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fortheloveofwonderland · 2 months

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Rusty | Chapter 9 | S.R

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Chapter Summary - You and Spencer embark on a night on the town and things grow awkward fast when you met a handsome stranger. Spencer’s jealousy leaves him determined to show what he’s capable of. But even that doesn’t go quite to plan.

Pairing - Spencer Reid / Fem! Reader

Category - strangers to friends to lovers | angst | smut minors DNI

Warnings - drinking, smoking, making out, swearing, jealous Spencer, tears, mild argument, erectile issues, fingering, titty sucking, coming untouched, coming in pants, vomit, build up to dissociation.

WC - 6.3k

Chapter 9 - A Cowboys Cowgirl

Spencer sat on the porch as the sun dipped beneath the horizon, jabbing his finger at the screen of his new phone. It had no buttons, just a large touchscreen. It unlocked by reading his face and didn’t have the same kind of tactile quality he was used to in a phone.

Unfortunately, they simply didn’t make devices like his old one and he’d had to settle for this iPhone, for which he had no idea how to use.

You’d somehow managed to sort it so it could keep the same number and magically transferred all of his existing contacts onto it. It all went over Spencer’s head and he stopped questioning it.

Now he was attempting to send Garcia a text message after receiving one from her, positively disbelieving he had spoken to both Luke and Morgan but wouldn’t answer her calls.

It took him nearly twenty minutes to write a reply, his fingers not dexterous enough to figure out the touch screen keyboard. As he finally corrected all of the spelling mistakes and hit send, he heard the door to your lodge open.

He was hesitant to go along with you to the 11th Street Bar for multiple reasons. For starters, bars were not fun when sober, not that he’d ever particularly enjoyed them when he did drink either. Then there was the fact that in two years he’d never interacted with these people and according to you they already thought him rude. He didn’t like socialising, why could no one understand that?

He pushed himself up from the chair, his knee aching slightly but the pain was lessening. You locked the door to the lodge before gliding down the stairs and down the path until you were closing in on him.

It was only when you were in front of him that he could fully appreciate you and he felt a lump begin to form in his throat as he took you in. You wore a floral, off the shoulder dress which stopped at your knees and showed more skin than he ever dreamed of seeing. Pairing it with your red riding boots and you looked almost like a local, the epitome of a cowgirl.

You also looked absolutely ravishing. Spencer’s raging heart was trying to beat its way out of his chest to show you exactly how divine he thought you looked. But his slack jaw and wide eyes said enough and you blanched a little, tilting your head to the side.

“What?” You scuffed your boot in the dirt. “Never seen a genu-wine cowgirl before?” You impersonated a southern drawl.

“I…I, uh…” he cleared his throat. “Sorry, you just…you look…jeez Y/N.”

You giggled at his inability to form a coherent sentence. You had rendered him speechless.

“Well you know, I want to fit in around these parts.” You swung your hips side to side, the dress billowing around you as you did so. “Don’t look so bad yourself, stud.”

Spencer felt his cheeks flush red, the heat quickly spreading down his neck. He still wore his black jeans, the ones he’d noticed you checking him out in yesterday. He also dusted off an old button down from back in his BAU days, in a dark purple colour.

He tucked it into his jeans and left the top few buttons undone. He spent a long time taming his hair and forewent a stetson once he was happy with how it looked.

“Uh, thanks.” He rolled his lip between his teeth.

“Gonna make being friends with you real hard if you keep looking at me like that.” You smirked at him, still impersonating that thick Texas twang.

“Just get in the car, okay?” He shook his head, trying to ignore the way your outfit made him quiver.

You hid your amusement by turning towards the car, Spencer following behind. You paused at the driver’s door.

“Just gotta grab something from the trunk, jump in.” You called over the hood and Spencer nodded before cautiously sliding into the passenger’s seat.

Once he closed his door you sidled around to the trunk and opened it. You glanced up through the car to make sure he wasn’t looking before you lifted the trunk lining.

Hidden away in the empty shell that had once held a spare tyre was a black duffle bag. You quickly unzipped, revealing the wads and wads of bills concealed inside. You grabbed a couple of twenties and folded them, stuffed them in the side of your left boot before zipping the bag and secreting it back away under the trunk lining.

Soon you were hurrying around to the driver’s seat like nothing had happened.

***

The discomfort distended to every single one of his nerve endings the moment the two of you stepped inside the 11th Street Bar. The place was packed and all eyes were instantly on you.

As you sauntered inside you were met by wolf whistles and catcalls and it made Spencer feel incredibly protective of you even though it wasn’t his place.

He watched their hungry gazes linger on your bare legs and bare shoulders and move onto your clothed breasts and backside.

It made a pit form in his chest, more so when you sent smiles and winks across the room in various directions.

He wanted to blanket you, both physically and metaphorically. He wanted those animals to stop staring at you this way. He wanted you to stop enjoying the attention so much.

He followed you like a stray dog towards the bar, where you leaned on the counter, no doubt giving the balding bartender an eyeful of your cleavage.

“Well looky here, if it ain’t Miss Lizzie come back to join us.” The old man hissed as he spoke. “Lookin’ mighty fine tonight if I do say so too.”

“What, this old thing?” You glanced down at your dress before waving a dismissive hand at him.

Spencer felt more out of place than he ever had done in his life. This was quite honestly the last place he ever wanted to be.

Sensing the presence hovering behind you, the bartenders gaze lifted over your head to where Spencer awkwardly stood.

“And if it isn’t Cosmo, gracing us with his presence.” The older man scoffed. “Nice of you to finally show your face round here.”

Spencer swallowed, chewing on his lip.

“His names, Spencer and be nice.” You clucked. “Spencer, this is Cole.”

“What can I get ya missy?” Cole ignored the introduction and looked back at you. “No more of my home brew I hope.”

“Definitely not.” You shook your head. “I will take a shot of tequila and a beer though.”

“What’ll you have, Cosmo?” His eyes shot back up to Spencer.

“Uh, a ginger ale?” He posed it as a question.

Cole pulled a face of disdain and shook his head.

“Ain’t ever met a sober cowboy in all my life.” Cole muttered, turning away to get your drinks.

You felt Spencer’s hand on your shoulder, turning you to face him.

“I hate it here.” He whined. “Can’t we just go home and you can drink that bottle of scotch?”

“I want to stay. I like it here. You can go if you want.” You shrugged, turning back to face the bar.

Turning your back on him. You were turning your back on him.

“You think I’m going to leave you here with all these creeps staring at you?” He moved closer to you, his chest pressed into your back and he spoke against the shell of your ear. “There is not a man in this bar who doesn’t want to sleep with you.”

“Hmm,” you hummed, not turning back to him. “Might just be some guys lucky night then.”

Spencer felt the pit in his stomach grow larger, his heart practically falling into the open chasm. He put his hand on your shoulder again, skin against skin, and spun you slightly roughly back to look at him.

“Don’t make jokes like that.” He growled.

“Who’s joking?” You shook him off with a frown of impatience. “Just because you don’t want to bed me, doesn’t mean someone else can’t, Cosmo.”

Spencer’s mouth fell open, somewhat hurt at your crude summation of your fleeting relationship. Is that really what you thought? Did you really believe he didn’t want to? If only it were that simple.

He wished he didn’t want you so much. It would be far easier for him to not want you with a white hot desire. It had nothing to do with not wanting you, he just couldn’t have you. Not in that way.

When he couldn’t form any words of response, you spoke again, folding your arms over your chest.

“We’re just friends, Spencer. You made that perfectly clear. So as far as I’m concerned, I can do whatever the hell I want. You wanna hang around? Fine. You wanna go home? Also fine. But I’m staying.” You spat, once again turning your back on him as Cole brought your drinks back over.

You were quick to down the tequila before thanking him with a flirtatious smile and paying him with a bill from inside your boot. You practically shoved Spencer’s ginger ale into his hand before brushing past him with your beer.

Cole was looking at him, an odd expression on his features. Spencer felt uncomfortable under his gaze.

“Girl’s a heartbreaker.” Cole shrugged after a while. “Knew it the minute I laid eyes on ‘er. Careful how you tread there.”

With those sage words, Cole was walking away to serve his next customer, leaving Spencer reeling.

***

Two hours later Spencer had procured a table for himself but you wouldn’t stay still long enough to join him. The more tequila you drank, the more energy you seemed to have and you appeared to talk to everyone in the bar but him.

He was still nursing the same ginger ale, feeling much like a spare part. He deliberately missed two calls from Luke, staring at the device as it rang in his hand. He’d hoped after they spoke yesterday Luke would stop with the incessant phone calls. Spencer had half a mind to block his number. He didn’t want it to come to that, but something had to give.

He ignored his phone after a while and watched the way you worked the room. The whole bar was eating out of the palm of your hand, hanging off you every word. You were undeniably in your element.

And it only went to further Spencer’s belief that the two of you were from completely different worlds.

***

You lit a cigarette and meandered out the back of the bar for some fresh air, which you didn’t miss the irony of. The large rear garden of the 11th Street establishment was about five times the size of the inside, with a stage at one end and even an outside bar.

You leaned up against the nearest wall, the tequila pulsing through your veins and offering you that blissful tipsy sensation. You sucked on the cigarette and observed the goings on around you.

You’d managed to hide yourself in plain sight. No one would ever think to look for you in this little backwoods town. You’d taken all the necessary precautions, didn’t leave a paper trail.

The car parked outside was the fourth you’d stolen on your journey. Take one, drive it for a distance, abandon it and then find another far enough away from the first they wouldn’t be tied together.

You’d picked up this car just outside of Shreveport, Louisiana. You’d broken into a junkyard for this particular vehicle as it was likely they may never notice it was missing. You changed the plates just in case.

The money in the trunk had been procured from your mother’s safe which not even her scumbag second husband knew about. She’d kept the nest egg of cash ever since you were a little girl and only you knew the combination.

“It’s for a rainy day, Y/N. One day I won’t be around anymore and I want to make sure you have everything you could ever need.”

It was as though she’d envisioned something bad happening to her. When she married the second time, he’d convinced her to put all of her savings into a bank account under his name effectively meaning you’d never see a dime.

But he didn’t know about the safe.

You’d taken a bunch of your late mother’s clothes too, brought a few more items with the cash, including the dress you wore now. Only ever cash, couldn’t leave a trail.

Bandera might not have been your first choice of hideout but you couldn’t deny it had its perks, and you were certain no one would ever find you here.

And if they did, you would simply run again.

You took another drag on the cigarette as a tall, dark and handsome stranger headed your way. Although on closer inspection he wasn’t entirely a stranger to you.

The man wore all blue denim, a large eagle on his belt buckle, bolo tie and black stetson. He was smiling at you as he approached.

“Hey there little lady,” he stopped in front of you, hands on his hips. “Don’t I know you from somewhere?”

“You work at Busbees? I think I saw you there yesterday.” You batted your eyelashes at him.

“Oh, you’re the big tipper.” He chuckled. “I never forget a big tipper. Or a pretty face.”

“Elizabeth.” You held out your hand.

“Charmed,” he took your hand, brought it to his lips and kissed your knuckles. “Grant.”

Without warning he plucked your cigarette from your fingers and took a long drag on it. He sucked in the smoke and spoke again as he exhaled it.

“Things’ll kill ya.” He chuckled.

“Live fast, die young.” You shrugged.

“Leave a good lookin’ corpse?” He laughed too, a deep, vibrating sound.

“Certainly appealing.” You agreed.

He took another drag on the cigarette before placing it back between your lips. His thumb brushed along your bottom lip as he did so. It lingered there for a moment or two, while you took your own drag.

Removing it from your mouth, you held it between your fingers as you blew smoke over his head. You leaned further back against the wall, puffing your chest out. He took a step closer to you and you didn’t mind at all.

You caught the scent of a musky cologne as he drew closer.

“I don’t mean to forward ma’am but you are hotter than a firecracker that’s been lit at both ends.” His lip quipped into a smirk.

You shuddered, the hunger in his eyes causing your legs to shake. You inhaled sharply as his hand came to rest on your cheek.

“Imma kiss you now, if that’s okay with you, little lady?”

You whimpered but couldn’t speak, so instead you nodded. Grant chuckled as he leaned in closer. His lips soon crashed against yours, his whole body pinning you to the wall.

You dropped the forgotten cigarette on the floor and wrapped your arms around his neck. He kissed you fiercely, deeply. Your legs trembled at the sensation.

His hand that wasn’t on your face ran up your thigh and you moaned into his lips. And Spencer Reid was the furthest thing from your mind.

