#not going into detail on any of it and certain parts continued on for certain bits of time but the more i focus on details the worse it | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

thebigbiwolf · 7 months

Text

Spittle - Part 2/2 (Astarion/F!Reader)

Summary: The chocolate seems innocent enough - if you look past the Infernal writing on the wrapper, and with so few pleasures in the wilderness, you all but jump at the chance to sneak yourself a small treat.

Unbeknownst to you, the bar is infused with succubus spittle. Just one square is rumored to contain enough potency to send a mortal into the throes of ecstasy.

This is what happens when you eat half the bar.

Fic Tags: Sex Pollen (kinda), aphrodisiacs, a bit of dom!Astarion, unprotected piv, overstimulation, he talks you through it (iykyk),

Fic Warnings: Explicit Smut (18+ MDNI), Language, No use of Y/N, magical influence

Read Part 1: Here

Read on AO3: Here

Word Count: 4k

A/N: Wow. I'll try to make this brief. First of all, I just want to say thank you all so much for your continued support. I know this took me forever to write, but I've been going through a lot of emotional turmoil with school and some health issues with my animals. Your patience means so much to me, and I can only hope this lives up to everyone's expectations! This is my first time writing smut, and ngl I feel a bit like Icarus, so let me know if y'all liked it. Last, but not least, thanks again to my bestie/beta @imaginarydromedary for holding my hand through the shame.

Astarion sits quietly beside the fire, absently picking the dirt from beneath his manicured nails. The night had unfolded like countless others before it: boring, mundane. Uneventful.

Perhaps he should retire early. The Realm According to Bumpo sits patiently atop the desk in his tent, and if he heads to bed now, he could potentially finish a chapter before his watch begins.

He stands, patting the dust off his trousers, just as Shadowheart emerges from your tent. He initially doesn’t pay her any mind - fails to notice the concern etched across her face.

“Astarion.”

He snaps to attention, recognizing the fear in her voice.

Astarion’s stomach sinks when their eyes meet. Shadowheart isn’t normally one to succumb to panic, but she looks as though she’s just stumbled out of a wolf’s den.

“What is it? What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know. She - I’ve never seen…” Shadowheart pauses, taking a steadying breath. “She’s feverish. She was fine only hours ago. I heard a cry from her tent and feared something was amiss. When I found her, she…” The cleric hesitates, eyes contemplative - as if weighing exactly how much she wants to reveal.

“Out with it, damn it!”

“Is there any chance she’s been poisoned? You two stayed behind, back in the village. Did she come into contact with anything that might have pierced her skin?”

“Poisoned? No, she -” Astarion retraces the events, turning over your brief conversations in his head before landing on the only noteworthy detail he can think of.

He taps a finger on his chin, a thoughtful smile creasing his face. “Unless, of course, the Infernal chocolates didn’t agree with her.”

“I’m sorry, the what?”

“The chocolate she found at the apothecary. I assumed she hid it away so she could enjoy her little treat, unbothered. There was Infernal text on the wrapper.”

She stares at him with wide eyes, jaw slack with disbelief. “And you didn’t think to mention this earlier?”

Astarion shrugs, unfazed.

“Where’s Wyll?”

He rolls his eyes. “How should I know? I’m not his keeper.”

“Astarion!”

“Oh, come on. That chocolate must have been at least a decade old. Are you certain this isn’t just some sort of stomach bug?”

The cleric shoves past him, groaning in exasperation. She shoots him a glare and mutters, “I’m certain,” before jogging in the direction of Wyll’s tent.

“Infused with succubus spittle. Just one bite will have you and that special someone rolling around for hours. Consume responsibly."

Astarion giggles boyishly. “An aphrodisiac? How fun.”

Wyll squints as he silently reads the next bit to himself, fingers tracing the text. He turns to Shadowheart, jaw tightening, "How much of this did you say she ingested?"

"I only found half the bar."

Wyll’s expression grows more serious. "This says the recommended serving size is one square… How many squares were left?"

“Oh, gods…” she breathes, "Six."

The three exchange silent, worried glances.

“Could she die from this?” Shadowheart asks, her voice trembling with uncertainty.

Wyll’s lips press into a thin line. In truth, he doesn’t know the answer. He could ask Mizora for guidance, but the devil’s been awfully silent after his recent failures. He isn’t sure she'd be willing to answer him, let alone grant any favors. Still, it may be worth a call.

Just as Wyll’s about to suggest it, Astarion heaves a deep, dramatic sigh, throwing his hands up in defeat.

“Alright, I know what we’re all thinking. I’ll take care of this.”

The other two regard each other, thoroughly confused.

“Look," Astarion explains, I may not be well-versed in magic, or magical remedies, for that matter, but now that we know what’s causing this… I think it’s obvious what needs to be done.”

“You’re joking.” Shadowheart laughs, incredulously.

“No,” he continues, “We can’t just sit here and hope for the best. We need to act quickly, and let's just say, this fits into my... skill set.”

“So, you’re going to, what? Have sex with her? You think she’ll be capable of saying anything but yes, given the state she’s in?”

Astarion shoots her a glare. The mere thought that he’d ever so much as suggest doing something like that - bedding you when you’re too weak to reject him - the very idea of it makes him sick.

He isn’t that evil.

“Watch your tongue,” he spits at her, “before I do us all the favor of removing it.”

“Hang on, you two,” Wyll interjects, “Astarion, I think you might have a point. You would know better than anyone whether she’s in a right enough state of mind to… consent to this. You’re closest to her. She trusts you.”

He turns to Shadowheart, “It’s worth a try.”

Astarion notices two things as he pulls back the flap of your tent.

The first is that it is unseasonably warm. Scorching hot, like summer. A stark contrast from the welcoming cool of the early spring night behind him.

And second, that the air in the tent is heavy - heady with the scent of sweat and something else he can’t quite identify. It's clouding his senses, making his head swim. The taste of it settles on his tongue, like salt on the rim of an otherwise very sweet drink.

The moonlight at his back casts a dark shadow over your sleeping form. Astarion hesitates for a moment, taking in the sight of you, vulnerable and oblivious to his presence, feeling too much like a wolf looming over a snared rabbit.

You twitch, grimacing in pain.

He frowns. This wasn’t the way he wanted to go about seducing you. His plan was much more sophisticated: a carafe of wine, a few honeyed words leading to a night of passion, your endless thanks, all culminating in some well-earned release and his assured protection.

A mutual exchange.

But, this?

He’s roused from his thoughts by another grunt, escaping from between your clenched teeth.

Whatever you’re going through, it looks like hell.

Ugh. You know what? Fine. Maybe this isn’t the way he envisioned it, but when has life ever blessed him with a perfect scenario? He’ll offer his… services, and respect whatever answer you give him. If you refuse him now, he can always try again later. Under less perilous circumstances, provided you survive the night.

And if not, well, he's never been one to play the hero, but at least he tried.

He steps further inside, closing the entrance behind him. The moment he seals the tent shut, there is a palpable shift. The space feels infinitely heavier, laden with unnatural energy, reminiscent of anticipation, but just slightly… off.

He breathes, trying to focus on anything but that intoxicating scent. The haze of it is maddening.

The elf sits on his knees beside you, hands resting in his lap.

He clears his throat, hoping the sound would be enough to wake you.

There’s no response.

He whispers your name.

Nothing.

No choice, then.

He drums a finger against your bare arm.

The cleric was right. Your skin is so hot, it borders on scalding.

Finally, you begin to stir.

Again. It happened again.

As soon as you closed your eyes to rest, you saw him - That thing that wore his skin. You felt his hands and mouth as he ravaged you until you fell apart beneath him, above him, wrapped around him, like he was everywhere all at once.

He was demanding as he took pleasure from you. Ravenous. Mocking your cries, your begging.

The hours stretched into what felt like lifetimes, and you’d nearly given up hope, resigning yourself to the idea that this was your new, endless reality.

Until suddenly, you hear a voice that pulls you from the dark recesses of your subconscious-- the very voice being used to torture you

Your name, uttered quietly by Astarion. Just Astarion. No second, more sinister layer beneath it.

Your eyelids flutter, then widen as a chilling realization washes over you.

He’s touching you. The pads of his fingers are both a balm and an irritant, soothing and igniting the flames licking at the corners of your mind.

“You look like you’ve seen better days.” He teases.

You recoil from his touch, sitting upwards and crawling back away from him.

He can’t be here. He, of all people, can’t be here.

And yet, something within you is screeching in delight.

'That’s him, isn’t it? The object of your desires? How fun!’

You swallow. Hard.

“Astarion, I -”

He holds up a hand, silencing you. “I’m aware.”

“Shadowheart informed us of your… predicament,” he continues, “I can’t help but feel partly responsible, seeing as I was there when you found the chocolate -”

“The chocolate? Is that - wait, what?”

Shit. Your head is pounding.

You press your palms against your eyes and groan.

“I’ll spare you the details, but that chocolate was laced with succubus spittle - a highly potent aphrodisiac - and you, my dear, have consumed enough to bring an entire brothel to its knees.”

Your eyes snap open, meeting his own. There isn’t an ounce of humor in his tone. No sign of his usual mischief.

Gods, he’s being fucking serious.

“Now, as amusing as this might be if it were anyone else, I’d prefer it if our party’s leader made it out of this alive, and that leaves us with a choice."

You gaze at him silently, waiting as the candlelight paints his sharp features in warm hues of amber and honey.

'He’s quite handsome. I see why you like him.’

“You can ride this out alone,” Astarion explains, “Shadowheart will return with her best salves and more potions for the fever. We’ll hope this passes quickly, but Wyll’s translation suggests the amount you consumed could leave you in this state for up to a week.”

Your stomach churns. You’re going to be sick.

“And the alternative?” you manage to ask.

His hand finds yours, fingers intertwining with your own. Your skin prickles at the contact.

“The alternative is that you let me help you through this. Consider it a repayment, of sorts, for gifting me your blood. I’m somewhat of an expert on… well,” he lets out a humorless laugh, “let’s just say, I’m the best chance you’ve got.”

Maybe it's the blood roaring in your ears, or maybe you’re still dreaming, but it sounds like Astarion is offering to… fuck you?

“I’m sorry, what?”

He groans, visibly frustrated. “Sex, my dear. If the magic is compelling you to have it, I think we should listen.”

‘Handsome and smart.’

You hiss, “Would you please shut up?”

Astarion squints. “What was that?”

“Nothing, sorry.” You clear your throat. “Listen, I - I get what you’re trying to do. I appreciate it, really, but -”

Pain lances through your abdomen, a sharp, icy shard that interrupts your words. You clutch at your side, releasing Astarion’s hand before falling helplessly on your back, twisting in agony.

He inches closer, voice tinged with urgency. “We’re running out of time. If you want my help, it's best to ask now, because as much as I love the idea of you begging for me to bed you, I won’t be comfortable doing this unless you agree to this while you’ve still got your wits about you.”

Tears sting the corners of your eyes, blurring your vision at the edges. He’s right. You don’t think you can endure this alone, and as much as you fucking hate to admit it, the damned succubus magic - that thing - is right.

You do desire him. You’ve wanted him since the moment you met beside the nautiloid. Now here he is, offering to alleviate your suffering.

There’s just one part of his offer that you can’t quite come to terms with.

“I didn’t let you drink from me because I was hoping you’d repay me.” Your voice warbles, wet and stressed, “I can’t have sex with you if it’ll just be part of some ridiculous transaction. Not with anyone, and certainly not with you.”

His expression softens as your words sink in. It’s a confession, of sorts. The kind he’s wholly unfamiliar with. It stuns him almost to the point of speechlessness.

“My apologies. Believe me, it was more of an excuse than anything. I didn’t mean to suggest…” He lets his words trail off, shaking his head. You two can revisit this conversation later, when time isn’t of the essence. “It doesn’t matter. I want to do this. Let me help you.”

The sincerity in his voice sends a shiver up your spine.

It’s clear he means this.

He means every word.

You nod. “Okay.”

Astarion clears his throat, rolling the tension off his shoulders.

“Good. Now that we’ve got that taken care of,” he says as he throws one of his legs over your waist, straddling you, “Why don’t you lie back and let me take care of this, hm?”

His posture is relaxed. Confident. He regards you with hooded eyes and the faintest hint of a smirk. It’s quite the sight, one you’d enjoy significantly more if your body wasn’t busy screaming for his attention.

His deft hands make quick work of the laces of your shirt, and with every string that loosens, your composure unravels further. You squirm, unable to resist the heat that teases your skin and the growing itch beneath it.

As if Astarion can sense your rising panic, he places a cool palm against your burning cheek, his touch both gentle and practiced as he rubs smooth circles at the dip of your temple.

“Relax, dear,” he whispers, both a request and a command. The gentle lilt in his voice masks the underlying authority, but your body obeys all the same, tension releasing from your muscles. “I’ve got you.”

Astarion quickly rids you of the offending fabric, chest and stomach now bared to him. His eyes scan over your form with focused intensity, lips pinched between his teeth, like an artist deciding what to make of their blank canvas.

“Normally, I’d take my time with this,” he admits, “but given the circumstances…” He swiftly undoes the buttons of your trousers before yanking them off along with your smallclothes. One single, fluid motion.

He can’t hide the mild shock that follows when he sees the state of you - dripping wet, red and pulsing with need.

He dips the tip of his finger between your folds. It glides over velvet skin, coating the digit in warm, wet slick. A strangled, pitiful noise escapes from your throat.

For a moment, Astarion’s calculated expression falters, surprised by the rate at which your body opens itself up to him. A glint of hunger lurks beneath the surface.

“This may be easier than I thought.” He says with a smirk, more to himself than to you.

He presses two digits in, slow and intentional. There’s no resistance; A knife through warm butter. You’re dripping down his knuckles, gripping around him like a vice. He slides all the way in until the heel of his palm meets your clit.

“Breathe.”

Not even realizing you’d been holding your breath, you release it with a shutter.

“Very good.” He punctuates his words with the slow drag of his fingers. Long, languid movements. He’s taking his sweet time with you, pulling scandalous little cries from your lips. It’s like he’s toying with you - seeing how long you can hold out before breaking.

It doesn’t take much time at all.

“Astarion -”

“Yes?”

“Please.”

“Please, what? What do you need, darling?” His eyes are fixed on your own, grin tugging at the edge of his mouth. A cat playing with a cornered mouse.

“More. Anything.”

He hums in approval, then wets the pad of his thumb on his tongue before drawing circles exactly where you need. Heat coils at the base of your spine, forming a ball of tension that threatens to snap.

The sheer intensity of it is enough to scare you, caught between the urge to chase the sensation or flee from it. “Astarion, I -”

He ignores your warning as if he hadn’t heard it, plunging his fingers into your heat and curling them - expertly caressing a spot that threatens to shatter you. Your hands fly out, gripping the fabric of his shirt, the sheets beneath you, anything in a desperate attempt to ground yourself.

“Go on, love. Let it out. I’ve got you.”

Your body seizes as your orgasm tears through you, igniting every one of your oversensitive nerves. Back arching off the bedroll, several strangled sounds - almost pained - rip from your throat. The pleasure threatens to tear you apart, but the thick fog of lust occupying your mind begins to subside, offering the slightest bit of clarity as you twitch beneath him.

Astarion grabs you by the jaw, tilting your head this way and that, admiring his handiwork. He's quite pleased with himself, with the mess he's made of you - jaw slack and brows pinched. He coaxes out the aftershocks, watching you squeeze around his fingers.

"There,” he gives you a playful pat on the cheek, "You're looking better already."

"You're - agh - enjoying this too much."

"I never said I wasn't going to enjoy it."

A beat of silence passes between the two of you as he allows you to catch your breath. For a moment, you think the coast is clear - that maybe, this was as far as things had to go. This was what the magic was compelling you to do, or at the very least - it was close enough. You fulfilled its wishes. Surely.

But then he pulls out of you, and the second you feel the vacuum of emptiness where his fingers once were, that voice in your head is screeching like some sort of petulant child. It pouts, waggling its non-existent finger in your direction. The demanding bitch.

Part of you, instinctually, realizes that this is just the beginning - that you’re simply at the edge of the shore watching the tides recede while a devastating wave builds somewhere in the distance.

“What is it? Does it still hurt?” Astarion asks, breaking the silence, and you realize that no, it doesn’t. Not like before, at least.

You shake your head.

“Good. I’d wager that means this is working.” He smiles triumphantly, working the laces of his own clothes, and ridding himself of the final layers between you, revealing an intricate network of muscle beneath. For a man who’d supposedly been starved for the last two centuries, he certainly doesn’t look the part.

Astarion nudges your legs apart with his thigh, then settles between your knees, dragging the head of his cock between your folds. He hums in approval, admiring the sight as he coats himself in your slick. It practically drools out of you.

There’s no resistance when he dips himself into your entrance.

His eyes scan over your face, searching for any discomfort, but all he finds is need.

So, he presses in further.

“Shit, you -”

He hisses, sucking in a sharp breath as he bottoms out, then takes a moment, eyes pinched shut, collecting himself.

He slides out, just an inch or so, before plunging back in, buried as deeply as he can reach. It’s so damn easy, the sinfully wet mess you’ve left all over his cock allowing him to glide in and out, tilting his hips with each thrust.

The stretch of him is perfect, like you were made for this - made to take him. His length rubbing and dragging against your walls acts like a balm, relaxing your body as you swallow and grip him in scorching heat.

He grabs one of your thighs, pressing it into your chest - the new angle allowing him to sink even deeper into your core.

It isn’t long before you’re begging him for more, digging your heels into the curve of his back.

Astarion starts pounding into you - a new, brutal pace spurred on by your encouragement and the wet, filthy slap of his skin against yours. The sounds reverberate off the canvas of your tent, blending with your choked sobs. You just know your companions are going to have something to say about this in the morning, but you honestly can’t bring yourself to care.

The only thing that matters now is the man above you - his nails digging into the flesh of your ass, whispering how good you feel. How well you’re taking him, “Like you were made for this - for me.” His grunts are like music to your ears, drowning out all other thoughts as his chest vibrates against your own.

It’s all too much.

Your orgasm sneaks up on you before you have a chance to warn him, but he feels the way you flutter around his cock and acts on instinct - snaking his fingers between your bodies and rubbing your clit in quick circles.

You throw your head back with a cry, shaking beneath him, and grip him like a vice as you come. The force of it slams into you, hot and devastating, tightening every muscle within its wake. You wind your limbs tightly around the hard planes of Astarion’s body as he rolls his hips into you, slow and deep.

You can feel him twitching inside you, his rhythm suddenly stuttering with each thrust. Something tells you he’d come now, if you’d allow him.

But where?

'Where else?'

The very idea of him not spilling every drop he has inside of you disturbs you nearly to the point of panic, and with that, you finally understand what this damned succubus has been demanding of you this entire time.

“Astarion, please. I need you.”

“Where?” he asks, voice muffled, panting hot and open-mouthed against the swell of your shoulder.

“Inside,” you beg, “Please. Please - It’s alright.”

He shudders, surging up into you one last time with a strangled grunt. Holding onto your hips, he pulses within you, the warmth of his release filling you to the brim, until a thick white ring of come forms at the base of his length. You can’t help but clench around him, moving to match his previous pace and trying desperately to wring as much out of him as you can, until it begins to seep out onto the sheets beneath you.

It isn’t until he stills inside of you that you release your hold on him. The two of you take a minute to collect yourselves, waiting for your heart to settle and listening to Astarion’s ragged breaths.

He lifts his weight off of you with a grunt, settling back on his knees.

“That was - agh,” he shivers as he pulls out of you. You don’t even want to look at the mess.

“I’m going to have to burn these sheets, aren’t I?” you ask, sitting up on your shoulders.

He throws his head back with a genuine, hearty laugh, and cards his fingers through his dampened hair.

This is the most relaxed you think you’ve ever seen him - not a scowl line in sight. He rolls his shoulders, and sighs at the subsequent pop before turning his focus back on you.

“I’ll have you know,” Astarion muses, “I’ve done this more times than I can count— but this, my dear,” he chuckles, “This was one for the books.”

“So, was sleeping with me everything you could have possibly imagined?” It’s an obvious joke, given your tone. An offer to squash any chance of this happening again, should he wish to. An exit.

He hums playfully. “Well, next time I think I’d prefer the subtle influence of wine over a mind-altering aphrodisiac, if it's all the same to you.”

There’s a beat of silence.

Did he just offer to do this again? Well, not exactly, but -

“And how are you feeling?” Astarion asks.

Better, is the honest answer. Slightly confused and deeply embarrassed, but better.

The apologies you’ll have to make after the night’s over seem endless, both to him and to Shadowheart for all the trouble you caused. Not to mention the others, who’ve probably had the sound of your squealing burned into their memories forever. The idea of it is daunting.

“Because if you’re still reeling from any nasty, lingering effects,” he continues, “I’m sure I could be… persuaded to help again.”

Oh.

Hm.

“Well, now that you mention it…”

Tag List (sorry if I missed anyone! I only added you if you explicitly asked to be tagged): @daedriclys @captain039 @sushiumex @sugasweettea @marauders-moon @starlightelegy @ablxssm @the-lake-is-calling

#bg3 #bg3 fanfiction #astarion #astarion acunin #astarion bg3 #astarion x reader #astarion fanfic #astarion x you #spittle

2K notes · View notes

mydearzero · 9 months

Text

Livid | mean!Spencer Reid x Reader

MASTERLIST

18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Summary: Annoying Spencer, just to see him get mad, was one of your favourite ways to pass time at the BAU. Emily had warned you not too push him too far. You hadn't realised how right she was until Spencer decides he's had enough and takes you down to the basement.

Contents: DUB-CON, NO Y/N, fem!Reader, BAU!reader, mean!Spencer, no aftercare,, dom!Spencer, sub!Reader, co-workers, smut, unprotected sex, penetrative sex (p in v), creampie (is it even a mydearzero original if there's no coming inside?), spanking, dacryphilia, impact play, choking, spit, degradation, humiliation, semi-public sex, punishment, name calling, sir kink, filming and taking pictures without permission, orgasm denial, If I missed any warnings please tell me!

5K words

this one's a doozy folks. buckle up. it's pure porn - nik

You weren't doing it on purpose at first. It just so happened that you occasionally did things that got under Spencer's skin. You gradually realized which actions ticked him off and started doing them more and more. You just enjoyed seeing him annoyed, huffing and puffing, yet never saying anything. His patience seemed neverending.

Emily had warned you not to push him too far. According to her, when Spencer snapped, he exploded.

Yeah, right.

Her discouragement only egged you on. You'd hardly ever seen the genius even get mad. Spencer got irritated at best. He was an angel, really.

So you continued pushing, taking every possible chance to get on his last nerve. It had turned from enjoying seeing him annoyed to wanting to see him furious. You'd seen Spencer snarl at a snobby police officer once. Hell, you'd even seen him snap at an UnSub. But you'd never seen him absolutely livid.

It took you a while to figure out why you wanted to see him get mad.

