a carrot this time.

“Every bunny needs a snack!” you coo, but your tone carries that familiar edge that makes the hair on the back of his neck stand. “Now, whom shall we capture next?”

To Xavier, it sounds less like a question and more like a decree of war. “I think these two are more than enough for today."

“Xavier, this game stole forty dollars from you. I’m not going to let it get away with that,” you declare, proving it was just as he feared as your voice lowers. “Now, which one do you want, dear? Oh, I know, I'll just win them all for you! How does that sound?" you ask, but Xavier is eerily aware that it won’t matter what he says when you’re like this.

“Here we go!” you mewl as the claw begins to whir up.

Ignoring the shiver that climbs up his spine when your voice drips with the venom of ecstasy, there’s little Xavier can do but take another step back, buy another bowl of coins, and hold them for you as the role of a supportive boyfriend.

It’s an hour later when he finds himself surrounded by plushies, much more than he can hold, and the fear that you’re going to get kicked out the arcade any second.

“Cleaned out again!” you announce with a shrill breathy gasp, the giggle you give reminding him of the maniacal laughter Lemonette chortles out whenever the wanderer sprays lemon juice in his eyes. “Tell the employees we need another refill.”

“We don't have enough hands to carry all the ones you already won.”

“What?” Your focus finally breaks from the game and to the many toys scattered on the floor around him, overtaking his feet, then to the worried look on his face. “I went overboard again, didn’t I?”

Xavier sighs. “I think that’s pretty obvious.”

“Why didn’t you stop me?”

“How do you suggest I do that?” he asks with a shake of his head. “You’re impossible to stop.”

You flutter your eyelashes at him innocently. “I did get you your bunny though!”

“At the cost of the poor arcade owner’s precious sanity,” he reminds you but the smile on his face is less than scolding when he sees the guilty sulk you have and the lax of your shoulders. “Let’s find a donation center to drop these little guys off. We’ll count it as our good deed for the month.”

“Good idea! How about we surprise all the kids at the hospital?” you agree. Xavier chuckles. There’s the angel again.

“Pretty please, Rafayel!”

The painter rolls his eyes, scooting further away from you to find a different spot on the floor to sit as you crawl after him. Rafayel turns his head away and strokes his paintbrush down the center of his canvas.

“No. Now, go away. Shoo. Shoo, go paw at someone else,” he says, waving the wet paintbrush at you.

“But no one else will play with me,” you whine.

“I wonder why?”

You are terrifying when you play kitty cards. Unfortunately, he was once the only one foolish enough to play with you because he wasn’t aware of how you got when you gambled even when the winnings were only a few pieces of chocolate. He knows better now. Despite your cute precious face, you were evil incarnate when it came to games.

“Surely, you pity me my dear sweet, gorgeous boyfriend. Did I forget to mention talented?” You give him the puppy eyes to try to wear down his resolve; your hand glides over his bangs, lovingly pushing them from his face. As much as he loves trying to make you happy, this is one of the few things in the world that he refuses to listen to you about.

“As true as all of that may be, I prefer living thanks,” he says before switching brushes to another color. A splash of blue would be excellent.

“Is this about last time?” you ask him. “It was an accident.”

“You nearly broke my hand!”

“You were trying to swap the kitties!” you yell back. Rafayel was a no-good cheater when it came to playing games and not the least bit sorry about it. It’s not your fault that you grabbed his hand by reflex nor that he was so dramatic about it.

“So, the sentence is hand breaking? That's cruel and unusual punishment!” he says with a gasp.

"Is it wrong to take away your tool for cheating?"

“Have you forgotten what I do for a living? You might as well lay me out in the sun to dry.”

Sighing, you decide to agree with him. You suppose you could be a little competitive when it came to games. Besides, they say it’s easier to catch more flies with honey. “Look, I’m sorry, baby,” you apologize and smooth out a hand over his thigh. “How about I give you a super special prize if you win.”

Rafayel barely looks at you from the corner of his eyes that slowly drop to where your hand rests on his leg. You’re on your hands and knees next to him, perched up like a cat begging to be petted.

“I’m listening,” he says, continuing to mix his paints. Purring, you lean in and whisper in his ear the prizes you’re willing to trade for him to play one little round with you.

His heart races with each word. It’s suddenly becoming harder to keep the stroke of the brush straight when your hand starts to trail further and further up his thigh. “Well, when you put it that way—” and he almost gives in until he sees the corner of your lips curling up into a smirk. “Wait. No. I refuse.”

“Not even if—” and you whisper in his ear again. He swears the brush handle will splinter if he grips it any tighter. His face is glowing a light red by the time you pull away. He might be Lumerian but he’s still a man; it’s difficult to bury the memories of pleasure under the memories of his fingers squeezing in your hard grip the last time you caught him cheating. He manages, somehow.

“How easy do you think I am? I’m not open for business whenever you want, darling.” He manages to spat out, not exactly the best rejection but it’ll suffice.

You puff up your cheeks at him. “You’re the meanest boyfriend ever!”

“And you’re evil when a card gets in your hand,” he argues back. The last thing he sees is the red of your shirt as you pounce on him and blue paint spilling across the floor.

“You’re so nice, Zayne. You’re the only one who's brave enough to play against me.”

Zayne glances up from the stack of cards in his hands to catch your tongue glancing over your lips to wet them as you stare him down with dilated eyes. He expected you to get worked up but not quite this early into the game.