***

Spencer finally decided he’d had enough when two old twins who called themselves Boone and Butch invited themselves to sit with him. They proceeded to mock him on everything from his clothes, his hair, his accent, even his ‘city boy good looks’. He’d eventually excused himself to go in search of you.

The bar was small and it only took a few minutes to ascertain you weren’t inside. He pushed his way out the back door and breathed in the fresh air. It took only moments to find you, pressed up against a wall by another body who was kissing you with force.

One hand was on your thigh, beneath your dress and Spencer swore his blood froze in his veins. His brain must have short circuited because normally he wouldn’t have been so bold as to square up to a man of his size, but he found himself marching over and grabbing the large shoulder of the man kissing you and tugging him backwards.

“What the hell are you doing?” Spencer raised his voice, glaring at you and your kiss swollen lips.

You wiped the back of your hand over your mouth, chest heaving.

“What am I doing? What are you doing?” You spat. “What the fuck is your problem?”

“Spencer?” The man spoke up, looking between you and him in heavy confusion.

Spencer tensed, slowly turning back to face the man whose lips were equally as puffy as yours. He hadn’t recognised him by the back of his head and now he wanted the ground to swallow him whole.

“G-Grant?” Spencer croaked.

“You know each other?” You took a step away from the wall. “I didn’t think you had any friends around here?”

“We’re not friends.” Grant spat, folding his muscular arms over his broad chest. “How do you know each other?”

“I asked first.” You cocked your head to the side.

Spencer was unable to speak, paralysed by the unfortunate situation he had found himself in.

“He asked me on a date and stood me up.” Grant hissed.

“Oh…oh.” You looked between both men. “Well this is sufficiently awkward. Looks like we have the same taste in men, Spence.”

Spencer reddened, averting his gaze to the floor and wanting to crawl into a dark crevice somewhere and never come out.

“Are you two…?” Grant frowned at the two of you.

“Friends.” You finished for him. “Isn’t that right, Spencer. We’re just friends. Which is why you had no right to march over here and tear us apart.”

“I really don’t want to be a part of this conversation.” Spencer mumbled to the floor.

“Maybe you should have thought of that before you interfered. Why, Spencer? Why did you interrupt us?” You took a step closer to him.

“Please,” he looked back at you, eyes full of torment. “Please can we not do this here.”

“I ain’t looking to step on any toes, I didn’t realise y’all were-”

“Friends.” You barked, cutting Grant off. “We’re fucking friends.”

Without warning you shoved Spencer backwards by his shoulders, the sudden touch causing him to flinch. But you didn’t notice it because you were already storming away. Spencer huffed out a breath and dared to glance at Grant who was looking at him in something close to pity.

“If I were you,” Grant clapped a hand on Spencer’s shoulder, again causing him to recoil. “I’d go after her.”

“Duly noted.” Spencer groaned. “But can I just say…” he trailed off for a moment to gather his thoughts. “I should have apologised. I really am sorry for standing you up. I got here and I just couldn’t make it inside. I wanted to, I really did. But, uh, I’m honestly terrible at dating and I freaked myself out. I should have apologised, I wish I had. And I’m sorry.”

Grant inhaled sharply through his nose, clearly not expecting that from him. He let his arms fall to his sides and offered Spencer a melancholy smile.

“You hush your mouth, it's water under the bridge.” He shrugged his broad shoulders. “Listen ‘ere Spencer. There ain’t a pot too crooked that a lid won’t fit, you get me?”

“Not in the slightest.” Spencer shook his head.

Grant chortled deeply, slapping his palm on his knee while Spencer simply stared at him, brows pinched.

“Layman's terms: there’s somebody out there for everyone. Don’t you go thinking there ain’t. Whatever it is you been through, ‘cos you have been through somethin’, don’t write yourself off. Go after your lady.” He patted Spencer’s shoulder again and Spencer winced.

He wanted to argue with Grant but it was completely pointless. Instead he forced a smile and nodded before turning on his heels.

He made it back out the front of the bar without incident and found you kicking around the dirt with the toe of your boot.

“You don’t get to do this.” You spat, arms wrapped around your body like a shield. “If you want me you can have me. If you don’t let me go.”

Spencer shuffled down the front steps, ambling towards you.

“I really wish it were that simple.” He reached you and cupped your jaw in his good hand, leaning in and resting his forehead against yours. “I want you but I can’t give you everything, there’s a huge part of me I just can’t give you. And you deserve the whole world, Y/N. I want you to have it all. But selfishly I don’t want you to have that with another man.”

“Why don’t you let me be the judge of what I do or do not deserve? Spencer, I didn’t want to kiss that guy. I did it because I wanted a rise out of you. I want you to want me.” You felt tears spring to your eyes.

“Let me be clear here,” he moved his hand to your cheek. “I have wanted you since the moment I laid eyes on you. This has nothing to do with that.”

“I’ve never felt like this about someone before.” You confessed. “And I barely know anything about you. I don’t care if you can’t tell me your life story, I don’t even care if you don’t want to have sex with me! I just want…I want someone to care.”

A few tears escaped your eyes and Spencer brushed them away with his thumb. His breath was hot on your face and his forehead was a little sweaty against yours.

“I do care,” he admitted. “Too much considering I barely know you either. I don’t want you making out with other guys. But it’s unfair of me to ask that of you.”

“Spencer?” You whispered.

“Yes, Y/N?” He replied in equally hushed tones.

“Do you have any kind of proclivity towards me making out with you?”

He hissed, his body quaking at the mere thought.

“Right now?” He breathed. “I have an extreme proclivity towards it.”

And then his lips were on yours, chapped and rough just as you remembered. His tongue was quickly plunging into your mouth and he held you so close as though afraid you would disappear.

It grew exceptionally heated in a matter of seconds and you wanted to tear all of his clothes off right there in the middle of the street. He guided you back towards your car without breaking the kiss and soon you felt your back pressing against the side of the vehicle.

When he did end the kiss, his pupils were blown out wide with lust.

Not another word was shared between you. You handed him the keys silently and you both climbed into the car. In the passenger’s seat you had to clamp your thighs together as a heat spread through you.

You hoped that by the time you made it back to the ranch he hadn’t let himself overthink this.

***

He tensed up when he invited you into his lodge, hands shaking as he opened the door and closed it behind him. His nerves were written all over his face.

He slowly moved closer to you, once again cupping your cheek in his hand in such a delicate manner.

“I want to make you feel good.” He whispered as his lips ghosted over your own. “The way you made me feel the other night.”

You whimpered at the thought, desperate for any kind of pleasure he wanted to bestow upon you.

“P-please?” You whined as his hand slipped into your hair.

“I just, uh…you don’t need…I don’t need you to, uh, return the favour? So don’t…” he trailed off, frowning at himself.

Don’t touch me, you heard the underlying words.

“Okay.” You nodded. “If that’s what you want.”

“Thank you. I think I just need to…test my boundaries if that makes sense?” He whispered before pressing his lips against you again.

“Hmm,” you mumbled into his lips. “Boundaries. Sure.”

He led you towards his bedroom blindly, holding out his casted arm so as not to bump into anything. He kicked the door closed behind him before toeing off his boots. You did the same.

He tore his lips away from yours and ran his fingers down the fabric of your dress before stopping at the hem. You nodded, giving him the green light to proceed.

You had to help him remove the garment as he only had the use of one hand. Together you got it over your head before tossing it on the floor.

He made a whining sound between parted lips when he cast his eyes upon your body, clad only in a pair of lace panties.

His jaw clenched and you noticed it. You smiled at him, beckoning him closer with a curl of your finger. You kissed him again and moved your hands to the buttons of his shirt but stopped before you could undo any of them.

You weren’t sure if he meant he didn’t want you touching him at all and you didn’t want to risk this ending before it could begin so you moved your hands away.

Spencer led you backwards again and then laid you gently on the bed. He stood over you for a moment, eyes wandering almost lazily up and down your torso.

Swallowing a lump in his throat to stave off any fears, he started on his own buttons, again not the easiest feat with only one hand. Once undone he dropped the shirt to the floor leaving him in a t-shirt, but he didn’t seem in a hurry to remove that.

The bandage still remained snug against his bicep, peeking out from beneath the sleeve of his tee. His purple cast started at the crook of his arm, only allowing a sliver of left limb to be revealed to you.

He did however pop the button on his jeans and shimmy them down his legs. You noticed a matching bandage on his thigh, you could only hazard a guess it was shielding wounds that were created by his own hand.

You tried not to look too long and let your gaze flick to his tight fitting underwear. There was a slight tenting within, but it was apparent he hadn’t reached full tumescence, maybe not even half.

His cheeks reddened as he noticed your slightly sad gaze on his crotch and he quickly climbed on top of you and stroked your cheek.

“It’s not you.” He insisted, kissing you again. “I swear to you, it isn’t you. It doesn’t always…do as it should.”

You didn’t really know what to say to that so you said nothing, opting to kiss him deeper instead.

He was trying to view it like an experiment without sounding too clinical. He wanted to gauge his boundaries, figure out how far he could push himself without crumbling. And with any luck over time those frontiers might expand to cover more ground.

His hand wandered your body in a vain attempt to recreate the pleasure you’d given him. His fingers brushed across your collarbones a few times before dipping between your breasts, across your sternum.

He palmed the swell of your left breast, fingers swiping out to ghost over your hardened peek. You moaned into his lips, bucking your hips against him at the sensation.

He did it again and elicited much the same reaction before doing the same to your other breast. You hummed into his mouth, writhing beneath him.

His own hips rutted against your leg and he was certainly getting harder. He didn’t let himself focus on his own arousal though, this was all about you.

And who knows, if he managed to take this step he may be able to take others too.

His fingers wisped down your torso, hand splaying out across the planes of your stomach. It travelled left towards your hip and his soft touch caused goosebumps to erupt beneath your flesh.

The fingers brushed over the waistband of your panties, down towards your thigh. He could feel the heat emanating from between your legs and he had to pull back from your lips to let a feral moan escape him.

He let his fingers brush over the fabric of your underwear and you wriggled under him.

“More.” You whined, the same way he had done to you.

He kissed you again as he toyed with them, teasing you in a way that he could tell was driving you wild.

He let his fingers dance between your legs, feeling the soaked material and moaning again. He couldn’t resist any longer, he was desperate to feel you. He also worried if he took too long he might change his mind entirely.

He pushed the fabric aside and dared let his nimble fingers glide between your folds. He bucked against your leg and moaned into your mouth. He was fully erect now, you could feel it as he grinded against you.

His lips had slipped from yours in lieu of sucking on your neck, teeth nibbling against your skin. The friction caused by his stubble tingled and stung in the most intoxicating way.

His fingers brushed back and forth between your legs as though he wanted to collect every tiny drop of your arousal.

You were whimpering, begging him for more without saying the word. And he must have read your mind because suddenly, with no warning, he plunged two fingers inside of you.

You mewled at the welcome intrusion, back arching off of the bed and you swore you felt him smirk against your neck.

His long, nimble digits thrust as deep as he could, until he was completely buried inside of you. He hissed against your neck, unable to remember the last time he’d been inside a woman like this.

You clenched around his fingers, walls fluttering, tight and pulsing. It was such an unfamiliar yet conversant sensation. It caused a pinching in his stomach, a tightening in his chest.

He remained still for several moments, breathing heavily into the crook of your neck, adjusting the overwhelming feeling that flooded his entire body.

It was new yet well remembered; he was both a novice and well versed in his craft.

You wriggled beneath him as he was still for so long you worried he was going to freak himself out. He raised his head from your neck so he could look at you.

His eyes were brimming with emotions, lips curled into the softest smile.

“Sorry,” he whispered. “Just a little overwhelmed by how amazing you feel.”

You cupped his chin and brought him closer, placing a chaste kiss to his lips and mumbling, “more, please?”

Spencer sucked in a deep breath and nodded. He curled his fingers inside of you, driving impossibly deeper inside of you and brushing against your cervix.

A wanton moaned travelled from your mouth to Spencer’s and your thighs clamped around his hand.

He withdrew his digits enough so he could plunge back inside of you, gently at first but after a few thrusts he got a little rougher. But judging by the sounds you were making, he was doing something very right.

He continued with this rhythm, curling his fingers each time he pushed back inside of you, and each time he brushed against you, you shuddered beneath him.

He started scissoring his fingers, pushing his fingers against your walls and finding it dizzying how your body bent to his will. He was continuously rutting against you, the friction it caused was delirious.