You thought back to that case, the one that had him yelling at the UnSub. You couldn't even remember the details of the case. All you could think about was Spencer's hands gripping the table as he leaned across it, getting close and personal with the UnSub.

You cared about the veins straining against the surface of his skin, the bead of sweat rolling down the side of his face. The only lasting memory you had of the case was the tone of his voice and what it did to your body.

A part of you wanted to be on the other side of that table, and it scared you how that part was growing exponentially, especially after Emily's warning.

You didn't want to admit it, not even to yourself. But the sole reason you continued messing with Spencer was the age-old 'teasing your crush to get their attention' stint, and you hadn't even realized it.

You shouldn't have been having all these deep thoughts and desires while sitting at your desk on a random Tuesday afternoon. Yet here you were.

You tried to read the lines on the page in front of you repeatedly but to no avail. Your face sunk into your hands as you groaned inwardly. You had to stop this juvenile behaviour at this second. He was going to catch on. You were certain somebody already must've done the math.

It shouldn't have surprised you when Spencer did finally burst. It wasn't like you did anything out of the usual. He wasn't even being tormented by a gruelling case. He'd just had enough.

"God! You think you're so cute, don't you?" Spencer exclaimed, slamming the mouse you'd taped over on the table. The silence from before and after his outburst differed immensely. It was calm and serene before it turned tense and awkward.

You slowly turned to look at his desk, not meeting his eye. If you had, you would've seen the way his pupils dilated at your meek behaviour. The way he had to regain his composure.

Your heart rate skyrocketed, feeling caught. You knew reading minds wasn't a thing, but profiling sure was one of the things closest to it in this world. Spencer couldn't have known what you were thinking only seconds prior to him finding your latest childish attempt to invoke his anger. But it felt like he knew.

Spencer scoffed as you chewed on your bottom lip, suddenly not feeling so funny anymore. "You don't have anything to say for yourself?"

You gaped as you made eye contact with an overly amused Derek. He was enjoying this show to its fullest extent. "Don't look at me, kid. We warned you." He shrugged.

You turned your eyes back to a still-aggravated Spencer. He pushed himself away from his desk and got out of his chair. He brushed his hands over his jacket, still sending daggers your way.

Your gaze followed him hesitantly as he stalked over to your desk. You scrambled to arrange things as if your messy workspace would only annoy him more.

"Get up." He demanded. You raised your eyebrows in question. Was he serious?

"Ooh, someone's in trouble," Emily teased in a sing-songy tone. Not helping, Prentiss.

"You're messing with me, right? Because of all the stupid pranks?" You asked sceptically. Your voice was wavering and uncertain.

"No, I'm being dead serious. Get up. Follow me." Spencer made an upwards motion with his fingers as he loomed over your seated figure.

You slowly pushed your chair out and sent questioning glances to JJ, who only shrugged. Your legs were unsteady as you stood. Spencer was your coworker, your friend. So why was your heart beating in your throat as if you were about to be sent to the fifth circle of Dante's Inferno?

Spencer didn't say another word as his long legs stalked out of the bullpen, uncaring that you were struggling to keep up. You nearly tripped over your feet several times before reaching the elevator. You stood beside a seething Spencer, who turned to push the 'B' button.

The basement? What business did he, or you, for that matter, have in the basement? Nobody ever- Right. Nevermind.

Nobody ever set foot in the basement.

You twiddled with your fingers in anticipation, hearing Spencer breathe in an unnatural pattern. The floors passed by quickly, and before you knew it, you were met with the sight of the metal doors sliding open into darkness.

Spencer flicked the light switch. Harsh, industrial, white light filled the dusty room. It was smaller than you expected. The rows of file cabinets made it look smaller than it really was. A desk was situated in the middle, seemingly abandoned.

You shuddered a breath as you stepped into the room, feeling exposed even when you knew nobody could see or hear you down here. Your shoes seemed outrageously interesting, your eyes never leaving them as you awaited Spencer with bated breath.

"Look at me." His words filled the silence. The room had an eerie lack of echo, his voice sounding closer than it actually was.

You slowly lifted your head to meet his gaze. He appeared taller like this, especially when you were already feeling small, hunching in on yourself.

"I'm going to give you one chance to apologize for your downright appaling behaviour." Spencer crossed his arms as he leaned against the desk. You felt as if you were being scolded by a teacher for throwing a crayon at another student.

"Why the condescending tone, Reid? We're all coworkers here." You questioned defensively, mirroring his stance by crossing your arms.

"That doesn't sound like an apology to me, but I'll bite. We are definitely coworkers. But you know as well as I that you changed that dynamic when you decided to start acting like a spoilt little girl begging for my attention." His composure didn't change as he spoke the incriminating words.

You didn't know what you expected coming down here with him, but this certainly wasn't it. You felt something simmer at his words, something you didn't want to acknowledge. You searched his face for any emotion, but only found a look that said "Well?"

When he noticed you weren't going to answer, he laughed. It wasn't a hearty chuckle. There was an underlying tone of sarcasm and ridicule to it.

"You've been at this for months, and now you're not even going to attempt to say sorry? I expected a shitty excuse, sure, but an apology nonetheless." Spencer scoffed.

You knew he was holding back. You could see it in the way he turned his head and closed his eyes before facing you again. You damned your profiling skills for giving you a foresight of what he had in store for you. You'd seen nothing of his wrath yet.

You knew he was getting frustrated at your silence, but you couldn't find the words. Nothing you could say could make this any better for you. You ran all the possible outcomes in your head, but every thought was more incriminating than the previous one.

"Fine." He clapped his hands together, stepping away from the desk. He motioned towards it, signalling you to take timid steps towards the piece of furniture. You looked at him questioningly.

His eyebrows raised. The words "You know what to do" went unspoken.

You swallowed as your mouth went dry. You looked at the desk, before looking at Spencer again. He didn't have to say anything. He wanted you to do it yourself. You closed your eyes as you leaned your palms against the unkept wood. You slowly brought your elbows down, leaning on them uncertainly. If this wasn't his intention, you'd just embarrassed yourself into the next century.

You heard him breathe deeply as he walked behind you. You jerked as his hand ran up your back until it reached between your shoulder blades. He pushed hard enough to press your chest flush with the desk, turning your head to lie it on the surface. His hand stayed there as the other was placed on your hip.

Spencer let out a content sigh. "Better."

He stepped away, leaving a cold feeling behind. You didn't dare move, already mortified at your predicament. You tried to breathe as quietly as possible as if any noise you made could set him off. You tried to hear what he was doing, unable to see him clearly in your peripheral.

Your head raised off the desk at lightning speed when you heard the unmistakable sound of a phone camera shutter.

"Did I say you could move?" Spencer asked. You shook your head, quickly placing it back on the desk. For a second, you wondered why you were even listening to him. He had no authority over you. But it felt exhilarating to give it to him.

"You speak when I ask you a question. No shaking your head, understood?" His voice came from in front of the desk. How hadn't you noticed him walking around it?

"Yes, sir," You squeaked, doing as he asked. Sir? Really?

"Good girl."

The words flipped a switch inside you. You licked your lips and closed your eyes, seemingly having to wait an eternity for him to take the next step. You heard the distinct sound of his belt unbuckling. You found yourself crossing your legs at the implication. Surely he wasn't going to whip you?

You thought you were going to get scolded for the action, but Spencer ignored it. He reached for your wrists, lying awkwardly beside your head. You didn't dare make eye contact.

You were confused at his next action until you saw the hole near the back of the desk, meant for cables. He threaded the belt through it before bringing your wrists to it and tying them together. The positioning was awkward at best, but you were starting to feel like that's what he wanted, to embarrass you.

You gave the makeshift handcuffs an experimental tug. They didn't budge, of course. Panic simmered in your chest, a claustrophobic feeling settling at the thought that you were stuck. There was nowhere for you to go, nowhere for you to run from Spencer's revenge.

He ran a hand through your hair, softly shushing you like you were a child. His hand slowly slid down your back. Your breath stuttered at his deliberate pace. He was taking his sweet time.

"Shhh... You're fine." He whispered, putting a foot between yours and kicking them open. You grunted at the action just as he was hooking his fingers into your bottoms and taking your underwear clean off with them. He lifted one of your feet, only bothering to untangle one foot and leaving your clothes pooled at your other ankle.

His fingers trailed up the inside of your leg. The tips of his fingers finally found the spot where you needed them most, but Spencer didn't do much besides feel you up.

"You're so fucking wet it's pathetic." He mumbled as he wiped his fingers on your thigh.

"You can pretend that you're tough and grown up all you want, but this is what you are. A pathetic little whore begging for my attention." Spencer walked around the desk and grabbed your chin harshly. The look in his eyes could only be described as animalistic. The ghost of a smirk danced on his lips.

You saw his eyes flicker down to your lips, and for a second you thought he was going to kiss you. You wanted him to kiss you. But he did no such thing.

"Open your mouth." He demanded, squishing your cheeks between his pointer finger and thumb. You obeyed, but it wasn't good enough for him.

"You can do better than that, c'mon." He urged, putting his thumb in your mouth and pushing your head back. He removed his hand and observed you lying there with your mouth open. He seemed pleased at the sight, humming in approval.

His hand made its way back to your chin, turning your face upwards, craning your neck uncomfortably. You hadn't registered what he'd done until you felt a warm glob hit your tongue. Had he just spit in your mouth? You looked at him aghast.

"Wipe that shocked look off your face and swallow it if you know what's good for you." He patted your cheek mockingly. You closed your mouth and swallowed his spit, not trying to think too much about the fact that known germaphobe Spencer Reid had just spit. in. your. fucking. mouth.

"That's what I thought." He said, grabbing the hem of your shirt and lifting it over your head. You thought he was going to take it off, maybe leaving it on your arms, seeing as they were currently tied to the desk, but he did no such thing. He brought the hem over your eyes, effectively blindfolding you with your shirt.

You couldn't imagine what you must've looked like. Legs spread, bottoms haphazardly pulled down, shirt over your eyes, hands tied, pussy dripping. Your heart sank as you heard Spencer take another picture.

"You look so good like this, exactly how you're supposed to be," Spencer spoke with a misconstrued sense of pride.

You flinched and yelped when he abruptly struck your behind with a flat hand. You'd expected this was coming, that he was going to punish you, but you hadn't heard him approach. He rubbed his hand over the sore spot he'd just hit.

"You're going to count them for me, and you're going to apologize after every single one. You better mean it because if I feel you're being insincere, you're only gonna get more until I believe you." Spencer set the rules, resting his left hand on your hip. You waited for him to begin, but another strike didn't come.

"This is the time where you say 'Yes, sir' like you did earlier. I must admit, I didn't expect that one. But I like it, so we're keeping it," he mocked.

"-Yes, sir," you stammered. Another hum of approval met your ears as he repositioned himself for the optimal angle.

He didn't hold back as the second slap hit your butt. It stung more than you'd expected, a burning sensation spreading fast.

"Two. I'm sorry, Spencer." You apologized, putting as much sincerity behind the words as you could muster.

"No, that was one. The first one was just a warning. And you don't deserve to call me Spencer right now. You'll need to earn that privilege back. You'll learn to respect me soon enough. Now, start over."

His hand came back down once more.

"One! I'm sorry, sir," you hissed at the pain.

"What are you sorry for, princess?" Spencer asked as he delivered another smack.

"Two! I'm sorry for disrespecting you!" You no longer had the energy to keep your head up, giving up the attempt to look at him and resting it back on the desk.

"And?" He questioned. Another strike.

"Three! I'm sorry for embarrassing you and pulling stupid pranks." You admitted.

"I don't buy it," Spencer contemplated.

"Please, sir! I'm sorry. I'm genuinely sorry for being so childish." You apologized. A strike harder than the previous ones landed on your behind.

"You don't speak out of turn, do you understand?" Spencer gripped your hair and pulled your head up to spit the words straight into your ear. You nodded wildly, as much as his grip on your hair through the shirt would allow.

"Yes, yes, I understand." You said. Spencer let go of your hair. You only had milliseconds to respond, preventing your head from hitting the wood. He returned to his previous position, not wasting any time before landing several strikes to your ass.

This continued for a while, him smacking, you counting and begging for his forgiveness. Your legs were shaking by the time he reached the twentieth hit.

"Twenty... I really am sorry, sir. I shouldn't have pushed you." You sighed, feeling Spencer rub circles over the impacted flesh.

"Have you learned your lesson?" He asked.

"Yes, I won't do it again. I'm sorry." You didn't remember how many times the words 'I'm' and 'sorry' had rolled off your tongue that afternoon, but it must've been dozens.

"Good. Now, for good measure, one last time." There was an underlying tone to the threat you couldn't place. You didn't have to wonder long, the last strike landing directly on your pussy.

"Shit! Oh my god," you cursed, attempting to shut your legs. Spencer's feet kept them from moving. He'd anticipated the reaction. You were glad for the echoless chamber, the humiliatingly wet sound only reverberating slightly.

"Now I can really be sure you'll remember." You could hear the smile in his voice. He was enjoying this too much. But then again, hadn't you been the exact same? Gaining joy from inconveniencing him? You sighed at the realization you couldn't judge him for getting off on this. The last smack certainly hadn't been a dry one.

"Now..." Spencer trailed off. He removed the shirt from your eyes, pushing it further over your head. He pushed the fabric into your mouth as a makeshift gag.

"Don't you make any noise, okay? I mean, not like anybody will hear you down here." He chuckled. You turned your head and your eyes widened as you saw him walk towards the elevator. He pushed the call button and turned back to catch one last glimpse at you. He snapped a quick picture of your reddened ass cheeks before stepping into the elevator.

You yelled his name through the gag, nothing but gurgling, obstructed pleas meeting his ears. He wasn't leaving, right? He wouldn't. He couldn't. He was just testing you.

You were left with the sound of your own pants and racing heart. You tugged at your binds once more. What if he left? Went home? Surely it was past the regular office hours by now.

Tears welled up in your eyes at the idea of being left here like this overnight. What if nobody came down here? What if somebody did come down here and saw you like this? You were conflicted.

After 10 minutes of silent contemplation and several escape attempts, the metallic creaking of the elevator coming down sounded through the basement. You clenched your eyes shut, begging the universe it was Spencer and nobody else.

You breathed a sigh of relief when you heard the familiar sound of Spencer's shoes hitting the linoleum floor. You watched as he sipped his newly acquired coffee, not acknowledging you, only looking at his phone. After presumably sending a couple of texts, he shut it off and put it away on top of one of the cabinets nearby.

He smiled at the sight of the fresh tears rolling down your face. "Tell me, have you ever heard of Dacryphilia?" He asked as he crouched down to your level and wiped a few stray tears from your chin. He removed the gag from your mouth.

You shook your head before correcting yourself. "No, sir."

"It's a form of paraphilia in which one is aroused by tears or sobbing," Spencer explained. Leave it up to Spencer to dive into an explanation at a moment like this.

"I never thought I was someone who could be turned on by that. But seeing you like this, I can definitely see the appeal." His words were quiet, but so was the room.

"You look so pretty when you cry for me." He praised, running a hand through your hair. It was a surprisingly sweet sentiment, given the circumstances. He got up from his crouched position before you. You looked up at him. The domineering gaze he gave back told you all you needed to know.

"Thank you, sir," you whispered, hoping it was the correct response.

"See? It's not that hard to be respectful. But I'm not done with you yet."

Your breathing picked up as you remembered your predicament. Spencer didn't waste any time, pushing his pants down. His cock was long and thick.

You thought he was going to make you suck it. He pushed it in your mouth harshly, not giving you any room to breathe. He held you there, choking on his cock by the back of your head for a few more seconds before pulling it out and slapping it on your cheek. He smiled wickedly before tucking it back in his pants. It had only been a taste, literally.

He saw your confused look, but ignored it, opting to walk back around the desk. He wasted no time, pushing two fingers inside your mortifyingly wet hole. He curled them exactly right, and you clenched your fist and eyes to stop your legs from giving out.

Just as you'd started moving your hips along with his hand, he pulled away. "Stay still. Or you don't get anything."

You willed your entire body to remain frozen as he resumed his activities. He brought his other hand to your clit, rubbing at the exact speed and pressure to make your knees buckle. You had to put all your weight on your upper body to stop moving.

"God, will you shut up?" Spencer groaned. You hadn't even noticed you were making any noise, the moans and whines falling from your lips sounding foreign.

You bit your lip to keep them from escaping, but it was hard when Spencer was unrelenting. You felt yourself coming close, soft, high-pitched whines escaping your throat no matter how hard you tried to contain them.

Your toes curled, and your muscles tightened, but Spencer pulled away. More tears welled up in your eyes at the immensely unsatisfying sensation. You wanted to beg him to please continue and let you finish. But he'd told you to shut up, and you really weren't looking to prolong your punishment.

You heard your own pathetic sobs, drowning out the sound of him undoing his pants again. Your chest heaved as you tried to stay silent. Sweat dripped down your face, mixing with the tears.

It was bizarre how quiet he stayed. He was usually so talkative. But the implication that you didn't deserve him speaking to you unless it was an order was clear.

"This is all you're good for. A hole for me to fuck. And don't you dare forget it." Spencer lined himself up and didn't offer any more preparation before sliding inside.

"You're just a deplorable, woeful, pitifully sad little girl." Spencer spat as his grip on your hair returned. His other hand snuck around your neck, gripping tightly. He used the grip on your hair and neck as leverage to set a brutal pace, calling you every synonym for pathetic available.

"You think you're so important? Good enough to be pulling shit like this? You need to learn your. fucking. place." Every word was punctuated by a harsh thrust. "You're expendable at best."

You didn't dare speak, the only thing leaving you was quiet sobs, whines and moans. Your breathing was strained against the hold he had on your neck.

You were embarrassed to feel the knot in your stomach tightening worryingly fast. Spencer was treating you like a whore, and you were getting off on it, faster than anything else ever had before.

Spencer felt you tighten around him and quickly pulled out and stepped away. You felt the cold breeze on your empty hole. More tears spilt as you heard the sound of a video recording starting.

Spencer zoomed in on your desperate, fluttering pussy, before pushing back inside, keeping the camera focused on his cock entering in and out.

You tried to hide your face when he turned the camera to it, but his hand yanked on your hair, making you face the camera.

"Say: 'I'm Spencer's little slut. His own personal hole to use whenever he pleases because I'm a cockwhore hungry for attention.'" Spencer demanded.

"Please, sir. Don't make me say it on camera," you begged. You'd say it, just to get it over with, but the current footage he had was already incriminating enough.

"No, you're going to fucking listen to me for once. Say it." The pace of his hips never let up, your figure moving crudely in and out of the shot.

"I-I'm Spencer's... Please," you began. Spencer's speed inside you increased, interrupting your train of thought. He delivered a harsh smack against your still sore ass, urging you to continue.

"I'm Spencer's... little slut. His own personal... hole... to use whenever he pleases." You inhaled sharply before continuing. "Because I'm a... cockwhore... hungry for attention." You stuttered over the words, forcing them out.

Spencer seemed satisfied, putting his phone away. His hand returned to your throat, cutting off the airflow as he fucked you harshly. Every thrust of his hips sent a jolt of electricity through your body.

The wood was digging into your hips, sure to be beaten and bruised by tonight. Your weight was no longer being held up by your legs, Spencer's presence behind you being the only thing that kept you from collapsing.

You were tight with desperation, every muscle wanting that sweet release he was depriving you of.

Spencer grunted unintelligible curses against you as he pistoned inside. His thick cock felt like it was splitting you open with every thrust, no matter how wet you'd gotten.

"Gonna cum inside you, and there's nothing you can do about it," Spencer mumbled as he sped up. How it was even possible, was beyond you.

"Please, sir. Please let me cum." You whined. If he denied you one more time, you weren't sure if you could take it.

"What makes you think you fucking deserve to cum? You're an annoying, good-for-nothing brat who's getting what was coming for her." He moaned against the shell of your ear. The sound ignited something new inside you. You needed to hear it again.

"Please, Spencer. Please," you begged, more tears threatening to spill after you'd assumed you were all out.

"What, you're gonna fucking cry? Like a fucking baby? Don't fucking do things if you're gonna fucking cry over the consequences, you fucking slut. And it's sir to you, you whore." You'd never heard Spencer this vulgar. And you could've never imagined what it would do to you.

"You know what they call this, crybaby?" Spencer asked, tightening the grip on your throat, cutting off most if not all of the airflow. You shook your head aggressively.

"Karma." He spoke, thrusting harshly to get the message across. The combination of the lack of air and his ruthless thrusts was brutal. You could feel yourself trembling, trying to keep yourself together.

Spencer pushed his cock sharply one last time, twitching and releasing his spend inside you with a loud groan. He released your throat and pulled out. You fell forward, chest heaving with dry sobs. He hadn't let you come. You cried frustrated tears as Spencer took more photos, as expected.

You felt the warm come drip from your pussy as Spencer took close-ups. A tense silence overtook the room as he made himself decent before paying you any attention.

"Garcia still owed me a favour, so she disabled the elevator from coming down here unless you enter a code," Spencer explained as he untied you. You felt a weight lift off your shoulders, even if the ordeal was already over. The fact that there had been no real threat settled the uneasy feeling, even if only a little. It was the only consolation he offered. Spencer redid his belt as if it hadn't just been used as handcuffs while he fucked you like you were his property to discard.

You rubbed your wrists, seeing the red wells carved in them from your relentless tugging. How were you going to explain this when you came in tomorrow?

Spencer didn't seem to care, simply grabbing his stuff and waiting for the elevator. You looked around for your underwear, only to see a small piece of fabric sticking out of his pocket. You sighed and put your bottoms back on without the underwear, cringing at the wet, sticky fluid still between your legs. Your top was still wet with saliva and tears.

You got in the elevator with him without saying a word. You'd expected to at least talk to him about it, but as soon as you reached ground level, Spencer was gone.

Your eyes welled up and cheeks heated when you realized you were going to have to walk through the lobby and go home alone, all without any underwear and while still dripping his cum.

Spencer had gotten what he wanted. You were mortified. And you sure as hell weren't going to pull any more pranks anytime soon.

Not while at the office, anyways.

2K notes · View notes

reiding-writing · 8 days

Note

Congrats on 1000 followers! That's such a huge milestone! For the climacteric event, could you do a continuation of 'Takedown'? Maybe a role reversal, where cold!reader witnesses a badass moment from Spencer (whether his 'takedown' is physical or verbal is up to you) and gets flustered about it? I love your cold!reader series so much, it's such a great character dynamic with the rest of the cast!! Congrats again!

TAKEDOWN [CLIMACTERIC]

/ˈteɪkˌdaʊn/ /part one/

Spencer might be a know-it-all, but at least he actually knows the things that he talks about.

WARNINGS: fem!reader, just some guy being really obnoxious and annoying, mild mansplaining

spencer reid x cold!reader || fluff || 2.4k || event masterlist!!

a/n: we’re gonna ignore i uploaded this prematurely and just focus on the fic thanks 😭🫶

main masterlist!! ⋆｡°✩ cold!reader masterlist!!

this is a continuation of my original ’takedown’ fic for cold!reader with a role reversal!