“I had the free time today.”

The real reason he schedules these regular games with you is to keep your strange habit under control, like providing a little bit of a drug to an addict; or in simpler terms, walking an overly energetic Husky so it won’t tear up the furniture. It beats the many times you ring him up at two in the morning, needing him to come rescue you out of a tough situation. He knows you’ll never learn your lesson with him always swooping in when needed, but he can’t stand the possibility of you getting hurt should he not come to your rescue every time you over bet your hand and need him to win back your money for you. The doctor never really expected to be a poker or kitty card expert at this age but alas.

“I’m guessing there’s at least one Kitty Plot in your hand, am I right?” you ask him; and he doesn’t understand how you sound more excited each time he obtains another assist card.

“And if I told you there was?”

The giggle you let out sounds much too vulgar for a simple game of kitty cards, but he’s used to this eccentricity of yours at this point. “Then that means I get to beat you even when you’re at your best!”

You slap down a Freeze card and Skip card. There’s not much he can do other than draw his assist card and ride out your next turn. In the next phase, you throw out another assist card, one that will allow you to restock your empty number stockpile and seal your victory.

“Any last words?” you ask him. He can see that you’re starting to twitch with the excitement that comes from besting him. It’s the most dramatic thing he’s seen, but he’d be a liar to say it wasn’t…satisfying…to watch your face fill with shock as he blocks your finishing move with a Meow This. Maybe you were rubbing off on him after all, he muses.

“You held on to that all this time?” you ask him, recalling the many chances he could’ve blocked your earlier plays. You were aware he was luring you into a trap by playing the slow game, but you thought you could get around it this time. With a dreamy sigh, you cup your cheek in your hand. “I should’ve known. Just careless.”

“Any last words?” he asks, mocking your earlier victory line.

“None I’m afraid. I’m completely at your mercy; helpless in the face of your onslaught,” you tell him, and he ignores the little tilt of seduction lacing your voice and the squirming of your thighs as he starts erasing every point you’ve earned.

Slowly, your points decrease one by one as he throws out assist after assist while you let out little whimpers and mutter compliments under your breath with each cup color change and point reducer he throws out.

You’re going to lose! Again! He’s incredible as always.

But you’re offered deliverance when instead of erasing the six points of your blue kitty the cup color changes to match it. You hear Zayne “tch” under his breath, and you can’t help but laugh when he finally has to give up and fill the last white kitty cup with a pathetic low-level kitten.

In the end, you only won by two points but that was all you needed.

“I won…I won!” you repeat, rocking back and forth as you hug yourself and toss your head back. “I finally beat you! You won’t believe how long I waited for this day! Now what should my prize be?” You fall back onto the floor, kicking your feet. “It’s so hard to decide. I honestly didn’t think this day would come! There are so many things I’ve dreamed of making you do for me!”

Zayne presses his lips into a thin line as he begins to collect the kittens from the cup. “Calm down. You’re drooling on the carpet,” he exaggerates, not that you're in the right mind to listen.

“I got it. I know just what I want,” you squeal, holding your finger in your mouth to muffle your laughs. Zayne tenses when you sit up, much like a vampire from a horror movie, and lock eyes with him; he doesn’t think he’s felt so targeted since his days in the military.

“Meow for me, Zayne,” you demand, and his face burns at the ridiculousness of your request.

“You—”

“Are you backing out? That’s poor sportsmanship especially considering I took every nasty medicine each time you won.”

Zayne shakes his head. “No. I was simply thinking that’s surprisingly tame for you.”

You lift your eyebrows curiously. “So, does that mean?”

Zayne leans in over the table. In this position, he can see how your face softens from that lust-filled haze that gambling always manages to place over you. He doesn’t know if you can actually get embarrassed, but you certainly look flustered as he locks eyes with you.

“Meow.”

“Oh,” you gasp, eyes wide. “T-That was absolutely wonderful,” you blurt out with a clasp of your hands. “Do it again.”

“It was a one-time deal,” Zayne rejects before straightening his back.

“I didn’t think you would do it. One more little meow for me?” you plead. “This was a special victory, and I didn’t get to enjoy my winnings properly.”

“If you want to hear it again, I’m afraid you’ll have to beat me a second time,” he answers bluntly.

“And if you win?”

“You do what I want.”

“Which is?”

Zayne smirks at you. “All I can tell you is that I’ll ask for much more than a meow.”

“You’re on! You’re on! You’re on! What better way to solidify my position as the best kitty card player than with a streak?”

“I take it we’re playing on Hell Mode then.”

“What do you mean? It’s always heaven playing against you, Zayne. You’re the only one who can give an actual challenge,” you sweetly coo, nearly a moan. “Unfortunately, your reign will officially be coming to an end. I’m going to beat you without luck; and when I do, I think I’ll make you meow and purr for my reward.”

“Hurry and restart the match then if you believe that.”

Zayne watches as you excitedly set the game back up. He supposes that this type of gambling is more fun than gambling with chocolates. At least until he sees your social media message the next morning.

Guess who finally toppled the old king and became the new Ruler of Kitty Cards? I won’t name them. No one asked. It’s not polite to be a sore loser, my adorable meowing subject.

#zayne x reader #xavier x reader #rafayel x reader #love and deepspace x reader #lnd x reader #notsfw #adelssmut

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