His lips roamed across your collarbones, travelling further south. When his lips wrapped around your nipple your back arched off of the bed again and you whined.

He sucked your nipple into his mouth, swiping his tongue over the swollen bud. He teased a third finger between your legs and your staggered breaths sounded out in delight.

As he dove three fingers inside your weeping cunt at the same time his teeth grazed your nipple, you howled so loudly you wouldn’t be surprised if it could be heard from the stables.

Spencer smiled to himself around your hardened peak, slightly disbelieving he could make anyone feel this good.

He pumped three fingers into you, once again feeling the way you stretched around him. It was a heady feeling, and caused his cock to leak with precum.

The sounds of your arousal as he continued his thrusts filled the room as well as a string of moans from your lips.

He moved his lips to your neglected nipple and offered it the same treatment as the first.

Your thighs clamped hard around his hand and you could feel your slick coating the inside of your thighs. Spencer was relentless in his ministrations, pitching in and out of you, stretching you and curling his fingers, ensuring to hit your sweet spot over and over again.

He was rocking on top of you, his hardened member grinding against your leg. You could feel the wet patch forming in the front of his boxers and feel your own stomach starting to coil.

You cautiously cupped his jaw, extracting his lips from their venture. When he looked at you his pupils were blown wide, lips swollen.

You drew him by the chin for a kiss. It was messy and sloppy, teeth bumping together as tongues fought to explore each other's mouths.

He could feel you tightening around his fingers, hoping that meant you were as close as he was. He continued to kiss you and plunge deeper, deeper, until you were trembling beneath him.

“C-close…” you stuttered against his lips. “S-so close.”

He moaned at the mere idea of making you come, increasing his speed with his thrusts, desperate to give you the pleasure you’d so easily given him.

All at once the cords holding you both together snapped. With a final shuddering breath as you nibbled Spencer’s bottom lip, your walls tightened around his fingers as you gave over to wave after wave of pleasure.

You moaned his name under your breath as you came undone. The sound of his name on your tongue and the feeling of you coming around his digits pushed him over the edge.

Still rocking against you, he came with a stifled moan, burying his head into the crook of your neck and breathing frantically.

He withdrew his fingers and you whimpered at the loss of contact but you wrapped your arms around him all the same.

Your hearts beat erratically against one another’s while you fought to catch your breaths.

All at once, Spencer came unravelled. With his eyes closed he could see them, hear them.

“Are you…oh my god he’s fucking hard! He’s enjoying this!”

“It’s not…stop it, please? Please? It’s n-normal.”

“He’s enjoying it! Hah!”

“It’s a-adrenaline. It happens when we-we’re excited or scared. S-sexual arousal and fear a-arousal have many of the same bodily f…please stop!”

He’d pushed too far. The boundaries he’d been trying to test were coming crumbling down around him.

He felt like he couldn’t breathe. He felt like he was going to…

Oh fuck.

“Fuck,” he suddenly pushed himself up and rolled off the bed, ignoring the twang in his knee as he got to his feet. “Gonna…fuck I’m so sorry.”

You watched him run to the bathroom through bleary eyes. He slammed the door closed behind himself and seconds later the sound of vomit hitting porcelain filled your ears along with Spencer’s retches.

You slowly pushed yourself up, the post orgasm haze still heavy and you blinked several times.

“Uh,” you croaked. “Are you okay?”

You were met with another horrid gagging sound.

“I’m so sorry.” His shaky voice followed through the door. “This isn’t…it’s not you.”

“Kinda hard to believe that right now.” You stood up on trembling legs and found your dress on the floor before throwing it back on.

“I swear it’s not…I’m so sorry. I pushed too far, I wasn’t ready.” He was sobbing, choking.

You rolled your lip between your teeth as tears welled behind your own eyes.

“It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have…I should go.” You swallowed.

“I’m so sorry.” He repeated. “I’m so, so sorry.”

Inside the bathroom, hugging the toilet bowl, Spencer heard your footsteps get further away and then he heard the door.

Tears streamed down his face and the wet patch in his boxers made his stomach turn again. He retched once, twice and then narrowly managed to turn his head back over the toilet before he vomited again.

“Are you…oh my god he’s fucking hard! He’s enjoying this!”

“It’s not…stop it, please? Please? It’s n-normal.”

“He’s enjoying it! Hah!”

“It’s a-adrenaline. It happens when we-we’re excited or scared. S-sexual arousal and fear a-arousal have many of the same bodily f…please stop!”

“I’m not whole.” He sobbed into the toilet, emptying his entire stomach contents. “I’m never going to be whole again.”

He wailed, crying until his eyes were sore and he couldn’t see a hand in front of his face. He vomited until there was nothing left to come up.

His whole body shook violently as he drew his legs to his body, ignoring the stickiness in his pants and the pain it caused his knee. He wrapped his good arm around his legs and rested his chin on his knees.

The tears wouldn’t stop, they just kept coming. He snivelled and sobbed loudly and fitfully. His temples started to throb and a near blinding headache came out of nowhere.

His vision grew hazier around the edges before it darkened. He’d been so focused on other variables he didn’t feel the rising anger in his chest.

By the time he realised what was happening, it was too late. And it wasn’t at all a surprise when he awoke covered in blood once again.

@kalulakunundrum @small-and-violent @voledart @katrina0-0 @bakugouswh0r3 @prettyboyandthefangirl @zooni92802 @marvellover1819 @babyspiderling

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid smut #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x fem! reader #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction

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snezario · 3 months

Text

Technical Difficulties; Vo//x

A/N: The Ha/zb/in Hot/el hyperfixation continues... For the longest time, I struggled with how snz with a television screen for a head would even work but @stormyweaver solved that instantly ty friend (I don't even talk abt it in this fic lol)... Anyways I'm throwing this out into the world and hibernating for the next year!! Here's some very self-indulgent tv demon Suffering

You’ll have to try harder than that next time, old pal.

Alastor’s last words to him play again in his mind. The pompous freak. Which brings Vox to his current situation, standing in front of the stained glass doors of the Hazbin Hotel. He straightens his bowtie and raps on the door three times. Charlie opens the door just as his hand lifts from the third knock. Her shock at seeing one of the Vees at her doorstep is quite apparent. Vox smiles widely and extends his hand.

“Your majesty, I don’t think we’ve been properly introduced. I’m Vox, head of VoxTe-”

“YOU! You gotta lotta fucking nerve coming here!” Before Vox can finish, Angel Dust appears by Charlie’s side stabbing an accusatory finger towards him. Ah yes, Val’s favorite little whore. Almost immediately after, Vaggie is also standing before him, scowling. Vox maintains his sharp grin despite the intrusion and scoots away from Angel’s finger.

“I sincerely apologize for our previous interaction, Princess. Val, Velvette, and I have given it some thought and we were hoping to develop a mutually beneficial relationship. You see, the whole reason we even sent Pentious is because of your current sponsor-”

“Alastor?” Charlie interrupts, tilting her head.

Just the mention of his name is enough to send a volatile surge of electricity through his circuitry. Vox quickly unfurls the fist he unconsciously made and smiles.

“Yes, we seem to have got off on the wrong foot so to speak. Alastor (Vox says his name with such venom that Charlie shrinks back slightly), and I haven’t always quite seen eye-to-eye, but that’s no reason for the two of us to have any quarrel. In fact, we have a few ideas that we’d like to run by you and modernize what you’ve got here.”

Little Miss Bleeding Heart’s eyes light up, her positivity and compassion almost makes him fucking vomit, were he capable of such human vulnerabilities.

“Ohmygod, we would LOVE to have more Overlords on board with the Hazbin Hotel. Come in, come in! Let me show you around,” She beckons him in while Vaggie continues to glare at him suspiciously as he steps over the threshold, pointing her spear at him.

“One wrong move and I’m shoving this spear through your chest,” she threatens.

This is actually the first time he’s stepped foot in the building. It’s not nearly as hi-tech as his VoxTek building, probably that radio fucker’s influence. Husk flips him off from the bar in the back. A small black cat weaves between his legs, purring before settling in on a nearby couch.

Before he can comment on anything, an unmistakable shadow glides along the floor before his rival manifests in front of him. Vox’s blood pressure spikes as he stands face to face with Alastor. The radio demon is wearing his almost patented grin (the smiling freak), seemingly unperturbed by the Vox’s presence at the hotel.

“Ah, if it isn’t my so-called ‘rival.’ Trying your hand at redemption?” Alastor smirks, twirling his staff nonchalantly. Vox’s hypnotic eye swirls with momentary fury. He takes a deep breath and instead of rising to the barb, Vox flashes his own demonic fangs.

Charlie begins the tour in the foyer, showing him every minute detail. Of course, he’s not really listening at all. His attention is momentarily diverted when he feels an unusual tingling in the back of his screen. It passes just as quickly as it appeared. Not giving Vox much time to contemplate it, Charlie drags him off to another room in the hotel.

As they walk around, Princess Morning Star continues chattering excitedly about having sappy conversations in the parlor. Despite Alastor’s insistence that he has better things to do than babysit his media rival, Vox can feel him following close behind them. Not only that, but it’s becoming more clear to him that something is wrong. The fuzzy feeling is starting to become more than just a minor inconvenience. He tries to ignore the rising wave of panic in his chest. He just updated his software not too long ago.

“Soooo what did you think?” Charlie’s looking at him with puppy-dog eyes. He looks around and realizes that they’re back in the lobby. Apparently they made an entire loop of the hotel and now Charlie is expectantly awaiting a response. He opens his mouth to speak but it’s at this moment that the fuzzy feeling becomes outright unbearable. And, unfortunately for him no amount of ignoring it seems to do the trick. The buzzing sensation crests and the veneer of self-control crumbles. His screen glitches out as his body snaps forward as he is overcome by the feeling.

hh’ZZZSHH’uhh!

The hotel lights dim during Vox’s expulsion, causing the residents to glance around in confusion. As the lights flicker back on, Vox realizes that the hotel has fallen completely silent. He finds that he’s also teleported 5 feet from where he was previously standing. Everyone is staring at him, their facial expressions a mix of annoyance, bewilderment, and amusement (from Alastor, the bastard). Angel is the first to speak.

“What the fuck just happened?”

Vox mentally repeats the same question to himself. What the fuck did just happen? Did he just… sneeze? He didn’t even think it was possible, at least not in his new form.

“Seems like our little video friend is experiencing some *technical* difficulties.” Alastor chimes in, the pleasure he seems to have derived from Vox’s predicament is quite apparent. Smug piece of shit. What he wouldn’t give to punch him in his perfect teeth.

His resolve wavers as he senses another prickle at the back of his head. Sparks generate along his frame as Vox tries to fight another surge of the unwanted feeling… to no avail. Vox’s screen dims as he involuntarily sucks in a sharp breath.

hh’zZZSHh! ihh..ihh’ZZSSHhoo!

The outburst causes another surge of electricity in the hotel, as well as leading a couple of the overhead light bulbs to explode. By the time he straightens up Niffty has already sprung into action, sweeping up the shards of glass that now litter the hotel floor.

“WHATTHEFUCK,” he spits out, unable to maintain his composure despite the fact that he had an audience.

“Hmm, persistent,” Alastor muses, thoughtful tapping his slender fingers on the top of his staff. While everyone else is still processing the most recent events, Alastor surveys the damage to the hotel. As scans the lobby, his gaze falls on KeeKee. Realization dawns on him. Ohoho, this could be quite entertaining, best he keep this bit of information to himself for now.

“I– ihh… I have to go,” Vox manages to say through clenched teeth. The less he said the better his chances were if he were going to keep the feeling at bay. He prepares to teleport out, but not before the sneeze he was so desperately trying to hold back, slips out.

ih’ITZZSSHhh! Godfuckingdamnit. To save himself what little dignity Vox has left, not that there’s much remaining at this point, he departs in a flash of light.

“Talk lat-” Charlie trails off as she realizes that Vox has already electorported out of the hotel.

“Well that was quite interesting,” Alastor spins his staff around before magick-ing it out of existence. He seems to have something on the tip of his tongue, but ultimately decides to keep the thought to himself, humming nonchalantly as he walks away.

Sitting on his couch, Vox groans and flops back. Well not only did that fail miserably, Vox embarrassed himself in front of the entire Hazbin Hotel family. He sinks deeper into the couch cushions as the entire fiasco plays in his head. His rumination is interrupted by a straggling tickle.

huh’zZZCCHh!