Spencer wouldn’t say that he liked to ‘show off’.

He knew he was smarter than most people, and his teammates knew he was smarter than most people, and that meant that when he displayed his intelligence to provide important details about a case, the team would take his word for it.

It saved a lot of time in explanations for where he got his information from and allowed for profiles to be built at twice the speed.

But sometimes asking someone to quote a source was necessary.

Case in point, a police detective from Indiana who just would not leave the BAU team alone as they tried to curate a profile for the serial killer they were hunting.

Some of his muses, most definitely flukes in knowledge, actually did have a productive outcome.

“A majority of stabbing cases have an underlying sexual motive, so I’ve taken the liberty of looking into the sex-offences registry for anyone who could be our killer,”

And some…

“Have we considered the possibility that our killer is actually killers, I mean if you look at the stab patterns across the victims, there’s a clear dominant and submissive personality no?”

…were the exact opposite.

“What you’re seeing is a progression of the unsub’s confidence,” Spencer shook his head slightly at the detectives attempt at an explanation. “The slashes are only jagged and uncertain in the two first victims, with all of the victims after that displaying much more confident wounds, which clearly shows the evolution of one individual, not multiple,”

He didn’t like having to shut other people’s trains of thought down, it was something that he’d gone through enough to not want to put anyone else through it, but when they were the complete opposite of productive, sometimes it was for the best.

It was remarkably easy to tell when somebody had read something on the internet rather than actually going through the training required to be competent in a certain specialty. Especially when it came to the forensic side of things.

Throwing in key words like dominant and submissive personalities didn’t mean that he knew what he was on about. It just meant that he’d read a few case articles on a certain subject and then passed that off as a rounded understanding of whatever concept he was trying to explain.

And it was really frustrating.

“What’s wrong with you today?” You enter the put aside meeting room with narrowed eyes, a cup of takeout coffee in your hand that serves as a relic of you being able to escape from the hellhole that Spencer was inherently trapped in.

“It’s nothing, i’m alright,” He presses his lips into that awkward smile of his, but it lacks any of the genuity that it’s usually accompanied by, merely a shell of a smile that Spencer knows you’re not buying.

A quirk of your eyebrow is the only push needed for his façade to break immediately.

“It’s just—” Spencer exhales heavily through his nose, biting the inside of his mouth in a will for him to keep himself together. “I’m just frustrated.”

You gesture with your head for him to continue, and it’s like you’ve blown a hole in a dam with how fast everything comes tumbling out.

“Officer Harrison keeps interrupting the investigation and talking about absolute nonsense under the guise of it being objective fact and I’ve spent so long correcting him that I haven’t actually managed to do anything,” He gets it all out in a single breath, and it’s honestly quite impressive to watch until he’s caught at the end with barely any air left in his lungs and has to take a moment to catch it up.

“I just wish he would leave me alone,”

You haven’t met Officer Harrison, too busy with the coroner and taking interviews, but if you had to make an educated guess you’d say Spencer’s apparent frustration was well founded.

He wasn’t one to exaggerate things.

“Tell him to then,” You shrug out your answer like it’s easy, leaning your lower back against the table to sip at your coffee.

“I’m not like you,” Spencer sighs exasperatedly, his shoulders in a slump alongside his mind. “I can’t just— scare people off,”

You give a small quirk of your eyebrow at his assessment of your personality, and Spencer can see the small traces of amusement in the corners of your mouth. “You have the authority Reid, you outrank him tenfold,”

“I know, I just—” Spencer shrugs, defeated. “I don’t know, I just can’t,” He uncaps his marker to return to the barren whiteboard to try and actually get some decent headway on the profile with a solemn expression, submitting himself to the inevitability of having to do two jobs at once.

“Do you want me to talk to him?” Your offer sounds almost like an assassination proposal, monotonous and almost too serious.

“No,” Spencer shakes his head lightly. “No it’s alright, it’s not your problem, I’ll be okay,”

“You’e sure?”

“Yeah,” He gives you a small nod over his shoulder, lips pressed into a line as a grateful but dismissive smile. “Thanks anyway,”

You push yourself from the table with a sigh, joining Spencer at his side to pull the marker from his hand.

“Wh—“

“Go make yourself a coffee Reid.” You cap the marker with a knowing tilt of your head, putting it away in your back pocket so he can’t try and take it back from you. “You need to take five and calm down, you aren’t going to get anything done like this,”

You can see the want to turn your idea down, to say that he’s fine and not affected by the officer in his expression, but you both know it’s not something to be acted on, and so gives you a small nod with an exasperated exhale as he drags himself out of the meeting room to do as you’d asked.

He’s grateful for it really, the warm ceramic under his hands serving as a grounding point and sickly sweetness of the drink as it reaches his taste-buds a welcome distraction from the rampant frustration inhabiting his prefrontal cortex, but that small voice in the back of his head continues to torment him about the inevitability of having to deal with the officer again and all of th

He knows he should at least try to let it go over his head. If he stepped back into the meeting room like he was you probably wouldn’t even let him get one foot in the door before sending him on a longer break, but he didn’t want a break, he wanted to work, to crack this profile open and actually make some real headway.

He just needed to take a second to breathe.

When he does return to the meeting room, you’re not alone anymore, and Spencer can practically feel the amount of will power you’re using to keep your mouth shut as Officer Harrison rambles on about something he’s not quite close enough to hear yet.

“…very unlikely for that to actually happen,” The officer points to a section of scrawl you’d added to the whiteboard after Spencer’s departure, something about brief episodes of mania as a possible reason behind the unsub’s violent attacks.

“That’s not actually true, it’s been disproved dozens of times over,” You shake off his attempt at over-explaining your own theory to you with a full tone and a shake of your head, a clear indication for him to leave you alone.

He doesn’t of course, and Spencer swears he sees your eye twitch as Officer Harrison continues to talk aimlessly.

“I’m just saying, there’s research to support the idea that serial killers make their crimes more gruesome than they need to post-mortem so they can plead insanity in court if they’re caught,” He raises his hands in mock surrender, and you quirk your eyebrow at his explanation.

“And where did you get that information from?”

“A doctorate thesis paper from Stanford,” Officer Harrison crosses his arms like he’s secured a victory over you in knowing something that an expert doesn’t. “You’ve probably never read it, it was an investigation into the differences between legal and clinical insanity, and it concluded that serial murderers over gruesomise their kills to plead legal insanity in court despite being completely sound of mind,” He points back at your scribbling with his index finger, knocking his knuckle against the board. “So this theory isn’t worth looking into sweetheart, trust me,”

The use of the placeholder ‘pet’ name makes your eyebrows furrow until there’s a prominent frown line between them. “I have read that paper, for your information,” You spin the whiteboard marker between the fingers of your left hand, likely a way to expel some of the tension in your muscles as you grow increasingly frustrated with the man.

“You don’t have to lie sweetheart, it’s alright, no one’s expecting you to have read an 85,000 word paper from almost a decade ago, I just like to educate myself in my free time,” He shrugs with a nonchalant expression, but there are traces of what’s almost condescendion in his tone and Spencer decides it’s time to stop this little debate before Officer Harrison ends up with a broken nose and you end up getting a very long talk from Hotch.

“She wrote it,” Spencer presses his lips into a tight line as he walks around the table to join you at the whiteboard.

“Excuse me?” The officer blinks at Spencer blankly, eyebrows knitting together in a mix of confusion and a slight amount of irritation at Spencer’s intrusion.

“The thesis paper you’re talking about? She was the one who wrote it,” He nods his head in your direction, and he can physically see the way the officer’s air of intellectual superiority drains from his face.

“And I’m not actually convinced that you’ve read the whole thing yourself, everything you mentioned was part of the paper’s abstract, which at an average reading speed of 238 words per minute, should have only taken you a minute and 24 seconds to read, rather than the 5 hours and 54 minutes to read the whole thing,” Spencer feels a little guilty for how good the drop in Officer Harrison’s face makes him feel, but it’s easily overrun by inherent relief at getting the frustration off his chest.

“Can you name anything important from that paper apart from what you just mentioned? Anything at all?” The frustration underlying Spencer’s tone was obvious, and it was almost gratifying for you to watch him take a stand in his own beliefs for once.

There’s a few moments where he pauses, giving Officer Harrison the very slim opportunity to redeem himself and prove he had actually read through the whole document.

Neither of you needed to watch him try and stumble through his answer to know that he didn’t.

“Maybe if you had read it you’d know that the ‘fact’ you just mentioned, was proportional to the percentage of serial murderers that weren’t diagnosed with any mental illness prior to their arrest, which was only 63% of the total sample that was analysed. 114 of the murderers were actually diagnosed with some form of clinical psychosis, which is still entirely probable for the unsub that we’re looking for,” There’s a lingering trace of snark dousing Spencer’s tone, joined by an elevated sense of conviction as he narrows his eyes towards Officer Harrison. “Or maybe you’d at least remember that it was actually 97,502 words long, not 85,000,”

The fact that Spencer recalled such specific details of your thesis shouldn’t be a shock to you, his eidetic memory was practically a staple of his character after all, but considering you weren’t even aware he’d read it in the first place until five minutes ago made that revelation hit you just a little harder than it probably should.

“If you want to act like an expert in something, become an expert in something,” Spencer crosses his arms and it may as well have been a done deal. “Don’t pass off surface level, incorrect information as objective fact, all you’re doing is slowing the real experts down,”

The assertiveness in his tone, whilst occasionally used when arguing his point for a specific topic, was much more present as he shut down the Officer, and it was almost a little too gratifying to watch the wind get knocked out of his sails at Spencer’s reprimand.

“Now if you’d please excuse us, we have a profile to work on,” He gestures to the whiteboard with his head, and Officer Harrison is off like a whippet, retreating out of the room with his tail between his legs and a traffic light red coating his face from the embarrassment.

You give a dragged out whistle as the door closes. “Congratulations on telling him to leave you alone,”

Spencer laughs almost pathetically. Was he really so socially inept that he had to be congratulated on standing up for himself?

“Thanks,” He presses his lips into that typical Spencer smile as he fiddles aimlessly with the button on the cuff of his right sleeve. “And uh, thanks for letting me handle it on my own,”

You shrug nonchalantly. “You asked me to,”

“I know, I just— thank you,”

“It’s nothing to thank me for Reid,” You shake your head dismissively, but Spencer knows you’ve accepted his thanks through the slight quirk in the corners of your mouth that break the ever-present scowl that cements itself on your face. “I didn’t know you read my thesis,”

Spencer blinks for a moment before giving you a small and enthusiastic nod. “Three times actually, it’s extremely well written from a logical perspective, and the transcripts from the interviews you held were very interesting,”

And there’s the Spencer you knew.

“You’re an incredible psychologist, it’s no wonder you skipped your bachelors,” He emphasises his words with exaggerated head movements that make the curls of his hair bounce against his forehead.

“Thank you, Reid, that’s very sweet,” There’s a fondness to your voice that you’d deny if he pointed out, but you’re trying much less to hide it from Spencer than you would from anyone else in your team.

Spencer Reid had read your thesis three times. You wouldn’t be surprised if he knew it better than you did. You’re almost certain he knew it better than you did. He could probably recite the whole thing word for word where chunks of it had already been forgotten in your mind.

It wasn’t exactly something revolutionary, but it may as well have been.

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #spencer reid fluff #criminal minds fluff #climacteric 🪶

377 notes · View notes

pedriscroquettes · 7 months

Text

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐋𝐈𝐁𝐑𝐀𝐑𝐘 – GAVI

warnings. p in v sex, public s3x (there’s no one around), jealous!gavi, & an annoying teammate

summary. academic rival!gavi makes sure you only have room for one nerd in your life

a/n. part two of comfort zone. tysm for the idea @gavisuntiedboot 🫶🏽

the sound of your professor’s voice filled the room as he explained your next assignment. you simultaneously put away your notes and listened carefully as this next project would be worth twenty percent of your grade. you were already laying out the details of your work as the professor continued to describe the assignment.

“there is one twist to this project. you’ll be working with a partner.” his words made you freeze. “and before you ask yes i will be choosing your partner for you.”

the room was filled with groans at his last comment, many of your classmates upset that they wouldn’t be working with their friends. meanwhile your eyes searched the room until they locked with a certain brunette. gavi had been looking forward to asking you to be his partner and now he was simply hoping the professor had decided to put you two together.

“mrs. y/l/n and mr. moretti you’ll be working together.” your professor says as he crushes gavi’s hopes and dreams.

franco moretti had arrived last semester from turin when his father took over as head of the marketing department for sevilla fc. he was also the teammate gavi despised the most due to them playing in the same position and because he would always insult him in words he didn’t understand. you scan the room to search for the argentine spotting him all the way at the end of the room looking at something else on his laptop. you sigh in frustration wondering if this project would be the reason your grade goes down.

as soon as class ends you make your way towards the blonde hoping to introduce yourself and get the project over with. he instantly notices you offering you one of his flirty smirks.

“bueno…” he starts. “we’re partners right?”

“uh, yeah. i just came to introduce myself-”

“i know who you are.” he interrupts you. “well i only know you’re like the smartest kid in our class.”

“i wouldn’t say that.” your cheeks heat up at his words.

“no need to be humble. your face along with his-” he points towards gavi. “is plastered all over the school. i’ve got to say i am very impressed by how you manage to do sports and somehow maintain your grades so high at the same time. but you probably just want to talk about our project.”

“uhm, thank you?” you can’t help but laugh at the interaction. “oh, yeah. i just wanted to ask if you have any certain topics you want to make our project about?”

“well i’ve got to get to practice in like five minutes or else coach will make me run five miles around the whole school. do you maybe want to meet up at the library later to discuss it? say around four?” he says as he packs up this things.

“yeah, that’s fine. i’ll see you there.” you smile awkwardly not sure if you should look forward to seeing him later or not.

you stay behind a couple of minutes going over some of your notes with the professor making sure you got everything right. you couldn’t afford to risk your spot in the rankings for a small error. grabbing your stuff you make way towards the library hoping to get some free time to study for your next psych exam before meeting up with franco. although, you don’t expect to find gavi waiting for you outside the door.

“he totally thinks you’re hot.” he simply blurts out.

“nice to see you too pablo.” you say sarcastically. “why are you blessing me with your presence today?”

“i bless you with my presence everyday.” he says as he begins following you to wherever it is you’re going. “so, you and franco…”

“me and franco aren’t even friends if that’s what you’re wondering.” you roll your eyes. “why do you even hate him so much?”

“i don’t hate him.” you simply stare at him. “okay maybe i do just a little but it’s reasonable.”

“you hate him because his dad works for sevilla and he’s slowly climbing up through the rankings. i’m not sure i would call that reasonable.” you say as you open the doors to the library. you’re grateful there’s barely anyone in there, you don’t enjoy being around large groups.

“whatever.” he huffs. “do you think he’s cute?”

you pause in your tracks turning towards gavi. the top button of his dress shirt unbuttoned and his red tie on the verge of coming loose. he looked quite good and a part of you just wanted to go home already.

“are you jealous pablito?” you tease him.

“me? jealous of a benchwarmer? please. not only am i better than him athletically but also academically. there’s no reason for me to be jealous.” he scoffs at the ridiculous idea.

“okay so you won’t have a problem with me studying with him later in here right? you totally didn’t follow me to the library just to make sure i didn’t find him attractive right?” you ask him as you press the button on the wall to get an elevator. you loved that each floor was dedicated to a different genre of books.

“why would i have a problem? i’m the only one making you cum anyways.” his words catch you off guard. you look around making sure no one else has heard him.

“pablo!” you hit his chest and you expect him to just laugh but he only stares at you. his eyes darker than before. he pulls you towards the end of the nonfiction section where there’s barely any light and a bunch of books that haven’t been read in years. how romantic.

“but maybe he’ll get lucky and you’ll spread your legs for him. give him a good view and everything.” he drags his hand to the middle of your legs opening up your legs.

you can feel his breath on your neck as he moves your hand from your thighs to your core teasing you. you completely forget where you are as he leaves love bites all over your neck. the pleasure intensifying as teases you by running his hands along your core but not getting them under your panties to touch you.

“and maybe he’ll hear those sinful noises you make as he drags his fingers along your folds.” you whine as pablo spreads your wetness around your folds with his fingers.

“but maybe you’ll be desperate to have him inside you to feel full again. so you’ll simply move these to the side.” he moves your panties to the side giving him full access to your dripping core. “and take him in you like the good girl you are.”

you help him undo his belt eager to have him fuck you already. his button down shirt losing some of its buttons in the process. the two of you so needy to finally come together like a puzzle to care about what happens next. he finally manages to pull out his hard aching dick out and he doesn’t waste another minute as he brings it to your needy hole.

“and then he’ll drag it along your folds teasing you even more. but after a couple of minutes he begins to insert himself until he fills you- oh fuck.” he groans as he enters you. “and your walls squeeze him as he pleasures you.”

“please pablo.” you beg him as one of your hands digs into his soft brown hair and the other into his shoulder at the feeling of his slow sensual thrusts.

“please what princess?” his voice sounds so out of breathe.

“faster please. fuck.” his length hits you in spots you didn’t know were possible. you can barely contain your moans and pablo simply hopes you get louder.

then you hear it the sound of the elevator doors opening for the end of the long hallway. you think you’re imagining it at first since pablo doesn’t notice it kissing you as he fucks you dumb. then you hear the loud footsteps and you panic they’re heading right towards the two of you.

“pablo. there’s someone here.” he can barely comprehend a word you’re saying as he watches how you take him so well. almost like your pussy was made just for him.

“pablo stop.” then he listens scared he crossed some boundaries and hurt you. he immediately steps away from you the two of you groaning at the loss of contact.

“fuck sorry. are you okay? did i-”

“no, you didn’t do anything wrong it’s okay. there’s someone here though. get dressed.” you say as you fix your hair and skirt.

meanwhile pablo isn’t so lucky and he can hardly button his pants when franco himself shows up. the argentine tries hardest to stop himself from laughing at his teammate but he barely can as he looks at pablo’s disheveled hair. although, you look perfectly fine so he tries to figure out why pablo looks so messy.

“bro you look like you got dressed in the dark what happened?” franco stifles a laugh.

“caught him getting frisky with one of the librarians.” you blurt out wanting to tease him.

“no way? but they’re all over thirty- oh don’t tell me you’re into milfs. kinky shit bro.” franco somehow believes your lie.

“fuck you.” gavi directs at you before being invaded by his teammate with more questions.

the next couple of minutes gavi tries his best to get his teammate to shut up and convince him that you were lying. that he simply had fallen asleep during class because he’d already studied the topic at home which was quite believable. the three of you chatted before gavi had to make his way towards the field to make up for missing practice earlier. although he spends all five miles grinning like a little shit because he’d be willing to run them all over again as long as it meant getting franco the furthest away from you. he was hoping you’d only have time for one academically gifted athlete.

#franco 🤝🏽 me: saying bro every five seconds #academic rival!gavi #pablo gavi x reader #gavi x reader #pablo gavi smut #gavi smut #football imagine #football smut #gabri writes

744 notes · View notes

coralinnii · 9 months

Text

❋If you are a villain, then let me be your accomplice❋ ↳ reincarnated into a new world as the bad guy aka villain/ess au part 2 feat: Jade genre: drama, partners in crimes-to-partners in love?, slow burn romance note: sequel to "being reincarnated into a new world as the bad guy" Jade ver., no pronouns used for reader, some actions are ethically questionable (Jade and reader are just up to no good),

part one series masterlist

You cursed the lovey-dovey fools who drone on about the bliss of married life, fondly speaking of the joy and romance that leads to the big day and beyond. With the right person, life as someone engaged to be married would be a dream come true.

With the right person, that is

Unfortunately, you didn’t have that pleasure when you’re faced with the man you happened to be engaged to; the mysterious Jade Leech.

“You seemed to be very occupied with something.” With a quizzical look, you asked the teal-haired heir as he sat at his study desk. While you exaggerated, there was a sizable amount of papers atop the merman’s desk, with names and locations you recognised as you managed to glimpse upon the reports. “Am I allowed to inquire about the mountain of reports on your desk?”

Unperturbed, Jade gave you his well-practiced smile. “Of course, I would never hide anything from my wonderful betrothed”

This brazen liar

Having chosen to willingly participate in the Leech family’s goals, you were aware of their plans to monopolize the marine-related business and operations, including taking over the coastal territories from other nobles.

Which was exactly what Jade was currently trying to do apparently, as he had his family’s men research a baron whose territory included a lively strait between this kingdom and a flourishing island nation nearby. But the baron was an incompetent leader with an unfavorable reputation amongst the merfolk and islanders due to his actions as a businessman.

“Baron Byrne seems to be causing quite an issue in his strait as the large amount of cargo ships constantly coming through the strait is disrupting the islanders’ livelihood as well as the merfolk that made the nearby reefs their home…”

“But since he seems to have a good relationship with the prince’s new lover, his behavior is not reprimanded by the royal family,” you continued his thoughts and let out a frustrated sigh. “He’s a greedy, impatient bastard but no one can stop him”

Jade kept his courteous smile but you couldn’t imagine he was thrilled about any of this. Despite the human-merfolk peace treaty being established, the merfolk were used as the antagonists in this world so the story ignored their issues or crimes against them.

“This was a romance webtoon, I supposed. No attention was given to the repercussions of the lives outside of the main leads”

You looked through the reports on the baron’s family and you noticed a more detailed section on a certain person; the baron’s wife to be precise. You recognised the young woman as an admirer of Jade, recalling how envious she seems every time she looks your way. From what you knew, she married the baron for his new status as a noble but fell for Jade when she first saw him at a gathering.

“So you’re planning to go through the wife for information” you let out a noise of intrigued as you looked through the papers “you even found out where the salons and stores she frequents. That’s impressive but tell me, how do you plan to approach her?”

“Oh my, does the notion of me meeting her upset you?” Jade reached for your hand to hold as he looked up to you from his seat, peering at you with convincing concern and acting like a worried fiancé, “I would never intend to hurt you in any way or give doubt to my devotion to you”

“Firstly, don’t mock me by lying so blatantly” you sneered as you pulled your hand from his grasp. “Secondly, I agree that meeting the baron’s wife is the best way to find out about his weakness”

Jade raised his brow inquisitively before changing back into a look of worry, “Then what is it that causes such concern on your face, my dear?”

Again, that fake term of endearment sends a shiver down your spine.

“I’m only asking so I can act accordingly” you looked at the tall merman with mocking sweetness in your eyes. “Should I be the naive partner who knows nothing, or perhaps I’m grieving over the audacity of my dear fiancé meeting with someone other than me?”

For a moment, you thought you saw a glint in Jade’s dual-coloured eyes before a look of amusement took over his face. He chuckled behind his gloved hand before smiling at you, his sharp teeth peeking behind his lips. “I will leave that decision to you, my dear. I’m excited to see what you’ll show me”

Weeks passed since your conversation with Jade as he quickly put his plan into motion, finding chances to meet the baroness by “coincidence” and gaining her trust immediately. You weren’t surprised how quickly Jade managed to befriend the smitten woman. If you were none the wiser, you didn’t have the confidence to say that you could withstand Jade’s good looks and charming persona either (it would be paradise in the underworld before you would ever let Jade know that, however).

Of course, meetings like these tend not to stay secret for long, especially amongst the high social circle. Many of the gossiping noblewomen whispered around about the possible tryst between the lovestruck baroness and the attractive Leech family heir. However, most of the attention fell to you as the supposed tragic lover of this “affair.”

Being part of a well-respected family, you were ultimately the envy of certain nobles who would love nothing more than to pull you off your high horse, in sadistic glee in watching a family like yours be sullied. One of these nobles included the woman involved in the rumour herself, Baroness Byrne.

“Please don’t misunderstand,” the baroness spoke with such fake sincerity, you almost laughed at the poor acting. “Sir Leech and I just get along so well that these rumours seemed to misconstrue our closeness”

It’s almost insulting to think that this woman assumes that you can’t figure out that she was most likely the one to start these rumours in the first place since you knew Jade would try not to catch too much attention if the situation does not call for it. Despite being a married woman, you wondered if she’s hoping to break your engagement and take him for herself.

“If it were that easy, I wouldn’t be in this nonsense” you scoffed internally but hid your thoughts with a maintained smile (Jade has given you some bad habits). “If she wants to play mind games, then let’s play~”

“It’s quite alright, really. I’m not worried at all” you put on your best smile, a look of understanding displayed in your eyes. “In fact, I’m happy that my fiancé has made a friend like you, Baroness Byrne”

“R-really?” The baroness stuttered which secretly delighted you. You hid your glee with a sickly sweet smile, however.

“Of course, Jade and I tend to be quite busy since we often have to work tirelessly in maintaining our lands, assets, and the responsibilities we will inherit” you sighed as though life bears heavy on your shoulders “We spent so much time together since Jade likes to inspect every valuable item in my possession, taking in all its beauty and worth. He has quite an eye for such things, you see.”

You looked to the baroness, your gaze demanding her eyes to meet yours. Once she did, you curled your lips slightly to display just a hint of taunting smugness. “With the baroness, Jade can enjoy a simple and humble company without much to entice his personal interest.”

One could almost see the steam escaping from the baroness’ face as she turned red with humiliated rage. With that, you decided to swiftly take your leave lest you wanted to get your eyes ripped out by a madwoman.

After some time, you decided to make your way towards the carriage area to go home, you were shocked to see Jade standing outside alone. Once your eyes locked, he immediately made his way to you with an ever-present smile. Was he…waiting for you?

No, that couldn’t be.

“Jade, I assumed that you were still at the ballroom” Last you saw Jade, he was mingling with his brother Floyd and Count Azul.

“Hmm, I was. But then, I heard some commotion amongst the ladies and decided that it’d be best to call it a night.”

You made the right choice to leave when you did, then. You wanted to smile at the little chaos you caused but decided to stamp down that hidden glee.

“Fair enough. That reminds me, you may be receiving an invitation from Baroness Byrne very soon, and it is in your best interest to accept it.”

You seemed to pique Jade’s curiosity, though it seems that you always do. “Oh, and could you share the reason as to why?”

“Because if she fell for my taunt, I would bet that she will try her best to entice you with whatever treasure or asset she can access.” You smirked, a sly glint in your eyes. “And hopefully you can convince her to show her husband’s warehouses where he stores the items the baron imports in, perhaps some hard-to-procure rarities”

From what you see from Jade’s reports on the baron’s history, you’re betting that the greedy noble would be the type to obtain and sell anything that would bring him a fortune. With his focus on sea-related products, he might be acquiring and selling items from the merfolk community without their approval which is currently illegal with the peace treaty. Merfolk-specific products were now harder to obtain through human merchants which increased their value even more.

“Pearls, mermaid scales, valuable minerals from the seabed…anything in the possession of a human who intends to sell them is grounds for punishment for treaty violation”

As if your minds were one, Jade was quick to realize your plans to trap the baron family. It was sneaky, dangerous, and if it works it would be ruining two people with no hope of salvaging their reputation. The baron would be stripped of his title and his merchant career while the baroness would be shamed for inviting an engaged man in an attempt to seduce him. Jade knew that you were intriguing, willing to act however necessary to protect yourself but to instigate the downfall of others, even if they were guilty of their crimes…

Jade can’t ever take his eyes off you.

Still, he had to ask you something, “You seem to have quite the confidence in me. Do you not worry I will not live up to your expectations?”

The teal-haired man expected a snarky quip from you or perhaps question him back over his competence. But instead, you furrowed your brows and looked at him adorably (in his perspective) with confusion.

There was one thing you were sure of; Jade Leech would never get caught. No matter the situation, no matter the evidence, Jade will always find a way to slither his way out of trouble when he wants to. You were better off worrying about your own safety than his.

“Why would I worry? You’ll never fail.”

Your voice was so full of conviction, without a hint of doubt or hesitation. Jade felt a strange surge of glee upon hearing your answer. He found a compatible partner that never fails to amuse him. You brought new entertainment to his personal life.

Jade let out a chuckle, a smile that almost seems genuine to you. The tall man looked to you, his mix-matched eyes staring with such unusual softness. Gently, he took your hand in his own so he could raise it to his lips where he then pressed a soft kiss upon your skin. In surprise, you locked gaze with Jade’s eyes as you felt warmth coursing through you though you played it off as uneasiness towards Jade’s strange actions. You continued to watch Jade as he kept his mouth barely touching your hand, but you could feel every brush of his lips as he spoke close to your fingers. “I will not disappoint you so keep your eyes on me, my dear.”

#twisted wonderland #twst #disney twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #twst imagines #twst scenarios #villainess au #twisted wonderland imagines #jade leech #twst jade x reader #jade x reader #jade leech x reader

1K notes · View notes

easy-there-leftovers · 7 months

Text

I See You, Darling (4)

[Astarion x reader] A little longer than usual, I hope that’s fine for all of you :,DDD I didn't want to cram too much into the post though, so the segment at the end might be continued in full detail, or maybe not! Let's see.|Word count: 2.9k.|

Content Warnings: Mentions of cooking, handling knives, blood, allusions to sex, a few ooc characters, reader being a dumbass and wahtnot.

Part 3 here!!

Masterlist here!!

A party is being held at the camp in the heroes’ honor, which greets you with a lively crowd that you’ll hopefully meet again soon. And with a gathering this large, you’re bound to garner attention. But with a constitution as poor as yours from the night before, a round of drinks is the last thing you want.

Alternatively: A bloodless human tries to balance respectfully participating in a drinking party, while also not drinking at all.

————━─━────༺༻────━─━————

The sun rises, the warmth of its rays gently waking you in the absence of the campfire’s flames. The soft chirping of the birds greet you a good morning as your eyes slowly open, ready to greet the day as a new opportunity arises.

Is what would have happened in a more idyllic scenario. Instead, you bolt awake with a pounding headache, worse than any hangover could possibly feel like, and quickly rush to get up. By the sheer brightness of the light that burns your newly opened corneas, it is far later than when you usually wake. And breakfast still hasn’t been made.

“Well, good morning sleepy head.” One of your companions, Gale, says as he fixes his belongings. Readying himself for the skirmish that was about to take hold later on in the day.

“I’m very sorry for waking up late. It won’t happen again.” You bow your head low for a moment before he waves you off.

“Oh come now, we all have our off days. Besides, I think the rest would agree with me when I say what you made for us last night was more than enough to last us ‘til morning.” His statement is punctuated by the lively sounds of the others training. Ready and well rested for whatever may come.

You look around. None have seemed to mind your temporary absence, so you endeavor to double check with everyone leaving and ensure that they had a sound strategy with the necessary materials and weapons should there be a need for failsafes. You remind them of certain notes that some of them have informed you about but failed to share with the rest of the group.

‘While goblins typically go down faster than other opponents, they have no sense of honor nor pride which gives way for them the opportunity to use more underhanded tactics. But they also aren’t very bright, so you can convince the others to let them infiltrate the camp and eradicate them from the inside out.’

As the rest disperse, finalize their plans and check their supplies, your favorite character approaches you much like he usually does every morning. Only this time, you see that he looks very pleased. A more vibrant spark in his eyes as he opens his mouth to speak.

“Thank goodness you’ve finally woken up.” He looks at you, in the same way an old friend of yours would when they’re seconds away from telling a joke.

The look fades soon enough though as he breathes out. You wonder if it’s because the joke isn't funny anymore, or if he never had a punchline to begin with.

“You looked a little ill last night, but you’ve certainly recovered.” Recovered isn’t the word you would use to describe your current state of feeling almost half dead, but you don’t bother correcting the details.

“And you look particularly vibrant today, Astarion.” The itch of your neck intensifies as you return a pointed look at him as he frowns.

“Oh, of course! Now, don’t be so upset. I will admit that I got a little carried away, I apologize.” He pauses. The frown remains on his face for a while before it is erased with his usual expression of confidence.

“But let’s not fall out over this.” He moves to stand closer to you, taking your hand to his as he nears it to his lips as he continues.

“We need each other.”

And whether its done purposefully or not, you see his fangs peek out from his mouth and a shiver courses through your body.

You slip your hand out of his own in a panic and interject.

“I know that much already, and I trust you not to let what happened last night happen again. I also apologize for not noticing sooner and dealing with the situation better.” You hold your head down a bit to apologize but quickly meet his gaze gain. “But I do need to know what we’ll have to feed you from now on.”

The look of confusion, and perhaps even shock that was once swimming in his eyes dissipates before you can notice them when he swears upon his resolve. “No innocents, you have my word. After all, you know what I am now. I can fight with all my weapons–” He grins, allowing you a clearer view than what you had earlier. “Teeth included.”

“And if I happen to drain the occasional bandit during a fight, what's the harm? They’re just as dead.” He makes a very compelling argument, at least to your standards.

You sigh, satisfied for now. You’re confident that none of your party members would end up at the mercy of his fangs, and you’re more than sure they would be able to overpower him more than your attempts did. But the same sentiment cannot be shared for possibly important, plot driving, characters that you might meet later on.

So you propose something to strengthen your trust that the unlikely will stay the unlikely.

“Look, I’m–” You breathe in, almost as if you're trying to suck back whatever courage washed over you back in as you steeled yourself for what you were about to say next.

“I’m not against you feeding from me, but!” You punctuate the last syllable as you see his grin growing wider. “We need to discuss things beforehand. No prowling over me while waiting for me to wake up or to sink your teeth into.”

The proposal greatly delights him, as is evident in his response. “Of course! That sounds eminently reasonable. I shall wait patiently until you suggest we… dine together. But until then: no more late-night surprises. You have my word on that.”

After that, he makes a joke about feeling ‘peckish already,’ and quickly gathers the rest of the party to leave on their adventure.

You promise them a feast when they came back as the victors that they are. What you forgot, after what felt like weeks in the real world, was the crowd that would come filtering in to celebrate their heroes’ achievements as well.

————————————

When you saw the tieflings from the grove traveling alongside your companions, you knew they had come to celebrate. And you blanched at the thought of the provisions they’d be seeking to pair with their drinking. It’s been so long since you went through this event, and you no longer recall if they even ate anything during the party.

You look at your bubbling cauldron–– a bigger one as you had anticipated a few acquaintances accompanying them–– but you wager that at least a little extra things to nibble on won’t hurt to have. You still have quite the amount of camp supplies in the trunk, but you keep it reserved for the camp’s use only. So you smile at your returning comrades and alert the others that stayed behind for your reason to leave and that they can begin eating dinner.

While others told you it wasn’t necessary, the rest just nodded with a smile and yelled that they’d wait for you to return. You return quite too quickly though, all the while informing them why you’re keeping the communal chest in your tent as you spy the child that tried to steal and swindle the group a few days prior approaching with the rest.

They have a laugh and you quickly proceed with your plan to find at least a few consumable berries and nuts or seeds to accompany the drinks later on.

But foraging for said consumables near dark is a choice not for the faint-hearted. You came to realize this when you heard the low grumble of a large animal, thankfully far from your form. You turn to look behind you, taking great care to do so as slowly as possible so as to not alert the mysterious creature.

In the clearing, you spot a rather dark looking bear and you feel a cold sweat begin to form on your temple. Hands, growing wet in the dangerous situation you’ve placed yourself in. This wasn’t the same as being drained to death by a vampire, that, you could at least reason with. But a wild animal? With your lack of magical prowess and lesser knowledge of connecting with nature and the wild, you would be finished if it were to follow you.

The small pouch of nuts and wild berries stayed holstered on your waist, but the bear’s eyes that were previously low on the ground are now trained on you. Almost as if it were caught doing something it wasn’t supposed to be.

You freeze. You forgot what the basic policy was around brown or black bears and therefore couldn’t do much about your current predicament. There shouldn’t be a bear around this area, not unless they had traveled from far away, or that this bear was one of your future companions.

And while the latter isn’t impossible, you most certainly did not want to gamble your life on a possibility. So you tried to compose yourself, returned the gaze of the bear with a shaky and careful nod, and turned back to return to camp. Figuring that the amount of tidbits you gathered would have to suffice.

When you return, the company you shared seems to be in high spirits. Some more than others. But conversation was plentiful and you smiled as the tieflings cheered for your comrades. You quickly got to work and began to chop the nuts into thinner pieces. Something you learned to make the appearance of something look more abundant than it really is.

While you were chopping away unfortunately, you nick your finger along the way and silently curse. Unfortunate, but not an unforeseeable outcome given the booming drums of the bard that plays oh so nicely with your bloodless state. You quickly, but neatly, arrange the provisions on two small platters, and position them near the larger gatherings.

“Flitting around like a hummingbird as always, I see.” A familiar, but not immediately recognizable voice greets you as you pass them. You turn and you see an unexpected acquaintance with a bottle in their hand and an incredibly charming grin.

“Dammon! How lucky of me to run into you.” You genuinely were elated to see him. You didn’t see much of him later on in the game, and being able to interact with him beyond the opportunities given to you was certainly nice.

“I could say the same. Though you’re as lively as you usually are.” There’s no malice in his tone, only an innocent observation, yet you feel embarrassed to have been seen scuttling about like a bug.

“I– promise I’m more organized. I just didn’t expect us to be having any guests.” He takes notice of how you push your fingers into your palms repetitively, a small action that soothes you.

“I think you’ve done more than a fine job already. The celebration is for you all, and it was us who planned to come and might’ve put your friends on the spot.” He later takes notice of the cut on your finger as well.

“Speaking of,” He gingerly grasps your hand, looking to you for permission, but you’re too confused to respond with anything he can understand. “Shouldn’t you be taking it easy for the night? You’ve done enough. And if what happened at the grove tells me anything about you, I’m sure they’ll survive even if you settle. Just for a bit.”

He leads you nearer to the water and produces a small washcloth to clean a bit of your finger as you respond. “The grove? They did that on their own. I just um, take notes.” You sit on a fallen tree, your head still fuzzy, as you observe his crouched form. Inspecting the cut as he cleans it.

A curious interaction. Not one that you’d expect from an non-romanceable NPC, but an interesting one nonetheless. And it would seem that someone had found it equally as interesting, if the way he scrutinizes you had anything to do about it.

He chuckles in turn. “If modesty is how you like to live, then I won’t impose.” He smiles and gets up as you continue your conversation. You don’t recall if the tiefling has ever had this much screen time, but his voice is rather lovely so you don’t complain about it.

You end up discussing quite a bit, but you focus on what can be done about your party. Specifically Karlach as you worry for the future and you’d like to have answers for her when he isn’t around during your journey. He doesn’t have much idea of what else can be done, but he does mention that he should have something by the time you meet him again in Baldur’s Gate.

You do remember that you might meet him a lot sooner, but you don’t mention it explicitly. You do, however, advise him to be extra careful around the oxen as they can be rather unpredictable this time of year.

As you continue, you notice his eyes flit up every now and then. Like something was catching his attention ever so often. You ask him about it and he actually laughs at your genuine inquiry. “It looks like I was wrong. Your friend there looks like he’d like his turn for your company.”

You turn around and you don’t immediately eye anyone looking in your direction. You were never the subtle type, so you looked around, blatantly searching for someone. It was a bit odd to see.

Your eyes do eventually train on his, but he doesn’t necessarily look like he wants to talk to you. Sure, he’s scowling away, though that’s not out of the ordinary at all. Besides, he has a bottle of something that you hope is helping him relax.

Still, perhaps Dammon saw something you didn’t so you politely thank him for his company and excuse yourself.

You greet the others that regard you as you walk past them. Declining the offers to drink and excusing yourself politely when you were asked to stay a bit.

As you approach him, a tiefling tries to strike up a conversation with him. With a bored look, he dismisses them and turns to look at you. He takes a sip, sneers, and begins his rant now that you’re situated in front of him.

“I hate it. This is awful.”

“The…wine?” He looks at you as if he should be mad, but a hint of amusement surfaces past the expression anyway.

“There’s that, but I’m talking about the tieflings. We killed some goblins to save the others. The tally of lives didn’t change much. But what do I get for my hard work? A pat on the head, and vinegar for wine.” He looks down the neck of the bottle, swirling its contents before handing it out for you to take.

You look at the bottle, then him, warily. Modern alcohol is already a wonder to you, and this medieval mead could only do so much worse. Still, you take the bottle, and take a very small sip.

It’s a heavy, rich, red. Dry and sharp. You make a small sound of shock as you keep the liquid in your mouth. Offering him an awkward smile and a nod as you do.

“Ugh, see what I mean? Awful.”

“All I want is a little fun. Is that so much to ask?” You would think that after an entire day of fighting whatever was out there he’d be tired. Apparently not.

You sigh, ready to reprimand him and that he should just enjoy the night, but you stop when you feel his unburdened hand reach out to you. Eyes, boring into your own as he propositions you.

You’re here. Face in the grasp of a character you’ve longed to romance with what little time you’ve had away from your scholarly pursuits. Yet meeting him in strange, yet not all too unfamiliar, territory stirs uncertainty within you. Because while he doesn't have a knife at your throat like he did when your character first met him, it certainly does evoke the same sentiment.

‘To, “make me his”, is that right?’ While the idea is tempting, that statement alone can have various interpretations. And you didn’t want to hedge your bets on the one that made your heart race for all the wrong reasons.

Thankfully, he releases his hold on your visage. Only the gods know how much his touch alone can influence you, and you struggle to stand upright.

“I’m– very,-- truly, sorry, but don’t you think you have the wrong person? I mean,” You gesture to yourself with both hands, a cut visible from the labor in the few hours prior to the large festivities going on.. “Uh…in case you haven’t noticed, I’m not exactly in a position to make any um, lucrative offers.”

He looks at you, a familiar expression graces his face. He leans his weight on one leg, and you struggle to recognize what his body language is conveying. This is one of those instances you wished you had the dice roll mechanic of the game at your disposal.

“Why, that hardly matters, darling. What matters is that you’re here.” He takes a sip from his bottle, the very same that he allowed you to partake from moments prior. Only this time, without the sneer at the aftertaste as he continues.

“But then again, what’s a sinner to do when faced with the very embodiment of chastity?” A smile graces his face, but it’s one that is all too perfect. As if he’s rehearsed the same song and dance enough to save him lifetimes.

“Let’s wait until things quieten down. Once the others are asleep we’ll find each other.”

You have no idea what to expect. Well, you do, but you’re not very sure if this is necessary. You’ll just have to find a way to continue the story without having to go through with this. For now, at least.

“We’ll see about that, Astarion.”

————━─━────༺༻────━─━————

Thank you to @rey26, @shyminnie07, @lynnloveshobi, @iggee-rose, @automnepoet, @tiannamortis, @aoirohi, @sarkara211, @jane-3043, @h3110-dar1in9, @h3ll0k1ttyl0ver333, @mimziethealien, @squichymochi, @sharabay, @furblrwurblr, @dork-of-the-universe, @thedevilssinner, @fuckalrighty, @queenofthespacesquids, @perseny, @goldenplutus, @h4nluv, @awkward-d3rs3-dr3amer, @auszimbo, @maruichio, @iamsexytrash, @craig-mywifeisdead-boone, @grimissleepy, @fandomsfanman, @bitchyzombienacho, @r1kk, @ancuninstar, @izuoyarmin, @gracemisconduct, @kiinokochii, @marina-and-the-memes, and @life-is-hard-m8 for asking to be tagged!!

#astarion ancunin x reader #astarion x reader #astarion ancunin #astarion x mc #aware!astarion #baldur's gate 3 x reader #astarion x you #bg3 x reader #bg3 x reader isekai(?)#possibly also a Dammon x reader?#slight!!#Slight Dammon x reader

525 notes · View notes

midnightsnyx · 1 month

Text

girl at home | mat barzal | part 9

pairing: mat barzal x fem!reader

warnings: angst, mentions of pregnancy, not edited word count: 2.1k authors note: i am back with a little less brain!! (literally) it took me a bit to start writing again cause I had some slowness on my right side so I wasn't quite up to writing. BUT i hope you guys like p9 and thank you so much for the continuous love on this story <3 the first bit is marlee's POV and after the * it's back to readers pov. hope u all like & pls lmk what you think <3

masterlist masterpost ask box

MARLEE

Marlee Jones loved her job. It was something she took pride in; helping bring new lives into the world and being there for all the mamas. Of course there were always the hard days, the days that made her hug Stella a little tighter when she got home from a shift. Her job had its ups and downs, but at the end of the day, she wouldn’t want to do anything else.

So, her panic is warranted when she comes across a certain patient file. She wasn’t looking for it, but when her eyes caught the name and there weren’t any other people nearby, she couldn’t help herself. It’s against HIPAA, and if anybody found out, she would be fired without question but she slipped the file in between a couple others and walked to a random supply closet. She closed and locked the door behind her before pulling the file out and opening it. Her eyes quickly scanned the pages, the words Hysterical Pregnancy making her heart race. She had to double check the name on the file twice, before believing it.

She knew that someone would notice the missing file, so she quickly found a printer and copied the pages, tucking them in her tote bag and putting the file exactly where it was.

Nobody would know.

Your first instinct is to calm Marlee down. Her panicking is making you panic and at least one of you needs to keep a straight head. You’re trying to let her words sink in without letting your mind go down a rabbit hole. You need to see all the facts before letting yourself do that.

“Marlee,” you reach out to grab her shaking hands. “What happened?”

She looks up at you and takes a deep breath. “I can’t- I can’t tell you the details but she’s not pregnant. She lied, and it’s already caused so much damage between you, and Mat and Liana… and Nora.” She pulls her hands away from yours and buries her face in them.

You decide not to remind her that Mat already fucked things up before Calista dropped the baby bomb on him because she knows that. Focus on one disaster at a time.