Dragging a hand down his screen, he sniffles (really?! this just got better and better) and sighs. This was quite an unpleasant experience, one he would not like to deal with again anytime soon. Somehow he felt this was Alastor’s doing, no he knew the radio demon fuck definitely had something to do with it.

#fiendwriting #i have never had a hyperfixation this intense before #i am completely and utterly consumed

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j4ystar · 1 year

Text

the exit — park sunghoon

➞ sunghoon x gn!reader

➞ figureskater!au idol!au

➞ synopsis : sunghoon, your ex boyfriend, claims that he is over you yet he finds himself keeping up with your skating career three years after you break up. he figures that watching your competition will help him find closure.

➞ angst??????????

➞ word count : 3.7k

➞ tw : nothing i dont think, lmk if im missing anything

ᓚᘏᗢ aj — life makes my head hurt

there are several videos of sunghoon skating online for most of enhypen’s fans to watch. including the videos posted of sunghoon and his former pair, y/f/n, aka you. despite sunghoon moving on from skating and becoming an idol, you remained on the ice. moving on and leaving korea to train in canada. moving on and becoming a famous competitive skater to represent south korea in just a few years, even making it to the olympics to compete at such a young age. moving on with a different partner. his fans sometimes refuse to believe that he competed in a pair with someone at your level, often engenes wondered if he remained a skater, would he be competing in the olympics with you.

sunghoon was admittedly watching your competition videos in his room, at night, with a blanket draped over him and the screen brightly illuminating his face. fans commented on his lives often, bringing it up on weverse. asking if he still keeps in touch with you, even asking for collabs like that of his collab with cha junhwan, another one of his former skating friends.

in reality, it had hurt sunghoon to be reminded of you everywhere he went even two years after he stopped. he loved skating, even if by the end he wasn’t happy on the ice anymore. if there was one thing about being on the ice that made him happy, it was going through everything with you. the one truth suspended from enhypens fans was the fact you and sunghoon used to date. his last competition before he left for iland concluded with an outstanding gold medal for the best skating pair award, along with the gut wrenching feeling of having to tell you that he was going to be leaving and quitting skating to pursue his dream of becoming an idol.. not to mention the break up that he was in in tears after telling you. you couldn’t even be upset that he was leaving either, you respected his decisions even if that meant you two were going to be apart. if becoming an idol was truly what he wanted to do then how could you possibly get mad at him for that? the break up was understandable, yet messy, something not uncommon for two teenagers navigating their first relationship. if something tore him apart, it was probably that he was parting ways with both his first loves.

he was wondering if you were watching him through a screen the same way he was with you. he’d watch you glide across the ice and perform tricks that his 12 year old self couldn’t imagine doing. he’d watch as your long time assigned partner would get to be with you 24/7, how their hands would circle around your waist and holster you up on the ice with such effortlessness and grace. sometimes he wishes he could say that that should’ve been him. but he feels different now, he’s no longer the figure skater that he once was, he was sunghoon from enhypen.

sunghoon rubs his eyes, tired, he had an early schedule in the morning yet here he was watching the videos he swore he would shut off when jay came in and scolded him for not resting yet.

you were sunghoon’s number one fan and his biggest supporter when he began his training to become an idol. though it clashed with skating practices, you were understanding. then, he told you about his admission into the survival show, i-land, where he was hoping to debut to become an idol full time. meaning leaving you behind. you were upset at the time of the break up, any sane person would be. especially if you loved the person. you continued to support sunghoon throughout i-land, watching the show and voting for him. you remembered his mother calling you and asking you to write a letter for him to read, despite sending a letter for him to read, his reaction was not added to the aired episode and you assumed that the show had either cut out the reaction or the letter wasn’t added to the list of mail in the first place. you never bothered to ask. after his confirmed debut, you congratulated him, and after that, you left to go to canada where you would be training with junhwan, the other figure skater that you and sunghoon were friends with. you were so occupied with practice that your calls and texts to sunghoon lessened and soon halted entirely.

in the earlier days, you would watch enhypen’s comebacks, even staying up at ridiculous hours just to watch the release. you would contemplate shooting sunghoon a text telling him about how his comeback was great but you never managed to garner the courage to actually send it to him. as the months pass, you are swarmed with practice and schooling. reports of you and sunghoon in the past are replaced with you and your new skating partner and it's plastered over every form of social media that you have.

you return to south korea after two years of training abroad in canada. you continue practicing in the rink for hours, though now you are a student in yonsei university in seoul. you and your partner become aware of your eligibility to compete in the 2022 olympics in beijing.

–

“i’m going to have y/n and sunghoon pair up for this next competition.” you and sunghoon’s eyes widen in unison, your coaches almost chuckle at the sight of dismay written all over your faces. even the other members in the club you were in were shocked that sunghoon was competing in a category outside of individuals. but for good reason. sunghoon had never ventured out of individual performances. sunghoon liked being alone, he had never performed with a partner before. he knew of you, he knew you were one level higher than him but you still qualified for the junior category your pairs skate would be judged under. you on the other hand, never switched partners before. sunghoon was in the practice block before yours, you would arrive 30 minutes earlier to get dressed and then stretch, in those 30 minutes you would watch sunghoon dance on the ice. you were enamored and spent more time gawking than stretching. though you were positive that he never knew.

the other members of the club scattered, their respective coaches giving them more detail on the pieces that they were assigned to be doing. you and sunghoon still frozen and your coach standing in front of you with her clipboard in her arms.

“i know you’re not used to it yet but we are just trying something new. we promise if this doesn’t end up working then we can switch you back after the competition.” she tells you two. you both nod shyly, your hands clasped behind your back.

an hour later, you and sunghoon take a break to get water and just rest. but it’s still incredibly tense. you were beginning to miss your old partner, the two of you had competed in multiple competitions together, wins tethering from between first place gold and second place silver. you were thinking that things really weren’t going to work out between you and sunghoon.

“you know, it’s going to be really hard to win first place when we can’t even talk to each other.” you tell him. his back is turned to you as he sets his bottle down on the rink wall. he doesn’t say anything in response so you continue. “you want to win right?” you ask. sunghoon turns around to look at you.

“of course i want to win.” he tells you blatantly. “then why don’t you talk to me? we can’t be like this if we are partners.” you place your hand on your waist and look at him expectedly. “i didn’t want to be partners.” you roll your eyes at the 15 year old boy. “and you think i wanted to be partners? i want park jihoon back.” sunghoon hates park jihoon. hate is a strong word, he doesn’t hate jihoon, he just mildly dislikes him. he’s loud and annoying, and he disrupts the peace in sunghoons head.

“why?”

“why?! i don't know, he’s better than you!” you want to raise your voice, but knowing the rink, voices are amplified in there. “no he’s not, i’m so much better.” sunghoon understands he is far too old to be acting like this but he was getting frustrated trying to convince you that park jihoon was a menace and the bane of his existence and that park sunghoon was the better skater, he’ll show you.

you thought that your plan to talk to sunghoon had immediately backfired with how much sunghoon expressed that he hated your former partner. but it in fact did help you get closer. within the month leading up to the competition, you and sunghoon had gotten so much closer than you and jihoon ever were. you were sure that sunghoon was going to be going up a level after this because of how hard he was practicing. you would arrive to practice and sunghoon would already be there.

what you thought was your last performance with sunghoon turned out to just be the very beginning. after getting first place during that competition, your coach asks if you guys want to stay partners for the next competition coming up and the two of you agree that you should remain partners.

–

sunghoon remembers watching your skating performance in beijing on his phone during his break while practicing in the dance studio. he remembers watching you go on for the competitive pairs category, and then the singles free skate. he watches through the camera that follows you as you explore the big rink. you’re smiling. a big, bright, vibrant smile. your smile makes his heart clench in a hot pain. you were always very particular when skating, something that made sunghoon initially ticked off and bothered at first but he realized that was what made you such a disciplined and perfect skater. you were so confident in your strides. despite being the other half of a pair, you always seemed to stand out more than your partner. he remembered that as teenagers, you told him you never feared getting injured because you were careless and naive as a child and that helped you lose the fear of falling and getting hurt. sunghoon probably witness your naivety while practicing more times than not. sunghoon thought that he wasn’t very confident, his coaches would often point out his lack of motivation and confidence, which to outsiders from the skating community may seem harsh and unnecessary jabs, but to sunghoon it was normal because you had to have confidence to survive in figure skating.

–

“are you alright?” you immediately glide over to sunghoon as he currently takes a fall after not being able to complete a spin. sunghoon brushes your concern aside and gets up nodding. he swipes the ice shavings off his pants and tells you to run it back one more time.

“i think we should take a break.” you tell him worriedly. sunghoon shakes his head. “i’m fine. we can keep going.” you sigh at his persistence. “we’re taking a break, i’m calling it.” you grab his hand and begin leading him towards the door of the rink. you jump onto the cushioned floor, sitting on one of the hockey players benches and tap at the seat beside you for sunghoon to sit down and join you. he follows your lead, sitting beside you but a fair inches apart.

“have you been getting enough sleep lately? are you feeling alright?” you barely give him space to talk before placing the back of your hand against his forehead. sunghoon feels himself reddening. he wants to swat at you to stop and he wants to complain about you pushing your boundaries again. but he doesn’t say anything as he lets you continue on with your alleged prognosis.

“you don’t have a fever, i don’t think you’re sick.” you conclude, sitting back down but continuing to look at him. he feels weak under your suspecting gaze. he doesn’t want you to think somethings wrong with him when obviously nothing is wrong with him. just the undeniable feeling of his stomach doing acrobatics and his heart racing whenever you get close. at first sunghoon thought that perhaps he has fallen ill. but why does that feeling only bubble up when you’re around, or whenever he thinks about you? when he lays in his bed at night and stares at his ceilings until you start coming up in his mind and then he goes to kick his duvet off because he becomes a blushing mess. or when he has to hold your hand in the routine and suddenly he has to keep letting go because he has to wipe his hand on his training sweater before grabbing your hand again. or when he instinctively brings his arms out whenever you attempt to do jumps just in case you hurt yourself when you fall. or times where he has to remind you to put your blade guards on because of the amount of times you’d forget and have to buy a new pair. or when he would be at school and you text him dumb pictures of yourself at school since you two attended different schools. or when both your parents would be late picking you up from practice so you would go buy snacks at a nearby store and just talk.

sunghoon is 16 years old and he is sure that he has feelings for you. it's an indescribable fuzzy feeling that he can’t seem to get rid of. he shakes himself out of his small recollection of memories, his vision clearing and seeing you again, curiously looking at him, semi bundled up in your training gear.

“do you want to go to the store after practice? my treat.” he suggests. though his knees are wobbling as he proposes the idea to you. you give him a confused look and then nod, looking away from him and out to the rink, watching the other skaters around. sunghoon sits and stares at you with a soft smile, breathing in and out deeply.

“you never treat me.”

“just this once.”

–

your nerves always spiked before competitions. like any sane person would. in the back of your mind, you’d always remember how sunghoon would talk you out of your nerves and it would work because he always knew what to say. somehow sunghoon would never show his anxiousness to you, he’d only help you overcome yours.

you and your partner are warming up on the ice after the short intermission after the individual category had finished up. you and your partner were the first pair performing. as you’re skating around, as if it were another normal day in the arena. you look up to look amongst the people. your eyes scanning the bleachers promptly before returning to your warm up routine.

sunghoon watches from the bleachers, hidden behind a cap and a mask. a bouquet of flowers and a penguin plush in his lap, he gently grips the paper covered stems with one hand and his other hand lays on his knee as he trains his eyes onto your figure. you practice some loops here and there, you mainly focus on stretching out your legs and making sure you can maintain your flexibility. you haven’t changed much, physically, you had grown a tad bit taller, your hair coloured remained the same colour it had been since you were younger. he understood there wasn’t much leeway with hair colours in the industry. neither of you were teenagers anymore.

as the performance started, the lights around the rink dimmed and were replaced with much softer lights, along with two spotlights, one for you and one for your partner. somehow you were even more graceful, your technique had improved drastically, there was no way you couldn’t improve when you train with former olympic champions. he watched as you and your partner danced so fluidly on the ice.

he hoped that coming here would finally give him closure. he confesses that he is not over you. not after three painful years of not talking. not after the break up that he initiated for his sake. as the performance comes to a close, you and your partner return to the center of the rink to collect hollers and praise from around the arena. cue the multitudes of flowers and plush toys being thrown onto the ice for the maintenance crew to clean after. sunghoon stands up, hoping that the height would give him an advantage of getting the bouquet and the plush of a penguin onto the rink, close enough to you, for you to see.

you clasp your hand into your partners and bow gratefully for those who cheer your performance. you decide to pick a plush among the rest, eyes landing on a giraffe a few feet away and skating over to grab it. as you come closer to it, a stuffed penguin bounces its way over to you and slides just by the tip of your skates. there is a ribbon around its neck and a small card attached to it that has a name written on it. you tuck the giraffe under your arm before bending down and crouching to grab the penguin plush.

the staff begin ushering you and your partner off the stage but you move with their prodding words. sunghoon’s name is written in black ink on the card and you look up in attempt to find the familiar face. your eyes land on someone standing on the bleachers, ready to get up and leave, he stares back at you, the flowers in hand, before stepping down the steps.

you quickly skate off the ice, uncomfortably waddling down the hallway trying to reach the lobby where you think he would exit. as you round the corner and push the double doors open to expose the cold arena air conditioning air. you find who you think is sunghoon walking towards the door, flowers still in hand.