Calista lied about being pregnant. Mat doesn’t know this, and even if you try to tell him, you have no idea how he’ll react. Really, it’s none of your business and you can very well go on with your life because Mat has let you know loud and clear what his feelings are. He wants Calista in his life despite you not wanting her in Nora’s life. He technically has no rights, no say in what happens but when he first found out about her and asked to be in her life, you’d so desperately wanted to let him.

“How long can she pull off this lie until he finds out the truth?” you ask quietly and she lifts her head from her hands.

“Depends,” she mumbles.

“On what?”

“How deep she has him pulled into her fantasy.”

. . .

You let Nora spend a little more time with Stella, mainly wanting her to burn as much energy from the sugar high she’s on from the ice-cream. She’s sleepy when you buckle her in her carseat and you’re pretty sure she’s asleep but she mumbles something and you look to see her looking at you with droopy eyes.

“What was that?” you ask softly.

She looks down, avoiding eye contact with you which is worrisome.

“Do you think Mat would want to see me?” she whispers. “Without her?”

She obviously doesn’t need to clarify who she's referring to and it breaks your heart that a six-year-old has to worry about things like this.

“I can ask,” you tell her, unsure why she wants to see him suddenly. “You don’t have to go see Mat if you don’t want to, baby.”

By now, you’re pulling into your driveway so you can turn the jeep off and turn to give her your full attention. She still won’t look at you so you reach out and tap on her leg until she looks up.

“I want to,” she says but doesn’t elaborate so you don’t push.

“Okay, I’ll call him tomorrow.”

She just nods and starts to unbuckle her seatbelt so you get out and help her. She doesn’t complain when you carry her inside, helping her change into pajamas and brush her teeth. When she asks if she can watch a movie before bed, you don’t have the heart to deny her, even though it’s close to her bedtime so you set her up on the couch and put her favorite movie on. She’ll be out like a light in less than twenty minutes so while you’re waiting, you grab your phone and pull up Mat’s contact. Your finger hovers over the call option but you’re not sure you want to talk to him over the phone so you go into your text messages instead. The last messages between the two of you were when you last met up and even then they were short and to the point which makes this text easily simple.

To Mat: Nora wants to see you.

You lay your phone on the counter and get a glass of water while waiting for his response. You’re unnecessarily nervous, mainly because you are expecting him to start an argument the moment you tell him that Nora doesn’t want Calista to be there. You don’t even feel comfortable letting Mat see her because of what he said, but you can’t turn her request down. Not when she was so adamant about not wanting to see him, and out of the blue deciding that she does.

When you check on Nora while waiting for a response, she’s asleep so you pick her up and carry her to bed. You spend a minute just watching her after you’ve tucked her in. You’re desperate to see what’s going on in that little head of hers.

Just as you walk back to the kitchen, your phone buzzes and you freeze. Maybe messaging Mat tonight was a bad idea, and you should’ve just waited until tomorrow. It’s too late now though so you walk over and look to see Mat’s name and an unread message.

From Mat: ok

From Mat: when?

It bothers you, how nonchalant he’s acting after everything that’s happened. This is about Nora though, so you take a breath and try to decide on a date.

To Mat: Sunday?

From Mat: ok

You want to scream at him and take back the offer but remind yourself again that Nora explicitly asked to see him and it’s her decision to make.

So, you set up a place and time and tell him that she doesn’t want to see Calista. You expect him to argue, but he responds with another simple ok, and that’s that.

. . .

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Marlee asks, crossing her arms and glaring at Mat who’s sitting on a bench at the park you agreed to meet at. The two of you are standing outside her jeep, stalling a little before going over there.

Nora asked if Stella could come to the park too and Marlee was pulling out of her driveway before you could finish asking. You’re a little worried that she’s going to yell at Mat, but you figure with the kids there, she will contain herself unless he says something out of line.

“Nora asked to see him,” you remind her but she just grumbles something under her breath.

You’re ready to get this over with so you open the door and let Nora and Stella climb out of the jeep. Normally, they would race to the playground but Nora is hesitating, glancing over to where Mat is. He hasn’t noticed that you’re here yet which is good, because you are about five seconds away from just putting the kids back in and driving away.

Nora sighs quietly before walking over to Mat. You and Marlee hang back a little but Stella grabs her hand and sticks close to her.

When Mat sees her, his face lights up and for a second, you want to forgive him so everything can go back to how it was before. You can’t though, not when what he said is still so fresh and not when you know about Calista’s lies.

“Hey peanut,” he says softly, staying seated while Nora stands in front of him, looking down and scuffing her shoe on the gravel. He looks at you when she doesn’t say anything but you just shrug even though you’re confused. You’re about to ask Nora if she wants to just go to the playground when she breaks her silence.

“Are you not my daddy?” she asks quietly and it takes you off guard. You had this conversation with her, assuring her that Calista was lying but she must want to hear it from Mat.

“What?” he asks, looking at you before turning his attention back to her.

“Calista told me that you’re not my daddy,” she says more firmly, finally looking up at him. Her arms are crossed and she’s glaring at him. You’d be impressed if you weren’t so worried about what Mat may say.

His mouth opens and closes a couple times and he looks like a fish out of water. He looks at you again, as if he’s expecting you to step in but you just raise an eyebrow at him as if to say I told you so.

“I think she was confused-” he begins to say which is absolutely the wrong thing to say because it sets Nora off.

She stomps her foot and her glare hardens. “No! She said that mommy lied and that you’re not really my daddy. She told me that I don’t have a daddy.”

Before he can say anything, she’s storming off toward the playground, Stella chasing after her.

“Do I need to say I told you so?” you ask sharply, now that the kids are out of hearing range.

“You just did,” he mumbles and Marlee, who has been quiet up until now, steps towards Mat.

“You’re a piece of work,” she snaps and Mat looks at her confused.

“Excuse me?”

“Do I need to repeat myself?” she says, and you’re more than happy to let her say what’s on her mind.

“You’re letting your girlfriend tell your daughter that you’re not her father, and instead of comforting Nora, you’re trying to defend your girlfriend!”

For a moment, you’re scared Marlee is going to get angry enough that she’ll tell him the truth about Calista, but she takes a deep breath and turns away to go to where the girls are playing. You watch her walk over until she reaches them before turning back to Mat.

He’s staring at the ground and you don’t know why you’re still standing here but you guess you’re just waiting for Mat to say something.

“I fucked up,” he eventually mumbles and you scoff.

“When did you come to that brilliant conclusion?”

There’s the tiniest part of you that wants to bring up Calista, just to see if he’ll tell you anything but you’re not sure you’re in the mood to hear about her. Not when you know the truth.

“Liana is mad at me,” he tells you, which is news, because you thought she was just angry at you.

“I can’t imagine why.”

You look back at Nora, smiling when you see her laughing. She looks more like herself, rather than the gloomy kid she’s been the past couple days since she asked to see Mat. Like she got what was bothering her off her tiny shoulders.

Out of the corner of your eye, you can see Mat doing the same but his smile isn’t as real. If you weren’t still angry at him, you’d feel bad but you can’t let go of what he said and the fact that he tried again to defend Calista.

“She’s a good kid,” he says softly and you hum in agreement.

“Did you know?” he asks, “that she was going to say that?”

“No,” you tell him. It’s not a lie - she didn’t tell you why she wanted to see Mat, and you didn’t want to push.

“I’m sorry,” he says, but you shake your head and look directly at him.

“Sorry isn’t going to fix it this time. Marlee was right, instead of apologizing to Nora, who deserves to hear that more than me, you won’t stop making excuses for Calista,” you tell him. “I don’t know what you’re expecting from Nora and I, but sorry isn’t the answer.”

He frowns, but nods, seemingly accepting your response. You leave it at that and walk over to where Nora, Stella, and Marlee are, grinning when your daughter reaches for you. She hugs you when you pick her up and when you look back at the bench Mat was sitting at, he’s already gone.

tag list: @literatureluster @dasiysthings @barzyblogbabe @diary-of-jj @heatherawoowoo @fallinallincurls @lovinbarzal @whatthepuckisgoingon @teapartydreams @alilstressyandlotdepressy @keiva1000 @hischiershoe @bellstwd @alwaysclassyeagle @brrbrina @nonsensical-nonsence

@love-like-woaah @cycy9 @swift-sos

if you want to be added or taken off the tag list please let me know! & if you asked to be tagged and I didn't it's cause your @ didn't come up when i searched

#allies writing #hockey imagines #nhl fanfiction #hockey fanfiction #mat barzal x reader #mat barzal imagine #mat barzal fic #mat barzal fanfiction

212 notes · View notes

ghostbsuter · 9 months

Text

Batclan and Catband (part 2)

> previous part

> next part

.・゜-: ✧ :-

Dinner ended up a relatively calm affair, or as calm as it can be with the batclan and the cat catband in one place.

"Where is elle actually?" Selina asks, leaning on the table with a grin.

"With her aunty harley and pam," he answers, phone in hand. "They're bringing her over soon, tho."

Dick, sitting opposite of Danny, perks up at that. "Your daughter, right? How old is she?"

The teen practically glows at the question, proud and not far from showing it.

"Become 2 recently! A gremlin in sheep clothes, truly. She knows how to get what she wants, a habit learned from her glam glam." At the last words, he gives catwoman the stink eye, huffing when she laughs at him.

"I have been wondering, how old are you, danny? If you don't mind." Bruce has an easygoing smile on, but Danny knows that glint in his eyes.

"Also freshly turned 18."

Both Selina and Danny watch the other man carefully, one hiding her sharp stare, the other openly showing it.

"Isn't that a bit young to become a single parent?" The man asks in concern, no matter he should be with emotions, mother and son recognise the tone of worry and relax slightly.

"Her circumstances of appearing in our life is not much to be desired. However, we are very happy with her joining our little family at that time."

Danny speaks fondly, smiling as he recalls the moments. "Selina helped immensely when needed and didn't shy from showering the little gremlin in love"

While the batclan would have loved to continue the conversation, Alfred appeared with a gentle smile.

"Master Danny, there is a guest waiting patiently at the front door for you, I'm afraid she might just run off with no one watching." He gives a very amused look at the members of the table.

He shoots out of his chair, letting the butler lead him out and about.

Once the teen is gone, does Bruce straighten his form and look at selina.

"What about the mother? Is there anything—"

"I'll stop you right there, bat dear." She holds up her hand, giving a sharp smile.

"While I'd rather not talk behind Danny's back like this," she gives the table a look, noting that every member seems to be in their vigilante persona.

"Elle doesn't have a mother, I won't explain any details without Danny's consent, but this is more of a Kon-El situation."

(Bruce, in particular, doesn't like how that info makes everything else snap into place, and the final picture isn't much better.)

"Kon-El situation– isn't she a toddler??"

"Why would anyone go for danny??"

"Was it Lex Luthor–?!"

Their questions were silenced by the sound of tiny footsteps running to the door and swinging it open with no grace.

The tiny being runs around the table, peeks over it to see where a certain woman is located at and sprint to her lap.

The father of said being isn't far from her, making sure she doesn't trip nor fall. Alfred closes the doors and flawlessly slips next to Bruce, the amused smile very much still present.

"Glam glam!" The tiny girl squeals excited, getting pulled up and seated, just in sight of everyone else.

She is like a carbon copy of her father, minus the gender, but at the stares she becomes quite shy, very endearing.

Danny sits next to them, grin on his face and gesturing to the batclan.

"Wanna meet your uncles and aunts, elle darling?"

#dcxdp #dp x dc crossover #dpxdc #bruce x selina #elle is dannys daughter #and danny is selinas son #elle calls selina glam glam #bc of all her jewellery gleaming and shimmering #her glam glam is so pretty #there will be a part 3 btw #this was supposed to be one part only but whoops ig #part 2

914 notes · View notes

sparrowofthedawnsworld · 5 months

Text

Last Minute Changes - Jake Kiszka’s Version

A/N: Remember when I said Sam was Tchaikovsky: The Nutcracker coded?? Yeah, well… So is Jake, and since we have now experienced so much Ballerina Jake on stage, I just couldn’t help myself. Also disclaimer, I haven’t done ballet in 5+ years now, so please forgive me if I misname anything. Also, if you are not familiar with the Nutcracker pas de deux, I have linked it HERE for you to go watch (I recommend watching it before reading this, if you have the time or even just the desire to!). Please excuse any errors as always, and I hope you all like it! <3

WARNINGS: Excessive language, excessive practicing, some name calling (bitch, asshole, etc), hate!fucking, asshole!Jake, degradation, fingering, edging, slight mirror play, overstimulation, choking, biting, sort of public sex? sex in a studio, unprotected sex.

MASTERLIST

••••

“You two will be excellent together!” You can hear the smile in your choreographer’s voice. At least one of you is excited. “Well, have a lovely day, dear and I will see you back tomorrow to continue rehearsals.”

You say your goodbyes and hang up the phone, immediately sighing to yourself as you toss your phone to the side.

This is just great, you think to yourself.

What are the odds that the original Cavalier would suffer an injury and have to back out and Jake of all people, will be the one stepping in. It’s a serious lose/lose situation for all parties involved.

It has been quite some time since you’ve worked with Jake Kiszka, but to your knowledge he is no different than he used to be. Arrogant, cocky and an absolute asshole. Not to mention, the extensive hours that he chooses to practice are arguably a little unhealthy and excessive. Though, you have to give a nod to the way he strives for perfection. He’s one of the most talented dancers within the Ballet company the two of you work for. It’s admirable in its own sort of fucked up way.

Not that you don’t strive for that same level of perfection, you just have a different view and approach on how to get there.

After a moment or two of sulking, you decide to call Danny. A fellow dancer at your company and one of your best friends - but also a pretty close friend of Jake’s, you’re almost certain.

The phone barely rings twice before an excited Danny is answering the phone.

“Hello?” Danny’s voice finally cuts through, warm and genuine. As it always is.

“Hey! So uhm…” you start to trail off. “You know Anthony, right ? The guy who was originally the Cavalier?”

“I do, why? What happened?” He asks, concern and curiosity seeping into the way he speaks. “You sound kinda upset...”

“Oh, I’m definitely upset… Anthony has an injury and is being required to take a break…” you pause for a moment, before adding more details. “I mean, he seemed to be in some pain when we were practicing last night, but he told me not to worry.” A long sigh pushes out of your lungs. “But, now Jake is Cavalier...”

What you can only assume is slightly stunned silence, takes over his end of the phone.

“Jake…?” He questions finally. You can practically see his raised eyebrows and wide eyes. “Jake is Cavalier now?”

“Yeah…” You confirm, sighing heavily at the incredibly draining thought of it. “Danny, I don’t even know what to do.”

“Are you joking? What do you mean you ‘don’t know what to do?’” Danny practically scoffs at your words. “You’ve always wanted this part. You would really let Jake ruin this for you? That’s kinda ridiculous, bug.” He scolds you. “Not only that, but you’re already well into rehearsals. You’ve only got a few days left before dress rehearsals start up.”

“Danny, Have you not worked with him?!” You laugh humorously into the phone. “He’s an ass. A complete and total fucking ass.”

Danny laughs at your little outburst, immediately taking up for his friend. “I have and… yes, he can be a lot to handle, but he’s a perfectionist. Everything he does on stage has to be perfect, in his mind.”

You bite at your bottom lip, not at all soothed by Danny’s words whatsoever. You’d made up your mind about Jake and that was that.

“You two will be phenomenal together,” Danny says, breaking the moment of silence. “Give it a go. Don’t just throw away your dreams of doing sugar plum just because of this.”

“I’m really not… it’s just… I really don’t wanna have to do that pas de deux with Jake.” His name spits out of you with pure distaste, making Danny laugh lightly. You can imagine the gentle shake of his head, too.

“Like I said… you two will be amazing,” Danny reiterates, tone warm and genuine. “Don’t stress it too much. Just do what you do best and I’m sure everything will be cool.”

The first few days of rehearsing with Jake go… well, anything but smoothly. Things are rocky and feel out of place, some parts of the routine having to be changed to suite you and Jake, instead of you and your original partner, Anthony.

And today’s practice rolls around too quickly, just like the last three days have. You go to bed, only to wake up feeling like you only slept for a solid five minutes, before you have to get up and reconvene with Jake all over again.

For the first time since joining this professional company, it feels like actual work. Not that it isn’t always work, but you’ve not ever felt this genuinely frustrated by the thought of going to the studio.

The door of the building slams closed behind you, finally separating you from the chilly, early December air.

You make your way down the long hallway, towards the room that your instructor had originally assigned for you and Anthony to use for practicing your Pas De Deux, but has now been for you and Jake.

As you reach the door, you can’t hear anything from the other side of it, and you wonder if Jake is even around yet. In all fairness, you are incredibly early. However, you’ve come to know that Jake takes early to a whole new level.

You open up the door to find he’s nowhere to be seen. Though he isn’t present just yet, realization is like a slap across the face, as it has been each day since you’ve started rehearsing with Jake.

It hits you in a brand new wave. Every. Single Day: This is really happening. You are stuck with Jake from now, until the end of the run.

But, there’s never enough time to dwell on what’s already in motion - which you’ve come to realize that it’s probably better off that way. You shove all the thoughts and feelings stirring up, as far back as they will go, placing your bag and coffee down, so you can begin getting ready to warm up.

Unfortunately for you, not nearly enough time passes before the sound of the door handle is beckoning for your attention and Jake is stepping through the doorway.

You turn to face him, a tight lipped smile being the only thing he offers you as he turns around to close the door. So, you return the half-assed smile and go back to putting on your pointe shoes and stretching out.

The more you spend time rehearsing with him, the more you realize that truly, he’s absolutely gorgeous. Quite possibly the most beautiful man you’ve ever had the pleasure of dancing with. But, it isn’t really feeling so much like a pleasure to actually be dancing with him.

You swallow down the annoyance already bubbling up, “Do you need to warm-“

“I warmed up already,” Jake cuts you off before you can even finish your question. “I’ve been here for a while working on my variation.”

He places his things down, then makes his way over to you.

The annoyance floods right back in like it never even left, “Alright, then.”

“Let’s work on those new pieces we added.” It comes out as a command, setting your body even more ablaze.

“No need to get all bossy, Jacob.” You bite rather harshly. “That’s what I’m here for. Not to just bullshit around.”

“I wasn’t-“ Jake stops himself short, the two words sounding very defensive and annoyed.

The audacity for HIM to be annoyed.

He sucks in a sharp breath, trying to calm himself. “I wasn’t trying to be commanding.”

“Whatever.” You glare up at him, filling the space between you with even more tension.

“We can just carefully skim through the whole thing, sans the lifts, if you’d like.”

He stares at you with what can only be read as a stunned expression for a moment, before shrugging his shoulders and reaching up to roll the sleeves of his shirt.

“Ready?” Jake extends his hand out towards you, while clearly trying his best to release the unwanted tension in his shoulders.

You take his hand and let him guide you, stepping through slowly until you reach the first lift.

“Aaaand we’re skipping this part,” Jake sings in a mumble, moving with you into the next few steps.

You move with him flawlessly through it all, letting him guide you around the floor. It might even feel nice, if it isn’t for the raging distaste you have for him.

The softness of the which he handles you, doesn’t go unnoticed, though. You notice it almost right away and it slips you into a distracted daze, focusing more on the way his face keeps a calm and even expression and his body moves so fluently.

“Shit!” Jake hisses suddenly, quickly followed by a gasp from you as you bump into his body, causing you both to stumble. “Are you even paying attention?! Goddamn.”

“You grabbed my arm wrong.” You lie quickly, smirking internally as you watch pure annoyance start to show itself all over his face at even the suggestion that he’d messed up.

“You’re joking, right?” Jake snaps at you, practically burning holes into your head with his intense stare.

“No, I’m not joking.” You fire back, trying to make your eyes just as cold and harsh as his are, “There’s a lift there, Jacob.”

Any sort of normal, appropriate volume for the space the two of you occupy is suddenly out of the window completely.

“We aren’t even doing the fucking lifts right now!” Jake’s hands fly into the air dramatically.

“Jesus Christ. This is already giving me a fucking headache.” Your fingers rub at your temples and you fight to not raise you voice like Jake just had. “Let’s just start over? We can do the damn lifts this time, if that makes you happier.”

“Just don’t fucking kill yourself.” Jake mumbles, adjusting the bun hanging lowly at the back of his head.

“If something happens to me, it’ll be because you’ve dropped me.” You scoff, emphasizing with an intense eye roll. “And I wouldn’t put that past you.”

For once, you seem to have stunned him into silence for a brief moment.

“Are you not capable of just fucking practicing?” Jake questions, dropping his arms down to his sides, his shoulders slumping. “Or is it always just going to be a bitching contest?” He takes a step closer to you, pointing and finger at your face. “Because if so, I fucking quit. They can find you a new partner.”

There’s barely a beat of crippling silence before he’s adding on, “And good luck getting your shit together with him before dress rehearsal in three days.”

Your jaw drops as shock washes over you. The first instinct of your body is to simply just reach up and smack him, however, it’s not worth the consequences that will surely follow such an action.

Getting down on the floor, you start frantically untying your pointe shoes.

“What are you doing?” Jake’s volume is still a little too loud for a place of work. “Get up.”

“I have a fucking better idea-“ You pull both pointe shoes off quickly and stand back up. “Find yourself a new partner, dick.”

With that, you storm over to your bag and drop your pointe shoes inside. You grab your regular shoes and your bag, not even turning back to look at him as you make your way to the door.

So much force is put behind your movements as you jerk the door open and slam it closed as you leave.

“Woah, there, hot stuff…” Josh greets you, with an air of caution to his tone. “What’s got you so pissed off?”

“Your twin.” You respond flatly. No emotion for him to gauge in your tone whatsoever as you continue storming down the hallway.

“Right, right… Cause he got…” he sighs, trailing off.

“Yeah…”

“How about we go take a little break?” Josh suggests as he catches up with you, stopping you in your tracks. “I was about to go grab some coffee on my way home, but you can come along and i’ll just bring you back here after?”

Though, you aren’t sure if you’ll even want to come back yet, you give him a slight nod, and that’s all he needs before his arm is motioning for you to follow him.

The two of you walk to his car in silence for a minute, until you’re both inside and buckled in.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Josh asks as he starts his car.

A strained sigh forces its way out of your lungs.

“I mean…He’s just…” you pause, trying to word yourself carefully as you don’t want to disrespect Josh by talking so harshly about his brother.

But Josh beats you to the proper words you’re searching so hard for. “Hard to work with?”

You hold back the scoff that bubbles up in your throat. “Yeah… Yeah, that’s one way to put it.”

Much to your surprise, a genuine giggle leaves Josh’s lips as he drives through the little bit of lunch hour traffic lingering on the streets of the city.

“You don’t have to sugar coat it, love,” he assures you, flashing you a quick smile. “I know he can be a bit… mm…difficult.”

“He acts like I’m not also just as much of a perfectionist! I don’t get it!” Your hands gesture up for emphasis, slamming back down into your lap with a soft smack. “I felt like I was having to walk on egg shells earlier.”