“sunghoon?”

sunghoon turns at the sound of your voice. a hand coming to his mask to pull it down. you’re still in your costume getup and so obviously freezing as the adrenaline from the performance starts to wear down. sunghoon begins peeling his jacket off, worried you would catch a cold when he knows that you can’t afford to miss a day of practice. you bring the plushie to your chest, hugging it tightly with both arms. he walks with fast steps, his jacket ruffling as he comes to drape it over your shoulders.

–

you sat down on one of the benches outside the girls changing room, sunghoon stands in front of you, head down, occasional sniffles coming from him as he struggled to get the words out his mouth. you felt helpless, watching your boyfriend attempt to grapple with the words he needed to convey the news he dreaded telling you.

your hand comes to grab his, your thumb rubbing over his skin as you patiently wait for sunghoon to voice out his thoughts.

“i’m not gonna be skating for a while, i’m going to start focusing on becoming an idol… i feel it would best benefit us if we took some time apart from one another.”

sunghoon begs you to say something through the painful silence it takes for you to comprehend what he has just said. he feels awful just dropping the bomb on you right there. a day so glorious, rewarding and memorable for the both of you was just ruined by his need to tell you.

“i don’t know what to say… i’m really proud of you sunghoon.” sunghoon knew you would be understanding. he hated that you weren’t mad at him. he wished that you had yelled at him, told him you hated him, anything to break his heart even more, something to seal and confirm that you didn’t love him anymore. but you were just happy, smiling, supportive as per usual. he had counted on you to push him in his skating career since you two were kids, now that he was pursuing his idol career, you were still there supporting him.

you tell him you’re a bit bummed out that he had to leave, that he thought breaking up would be the best idea because it would cause less pain on both ends.

sunghoon still received the letter you had written to him when he was in i-land, he received it in the lunch box his parents sent him, though he didn’t read it until he was hidden way from the cameras and the other occupants of the house. tucked under his blanket in the shared room, he read your letter. for the first time in the show, for the first time in a while, he had cried.

–

“hey.”

you and sunghoon sit beside each other on the loveseat of the lobby lounge room. you still have his jacket over you, the penguin squished into your lap.

“it’s been a while.” you start, he nods, you watch as he plays with his fingers. “why’d you come here?” you ask him, adjusting the ribbon tied around the penguin's neck.

“i had to see you,” he admits quietly. “i… don’t understand.” you whisper back. he looks at you, eyes glassy.

“i wanted to say that i’m sorry,” he breathes in deeply “because i never moved on from you. and i was the one who ended us in the first place. you made skating bearable for me, you made me happy and when we broke up i thought that i was doing alright until i continued to keep up with what you were doing and suddenly i started missing you.”

“but you don’t love me anymore?”

sunghoon sits there, mouth agape for a moment, thinking as if he had to calculate an answer.

“i’ll always love you.”

butterflies didn’t erupt, not like they used to. of course you still loved sunghoon. but you were two different people at this point. you had your entire career ahead of you and sunghoon was the same.

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ateezreactionsandscenarios · 2 years

Text

Kinktober Day 3 - Phone Sex

Pairing: Jeong Yunho x Reader

Genre: Smut

CW: Dirty talk, masturbation (M and F)

Word Count: 1281

Summary: Yunho’s been away on tour for a few weeks while you’ve been sat at home alone desperate for his touch. At this point you’ll take whatever you can get.

Prompt List MasterList Kintktober 2022 Buy me a Coffee

Arriving home to an empty apartment is something you don’t think you’ll ever get used to, you knew it was part of Yunho’s job to be away for weeks on end either filming something or going on tour, but you hated the empty feeling that came with it. The apartment is too quiet without him, usually it’s filled with his laughter and even frustrated shouts as he plays video games and it’s times like these where you feel you take even the small things like that for granted. You missed coming home to Yunho wrapping you up in his arms and showering your face with kisses before you even fully make your way through the door, you missed your long late night chats about nothing, you missed the comfortable silence you shared when you were both occupied with something else. But right now in this moment you missed the way he’d touch you, the soft glide of his fingers against your skin as he traced shapes, the way he’d squeeze and grip your thighs any chance he got, the way he’d hold the back of your neck tightly as he deepened an already heated kiss and the way he knew how and where to touch you to send electricity shooting through your entire body. You got flustered thinking back to the last time he had you like that, it’s only been three weeks but to you it felt like years.

You tried for so long to push the thoughts aside, the longer you thought about it the needier you became and he was nowhere to be seen. You filled the next few hours with small tasks ranging from cleaning the whole apartment to re-organising your bookcase, but all to no avail, you found yourself pressing your thighs together every now and again trying to feign off your arousal. You couldn’t take it anymore you needed some relief, even if it meant you had to do it without Yunho.

You run off to your bedroom, settling on the bed ridding yourself of the clothing on the lower half of your body. Your fingers trailed down to your soaked core as you scrolled through the various photos and videos Yunho had sent you last time he was away. Circling your clit as you watched his videos over and over you felt a great deal of pleasure but it wasn’t anywhere near enough to get you to finish. You needed to hear his voice, now. Closing the videos and hitting call on his number you continued to work your clit as the dull sound of the dial tone rang through your ears.

When Yunho saw your call screen light up on his phone his face lit up along with it. He missed you so much and that fact you were phoning him told him you missed him just as much. He quickly stepped to the other side of the hotel room away from the rest of the guys to answer. “Hi Baby, I...” His words were stopped in their tracks as he heard an all to familiar noise come from your end of the phone, his eyes widening as soon as it registered with him. “Guys I’m just gonna step out for a sec.” He calls back over to his bandmates as he heads out the door to go back to his own room. Keeping the phone firmly pressed to his ear so he could hear your sweet sounds as he walks his way to privacy.

“Miss me that much huh baby?” His tone was low, you could tell he was already turned on and the sound of his voice made heat pool at your core even more. “I miss you so much.” You manage to whimper between moans. Finally settled in his room alone he wastes no time laying on the bed freeing his cock from the confinements of his jeans. “I miss you too baby, I wish I was with you right now, I wish I was the one making those pretty sounds come out of that pretty mouth of yours.” You feel your walls clench around nothing as you imagine your hand to be Yunho’s, his large hands working you in a way only he could. Too lost in the feeling of your fingers you couldn’t find the words to answer him again, letting your breathy moans speak for themselves. Yunho didn’t need your words to fuel him on, hearing your whimpers and cries loud and clear in his ear was enough to have him wrap his hand around his cock and pumping himself to the rhythm of your breathing. “I wish I was there with you, your legs wrapped around my head as I suck your clit just the way you like it before flicking it with my tongue.” He grunts fucking into his hand imagining it was you, Your breath hitches at his words, a loud moan falling from you uncontrollably. “Y...Yunho.” You breath making his cock twitch in response as he hisses. “Yes baby?”

“Tell me more.” Your pace picking up as you desperately try to cum to the sound of his voice. A low chuckle rings in your ears from Yunho liking how eager and needy you’ve become all of a sudden. “Is the thought of my tongue inside you making you feel that good baby?” He asks bucking his hips into his hand faster chasing his high as he hears your long string of cries in response. “I want nothing more than to be deep inside that tight hole of yours baby, feeling how well you take me.” You cry out his name as you dip two fingers into your hole trying to re-enact what he was saying. “I miss hearing you moan my name as I fuck into you.” Pumping your fingers faster his name spills out in chants as the knot in your stomach starts to build. “F...Feels so good Yunho.” You try to say, mind going hazy from the pleasure of your fingers mixed with his breathy grunts down the phone. “Keep going baby, keep using those pretty fingers.”

You take in a sharp breath as you feel your orgasm quickly approaching, needing only a little more to topple you over the edge. “So...Close.” Your whines turn into small squeaks as you feel your walls clench around your fingers as your arousal drips down your hand. “Can I cum...Please?” Closing his eyes he could just picture your fucked out face as you beg him to let you cum, his cock twitching at the thought bringing him to his edge. “I want you to cum with me baby, I’m close, just hold on a little longer.” You could feel tears prick at the corners of your eyes as you try so hard to hold back your orgasm but the sound of his pants and moans down the phone were making it almost impossible for you to hold on. “Please...I can’t hold it anymore.” You cry out slowing down your movements ever so slightly in an attempt to hold off your climax. He didn’t answer your please as he concentrated on chasing his orgasm being so close to the edge. With a few more thrusts into his hand he could feel his climax dangerously close. “Baby?” His voice was reduced to a breathy whisper at this point. You hum in response trying to will away an early climax. “Cum.” His command was all you needed to send you into an overwhelming wave of pleasure. You cry out his name as your high washes over you only for your cries to be followed by the low long grunts and heavy breathing you knew all to well.

Tag list: @kpopcrossworlds @kpopjust4u @whatudowhennooneseesyou @8tinytings @jenotation @grim-adventures58 @owjohny @ker1 @hellomingi @ate-ez @steponmesannie @azeret98 @queenwiinks @wubbster @eternalhongshine

#ateez #ateez scenarios #ateez smut #ateez kinktober #yunho #jeong yunho #ateez yunho #yunho scenarios #yunho smut #ateez hard hours #yunho hard hours #jeong yunho scenarios #jeong yunho smut #jeong yunho hard hours #kpop #kpop scenarios #kpop smut #kpop hard hours #kpop kinktober

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scintillating-galaxias · 3 months

Text

past curfew

The Captain and the Artificer meet late at night in the UES Safe Travels' bridge.

Content tags: Character study, non-canon, space travel, frozen in time, memory loss, Artificer (Risk of Rain 2), Captain (Risk of Rain 2)

It’s late.

The Captain breathes a steady sigh through his temporal vents, worn boots thumping softly along the corridors of the UES Safe Travels. It’s been decades since he’d trodden these halls, and yet—he remembers every corner, every nook and cranny. She’s changed, of course. Like the leather of his soles, the hands of dozens of other captains just like him have molded her, shaped her. There are some new dents and scuffs that’ve been here for probably years, but feel as though they’d been made just yesterday. The Safe Travels is not just his first ship. It’s subjective, arbitrary in the way children have their seat in the classroom, but she is his ship.

The bridge is empty, not as always, but as its new natural state has evolved to become, and he straightens to fill it up some more. If he closes his eyes, he can still hear the ghostly chatter and bustle of the personnel fluttering about from console to console, the squeaks of the chair, the clatter of keystrokes. Upgrades over the years made them obsolete. The only thing the ship needed now was her Captain and a skeleton crew.

It’s not so much the fact that the presence of strangers is odd. The Safe Travels is a colony ship, after all. Her duty is to oversee a secure journey through the stars to any and all who sought them out. As the war spiraled on, there were thousands strong who fought to go, to hide themselves into her holds and flee into the stars. No, the Captain is no stranger to strangers. It’s the fact that there are so few that strikes him like the crash of a falling cymbal at an orchestra.

Alloy prosthetics creak and shift beneath his coat as he goes to stand before it. It’s strange. The starry void is not unfamiliar to him, and yet, when he stares into the cold space surrounding Petrichor V, he cannot help but feel terribly unknown.

“Captain?”

He lifts his chin from his collar. The Artificer glides from the doorway, jetpack humming away as her legs dangle in the air. The Engineer had done fantastic work on them—Not a complaint yet, he’s said—but old habits are hard to break, it seems. She never seems inclined to touch the ground with her spotless white boots.

“You’re”—out past curfew—“up late,” he says. He doesn’t move from his spot in front of the viewing port as she comes up behind him.