“I wish I could sit here and tell you that things will get better, but…” Josh trails off, running his hand over his face. “This part is stressing him out. He never expected to be doing it… I know he doesn’t want to fuck it up. Now, that doesn’t excuse his actions, but just…give him some time. He will loosen up eventually. Hopefully…”

Despite Josh’s words being true, you don’t feel as though they’ve really soothed you very much, if at all.

“You haven’t danced with him in a really long time, either and you dance differently now. I mean that in a good way, but Jake is also having to learn how you work now, on top of everything on his end.” Josh adds, having sensed the uncertainty still lingering on your face.

“I’m not going to lie to you… I’ve been fucking up, too.” You tell him honestly. “Like our routine.”

Josh looks over at you, clearly surprised. “You? You’ve been fucking up?” He questions. “How? I watched you and Anthony do it just last week and it was beautiful!”

“I… I don’t know. I guess Jake just… makes me nervous?” You admit.

Josh turns his face towards the window, trying to hide the grin tugging at his lips until he can collect himself.

But before Josh even has the chance to formulate a response to that, you’re asking him the question that’s been burning your brain since you left the studio.

“Do you think he’ll still be there when we get back?” You ask him softly. The fear of having to go to your director and explain such an outburst between you and Jake, settling deep within your bones. Or worse, Jake has already gone to someone and explained the situation, ultimately kicking you from your role.

“I can assure you, he’ll be there when we get back.” Josh answers seriously. “He isn’t going anywhere.

The conversation about Jake drops for the remainder of your little adventure. Until you’re watching the studio slowly come back into your line of sight, as Josh drives the two of you back.

“What if he’s still mad?” You can’t help but bring the situation back to the surface.

Josh’s shoulders slump slightly, and he seems to be thinking about the best way to answer you. Because the sickening truth is, even he knows that Jake is probably still boiling below the surface, just waiting for another fuck up from you, or anyone else, to send him exploding all over again.

“Just… Don’t go back in guns blazing…” He tells you, trying to choose his words carefully. “Try to be level headed and just get as much practice in as you can. The more you dance, the less room you leave for talking…or an argument. Ya know, whichever... And hopefully, the nerves will ease up little by little, then he won’t have anything to be a shithead over.”

“Right. Because that really worked earlier.” You finally let the scoff you’ve been choking back slip out. “I’ll try again, anyway. Thank you, Josh.”

“Anytime, love. Anytime.” He waves you off with a smile as you close the door and head back inside.

“Hey!”

Just before you step inside, you hear Josh calling for you and you turn around to face him.

“If you need me to come back and beat his ass, just call!”

Your head falls back as a genuine laugh explodes from your lungs. The most you’ve laughed all day, really, and it feels lovely.

Shaking your head, it’s your turn to wave him off, trying to get inside before the cold starts to make your bones ache any more than it already has.

It’s quiet, as you’re reaching the later hours of the afternoon, daylight just barely lingering still.

You make your way down the hall, back to the dreaded, mirrored, room that you and Jake have to continue to share. Assuming he’s still here… or he hasn’t had you replaced and you just don’t know it yet.

When you reach the door, you can hear the familiar song playing from the other side. The doorknob is freezing cold beneath your hand, a drastic contrast to the heat of anger still somehow lingering in your body. Shoving it open slowly, careful not to disturb who you can only assume is Jake, you peak your head in first to see him practicing all on his own.

His movements are flawless. Each step he takes and every movement of his arms, so precise and strong. The white tights he’s wearing accentuate the muscles running throughout his legs, his black t-shirt hugging his shoulders just so. He holds himself with utmost confidence, his eyes never casting themselves to the floor, looking out into an imaginary audience, or at an imaginary partner, when his attention is meant to be focused on her.

Suddenly, you become very aware that you wish to be the one under that gentle, but attentive gaze of his - completely unlike the way he had looked at you earlier. While you may be his partner, he won’t ever look at you that way -gentle and attentive- until he’s on stage and even then, it likely won’t feel real. It will be nothing but acting. It stings, but you shove the sour feeling deep down inside you and step fully back into the room.

“Can you turn the music off for a second?” You ask him, trying to keep a cool and collected tone.

The sound of annoyance Jake lets out doesn’t miss your ears, despite the music still playing.

He walks over and pauses the music, turning to you with an expectant look - just waiting for you to have a damn good reason for essentially asking him to stop what he had been doing. As if the two of you don’t have a lot more work to do.

“I’m…sorry for earlier.” The words are a bit strained as they leave you. What’s to be expected, though? You don’t really want to apologize to him, but you know it’s the right thing to do.

“It’s alright.” Jake mutters, barely nodding his head in acknowledgement to your apology. “I’m sorry, too. Let’s just get back to it, yeah?”

You’re stunned for a moment by his returned apology, having not expected him to give you one at all. Although, you can’t bring yourself to open space for any hope that things are maybe going to get better from here. That’s something you won’t believe until you see it happening consistently. Besides, there’s still an obvious hint of something unpleasant in his tone.

“Yeah, okay…” you agree, sitting your things down. “If you want, we can just work on the lifts for a while… ya know, just for a change of pace.”

The air in the room seems thick with awkwardness, of which you’re not helping to aid at all, being that your tone is rapidly fueling it and Jake without a doubt takes notice of that.

Though, he continues to act completely immune to the awkwardness filling the space. Leaving you to suffer in it all on your own.

After only offering you but a short and flat, “Sure,” you and Jake move on to the lifts. Of which go smoothly… Until they don’t.

“Fucking-“ Jake grunts, arms wobbling slightly as you struggle to find your balance in his hands. “Shit!”

No sooner than the curse of annoyance and distress rumbles out of him, you’re plummeting almost to the ground, Jake’s arms catching you just in time to save you from completely hitting the floor.

“God damnit,” Jake sighs, running a hand over his face once you are standing on your own two feet again.

“This one is just… I can’t get my balance right.” You admit to him. At least you’re being truthful.

You aren’t really sure why you’re having so much trouble. You had done these exact same lifts just fine with Anthony for weeks before Jake even became Cavalier.

Perhaps it was the tension between you and Jake. The mutual, very strong dislike for one another. The lingering bit of hostility from your’s and Jake’s outburst, not even two whole hours ago…

Or his hands on my body… Wait-

You’re quick to interject on your own thoughts. You simply cannot stand the idea of letting your mind wander off with such thoughts about Jake. You refuse to feel that way.

“I see that.” Jake’s words are once again dripping with that same amount of aggravation from earlier - Of which had lead to you storming out on him.

He throws a judgmental glance your way, likely wondering how you even got sugar plum in the first place.

“Let’s try again.” Jake steps behind you, placing his hands on your body just so, adjusting his stance as he prepares to lift you up into the air. Hopefully with more elegance and grace than the first time. “I’m going to count to three, and then you jump.”

You think you’re taking advantage of the fact that he can’t see your face, rolling your eyes at his commanding tone. Much to your misfortune, you seem to have briefly forgotten that you’re both facing a wall, perfectly lined with large mirrors.

“Can you drop the fucking attitude, for god’s sake?” Jake snaps in question, his hands squeezing where they’re planted just above your hips.

If looks could kill, the glare you send him through the mirror would have surely taken him out cold. “How bold of you to point fingers on someone’s attitude. I’m not the only one with an apparent attitude problem here.”

“I’m sorry? In case you haven’t noticed, you are the reason i’m irritated.” Jake is slowly starting to seethe again. You can tell by the way his jaw has clenched itself painfully tight.

You ignore his comment, just staring at him blankly for a moment before finally speaking up.

“Just…count to three. And lift me.” You enunciate your words firmly, sucking in a deep breath in attempts to prepare yourself.

Jake on the other hand, releases a long breath, rolling his shoulders back in hopes to relax his body, at least a little bit. “Fine, then.”

“One…” He begins to count, checking his grip on your waist. “Two…Three.”

The second he speaks the last number, you’re jumping just enough for him to gain the leverage needed to lift you up into the air above his head.

“Good. Good!” Jake praises from below you, watching you attentively through the mirror.

“Tighten your core just a little more,” He tells you, lowering you slightly as you start to wobble a bit. “Yeah, there you go.” He lifts you back up where you’re supposed to be. “Now, hold it.”

You extend your arms out, focusing solely on holding your pose. There’s still the slightest shake to your position, but you hold it pretty successfully, despite that.

“There it is.” The prideful tone of Jake’s voice makes you smile internally, though you’d spend your last drops of energy on keeping said smile off of your face for him to physically see.

“Okay, I’m gonna bring you down now…”

Jake slowly lowers you back down and you hold your next position until you feel your pointe shoe touch the hard floor.

“Thank fuck,” you sigh, relieved that it was somewhat smooth.

Of course, Jake can’t let the slightest little fuck up slide.

‘Everything has to be perfect, at least in his mind.’

“It was still shaky as hell.” Jake complains, giving a dramatic gesture with his hand.

You suck in a quick, sharp breath. The anger resurfacing is nearly blinding, clouding your vision in a red hue that you can’t hardly believe is really there.

“How do you suppose I fix that, then? Hm?” Your voice drips with a venom that’s so unlike you, normally.

“You practice more.” Jake says, as if it’s the most obvious fucking thing. Like you should have already known that.

“Wow. What prophetic fucking advice, Jake. I appreciate it,” you scoff, crossing your arms like a pouting child.

“Since you obviously don’t think you need it, let’s run it, then. Start to finish.” Jake suggests, knowing good and well he just wants to try and prove a point.

With a cool shrug of your shoulders, you agree. “Fine.”

Jake saunters over to his phone, where it lays right by the speaker sitting on one of the chairs, and presses play.

The familiar and oh-so beautiful orchestration starts to fill the room - it brings butterflies of realization to life in your stomach. This is your dream role and while you may be doing it with the absolute last person you would have ever picked on your own, you know in the end, once the two of you work out the kinks of your mutual dislike, you will be a flawless pair.

You take your first few steps that lead you to Jake, where you finally come to meet in the middle and delicately, you lay your hand atop of his palm. His fingers close carefully around your hand, then, lifting your arm above the two of you to slowly spin you around.

There seems to by a shift in the energy within the room and between the two of you, and it’s most certainly a welcomed shift.

As you continue through the routine, the new found comfort of dancing with him slowly overtakes you. Unfortunately, the burning sensation his hands leave in their wake as they help guide you, is making it harder and harder to focus. And of course, that only makes frustration bubble within you.

*Why can’t I dance with him? Why does he have to affect me so much? I don’t like him. He doesn’t like me.

Questions upon questions bounce around in your mind, inevitably distracting you from the important task at hand. It’s dangerous waters to swim in, the closer you get to the crescendo of the song; running the risk of one of you getting hurt somehow by lack of focus.

Focus. Focus. Focus.

You internally chant the word to yourself, desperately trying your best to pull your mind back to one collective place.

“Come back to me.” Jake’s tone is firm but not angry, as he prepares to bring you into the first lift.

Here goes nothing.

Forcing your brain to remain solely honed in on the task at hand, Jake’s hands find your waist and in the blink of an eye, he’s hoisting you into the air, much smoother and more elegantly than the first time.

And by some complete miracle, the first few lifts go flawlessly. Jake even finds it in himself to give a few mumbles of praise and encouragement as you go.

That confidence and momentum doesn’t carry through nearly as long as you hoped it would, though.

As the music builds and builds up to the first of what you would consider the “big” lifts, your heart rate increases. Suddenly your hands are clammy and a little shaky, and your stomach has twisted itself into a sickening knot.

Jake’s so into it, that you can’t bare the idea of asking him to stop, simply because your nerves have taken over. So, you continue into the lift, against your better judgement.

You make it into the air without much trouble, but as Jake brings you down into the next move, your form breaks and causes him to nearly drop you.

“Goddamn it!”

“Oh, my god!”

Both of your exclamations and curses fly out at the same time, only startling each other even more.

“Jesus christ, I knew you weren’t ready for that!” Jake shouts, hands running over his face as the adrenaline and realization of how hurt you could have just gotten, pumps through his entire body. “Do you even realize how fucking hurt you could have gotten just now?!”

“I am ready!” You argue right back, completely ignoring the hint of concern he was displaying for you.

“No, you are fucking not!” Jake’s voice booms, like a bang of thunder that shakes houses, after lightning has struck something. “We wouldn’t be having so much goddamn trouble if you were!”

“I didn’t have all these problems with Anthony,” you point out, matching his unruly volume. You even dare to take a step closer to him.

“What’s the difference?!” He practically screams, taking a step equal to the one you’d just taken. “We’re doing the same routine, for the same show! What. Is. The difference?!”

“Because you’re, you!” Your arms fly up into the air, before smacking back down against your sides.

Jake tilts his head back almost challengingly. “I’m what?”

“You’re the favorite! The one Everyone wants to have the fucking pleasure of dancing with!” You emphasize your words dramatically as you yell nearly right in his face. “You never fuck up anything! Ever!”

“And does that make you jealous?” Jake questions, his tone becoming smug and arrogant.

“No, it doesn’t make me jealous! It makes me nervous!”

Though half of the sentence is a lie; it definitely makes you both jealous and nervous, as soon as the words leave your mouth, you want to snatch them out of the air and shove them back in.

“Really?” Jake raises his eyebrows at you. “Nervous, huh?”

“Yes! Nervous, you fucking asshole!” You yell. “You’re arrogant as all hell and it’s absolutely insufferable, in case anyone hasn’t told you! It’s a nightmare trying to work with someone who is constantly picking apart every little move you make!”

“First of all-“ Jake wraps his hand around your pointed finger and shoves it roughly out of his face. “-Get your finger out of my damn face. And stop fucking yelling at me.” His eyes burn through yours, knocking you down a notch, but you refuse to outwardly show it. “Second, you shouldn’t be talking. You get everything handed to you, like the perfect, pretty little thing you are. You hardly have to work for shit.”

You snatch your finger out of his grip and immediately fire back at him. “I don’t get anything fucking handed to me.”

“But you do!” Jake chides, hardly making a legitimate point.

“No, YOU DO, Jake!” And now you’re back to screaming, throat threatening to go raw by the strain you’re putting on it. “How do you think we got here in the first fucking place!”

“If I got everything handed to me, don’t you think I would have had this from the beginning?!” Jake nearly closes the little space between the two of you, with one more step. “Don’t you think I would have gotten it first, instead of Anthony?!”

A wicked smirk grows on your face. “Right, right. So you’re just their backup, huh?” You watch as Jake’s face grows red and his eyes flash with rage. “Not even good enough to be cast as Cavalier the first time, are you?”

“You should be concerned about the fact that we start dress rehearsals in two days and you can’t even get all the damn lifts right.” Jake jabs.

His close proximity is making it hard to think anymore, the features of his beautiful, anger-hardened face proving to be a major distraction from the comeback you should have been already able to conjure up.

“Well, they- their hopes can’t be but so high, now that they’ve had to settle for you.”

Jake’s jaw visibly tenses, causing the muscles to protrude around his cheekbones and down his neck, the crease between his brows setting in even deeper.

Before you can even bat an eye, or open your mouth to add a little more gasoline to the already raging fire, Jake’s hand is tightly wrapping itself around the back of your neck.

“Is this entertaining you?” You can see Jake’s free hand gesture about, through your peripheral vision. “Being a little bitch?”

You’re frozen, stuck in place - not only because of his grip on you, but because you can’t decide if you actually want to move away.

One might find that name absolutely enraging, but apparently you don’t, considering the way your cunt throbs as the word travels from his mouth, to your ears.

“Fuck you.” You spit through gritted teeth.

“Would that make you less bitchy? If you fucked me? Hm?” Jake taunts, clearly taking in the newfound enjoyment he’s getting out of this.

“Call me a bitch again.” You say threateningly, but it holds no real weight. You just want to keep up the fight a little longer, perhaps a bit too addicted to the way he’s making your blood boil.

“Or what?” Jake all but growls, leaning his face in, so that he’s right next to your ear. “Are you gonna storm out of here like earlier? Like the little fucking brat you are?”

Your skin is screaming to feel his lips. They’re mere inches from your skin, the heat of his breath casting a heat that almost resembles when you sit just a little too close to a campfire.

“I bet you’d perform a lot better if I fucked you.” Jake speaks the wondering thought out loud. “Trained you to be a good little dancer for me.”

“Jake…” you sigh, chest heaving rapidly.

“What?” Jake seethes. “No smart ass comeback? No attitude?” He slides his other arm around your back, but doesn’t pull you quite close enough for your body to touch his. “Come on. Say something else. I dare you.”

Your thoughts spin around themselves as you attempt to conjure up another snarky comment, while Jake’s eyes stare intensely into yours, occasionally flickering down to your lips and right back up.

Finally, it comes to you.

“I’m not taking insults from a boy who probably can’t even fuck me hard enough to keep me out of rehearsal tomorrow.”

The silence that falls between you and Jake is deafening. You can hear your heartbeat in your ears, hear the blood running hot beneath your skin. If you listen close enough, you might even hear Jake’s heartbeat banging against his own ribcage, too.

Neither of you move for what feels like an eternity, only adding to the tension that’s already about to burst at the seams.

Jake’s mouth opens and closes quickly, but he still doesn’t speak - only adding to the torment of the moment. Anticipation fills you up so much, you feel like you may start throwing it up.

Slowly, Jake’s eyes narrow until they’re practically shut, and his hand tightens around the back of your neck tightens.

“Are you challenging me, sugar?” The name typically used for endearment, spits out of him like it’s anything but sweet. He’s so cleverly alluding to your role as sugar plum.

“I-If that’s how you wanna see it, go ahead.” You half choke out. Your words are becoming less and less intimidating and lethal as the moments go by. “Since you want to try and prove a point soo badly.”

“I don’t think you deserve anything else from me today.” Jake says, not even bothering to fight off the smirk pulling at the corner of his lips.

Shock fills you up the second the words float out from his mouth and you’re even more shocked at the way disappointment comes along to mix in with it. You may have been annoyed with him for petty shit before, but now you’re genuinely upset.

“W-what…?” The word is barely audible coming from your breathless lungs.

Jake lets go of you and steps away, taking little steps backwards in the direction of his things. The expression adorning his face is downright evil.

“I think you heard me loud and clear.” Jake shrugs, grabbing up his things. He doesn’t even bother to take off his shoes - likely just leaving you to go off to a different room and practice alone.

You watch him, completely dumbfounded as he makes his way to the door, not even giving you glance as he goes by.

The door opening feels so obnoxious, given the newfound silence hanging between the two of you. He’s about to step over the threshold, but turns around to face you one more time.

“See you tomorrow.” He glances over you for a moment, tongue visibly poking the inside of his cheek. “And you better not fuck up.”

After a horrendous night filled with constant tossing and turning, the cool light of the gloomy morning wakes you up out of the sleep, that has only just found you a few hours ago.

Begrudgingly, you force yourself to get out of bed and take a shower, then dig out a pair of tights and one of your favorite leotards. And as much as you don’t want to acknowledge it, the brief question of whether or not Jake will like it, plants itself in your head. It’s black, with long sleeves, and the daintiest lace details at the top around the chest.

You force the thought away immediately. The mere mental thought of Jake making your body tense with anger, and… whatever the hell is left lingering from last night’s little… moment.

The drive to the studio is severely uneventful. Music being the only thing to keep you company throughout the short trip over there.

Seems like you’ve been living there these last few days. Which, might not be so bad if Jake wasn’t such a constant thorn in your side.

As the studio comes into view, a lump over nerves nearly makes you choke. Last night’s interesting turn, still at the forefront of your memory, despite your efforts in trying to ignore it.

You grab all your things and make your way to the door, walking as quickly as you possibly could to get out of the cold air. A swift glance around the parking lot as you go, is enough to see that Jake’s car is nowhere to be seen.

There’s no denying the relief that washes over you. Perhaps you’ll actually be free of Jake for a little longer than normal, to perfect some things by yourself, without the intense and judgmental stare of Jake’s eyes.

Just as you’ve hoped, as you walk down the hallway to your room, there’s nothing but silence on the other side of the door. But just to be safe, you slowly push it open and peak in, only to confirm that Jake is nowhere to be seen.

You take the opportunity to practice certain pieces of the pas alone, hoping to work through most of the imperfections that Jake has pointed out, time and time again.

What you don’t realize though, is how much time actually passes as you fall into a zone. Completely locked in on what you’re doing, practically floating around as though Jake is there to guide you, except you’re doing it all on your own.

Little did you know, Jake is standing at the door… admiring you just like you had done to him yesterday. For him, it’s different; his moment or slight admiration and ogling. He doesn’t have nearly as much trouble admitting to himself that he finds you ridiculously attractive and talented.

Will he say that directly to you? It isn’t likely, but to himself, he absolutely will. Although, the odds of him telling you his thoughts, are far more likely than you vocalizing your’s to him.

Jake stands, body halfway slipped between the cracked door, intently and quietly watching you. Until finally, you turn and your stop brings you to perfect face the door.

The sudden sight of Jake makes your entire body jolt, startled and unprepared to see him in such a random way.

“Jake!” You half screech, your hand coming to grasp at your now aching chest.

“My bad.” The softest chuckle dances with his words. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”

“It’s fine…” you mumble.

Looking at him for the first time since last night is… definitely different, to say the very least.

The air in the room has shifted and it feels so heavy that it may crush you. Given Jake’s cocky strutting across the room, you guess that he doesn’t feel it the way that you do, or he’s doing a really good job at ignoring it. Like he always does. Yet another thing about him that you envy; his ability to be so unaffected.

“You- uhm… How long were you watching from the door?” You ask him timidly, chancing a quick glance at him as he sits down his things.

“Long enough to see that you’re perfectly capable of a flawless and confident routine.” Jake replies, bringing a soft, pink tint to your cheeks. “Which I suppose is great, except you can’t seem to do that with me.” His tone is the slightest bit playful, but you can’t ignore the way it claws at your skin.

“A bit early to be making digs, don’t you think, Jake?” You raise an eyebrow at him, awaiting the death glare he’s sure to throw towards you any second now.

But it doesn’t come. He just ignores your little muse all together, continuing to stretch and warm up.

Silence falls over you both, as you work on a few moves on the opposite side of the room in front of the mirrors.

Occasionally, you glance over your shoulder through the mirror at Jake, but you don’t let your eyes linger on him for too long, in favor of not getting caught and the refusal to let yourself get carried away.

After a few minutes, you catch a glimpse of Jake getting up and setting up his phone with the speakers, before making his way towards you and finally speaking up.

“Ready to run this thing?” He rubs his hands together in front of him.

“As I’ll ever be,” you mumble in response and follow him back over to the middle of the floor.

Jake steps back to his phone and presses play, bringing the beautiful instrumental to life throughout the whole room.

It eases you, much to your surprise. But not enough to ignore the fires that Jake’s hands seem to be lightning, gradually, all over your body in each place that he touches you.

You do your absolute best to try and remain calm and collected, focusing solely on the dance and nothing else.

Further and further you sink into the routine, and so does Jake. It’s evident in the electric energy that’s suddenly buzzing throughout

the room. The way Jake’s eyes stare into yours so intensely, it makes your knees want to give out beneath your weight. The passion of which he’s exuding…

The way he grips your body to lift you up into the air, unintentionally gripping you harder and harder with each passing lift, until you’re certain he’s going to crush you.

You’re not sure what exactly snaps in your brain, but when it snaps, there is no going back.

"Jesus fucking christ- Put me down!" You yell over the music and Jake immediately brings you back down on your own two feet, but not exactly gently.

"Fuck- what now?!” Jake hisses through his labored breathing. “Can you not go two minutes without bitching?!”

"You have a fucking death grip on me!” You grab at his bicep for emphasis. “Are you trying to bruise me!?”

“You should feel so lucky.” Jake spits back, sarcasm mixing with cockiness in his tone.

“Oh, shut the fuck up Jacob!” You screech in his face. “The last thing I want is you leaving any kind of marks on my body.”

“Trust me, princess, I'm not interested anyway." Jake fumes, face red and jaw set tight, nose glistening with the lightest layer of sweat.

“I’m not either!” It feels like a lie, the second it leaves your mouth. But the volume behind your words, masks the way you hardly believe it yourself. “You’re just an arrogant, self centered, asshole, who always has to get his own fucking way with everything!”

“And you're a fucking bitch who never knows when to shut her mouth." Jake practically growls, his face just inches from yours.

"You’re such a piece of shit." You retaliate lowly.

"Back atcha, princess.” Jake grits, the muscles in his cheeks and neck pulsing rapidly.

"Stop. Fucking. Calling me that.” You demand.

"No.” Jake shakes his head, pushing his tongue into his cheek. “No, I don’t think I will.” He adds. "All you ever do is bitch and complain about me doing something wrong and it's so irritating. I know what the hell i I'm doing. I'm a fucking professional. It is not my fault that you're so goddamn picky about every little thing!"

"Well, excuse me for wanting to do this perfectly!” You shout back at him, praying internally that this explosion between the two of you hasn’t drawn any attention outside of the room.

"How ironic.” Jake chuckles humorlessly. “Sorry to burst your bubble, Sugar plum, but you're not even close to it.”

"It would be perfect if you didn't grab me like a caveman!” You chide, feeling the sting of Jake’s words prickling under your skin.

"It would be perfect if you stopped squirming every time i lift you!” Jake argues, throwing his hands into the air.

"Maybe if I fucking trusted you, I wouldn't get nervous when you have me in the air!” You shoot back.

“You know that’s not really why you get shaky when I lift you, but whatever.” Jake scoffs, rolling his eyes. "Maybe aybe if you weren't such a hateful little shit, you'd be able to at least pretend to trust me."

"You. Are insufferable.” You turn to walk away from him, leaving Jake glued to his spot as his brain processes what he’s about to say.

"And you clearly need to be put in your goddamn place." Jake says, stopping you in your tracks.

You turn back around to face him, taking a few little steps forward defiantly. "I fucking dare you to try.”

The challenge spits out of you, and not a bit of you thinks he’ll really see it, considering he had the opportunity last night and trashed it.

"You couldn't handle it.” Jake says simply. His words only raise your anger somehow.

"I hate you.” You seethe, closing in on him with a pointed finger.

"Not nearly as much as I fucking hate you.” He flashes you the fakest smile you’ve ever seen in your life, immediately dropping his face back to his previous, stone cold expression.

The tension hanging in the room is so thick, even a chainsaw would likely struggle to cut it. A deafening silence falls over the two of you, nothing but the sounds of both your heavy breaths to fill it.

Your teeth are so tightly gritted together, you worry they may shatter any second now as you await his next move. Because you certainly are not backing down first, from this eerily silent stand off.

Jake’s face is still sharp and set with anger, not even a glimmer of that chocolaty brown left in his eyes.

Just as you open your mouth to foolishly provoke him even more, he’s lunging for you, roughly gripping either side of your face as his lips sloppily crash into yours. You can’t stop yourself from kissing him back. He tastes intoxicating in the best and worst way. A drug that now that you’ve had just a taste of, you aren’t sure you’ll be able to put it down.

Haphazardly, Jake starts guiding you backwards towards the barre, not even breaking the kiss to make sure that’s where he is going. Like a man about to die of thirst, he drinks in the whimper that you release, as your back collides with the barre. His hands find your wrists, and he shoves them up above your head and pins them there.

“Tell me to stop.” He huffs out through rapid breaths, free hand staying planted on the wall by your arm.

"I thought you were putting me in my place.” You narrow your eyes at him. “Or are you all talk?"

Jake just growls, swiftly reaching down to cup your heat, making you gasp desperately. His foot kicks your legs farther apart, middle and ring fingers stroking over you so lightly, you could scream.

Except you can’t. You’ve been struck with utter speechlessness, thanks to the sudden advance and the merciless ache he’s creating between your legs.

“What? Nothing to say now?” Jake questions tauntingly. “I think this is the longest you've been quiet around me. It’s truly a nice change"

“M-maybe you're just not doing a good enough job," you stutter, pressing yourself into the palm of his hand.

"The way you’re stuttering and the wet spot that I can feel right here, says otherwise.” Jake’s fingers tap against you.

You let out an exhale that is dripping with attitude, but make no move to break away from Jake. And you won’t, really. You both know that at this point.

“Do you get tired?” Jake mumbles, leaning in to ghost his lips over your cheek. They trace around, until he settles on your ear. “Do you get tired of being so defiant? Being a fucking brat and causing me so many stresses? Does it get you off?”

“What if it does?” You answer in a whisper, trying to turn your head towards his, but he isn’t having it.

His hand comes up from between your legs and wraps around your throat, causing you to whimper at the loss of contact.

��Let’s get something clear,” Jake starts lowly, his voice rumbling like nearby thunder as he begins to warn you. “Drop the fucking games, or I’ll make sure to fuck you so hard, you’ll have to fucking crawl your way out of here tonight.”

“I will never give you such satisfaction.” You know you’re about to eat these words, but you can’t find it within your being to care.

Faster than what your brain is capable of processing at this point, Jake is turning you around to face the mirror, leaving you no choice but to grip the barre in front of you.

“Then take it.” Jake says, pressing himself against your ass and wrapping his other hand around your jaw. “Take everything I fucking give you, right here. And when I’m done-“ He uses the grip to turn your head towards the door. “-I can’t wait to watch you limp to that fucking door.”

Jake’s hand abandons your jaw, his fingers hooking themselves around the top of your leotard and pushing it off your shoulders. You help him work it off your body from the front, until it finally falls down around your ankles. As you move to step out of it, he stops you.

“Ah. Don’t.” Jake uses his own leg to halt the movement of your own. “Leave it there.”

You huff, but place your foot back where it was, leaving your leo pooling on the floor around your feet.

Jake’s hands work their way up for your hips, to your shoulders, before his dull nails scratch down your back just enough to make your muscles tense and cover you in goosebumps. He repeats the action one more time, watching your body shiver under his touch in amusement.

“Beg me.” Jake commands, dipping the tips of his fingers into the waistband of your tights.

“What?” You meet his eyes through the mirror, both of you taking notice of the pink tint your cheeks take on.

“I said, Beg. Me.” Jake repeats himself, but not without placing some firmness behind his tone.

“For what?” You spit the question like it’s drenched in poison, though, you know good and well what he’s asking you to beg for.

In a blink, Jake bends down just slightly and yanks your tights down until they’re sitting just around your knees.

“Aren’t you gonna take them off?” You ask him through a scoff.

“I only take off the clothes of good girls,” Jake smirks slyly from behind you. “And you’re most certainly not one of those. Are you?”

You don’t answer him, mostly because you’re hyper focused on the way the air feels cool against your cunt, the slip of your inner thighs from the arousal soaking them and the fact that Jake is the one that has caused it.

A swift smack to your ass pulls you back to him, though.

“Are you?” Jake asks again. You can see his hand drawn back through the mirror, prepared to deliver another blow.

“No,” you finally answer, not nearly loud enough.

Smack.

“Louder.” Jake demands.

“No, I-I’m not.” Your voice cracks as you raise your volume up, hoping it will suit him.

“That’s better.” Jake attaches his lips itno your shoulder, sinking his teeth into the muscles as his fingers unexpectedly slip through your folds.

“Ah, fuck!” You cry, squirming slightly at the pleasurable pain of his teeth biting just enough to leave a bruise, paired with the coolness of his fingers. You’re ever so slowly losing your own game of defiance.

“Aw, do you not like it rough, sugar plum?” Jake asks, feigning sympathy for you as he lets his fingers tease around your dripping heat.

“I- I told you I can take it,” you remind him, but it’s hardly as believable as earlier.

“Yeah?” Jake pulls his hand away from you and smacks it across your hand again, the wetness coating his fingers making it sting just a little more.

“Jake, come on,” you beg, dying for him to pay your throbbing clit some attention, even though it likely won’t be for long.

“Oh, so now she begs…” Jake scoffs, returning his fingers to your core.

Instead of going where he knows you want them the most, he slowly sinks a finger into you, curling it upwards upon hearing your whiny moan. The force at which his finger curls into, sends you lurching forward, damn near hitting your head against the glass of the mirror.

His free hand reaches up to grip at your jaw again, forcing your head up to look at him.

“How’s that feel? Hm?” He asks, voice low and gravely, like it has to travel over rocks before it reaches your ears.

Adding in a finger, the thrusts of his fingers become deeper and the sweet curl into that spot that has your knees buckling, grow harder and more intentional - hitting the same sweet spot over and over and over again.

“Goddamn, Jake…” you moan breathily, eyes fluttering closed.

“Open your fucking eyes and look at me.” Jake commands, emphasizing his words with a particularly deep thrust of his fingers.

How he’s managing to reach these untouched places inside of you, you’ll likely never know, but you don’t really care. You force your eyes open and meet his reflection. Tendrils of his hair have fallen out of his bun, framing his face so perfectly. His eyes are dark and dancing with lust and more emotions that are too entangled to place.

“You feel like you’re about to cum…” Jake observes, pulling his soaked fingers out and wrapping his arm around your waist to reach your aching and horribly neglected bundle of nerves.

The circles he’s drawing over you are quick and tight, enough to throw you into an orgasm and completely wipe your mind blank in the process. It’s almost too much pleasure.

“Not so mouthy now, are you?” Jake snaps, cracking his hand against your cunt, before returning to the dizzying circles.

You open your mouth to smart off, but the second your lips part, the most feral moan you’ve ever heard come from your own lungs, bursts right out of you.

“You’re so much more pleasant to be around when you’re moaning instead of bitching.” Jake comments, leaning in to bite at your shoulder again.

You don’t have much wriggle room this time, as his grip around your neck keeps your firmly in place as he bites all along your neck and shoulder.

“Jake!” You whimper, so close to sounding more like a sob.

You want to jerk away from his far too skilled fingers, but you don’t want to run from the earth-shattering orgasm that he’s steadily dragging you towards.

“Do not cum yet.” Jake says against your skin, but his fingers don’t stop.

“Jake, i-“

“Nope. Don’t fucking cum yet.” Jake says again in a much harsher tone.

He’s pushing you. Seeing just how much you can take, how long you can keep yourself dangling you over that steep edge before you’re crying and pleading with him to stop, because you just can’t hold it anymore.

And you’re not far from that, as hot tears sting the corners of your eyes and the knot in your belly is aching and screaming for release.

“Fuck, I can’t-“ You choke out, gripping the barre so hard that your knuckles are paper white. Even your knees have started to slightly bend, forcing Jake to bend down with you in order to not lose the contact. “I can’t, Jake! Please, just let me!”

“Fuck no.” Jake snaps, bringing his fingers to an agonizing stop before removing them from you completely. “What makes you think you’ve earned it?”

Jake’s hands abandon you and just barely, you catch sight of him pushing his own tights and underwear down to his thighs, fully revealing himself to you, hard and practically soaked with pre cum.

As much as you want to hate every bit of this, you can’t wait have him buried inside of you. The way you imagine it will feel to have him stretching you out, hitting all the perfect places inside of you, is replacing all coherent thoughts in your brain.

“Fuck,” Jake groans, stroking himself a few times. “Goddamn how did you fucking get me like this?”

Reaching forward with his opposite hand to grip your hip tightly, he lines himself up and pushes in to the hilt, his dark eyes intently watching your face contort in pleasure.

“Yeah? You like this?” Jake asks, his words slightly rushed from his own pleasure as he moves in and out of you a few times. “Can’t believe this is all I needed to do to get you to shut your pretty fucking mouth.”

All you can do is moan. You’re far too gone to come up with a good and bratty response to that. Besides, you coming to not mind the way he sounds degrading you. It’s addicting, just like his fingers and cock.

Your chest heaves with anticipation as he continues his slow thrusts. One of his hands ventures up your spine from your hip, stopping to firmly grip your shoulder for more leverage.

“You think your dancing has imperfections now?” Jake growls into your ear, his black t-shirt grazing your bare back. “Just wait until you come in and try to dance tomorrow.”

Jake pulls nearly all the way out of you before slamming himself right back in without warning, setting the most relentless pace possible.

A choked moan rips its way out of you, the pleasure of Jake’s cock pounding into you, shooting through your whole body in debilitating waves.

“Come on, sugar plum,” Jake taunts through labored breaths. “Mouth off some more. M’sure you have plenty to say now, don’t you?”

“F-Fuck you…” You force the two strangled words out through your throat, through an array of moans a high pitched whines.

Using his bruising hold on your hip and shoulder, he brings you back to meet his thrust, driving himself even deeper with each stroke.

You can feel the pleasure shooting down through your legs, all the way down to the tips of your toes - sore and likely blistered from your pointe shoes. The sensations popping up all over your body, make you feel like you’re choking on air - little hiccups of whines and ragged, loud breaths being all that makes it out of you.

Jake’s sounds of pleasure aren’t lost on you, though. The deep grunts and growls, an occasional higher whimper falling in here and there. But god, his voice… the way he talks to you. That, you’re sure, will be what drives you into the life changing high that’s finally starting to rebuild itself within you.

“Oh, my god, Jake…” You croak, wishing you could hold onto him. Sink your nails into his shoulders and run them down his back, or arms. Anything.

“Are you gonna cry for me when you cum? Huh?” Jake asks tauntingly, raising his voice slightly to ensure you hear him over your constant moans. His hand travels from your shoulder down to your cunt, and he begins swirling his fingers over your clit.

You writhe in his hold, forcing him to wrap his other arm around your waist, the palm of his hand splaying over your chest to hold you against him.

“Nuh uh, this is what you fucking wanted, so take it.” Jake growls lowly into your ear, kissing the side of your neck just below it.

It feels too good. Way too good. You’re just waiting for your body to short circuit, as Jake continues to mercilessly pound into you, expertly toying with your clit as he does so.

“Look at yourself,” Jake scoffs, sliding his hand up from your chest to your jaw. “So fucked out and pathetic. You gonna leave looking like this?” His eyes scan over the little bruises littering your shoulders and neck. “Gonna show everyone that their pretty, sweet, sugar plum is just a little whore?”

Words have completely fled from you, as have the loud moans you were emitting before. You’ve dwindled down to nothing but a constantly open mouth, with hoarse and uneven breaths panting out, makeup running and strands of hair falling out of your bun, as your orgasm slowly pulls you under.

“Ja- Jake!” You sob, a deep ache settling low in your stomach. “I- I’m s- I-…”

“Give it up, pretty. Go on…” Jake encourages, his thrusts just barely faltering as you begin fluttering around him. “F- Fucking. Give it to me.”

The orgasm that takes hold of you, nearly ravages you. It’s head-spinning, body numbing. So all consuming that your vision and hearing go out entirely, for what feels like an eternity. Your lungs burn as your body locks in place, until you’re finally able to suck in a gasping breath and release the most pornographic cry into the room. It echos and bounces around, and Jake is quickly committing it to memory.

Faintly, as Jake delivers a few more paralyzing thrusts, you can hear him cursing under his breath. Groaning as he pulls out quickly, removing his hand from around you to work himself through his own high and spilling his release over your lower back.

His fingers have yet to come to a stop over you, even through his orgasm. You frantically grab for his wrist, whining desperately as overstimulation takes you for a dizzying spin.

Barely having regained his composure, Jake turns you around, pressing his body flush against yours as he sinks his fingers into you and uses his thumb to continue working your throbbing bundle of nerves.

“Jake, please! It’s too much, please!” You beg him, more tears prickling the corners of your eyes.

“You’re a tough girl, right?” Jake mocks, kissing your cheek with a wicked smirk on his lips. “You can take one more.”

“Jacob, please!” You beg him again, unsure of how you’re even holding yourself up anymore.

“Hush.” Jake commands, watching you with dark eyes as you start fall back into another high.

Your head falls back against the glass with a soft thud, eyes screwed tightly shut and mouth hanging agape just like before.

“That’s it, sugar plum,” Jake rasps. “You’ll give me one more because I said so. Good girl.”

Those last two little words do you in. It isn’t quite as intense as the first, but it still does you in, nonetheless. Your legs tremble beneath you, the muscles in your stomach clenching as you come undone for him again.

As you come down, Jake carefully withdraws his hand from you - soaked and glistening with your release.

You watch his movements with hooded eyes, as he brings his fingers up to his mouth and sucks them clean of you.

“Like sugar…” He hums with a shit eating grin. “How fitting.”

Bending down, Jake guides your tights back up, followed by your leo - pulling it up just to your chest.

He then takes a step back from you, pulling his own tights back up over his hips, eyes never leaving your face as you watch him in slight, post-orgasm confusion.

“It’s late,” he speaks up calmly, taking slow steps backwards. “I’ll see you back here tomorrow. Same time.”

You watch him in walk away disbelief, as you attempt to follow after him on weak and shaky legs. By the time you reach him, he’s already flinging his back over his shoulder.

He turns towards you, tossing you a little jar without any warning.

Your hands shoot out to catch it just in time to save it from shattering all over the floor and upon a little examination, you read, ‘Epsom Salt’ written across a little sticky note, taped to the side.

“Might wanna soak in a nice little bath tonight,” he suggests as he heads towards the door.

You watch him pull it open and step out, still completely speechless and rightfully exhausted, your mind spinning in a whirlwind of thoughts about what the hell just happened.

“I need those to be working tomorrow.” Jake adds smugly, quickly pointing at your legs. “Oh, and cover those marks. Can’t go in to dress rehearsal tomorrow night bruised up.”

“W-What…?! I thought dress rehearsal starts the day after tomorrow?” Your sleepy eyes grow impossibly wide.

“Nope.” Jake shakes his head once. “Best be ready, huh, sugar plum?”

With that, he leaves you to be alone with l shock and insanely sore legs, wondering how the fuck you’re going to manage a full day with him and dress rehearsals, now that he’s fucked your body to the point of no return.

@ascendingtostardust @joshsindigostreak @streamsofstardust @builtbybrokenbells @shutupdevvie @gretasmokerising @stardustvanfleet @stardustcatcher @wildbluesorbit @jaketlover @of-infinite-wonders

@tripthelightfatality @vanfleeter @ofburningskies

@sunandthemoontwinflames @juliensbakery

@jakesguitarsolo @gretavanfreaky

@ageofbarbarians @gretavanfleetposts

@gvfpal @theweightofjake @alwaysonthemend

@twistedmelodies @belovedsamuel

@watchingover-hypegirl @jakes-eyebrows

@watchingovergvff @streamingcolors-gvf

@jakekiszkasbuttsweat @writingcold

@starcatcher-jake @sarakay-gvf @groovyvanfleet

@i-choose-the-road @stillstreetjoshua @doodle417 @positivegvfthings @greta-van-fics @greta-van-chaos @gretavanbitches

246 notes · View notes

tkwrites · 3 months

Text

Sarah Meets the Parents - Quinn Hughes x ofc

Photo from Pinterest. Did I crop the brothers out of this photo because I couldn't find any of Quinn with just his parents? Yes, yes I did.

Title: Sarah Meets the Parents

Author: Tory / @tkwrites

Relationship: Quinn Hughes x Sarah Roberts (OFC)

Warnings: None? If I should add any, please let me know.

Summary: As Requested, Sarah meets Ellen and Jim.

Word Count: 5,300

Comments: This fic has been in the back of my mind for so long. I originally didn’t intend for it to be it’s own Snapshot, but it was heavily requested, so here it is. I hope you enjoy!

fallinallincurls asked: i LOVED your latest quinn & sarah fic and was curious if we’ll get to see sarah meet jack & luke/his parents?? I already know i’d absolutely love that fic so much omg

dasiysthings asked: I seriously hope you’re planning a chapter/s on Sarah meeting Ellen, Jim, Luke and Jack! Because the new one meeting Brady is simply the cutest 🥰

Sarah Meets the Parents

A Quinn & Sarah Snapshot

There weren't many things Ellen could say she knew for certain, but she did know her eldest son had never been in love.

In high school, he thought he'd been in love as much as a teenager can without the maturity or full understanding of the concept. When he got to college, he dated, but every girl they met seemed to be in his life for convenience more than because of any kind of real chemistry. Then there was the mess with June. He'd been so in lust with her that he overlooked and defended all her actions to his own detriment.

Quinn had been what he thought was head over heels about her. Each time Ellen tried to bring up any concerns, he bulldozed over her worry, explaining away every bad thing June said or did. The only thing he seemed to hear when Ellen brought it up was the, “I like her,” part of the conversation, while brushing aside the follow up, “but I'm worried.”

When they met her, Quinn had been nervous, almost as if he was bracing for the worst. It was a strange thing to hear him talk about how much he liked her, while at the same time acting a bit scared of how she would react to things.

It was terrible to watch him get into that relationship, calling it love when it clearly wasn’t - at least not on June's part - and then after it finally fell apart, having to dig his way out again.

Over the past few months, she'd noticed a change in Quinn.

He called to ask her about supporting someone in grief, but didn’t tell her anything other than he was going out with someone who had lost a parent.

Since then, he’d talk about this girl - this woman - named Sarah every time they were on the phone. She naturally dropped into their conversations about what he’d been doing. After a month, she’d asked him, “Are you dating her?”

“Yeah,” he’d admitted as his cheeks went ruddy over the facetime video, “I really like her.”

Quinn often blushed - that pale skin of his didn’t hide much - but she’d never seen him blush over a girl quite like this. He seemed almost bashful.

He told her how Sarah was in grad school, and how they got along so well. He didn’t always give details, but she could see that he was happy and more settled than she'd seen him in a long time.

When Luke had called to ask her if she knew he had a girlfriend, the only thing that shocked her was that he was using that term before telling her about it. Even more so that he hadn’t told his brothers about her at all.

When she found out the title “girlfriend” had come from Brady and not from Quinn himself, and they talked about his reasoning for holding back from his brothers, it made much more sense.