“I could say the same for you.” She perches on an empty desk beside him, gutted of its buttons and wires and monitors long ago. Such tactile means of control were no longer necessary in the age of holograms and projected displays and smooth, cold touch screens that did not always heed his metallic touch. Buttons and levers never discriminated against who used them. They never disobeyed their Captain.

The Artificer's smooth, unseeing visor turns to face him. The motion’s slight, and he gets the impression she’s glancing at him sidelong. “Star-gazing?” she offers.

“It doesn’t get old,” the Captain rumbles. “There’s always something new to see.”

“It’s beautiful.”

Does her suit, tidy and sleek like the new desks, ever fail her in its simplicity? Does it fail to recognize her? Surely not. She’d be dead innumerable times over if it did. He ought to have faith in this new technology—Nostalgia blinds his reasoning.

(It’s hardly ‘new’ anyway. The Artificer is almost as old as him, but her decades are lost to crystalline confines. War has not worn her down.)

“Yes,” he agrees. The soft green horizon of Petrichor V begins to glow along the edge of the viewport. “Are you much of a traveler?”

“I think I used to be,” she replies. Her low voice softens as she continues. “The House was generous, but I always yearned for more.”

“I’m sure that’s precisely what made you a suitable candidate.”

She chuffs a little. “Amongst other things. What about you? Was it ever an acquired taste?”

“No,” says the Captain. “I never was meant to stay in one place forever. I’m certain I was put into this world to fly a ship through the stars.”

“That’s awfully confident.” It’s not a compliment. “What if you can’t?”

“Then I am nothing.”

A lull, during which Petrichor V further creeps across the display, unassuming and gorgeous as kudzu and ivy.

“It’s admirable,” says the Artificer, “your confidence of your place in the universe. But no one is one piece of many, scattered with a single purpose to just be a piece. You’re a Captain to the people, too. You must be a friend to many. That’s not ‘nothing’—or else it’s a lonely life you live.”

He turns to her, then, but she’s not looking at him. She’s caught the stars in her visor, beyond Petrichor’s monstrous size choking the rest out. He wonders what she’s seen.

“My taste was acquired,” she begins. “I wanted to explore, yes, but—there was always that edge to overcome. Being afraid of the unknown, rather than awed. The House guided me over it. And I think—I always knew I wanted to become a herald for the House. But it wasn’t until I set foot onto Petrichor that I realized what it meant to truly burn for exploration. I had to be dragged away from every new place we visited, and I kept a journal of every stone, every new plant, every animal, every monster. I’m sure there are hundreds I missed. We weren’t there for long when—”

Her voice vanishes. Petrichor V dominates the viewport, and it will be this way for the next few days as the UES Safe Travels orbits it, held tight in its suffocating gravitational field.

“I kept a journal,” she starts again after a taut pause, “I don’t remember what was written, only that it was written. And… it was taken elsewhere”—bitter, longing—“when I was trapped within the crystal. I do not know where it might have gone.”

“A shame,” the Captain says, and it is. “Losing a journal is losing your own story.”

“How many journals do you have, Captain?”

“Dozens. A hundred, maybe.” All tucked on his bookshelf, some leather-bound, some mere pads, one a hefty, padlocked book. It’s his first. The key remains tucked against his chest on a chain hidden beneath his coat, vest, and shirt.

“What do you write about?”

Not quite everything. But he can’t rightly say, ‘What matters to me.’ A Captain needs everything to matter lest it be lost to the void. “The people I’ve met. The new things I’ve touched, smelled, seen. The ship, her health. My own, as well.” No Captain survived for more than a decade if they ruminated in their head all the time.

“Perhaps a story?”

“Thousands.”

“I’d like to hear them someday.” She pushes off the desk and starts floating back to the door. “Let’s talk more another time,” she says over her shoulder. “Truly, I’d like to listen to your stories. But, of course—it’s past curfew, Captain.”

So she is a bit of a whip. “So it is,” he chuckles. “Goodnight, then.”

“Goodnight, Captain. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Then he is alone.

It’s late.

#risk of rain 2 #ror2 #artificer ror2 #captain ror2 #my writing #grabs you. read my fic boy

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calmedgoose-blog · 2 months

Text

Played Frantic Fanfic for the first time with @bookwermthings and @prettiest-ghoul-at-the-party recently, here’s how the fics I started turned out!!

TITLE: GG Gets Jealous

FEATURING THE CHARACTERS: gg the giraffe, the spine's pet roomba

WRITERS: goose!, bookwerm, summer

RATED ALL AGES

The Spine had come home with something new today. GG was immensely curious as to what this might be.. and then she saw it. A small robotic creature gliding gracefully across the floor, a small pink bow sat atop it's head.

'oh my god.' GG thought, 'its adorable.' GG could not stand for this. Another creature in the house? To steal her thunder? No way, this meant war. GG immediately marched over to the Roomba and snatched the bow from it's head. affixing it to her own ear before smugly strutting right past the group of automatons talking in the hallway. The Roomba following closely behind. As GG slowed down to show off her bow, the Roomba ran right over her

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"Aaaaah," GG screamed, her high pitched robot voice grating to human ears. "Guys, this stupid ugly thing just attacked me! For no reason!"

Zer0 looked at her and then looked at the Roomba.

"REalLy?" he said. He hid behind The Spine.

The Spine glared at her.

"I can see one obvious reason why Roomba here might not like you. You stole their bow!"

Rabbit laughed. "C'mon, guys, I've heard of Roombas! For St. Nicholas' sake, they don't have brains! How could it be offended by anything?"

With that, the Roomba sped up and ran over Rabbit's toes.

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"WaAAAAAAAA WHAT's WROng WIth thE ROOMBA" Rabbit exclaimed, jumping in place and holding her foot as if her pain receptors hadn't been damaged there.

The Spine shook his head before walking over to the Roomba. "Now, Roomba, we don't run over people. That being said..." he removed his bowtie and fixed it to Roomba, patting it's head and sending it along it's merry way. "shine bright, Roomba."

GG glared at the Roomba, before angrily taking off her bow and throwing it over to the Roomba, who greedily attempted to eat it.

"N00000000 R00MBA D0N'T D0 THAAT" Zer0 exclaimed, chasing after Roomba with a box of nuts (as in nuts and screws, not the food). He sprinkled some in his hand, attempting to get Roomba to go over to him. This naturally didn't work very well, until he accidentally dropped one on the floor.

However, Roomba didn't get it's little metal treat. Spine picked them up with a huff, beginning to walk to the Hall of Wires.

"You guys can play with Roomba too once you stop being so dangerous. First GG steals their clothes, then Rabbit insults them, and now GG and Zer0 are feeding them poisons... someone has to care for the newest member of the family. So, farewell, if you need me I'll be in my room." He said as he walked, sparing a distressed look over his shoulder.

It was a good thing he did, because then GG was there, tackling him to the floor to get to the Roomba. Or at least, trying to. It was more like she threw herself at his head and hit him square in the face. It wasn't very effective.

She tried to grab the Roomba, who robotically hissed at her. Spine yelled at GG, shaking her off of his arm while holding Roomba away from her.

"YOU CANT BE TRUSTED GG."

Fanfic created with #FranticFanfic.

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TITLE: there is no such thing as goldfishing

FEATURING THE CHARACTERS: bebop, hatchworth

WRITERS: goose!, bookwerm, summer

RATED ALL AGES

THERE IS NO SUCH THING AS GOLDFISHING

Hatchworth strutted casually into the workshop of Walter Manor. It wasn't long before he was greeted by a certain blue A.I. on a nearby screen.

"Welcome back, Hatchworth." Beebop called as the robot walked into the room.

"Hello Beebop! was a successful day of Goldfishing." Hatchworth sighed

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Bebop tutted.

"Did you catch any Gold fish, then?"

"Of course not. But, you know how it goes."

Bebop did not know how it went, and Hatchworth was sure of this fact. Because he had not gone Goldfishing today. He had never gone Goldfishing. Day after day he went out, night after night he came back. He never had any Goldfish, but no one questioned him. Stranger things had happened.

No, Hatchworth had been, you guessed it... time travelling!

It took a lot of effort

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for him to jump, but the blue portals he created made it easier. After the first time he had realized he could transcend time, he had picked up the hobby, trying to avoid that terrible future he had seen.

He thought about it and shuddered, remembering the way Kazooland had seemed in shambles after the Beciles had overtaken everything for that stupid green rock candy.

"Bebop, I think I'm gonna go."

"Go where?" Bebop asked as inquisitively as they could.

"I... I don't know. But I need to go somewhere. There, uh, there's no good goldfishing spots here." Hatchworth replied tentatively. He knew that once he left, there was no coming back. The Jon and Upgrade had made that clear enough by not visiting. But if he was going to save Kazooland, someone needed to be there who could see what made things go wrong.

"Just tell the others I'm going on a trip. See ya, Bebop". He said as he opened that final portal.

Fanfic created with #FranticFanfic.

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happybird16 · 2 years

Text

Despite their thickness, the rippling lines of densely packed muscle, Levi’s inner thighs are beyond sensitive. Just brushing your fingers along the skin, feeling all the curled little hairs littering the pale flesh, makes him gasp, goosebumps welling up to dust his skin as the muscle quivers beneath your touch.

You’re not even that high up, just inching your fingers in soft glides along the meat of his inner thigh, right below the edge of his conservative shorts. Lying beside him, the both of you are cuddled up on the couch -you spooning him- to watch a movie. The touch has him as distracted as you are. Shivering beneath your touch, Levi fights to hold himself together, visibly gritting his teeth and resolutely glaring at the glowing screen.

You don’t even know what movie is playing anymore, lost in the warmth of his soft skin, the gritty feel of the little hairs sprinkled about and the small little hitches of his breath. He groans, low and breathy, barely held in, as you wind your fingers up up up, beneath his shorts, where his skin is warmer and softer.

“Ahh,” Levi breaths softly, eyes fluttering as you approach his hard bulge, muscles tensing as he presses back into you. “I -ah-,” he starts, thighs widening, “-I thought you wanted to watch this?”

“Hmm,” you hum, fingers wandering up up up, swiping across the crease of his inner thigh to where the little hairs grow thicker and curlier. “Did I?”

“Fuck-” Levi gasps, reaching one hand back behind him to grasp your arm, jolting his hips back into yours. “Shit- you-” he struggles, gulping audibly, “-you said you wanted to watch something scary.”

“I did,” you confirm, circling your fingers around the base of him. He trims, obsessively in fact, but you love each of the wiry little hairs there, catching against your fingertips. Mouth watering, you can practically imagine the smell trapped there, masculine and rich but with a musty hint of the day’s sweat. Sliding your fingers back down to the quivering muscle of his thick thighs, you continue, “but now I want my mouth here.”

Swirling your fingers along the skin, you indicate the area with a light graze of your nails. He gasps with such a cute hitch of his breath, shuddering bodily back into you. “You’re so sensitive,” you murmur fondly, enjoying the way his skin jolts beneath your nails. “I wanna leave little bruises right here, so you can feel them all day long.”

“Shit-” Levi curses, throwing his head back into your shoulder. “Fucking-” the hand griping your arm becomes impossibly tight, his nails digging into your skin. Every delicious shudder and beautiful gasp only makes you more eager to taste his skin, to feel the sparse little hairs against your tongue. You want to worship his thighs, to render the solid strength of them limp and loose with nothing but your mouth, before even attempting to move further upward.

“That better be a promise,” Levi pants, raising onto an elbow to twist around and meet your mouth in a harsh kiss.

#I was just really thirsty for his thighs #that’s my only excuse #myaotdrabbles #n.sfw #Levi/reader #Levi thirst #Levi x reader #mydrabbles

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author-k · 2 years

Text

My Sweet Professor

Levi Ackerman x Reader

Summary: The reader experiences an unexpected wordless confession from their professor (Gender-Neutral)

A/N: The Major that Levi teaches is not mentioned. Please feel free to imagine the Major that best suits you as the reader

He was effortlessly cool, calm and collected 98% of the time. All the girls talked about him. You had heard the whispers and bubbly giggling whenever he walked past. You too spoke about him. He was a great professor for the major you had chosen. You perhaps spoke too highly of him to your friends and it wasn't long until they had developed a knack for teasing you about it.

You walked with Connie in the corridors. He told you he would walk you to the library before he headed home. You had planned to spend the rest of your evening working on a thesis paper that was due next week.

" Hey look, it's your boyfriend." Connie nudged you when you stopped just outside the library. You turned your head in the direction he had suggested. Your eyes landed on the Professor in question as he walked in your direction. his eyes never left yours. You held your breath as he walked past you and into the library.

You breathed out when the door closed behind him. You wacked Connie in the arm " That wasn't Funny Connie, What if he heard you!" you whispered through gritted teeth to your chucking friend. " Don't get too distracted and write your thesis paper" you gave him a deadpanned look. " Have you even started?" " ahh look at the time," He said looking at his empty wrist " Gotta go write that thesis paper" He waved you goodbye and headed to the parking lot. you sighed and adjusted the strap of the book bag on your shoulder.

You browsed through some books you thought could serve as good research, the pile in your arms growing taller every time you added another. Professor Levi Ackerman didn't seem to pay much attention to the rumours that circled him or if he did he didn't show that he cared. He was quite refined from what you had heard. he was well established in his field and he was praised by students and other professors alike. You had only ever seen him be serious all the time. His demeanour was intimidating and god forbid you turned in your assignments or homework late. He was kind of ruthless yet the students in his classes excelled exceptionally at his subject.

you placed the stack at an empty table and set up your laptop. Just as you were about to grab the book on the top someone swiped it just before you could. You looked up, your eyes gliding along the familiar build of the man you placed so highly in your little hierarchy of role models. You were crushing, crushing hard and you hated that. You were like all the other students that were head over hills for the professor.

" Interesting choice" he paged through the book you had chosen. He then disappeared along the shelves and your cheeks dusted red. You kicked yourself for not managing to even mutter a response. For piece of mind you decided you didn't need that book and if you did you would come to find it later in the week to avoid contact.

He returned a few minutes with another book in his hand. " Try this instead he placed the book you had picked out and the new one he suggested on the table next to the stack. You were internally panicking and you hoped that he didn't catch on to the fact that you were undeniably flustered. You managed to utter a small thank you.

He then sat in the seat across from you. You worked quietly on the thesis paper. The slight blush on your cheeks had eventually dispersed as your nerves calmed and you became accustomed to his presence. Every so often you would glace up in his direction. His dark hair was neatly falling to frame his perfectly angled face. His silver eyes darted across the pages of the book he was reading. It was no surprise that you developed an attraction to him.

Before you knew it. It was late, you glanced at the time on the corner of your laptop screen. 11h45. You quickly stood up alerting your unofficial company." I'm going to miss the last train!" you said aloud. you quickly pack up placing the Library books in the return bin. You were about to leave before Levi spoke up. " Let me drive you to the station "

You fidgeted in the passenger seat, making awkward small talk. You ended up missing the last train and he insisted to drive you home. " You shouldn't make a habit of doing this, it's dangerous at night" " Yeah" you awkwardly laughed. It was actually the first time this had happened throughout your university career. It was almost as if his presence in the library soothed you to the point that you forgot that time existed.

" Please be careful, I wouldn't want any harm to come your way." he overshared his thoughts. He skillfully steered the car onto your street and then came to a halt in front of your apartment building.

" Thanks for driving me, I really appreciate it" You smiled at him. and he nodded in response.

Your eyes met and a ribbon of intense emotions unraveled. He leaned over placing his hand on the side of your face, pulling you in for a kiss. You were shocked but you didn't reject him. you eased into the kiss reciprocating his advance. It was short-lived. He quickly pulled away. " I'm sorry that was inappropriate of me" he was just as embarrassed by the sudden actions as you were. His eyes turned to the steering wheel to avoid seeing your reaction.

" I- um should get going" you rushed out of the car closing the car door. you were about to leave but you suddenly turned around. You opened the car door again and bent down to peer inside. His eyes shot up from the wheel to yours. " Professor Levi, I like you" You closed the door not allowing him to respond and rushed toward your apartment building.

You slid down the front door of your apartment once you were inside. Your hand cupped your mouth the realisation dawning on you. The thought of facing him after you blatantly confessed your feelings to him horrified you.

Yet, you lightly touched your lips where his had previously just been and your heart filled with giddy excitement.

It was not the last time you would kiss your professor.

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oculiaperticlausi · 3 months

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I got death in my pocket and nothing but time All these bones in the closet, in the back of my mind I just leave 'em there, I don't even care, no Holdin' up the flare, I could use a prayer, oh I got death in my pocket, but I feel so alive

trigger warnings: stabbing, violence, attack

Her eyes focus on her phone, a soft laugh leaves her at the text from her sister, Alara. She has no room to talk really, she can't judge her sister for not being able to talk to her ex when she can't talk to her own... whatever he is. She's been doing her best to simply move on from the whole thing and the fact more people died the same night as Rebecca. She's not even sure she can face her twin brother so she's done her best to avoid him the last few weeks.

She tilts her head down to her bag to start shifting through it to grab her keys until there's a quick yank on her arm. "Hey! What the fuc —" but before she can look to see who it is, her head is meeting the brick wall. Her vision flickers black, the taste of something matalic fills her mouth. "Wh..." Her bag has already slipped from her grasp at this point along with her phone, it's a soft clatter and for some reason all she can think about is if her screen cracked when it made contact with the ground.

She tries to raise her hand up to touch her head but before she can even stand, there's a sharp pain in her stomach. She gasps, turning her head down to look at the hand wrapped around the handle of the knife currently in her. Her lips part, a gasp leaves her as she lifts her eyes up to look at the figure in front of her but because of the blood running down her forehead she can't seem to see the person. "Wh..." They lower her to the ground, pulling the knife out.

Oh no. This isn't supposed to be how it ends. She can't do this to her sister, to Frankie, at least not until she apologizes for her attitude, her behavior on New Years, to Ducky for making the lines so fucking blurry.... to Matthew. For going completely out of her way to make him feel like shit about something that wasn't in his control either. She blinks as she looks up to see the figure hover over her, holding down her head as the knife comes at her.

There's a spike of adrenaline that courses through her. "No no," she murmurs. Her hands raise up to grab the wrists to push it away. "Stop, stop, no." Tears are streaming down her face by now. She can hardly catch her breath and the last thing she wants is some person taking a knife to her face. Her knee comes flying up, unsure of where it's hitting or what it has but it's enough to daze the person. She kicks them again as she scrambles to get off the ground. She stands, dizziness taking over but she has to get somewhere public.

That's the rule, right? When in trouble, get somewhere public. She stumbles, reaching out for the wall. Groans of the figure behind her push her into gear. "Help!" She yells, but it's like one of those nightmares where you scream for help and it feels like your voice is so raspy that no one will hear you. She moves her other hand to her stomach, pushing on the wound. "Please," she breathes. She keeps taking steps, her hand gliding across the wall.

She hits a door and it pushes open causing her to fall. She rolls over with a whimper, placing the hand that was walking her along the wall to drag herself more into the building. She can hear voices but they are muffled. "Please help me." She breathes out, her head gently rests against the ground as her vision blurs and the world fades.

#hazal kayacan — self para.#verse — marina murders.#stabbing tw #violence tw #attack tw

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mrhunnabber · 1 year

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Momo Yaoyurozu x Fem OC

Author-kun🥸~ I'm really bored rn and decided I'd give writing a try, please note this is my first time writing so have your expectations lower than Mineta's rizz.

Chaotic shuffling and thrashing eminated from Khalil's bedroom, she was extremely late, her room becoming more of a disorderly mess as she scampered through it frantically, items knocking to the carpeted floor as she grasped at toiletries rushing off to the bathroom

30 minutes to get to class depleting seemingly quick, and time does favours does for no one. Having accidentally delayed one too many alarms she now had to prepare and arrive to school within that minimal timeframe

Maybe she'd be less anxious, making her more presice with her erratic actions if she wasn't on her last strike.

Aizawa had warned her if she were late to his class another time she'd face unspeakable repercussions, and knowing her professor she didn't dare think of what grueling punishment she'd go through

Hopping about as she fought to pull up her uniform trousers and buckling her belt before she grabs her bag stuffing it with books and stationery. Having everything she assumes she needs, she struggled to find only one thing

"Shit! where the hell are my keys!?" She murmured out of breath, with a shaky grasp on her phone, the screen displayed it was now 09:26

Fuck this

Having attained her hero licence, students still aren't permitted to use their quirks outside of Patrol, Highschool or University but she didn't have much of a choice right now

She cracked open her bedroom window, the cool breeze brushing against her hot skin,

"Well here goes nothing"

Swan diving out of her 2 story household, she leaps, landing onto the neighbours roof

"Hey!!" She hears her elderly neighbour screech at her from her well kept garden, waving an irritated fist clutching tightly onto pruning shears at the girl

"Sorry, Mrs Silverton.." she apologized shortly, before leaping off another roof, her wings manifesting as she swiftly glides her way to UA

"Bro, where's Khalil?" Hanta asked his classmates as he took his seat "Beats me, probably overslept again" Denki accurately theorised, his chair squeaking as he turned it side to side, hands leisurely cupping the back of his head

"What if she's not feeling well.." said a genuinely concerned Momo, who kept glancing at the empty stool next to her "Momo, she does this every time and remember how Aizawa threatened her" Mina scoffed in amusement "I wonder what her punishment will be" snickered Kyouka along

And on cue their professor strolled in with his usual indolent features, a quick glance up at the seats he could immediately identify Hayashi hadn't arrived yet, again.

Suddenly the door swung open to reveal a heavily panting Khalil, her chest rose and fell heavily attempting to suck up as much air as possible to ease her boiling lungs, her dark skin glistening, moist from the beads of sweat the rolled down her sharp jaw, her dreadlocks an unruly mess and her appearance deshevled.

The bell rang that instant, she calmly drew another deep breath, dusting off her uniform white shirt

"You're running on thin ice, Hayashi" Aizawa addressed, as the girl stretched "Deepest apologies, Sir. But I'm actually on time, perfectly, on time" she stated, voice laced with confidence "Just go sit down" muttered shaking his head in defeat, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose as he did so

She was one of the most hard headed pupils he'd ever had both the pleasure and dismay of teaching.

When she put her mind to it, she excelled way past his expectations and was one of the top students, so the only real reason he isn't snapping at her for being playful is because she was very intelligent and determined, but that didn't always excuse her lazy tendencies.

She waltz past Aizawa cockily, revelling in the fact she made it just in time as she fixed up her appearance on her way to her seat

Walking up a few stairs she got dapped up by Hanta who was impressed at the girls arrival.

"Ugh" Aizawa sighed before starting today's lesson "Morning students" his monotone voice rung through the quiet auditorium

As the girl dropped down and slouched back into her chair a certain girl was not amused by her antics

"Khalil, you know you could've been late and gotten into a lot of trouble" Momo murmured in a hushed tone, "Don't worry about it, doll, in the end I made it, didn't I?" She responded as she sat straight, her body slightly turned to face Momo.

"Luckily so, you have to stop being so careless" her voice was firm and slightly irritated she wasn't taking her seriously "Sure thing, princess. I swear I'm gonna be a changed Man starting tomorrow" she winked as she did a salute, the girl rolling her eyes, not amused.

"You quite literally said that yesterday" Momo wasn't buying it "Ah, but I did change just not for the better" She looked forward after giving her a cheeky smirk

Momo rolled her eyes, her gaze finding her teachers form pacing slightly as he explained today's lesson which she should've been paying attention to instead of prattling aimlessly with Khalil

Momo glanced at Khalil yet again, fixated on how her long inked fingers raked through her hair brushing it back, giving her a pleasing view of her side profile. Her breathing was now becoming steady as her attention was fully fixated on their professor, she rolled her sleeves up like usual, her tattooed forearms coming into to view, getting special attention of their own

The black haired girls leering slowly moved back up to her face, just for her own face to flush in warmth, painting her cheeks a bright pink hue when her gaze locked with Khalil who had been fully aware of her checking her out, a sly grin tugged at her two toned lips, the girl not prepared for any snarky remarks quickly looked forward.

Just as she found her composure, it shattered when she felt her hand brush against her thigh, pinky inviting it's under her skirt

Heat crept up her throat as her head snapped to Khalil, who wasn't even facing her, thankfully so, "Wh-wha-" Momo stuttered "Can you lend me a pen? I forgot mine" She faced the beat faced girl, her smirk growing "Are you serious? N-no, you still haven't returned the last 4"

She gasped under her breath when the grip on her thigh tightened, sliding a little further up causing butterflies to erupt in her belly

"Please?" She put on faux innocence, her pink bottom lip pursing slightly "Fine" she caved, quickly handed her the pen, swatting her hand off her thigh

"Appreciate it, doll" she winked again, facing forward and beginning to scribble down notes along with Mr Aizawa

Momo huffed a breath of relief, her tight chest loosened as she did the same, trying to distract her mind from the lingering sensation of where her hand once was, the thought making her thighs slightly clench.