Coming to Vancouver this time, she wasn’t sure if this certainty would continue to hold true or not.

On the surface, she and Jimmy were coming in to visit Quinn and hopefully see the Canucks clinch into their first playoff berth since 2020. Their first real playoff berth since the mid 2000s. Even with all that excitement, they also wanted to meet this woman Brady liked well enough to jump straight into calling Quinn's girlfriend.

Knowing things in his life had changed didn't prepare her for the shift she saw in Quinn when he picked them up from the airport.

He hopped out of the car and hugged her tightly. “I'm so glad you're here,” he said before hugging Jim and helping him load the bags.

This was the same song and dance he did every time they came to visit, but this time, Quinn had a twinkle in his eye and a spring in his step she'd never seen before. He was even humming on the drive to his condo, despite the city traffic.

They were already in different territory than they’d been with June. Quinn was a little nervous now. She could see it in the tap of his fingers on the steering wheel and the way his left knee bounced, but it wasn't that same kind of bracing nervousness it had been with June. This seemed more like the jittery nerves he used to get before a big game when he was younger. He seemed hopeful.

They talked about their flight and things back home in Michigan.

“Are we still meeting Sarah?” Jim asked. He had a way of cutting straight to the heart of a conversation. It was a skill Ellen had appreciated all their life together.

“Yeah, she's at my place,” Quinn said with this goofy little smile she didn’t see on him very often. “She was making dessert when I left.”

More than just to appease her maternal anxiety, Ellen was so interested to meet this woman who had turned her intense, hockey obsessed little boy into such a love boat.

“I think you're really going to like her,” he was saying.

If she made Quinn this happy, Ellen had no doubt she would.

Glancing at Jimmy in the back seat, she found him watching Quinn with a quiet intensity. When he noticed her gaze, he turned a reassuring smile on her.

When the door to Quinn’s apartment opened, Sarah took a deep breath, closing her eyes for a moment. This was an exciting and joyous occasion. It was also nerve wracking, sad and a little bit painful, and it was okay to hold all those things at once. She imagined welcoming each emotion into her heart and mind like Jenny, her therapist, had taught her. It was better to feel them than to stuff them down.

Treat them as visitors, she reminded herself, no emotion lasts forever.

“I’ll go get her,” she heard Quinn say.

The excitement shining in his face when Quinn came into the kitchen made her smile.

He gathered her into a quick, tight hug, “you ready?”

She tucked her face into his neck for a moment, holding him a little longer to fortify herself.

“Okay, I'm ready,” she took a step back, “I don't have anything in my teeth, do I?”

“No, you're good.”

Taking her hand, he led her into the living room where his parents were waiting, standing in front of the couch.

“Sarah,” Quinn said, finding himself less nervous than he expected, “these are my parents, Ellen and Jim. Mom, dad, this is Sarah.”

The first thing she thought was how Quinn had pieces of both his parents: Jim’s wide smile and thick chest, and Ellen's bone structure.

Ellen was lithe and strong - shaped like a woman who was an athlete all her life, even as an empty nester. Jim looked like a jovial dad - like most of her friends' fathers, like her own too - who played sports when they were younger, but were a bit more relaxed in their later years.

To Ellen, Sarah looked like the kind of girl she always hoped her boys would end up with. She had a kind smile and hopeful, smart eyes.

Quinn was obviously in love with her. He was practically glowing with it. He looked at her like she was the best, brightest thing in the room - like he’d never get bored of seeing her face. She’d never seen him look so lovestruck before. She didn’t know he even could.

“It’s so nice to meet you,” Sarah said, extending her hand, “Quinn talks about you all the time.”

Jim took her hand in both of his and gave her a friendly smile. “It’s nice to meet you too.”

Ellen bypassed her hand, and went in for a quick hug.

Quinn watched as the surprise on Sarah’s face melted into a smile as they embraced.

Feeling the nervous energy radiating off of Sarah, Ellen tried to put her more at ease. “You're so much prettier than Quinn let on,” she said as she stepped back. They’d seen pictures of her - well one picture of her. The selfie Quinn had shared with his brothers. The photo didn’t capture how blue her eyes actually were or show any of her curvy figure.

“Oh, thank you,” she said, a flush glowing on her cheeks.

The conversation lulled and Quinn jumped in. “Well, dinner’s ready if you’re hungry,” he said, gesturing over his shoulder, “or we can relax for a while before we eat.”

“I’m famished,” Jim said, holding a hand to his stomach.

“Then let's eat.”

As they settled around the table, Ellen took note of the way Sarah helped Quinn bring out dishes before finally settling into the seat on his left.

“So, Sarah,” Jim said once they'd all dished up, “Quinn tells us you golf.”

She swallowed quickly, nodding. “Yeah, my dad taught all of us when we were young. We went every Sunday as a family until I left for college.”

“I bet you’re pretty good then.”

“I’m decent,” she said with a shrug.

Quinn rolled his eyes. “She shot the lights out and beat us all last weekend. Petey included.”

She gave a smile to her dinner plate, but didn’t deny it or try to placate Quinn’s feelings. Ellen instantly liked that about her.

“What does your dad do?”

“Ma,” Quinn cut in, an exasperated look on his face.

Sarah lay a hand over his, “it’s fine.” Looking back to Ellen, she said, “my dad was an aerospace engineer, but he passed away four years ago.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” she said, shaking her head, “I forgot Quinn told us.”

“Thank you, but it’s really fine. I don’t expect everyone to remember - it’s just part of life.”

While Sarah took the faux pa with grace, Quinn was a little embarrassed his mom didn’t remember.

“And you’re getting your PhD?” Jim asked.

“I’m not quite to that level,” she said with a self-deprecating laugh. “Just my masters. You really only need a doctorate if you want to teach and that's not really something I'm interested in.”

“In Marine Biology?”

“Zoology,” she corrected, “they’re similar fields, but we focus solely on the animal kingdom rather than ocean life as a whole.”

“I bet that’s fascinating,” Ellen said.

“I think it is, but I’ve always loved the ocean.”

“So what will you do with that degree?”

“Mostly work in aquariums, but there’s some work in conservation, which I feel really passionately about, so I’d prefer that.” She paused for a moment before continuing, “Ellen, Quinn told me you're working with the national women's hockey team, that must be really cool.”

Ellen had come into this dinner thinking she would have to drive the conversion like she had with most of the girls her boys dated. It was a refreshing change of pace to find Sarah willing to do part of the work.

“Yeah. It's nice to step into that coaching role formally for the first time. It's really amazing to see how far the sport has come for women.”

“Oh, I bet,” Sarah said. “I started following the new women's league after I met Quinn and it's cool to see them play on such a big stage.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, I hardly knew anything about hockey when we met. So I started reading articles, and I subscribed to The Athletic, and I know a little more now. It's a whole world I'm still trying to figure out.”

The dedication that showed was impressive.

“You'd never watched hockey before?” Jim asked.

“I mean, I'm sure my dad had it on during the Olympics, but I never paid that much attention to it.”

“Remind me where you're from?”

“Nevada.”

“I bet there weren't many opportunities for you to see hockey when you were a kid.”

“No,” she laughed.

When dinner wound down, Sarah got up to clear the table.

“You don’t need to do that,” Ellen said. “You helped with the meal.”

“You all haven’t seen each other in so long. I’ll take care of the dishes while you catch up,” she said, reaching under Jims protesting arm to lift his plate.

Ellen smiled gratefully at her and tried to think if any of her boys had dated such thoughtful women before.

Glad for a moment alone to gather her thoughts and emotions, Sarah loaded the dishwasher before finishing the tart.

Surprisingly, the sadness she'd expected to feel never came. At least, not as strongly as she'd braced for. It seemed the build up and worry were worse. Instead, nerves sparked and fizzed in her stomach.

Before he'd left for the airport, Quinn had reassured her she didn’t have anything to worry about. While Ellen seemed especially friendly, she had a harder time reading Jim, who seemed to hold his cards closer to his chest.

At the very least, it was going better than when she met her college boyfriend's parents, who outright told her she was too good for their son while he sat across the dinner table. To this day, it was the most backhanded compliment she’d ever been given. It told her so much about his home life and explained the snide remarks he would make when she made a mistake or did something differently than he expected. She’d ended the relationship shortly thereafter.

As she arranged the raspberries, she hoped Ellen and Jim actually liked her, and weren’t just putting on a show to her face.

“I like her, Quinny,” his mom said when he asked what they thought.

He beamed.

“I can tell she’s very driven.”

“Yeah,” Quinn agreed. “I like that about her.”

“I just worry -”

His smile slipped a bit.

“You work in such different fields, and lead such different lives.”

“So?”

“Well, I mean, what happens if you get traded somewhere where you’re not near the ocean?”

“I hadn’t really thought that far ahead. I’ve been so focused on making the playoffs,” he admitted. Plus, he had three more years in Vancouver and would gladly stay longer if it was still a good fit.

“Like I said, I like her. She seems really sweet and I can tell you like each other a lot, but I want you to pay attention to some of the things that might not be all sunshine and rainbows down the road. Relationships are about compromise, and I'm worried some of the compromises you may have to make might cause more of an impact than you’re used to.”

“Yeah, those are some good points," Quinn agreed. "I’ll talk with her about it.” He knew this honeymoon phase would end eventually. They were four weeks from the playoffs and three weeks from her finals. The next month would be a test, that was for sure.

A relieved smile slid onto Ellen's face. He was being far more mature about this than he had when she expressed hesitations about June. Some of the worry uncoiled in her chest.

“What do you think, dad?”

“She’s very pretty.”

“And?”

“And what?”

“She’s pretty? That’s all you have to say?”

“I don’t know, Q. I just met her. She’s pretty. She seems very smart.”

Quinn dropped it. His dad would tell him what he thought eventually, but trying to pry an opinion out of him before he was ready was fruitless.

All the same, Jim lit up when Sarah came in with the chocolate tart.

“That looks delicious,” he said. “What's in it?”

“It's a chocolate cream mousse over a layer of caramel in a dark chocolate and almond crust. The raspberries on top help to cut some of the richness.”

“That sounds delicious.”

Ellen took a bite, and felt her eyes flutter closed, “Sarah, this is divine.”

“Thank you. It was my dads favorite.”

Quinn put a comforting hand on her knee.

“It’s going to be dangerous to have this in the house,” Jim said, joking.

“Oh, I can take it to school tomorrow if you don’t want it around,” she offered.

“I’m not sure I’m willing to give it up.”

She laughed, and Quinn shot her a quick, reassuring grin.

“Are you free tomorrow before the game?” Ellen asked when Sarah announced she should probably head home.

“Well, I have class in the morning, and then I’m at the aquarium until three, but I’m free afterward.”

“I was thinking about getting a manicure and wondered if you wanted to go together.”

“Oh, I can’t do manicures because my hands are always in the tanks.”

Ellen felt her hesitations go up. When she had asked June this same thing, June had shot her down, telling her she’d just had her nails done. She didn't seem to catch the subtext of wanting to spend some time together without the boys around.

“But I would love to get a pedicure if that might work?”

“That sounds great. We can do that and then meet Jim for dinner and all go to the game together.”

“That sounds really nice.” she said before yawning, “I’m sorry, I was up at 5 this morning to study for an exam. I’ve got to get home.”

“I’ll drive you,” Quinn offered, slipping a protective arm around her.

He told his parents, who were sharing a silent conversation with their eyes, he'd be back and led Sarah down to the parking garage.

As soon as they were in his car, he asked, “so, what do you think?”

“They’re really nice,” she said. “I can’t tell if your dad likes me or not, though.”

“That's just Jim,” he assured, reaching over to lace their fingers together. “He doesn't like most people when he meets them, but he'll come around.”

They were quiet for a while as Quinn brushed his thumb over her palm. Finally, he asked, "you okay?"

The very fact that he was checking in made her swoon a little.

"Yeah. It actually wasn't that bad. I mean, I miss them, but it wasn't as painful as I expected."

He squeezed her hand, "I'm glad."

"Thank you for checking."

Briefly taking his eyes off the road, he cast a startled look in her direction. "Why wouldn't I check in?"

"I don't know, just," she matched their fingertips together, gently pushing to move his, "it's just really nice to be seen."

He understood that. Sarah saw pieces of him most of the world didn't. With her, he wasn't Quinn Hughes, hockey prodigy. He was just Quinn, and she liked all the quieter parts of him, too.

"I'll see you tomorrow," he said as he pulled up to her building.

Leaning over the console, she kissed him goodbye, lingering a little longer than usual.

"See you tomorrow," she echoed once she pulled away.

He watched her walk into the building before driving home.

The following afternoon, Sarah had to race across town as soon as she was off work to make the appointment Ellen had set up at a ritzy spa downtown.

“I’m so sorry,” she said, blustering into the waiting area, “the train was late, and I was…I got here as fast as I could.”

“It’s fine,” Ellen said, giving her a quick squeeze before walking to the desk to let the attendant know everyone in their party had arrived.

They got changed into their robes and were seated in some fancy chairs above marble foot basins. Sarah had never done anything this lavish. She went to get pedis with her mom and sister, but that was always down at the salon in the mall.

“Have you come here before?”

“Only once, but it was so lovely, I’ve thought about coming back every time we visit.”

“It’s very nice.”

Ellen hadn’t failed to notice the way Sarah's eyes popped when they walked into the serene pedicure room. A part of her was relieved she wasn't used to such luxury.

“It’s a little more opulent than what I’m used to back home,” Ellen admitted with a little laugh, “but it’s nice for a special occasion.”

Sarah felt herself relax.

Since the night before, Ellen felt a bit like she'd stepped into some kind of time warp. She'd glanced away from her oldest son, and when she looked back, everything in his life had changed. Even the phone calls and facetimeing hadn’t prepared her for the way Sarah was in Quinn’s life in what already seemed like such a permanent way.

Instead of watching their relationship bloom like she had with Luke and Kylee, who had followed a natural progression that was easy to track as they went from friends, to dating, and now long distance with Kylee already making plans to move to New Jersey when she graduated from Michigan, she was coming into something nearly fully formed.

She was glad for this time alone to get to know Sarah a little more.

“So, tell me about your research.”

Sarah explained about Walter and how the hormone testing was going. She was writing a publication on it for her grant writing class that semester, and hoped to have it published in a scientific journal.

“That sounds really interesting.”

“It is. It’s wild to see how he reacts to those small changes. It’s really rewarding to gather results with such traceable data.”

“I bet. What do you do for fun?”

“I honestly don’t have a lot of free time. Between school and work and spending time with Quinn, there’s not much leftover, but I really like reading, and I like to golf and hike when I can.”

“You don’t do any ocean sports?”

“I surfed casually when I was in Hawaii, but the water’s so cold here, I haven’t picked it up again.”

“You lived in Hawaii?”

“For about two years. I was working with a conservation non-profit. That’s where my love for the ocean really bloomed.”

“We’re going this summer. You’ll have to give us some recommendations.”

They talked for a long time about their vacation. Sarah promised to write up a list of suggestions. Ellen wondered if she might be joining them. Kylee was staying home, but that was because of a prior engagement on her part.

“And Quinn’s been treating you well?” she asked, bracing for the response. Not that she expected Sarah to be totally truthful to her face.

“Oh, yes,” she said, not missing a beat. “He's the best guy I've ever dated.”

“Really?” The realistic side of her never expected to hear that. Ellen knew her sons. She knew how they could be selfish and too competitive and too focused on hockey.

“Yeah. I mean, he gets in his head sometimes, but I do too. I was just thinking last night about how he's just the most caring person. I've never met someone so driven that's so kind and dedicated to the people in his life.”

The sincere look in Sarah's face told her just how truthful that statement was. It was the fulfillment of so many of her motherhood goals all at once, Ellen nearly teared up. “I'm really glad to hear that.”

Sarah smiled, and fiddled with the robe tie around her waist.

“Have you talked to the boys yet?” Ellen asked, even though she knew the answer.

“The boys?”

“My other boys, Jack and Luke?”

“Oh, yeah, we talked over facetime last week,” Sarah said.

“Was it okay?” Ellen asked, picking up on the hesitation in her tone.

“I think so? Jack seemed kind of closed off, which, from the way Quinn talks about him, I didn’t really expect.”

“I think that’s probably Quinn’s fault. He didn’t tell them about you until you met Brady, and usually he would have, so I think Jack’s feeling a little put out.”

“I didn't…why didn't he tell them?” she asked, wondering if perhaps he was embarrassed and wanted to make sure Brady approved before he was willing to share her with his family.

“I think you should probably ask Quinn that, but it had a lot to do with June. I don't think he totally trusted himself after they broke up. Jack will come around once he sees how happy you and Quinn are together,” she assured.

Sarah felt herself blush. Hearing Ellen, even indirectly, acknowledge how happy they were, felt like a mountain climbed, like a battle conquered.

At the end of the appointment, Ellen laughed when Sarah pulled her own sandals out of her robe pockets to wear while the polish dried in lieu of the spa supplied slides she was wearing.

“I have this weird thing about wearing shoes that aren’t mine,” she said, slipping on the Birkenstocks. “I know they’re sanitary, but it’s just,” she shuddered, “gross to me.”

After they changed, Ellen beat Sarah out to the reception desk. Sarah pulled her wallet out but Ellen shushed her gently, “it's my treat.”

“Thank you. That's so nice.”

Jim picked them up and drove to a restaurant near the arena Sarah recommended.

As they settled into the booth, Sarah on one side, and Jim and Ellen on the other, she told them, “I like this place because they have a testing menu, so there’s always something new and interesting. I’ve never had anything bad here.”

They talked throughout. Sarah asked Jim about his consulting job, and he explained what he did and how his coaching career helped him get there. Ellen explained more of what she was doing with the women's hockey program.

Even though it was a bit strange and a big step to have dinner with Quinn’s parents without him less than twenty four hours after they met, Sarah was glad to have some time to talk and get to know them a little more. Jim, especially, seemed more friendly.

At the end of the meal, Sarah tapped her card to the payment device before either of them could jump in.

“You didn’t need to do that,” Ellen protested after the waiter walked away.

“You’re guests, you shouldn’t have to pay,” Sarah said.

Also, she wasn’t sixteen. She didn’t need her boyfriend's parents to pay for everything.

When they got to their seats, Jim made sure Sarah was sitting between them. He usually would have put Ellen in the middle, but if she was, he wouldn’t get to talk with Sarah at all.

He wasn’t blind. He saw the way Quinn looked at her, and knew if he had anything to say about it, Sarah would be in their lives for a long time. He needed to bite the bullet and get to know her now.

They made some small talk, but once the game started, Sarah watched with a quiet intensity.

“You look a little confused,” he said, noticing Sarah's furrowed brow half way through the first period.

“I’m…” she paused, “I am.”

“What are you confused about?”

“I can look it up when we go to a commercial break,” she said, not wanting to be an inconvenience.

“I can answer you questions,” he offered.

“Okay,” she said, “but let me know if I'm talking too much.”

“How are you going to learn if you don't ask?” Ellen asked.

“I just…I don’t want to overwhelm you, or take you out of the game.”

Jim smiled, “we’ll let you know if you ask too many questions,” he assured. Most girlfriends he met would just watch, occasionally making comments. It was refreshing that Sarah wanted to understand Quinn's work so much.

When she smiled at him, he saw a flash of what had drawn Quinn to her. She was very pretty, but those bright, intelligent eyes made him want to talk to her. It was as if he knew she would be smart and interesting before she even said a word.

“Okay, so as I understand it, Dallas is running a 2-1-2 forecheck, right?”

Jim blinked and looked at Ellen, who was mirroring his startled expression.

“Right,” he said, confused as to where this was headed. Usually, when he had to explain the rules to someone new to hockey, their first question wasn’t about play strategy.

“So what I don’t understand is why the Canucks aren’t responding in kind. Wouldn’t it make sense to forecheck man to man?”

“Well, firstly, when you’re chasing the other team down, it's referred to as backchecking.”

“Okay, that makes sense."

He continued, “and it doesn’t always make sense to defend man to man. A lot of it depends on the way the coach wants the team to play."

“Okay, so can you explain the Canucks backchecking strategy to me?”

“You know,” Jim said instead of getting into the very complicated reasoning behind play selection, “when you said you had questions, I expected them to be about icing or something.”

“Oh, I asked Quinn and read the rules,” she said, flipping a hand, “I understand most of them now. I just don’t get the coach's motivation sometimes.”

He laughed, “Welcome to being a hockey fan.”

Some of her worry eased at his laughter. Of course Quinn was right. He knew his own family best.

They continued talking through the game. Jim was impressed with the ferocity at which Sarah wanted to understand. She knew more than most of the girls his kids had dated in the past, but it was fairly obvious she got most of her knowledge from reading. Sometimes, when play went into a gray area, she would make a noise in her throat as if that would scold the refs into calling by the book. Even when Quinn ended up in the penalty box for a cross check most of the stadium was up in arms about, she watched the replay, shrugged and said, “I think that call was probably justified.”

Even though the Canucks lost in overtime, it still gave them one of the three points they needed to get to the finals. The whole stadium was buzzing with possibility and hope.

They all left together and Ellen drove her home. When she kissed Quinn goodbye in the back seat, Sarah tried not to feel like an awkward teen getting chaperoned, as if they couldn't be trusted on their own.

Getting back to the condo, Jim was glad for some time alone with Quinn. These moments after big games were something he cherished now that they happened so infrequently.

“You guys really rallied back in the third to get that extra point. I'm proud of you."

“Thanks dad.”

They talked about and dissected the game over another slice of Sarah’s chocolate tart before Quinn asked, “how was dinner?”

“Good,” Ellen said, “though I wish she would have let us pay. She just kind of swooped in and took the bill.”

“She does that sometimes,” Quinn said.

Truthfully, he always hated when she did. He knew she didn’t have a ton of money, and he had more than he knew what to do with.

When he brought it up, she’d shushed him with a comment about being able to pull her own weight.

“She does it with you too?”

“Yeah, she talks about wanting to balance out.”

It was refreshing to find Sarah so independent. Jim didn’t worry about how she would fill her time when Quinn was on the road, or that she was only interested in him because of deep pockets or a ticket to fame.

“I don’t really know how you got her,” Jim said, “but I’m glad you did. She’s a really great girl.”

Quinn beamed, knowing it was the truth.

“I do think your mom’s right, though. You two need to have some conversations about the future. Set some expectations.”

“Yeah, I’ll talk with her about it.”

"You should invite her to the Reunion," his mom said, almost off handedly.

If they wanted her at the family reunion that summer, they saw the same potential he did.

"Okay, I will."

Want more Quinn & Sarah? Check out the Snapshots Masterlist

To read all my fics, check out the Fanfiction Masterlist

#quinn & sarah snapshots #quinn hughes #quinn hughes fic #quinn hughes x oc #quinn hughes imagine #quinn hughes fan fic #quinn hughes fanfiction #quinn hughes x ofc #nhl fanfiction #nhl imagine #hockey fic #hockey fanfiction #hockey romance

196 notes · View notes