Meme for your troubles~🥸

#Spotify #bnha #mha x oc #poc ocs #bnha wlw zine #mha #momo yaoyaruzo #momo yaoyurozu x fem oc #momo x poc oc

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brooklynislandgirl · 1 year

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Advent Calendar: Day 7 @tangleweave

“So, uh…” Nothing good ever really starts that way. So in that moment, when Beth has barely set her purse down and kicked her crocs off at the door, and finds Eddie standing beside the stairs, hair slicked back, wearing a gorgeous Armani tux ~one she bought for him for the first benefit evening he suffered through for her~ and looking for all the world like he’s swallowed bees, Beth feels her heart tick up its pace, hammering like the sea tide in her ears. She watches him as he pulls out his phone and he swipes a few times. He glances from the screen to her face. Nervousness practically drips off him. “Sometimes, a gift isn’t just’a gift. It’s a key to a new world. A young heroine, a Nutcracker-turned-prince. The small but mighty army of mice. The beautiful conclusion of a sugar plum celebration. It’s a story so good…” Whatever else was written on his phone is tossed aside as he smiles at her. “Look, Beth. I know it’s not Moscow, but it’s still your favorite ballet. Curtain call in three hours, figured that would be enough time for you to get dolled up and ready to go. Merry early Christmas?” It takes several seconds and then a few more for Beth to catch up with everything he’s said. To net from the stream of his conscience the meaning of his words. But when she does? The exhaustion of a pre-holiday emergency room shift ~shorter than usual, but also more brutal~ simply melts away. Her eyes prickle with tears as her heart lodges in her throat. First of all, not many people know that the Nutcracker is her favourite ballet. Nor that her dream is to see it in Russian, danced by the Bolshoi. And she knows for a fact that tickets have been sold out for weeks now. She’d checked for a matinee performance. Her hands come up and cover her mouth with the tips of her fingers.

“I’m getting the feeling that…now wasn’t such a good time?” “Oh, Ekie,” she whispers, and his answer prickles the small hairs at the back of his neck, just where his hand goes to rub. It doesn’t stop her from dashing up to him, throwing her arms around his waist and pulling him down enough that she could kiss him. ~*~ He survives the first fifty minutes inside the packed War Memorial Opera House with his body mostly intact. Maybe his arm is a little numb because from the moment the curtain rose, Beth leaned into him, her head on his shoulder, absolutely lost in the beauty and pageantry on the stage. There’s no missing the sigh she breathes when Herr Drosselmeyer appears, it’s the same one that graces his ear when his lips glide along the shapely bones of her collar. Not even a surprise to him. A mysterious old..er…man who is the catalyst of the whole story. A good guy or a bad one left up to imagination. Sweet or Sinister? A merry magician or a scheming sorcerer whose motivations are never quite clear? He knows how she would answer if asked but all he does is press a kiss to her brow. He excuses himself to the men’s room, where he splashes a little water on his face and removes the near invisible ear-plugs. It isn’t that he hates the music, but in getting her orchestra-pit centre stage tickets, he’s playing a deadly game with the welfare of his Other. Still, he doesn’t want to ruin his girl’s gift, either. So it’s a compromise he felt best about. ~*~ The cab drops them off in front of the townhouse and before the door is even closed, her shoes are dangling from her fingertips. She slides an arm around his back as they drift toward the door. One dark tendril oozes around her skin under her coat-sleeve. “Dat was amazing. Mahalo nui loa, Eddie.” “I did good, huh?” “More dan good.” They pause on the doorstep, light streaming through the glass and the middle of the wreath, spilling onto them as she tip-toes up for a kiss.

#tangleweave #A Guy-a Girl-and Some Goo|Eddie-Beth-Beloved #Lethal Protector|Venom verse #Mission in the Rain|San Francisco #Merry Christmas 2022

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xtruss · 25 days

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The Notorious Pirate King Who Vanished With the Riches of a Mughal Treasure Ship

In the late 17th century, Henry Avery—the subject of the first global manhunt—bribed his way into the Bahamas

— Sean Kingsley and Rex Cowan | April 2, 2024

Some said the pirate king went to ground in London or Scotland, others that he died penniless and was buried in an unmarked grave in Devon. Or was he sipping fine French wine in the hills above Marseille? Public domain via Wikimedia Commons

Henry Avery stealthily steered past Hog Island. In the English-controlled waters of the Bahamas, his crew was under strict orders to call him Captain Henry Bridgeman. The Fancy’s gold, silver and diamonds, plundered off the coast of India from a Mughal emperor’s treasure ship, the Gunsway (or Ganj-i Sawa’i), were tucked away under false floorboards in Avery’s cabin.

Palm trees bowed toward the battered ship and the newly nicknamed pirate king. Sea oats shimmered in the early morning breeze. With blue skies and light winds, it was going to be a beautiful day. The final leg into Nassau’s calm harbor was tricky. It took a skillful old hand to squeeze through the narrow channel. On either side, shifting sandbars waited to chew up and spit out wayward traders, nationality be damned. One false move, and all the months of jeopardy would be for nothing.

It was April 1, 1696—a day to make fools of the smartest of men. Luckily, Avery knew all about the island of New Providence. He understood what made the darkest of souls tick and was skilled at turning any man to his way of thinking.

New Providence was the perfect place to make landfall. It straddled the ancient sea lanes between the Province of Carolina and Jamaica (both British colonies) and the Caribbean Sea to the south. Havana was just a three days’ hop away. From Nassau, would-be pirates could watch the panorama of New World trade gliding by.

At 28 miles long and 11 miles wide, New Providence, the heart of the islands of the Bahamas, was big enough to lay low. Best of all, it had a reputation for aiding and abetting villains. The pirate mantra “Ask me no questions and I’ll tell you no lies” could have been invented for this dodgy outback.

Avery knew the bad folk of New Providence were as rotten as a shipwrecked barrel of apples. In fact, he was banking on it. The Bahamas’ motley mob included experts in fishing wrecks sunk along the Florida coast, locals who rushed to salvage Spanish, British, Dutch and French valuables lost to hurricanes and storms. It was easy and generous work that beat breaking one’s back tilling the hateful earth.

A view of New Providence today. Sean Kingsley

The New Providence of 1696 was a long way from becoming the world’s wickedest Republic of Pirates, its chaotic lanes home to such notorious figures as Benjamin Hornigold, Blackbeard, Calico Jack Rackham, Charles Vane, Mary Read and Anne Bonny. By the fall of 1717, as many as 800 pirates would rendezvous in New Providence to divide spoils, fence looted cargo and party away their ill-gotten gains. At times, the lair swelled to a thousand cutthroats, commanded by a changing “who’s who” of crazed leaders. Brawn and brains were respected, but strength always won control. All pirate captains understood that on these shores, the “strongest man carries the day.”

Avery had a knack for reading places and people like others read books. As an ex-Royal Navy sailor who became the skipper of the meanest pirate ship on the high seas, he needed to decide in a blink of an eye who he could trust and what gossip peddled in some mosquito-infested East African tavern was hogwash. His gut rarely let him down.

Peering through his eyepiece, Long Ben—as Avery’s crew called him on deck—made out a few dozen makeshift huts inland of the trees screening the coast. He spied what was little more than a shantytown on the make. Locals were gathering salt to hawk to passing cod-fishing traders from Newfoundland and New England, who used it to stop shipboard meat from rotting too quickly. The New Providence of 1700, with 160 houses and a church, was still a few years away. Up the slope, piles of masonry were being cut and plastered into foundation trenches to build the town’s desperately needed Fort Nassau, paid for by port customs’ profits. Equipped with 28 cannons, its gates would only open in February 1697.

Aurangzeb sits on a golden throne while holding a hawk. Public domain via Wikimedia Commons

Avery, the man who put the world’s economy on a knife-edge by plundering the flagship of Aurangzeb of India, possibly the richest person in the world, drew deeply on a pipe filled with Virginia’s finest tobacco. The gray smoke billowed into the charred rafters of the Wheel of Fortune inn and out the chimney stack to freedom. Avery was thinking about liberty, too. The hard knocks of family life as a child, and betrayal by the Royal Navy, had shattered any dreams Avery once cherished. These days, he was a cold-blooded hyper-realist.

Avery had just become the first pirate commander to chase down a Mughal emperor’s treasure ship. Overnight, he and his crew were millionaires, celebrities, notorious. The pirate would enjoy the moment before deciding his fate. There was much to be said for staying in the Americas—the laid-back lifestyle, the tropical mood, the sun on your back standing next to the tiller.

But he viewed the people as vermin. And the culture. What culture? Avery had rolled out his deadly plans with all the guile and strategic know-how that his navy training had taught him. His scheming wasn’t over yet. Ever since he’d stripped the stricken Gunsway off the coast of Surat, Avery had been thinking about payback: to the family of his old governor who cheated him out of his fortune, to his country for betraying his men in A Coruña, Spain, and pushing him to mutiny.

An 18th-century illustration of Henry Avery. Public domain via the Internet Archive

Avery wondered how much power a man with a fortune like his could buy. To him, power meant returning home to England, the land of his fathers, and Bideford in Devon, a town thick with bittersweet memories. Yet again, he would prove the world wrong.

The nectar of the pirate’s sweet tobacco was a welcome respite from the anarchy of New Providence. The town had no proper governing body and little order. Human waste and garbage choked the alleys. Outside the tavern window, Avery saw the bones of repairs, abandoned hulls and burned-out prizes littering the shores. The island’s wide, open beaches were perfect for careening hulls, beaching ships and listing them to one side to scrape off the foul barnacles and shipworms that infest the tropical Caribbean.

Avery sipped his glass of wine. His plan had gone just how he’d hoped. On paper, Nicholas Trott, governor of New Providence, was an upstanding pillar of the community. Avery knew better. He had gained intelligence about the top dog’s true nature.

Trott liked to frog-march around the harbor with his crisp leather ledger tucked under his arm, all-important. But make no bones about it: Avery knew that the governor was a snake in the grass without a shred of experience serving king and country. As Richard Coote, the powerful First Earl of Bellomont and the governor of Massachusetts Bay, warned London in 1699, Trott was “the greatest pirate-broker that ever was in America.”

An 18th-century depiction of Avery, with the Fancy shown in the background. Public domain via Wikimedia Commons

The king of the pirates would play nice, try diplomacy. If that failed, he would have no qualms strangling Trott’s neck until his eyes popped out.

To Avery, dropping into Nassau and dealing with Trott held no big risk of being slung into a dungeon for piracy. Trott was no gamble. Here was a man who could be bought, greedy to top up his demeaning £30 annual salary. Money meant power. Power meant status. The question was: What was Trott’s price?

To be sure his reckoning was sound, that morning Avery had moored the Fancy off the island’s coast and sent three of his men to New Providence with a personal note for the governor. Avery, in the guise of Bridgeman, pretended his ship was a slaver bending the rules as so many did, trafficking enslaved Africans and elephant tusks without the seal of approval from the Royal African Company, which owned the British crown’s monopoly over the trade.

The Fancy’s tall tale claimed the crew needed permission to take on provisions before going straight. Avery sent a purse stuffed with pieces of eight to make sure the governor got the point. In return for the courtesy of letting him land, Trott could expect a tip of 20 silver pieces of eight and 2 pieces of gold from each crew member. Avery would pay double as captain.

Trott’s fawning reply played the innocent to perfection. With a nudge and a wink, he embraced Avery’s crew as “soldiers of fortune” who “had done no Christian nation any damage and were the king’s subjects.” Trott sent the trio back to the Fancy, weighed down with a cask of wine, a hogshead of beer and a cask of sugar, as well as permission for Avery to land at his leisure.

A proclamation for Avery's apprehension. Public domain via Wikimedia Commons

Avery knew full well that the clincher for Trott would be the offer of the added tip of the Fancy, with its 46 guns and 100 barrels of gunpowder. French forces had recently seized the island of Exuma, 140 miles away. Rumor had it they were heading for Nassau with three warships and 320 men. Fear filled the air. Nassau had no men-of-war ships, and Trott’s stone fort was still a building site. But with dozens of guns lining the shore, the French would think twice about raping and pillaging.

By the time Trott grounded the Fancy on Hog Island and started stripping its bones bare, he had raked in a small fortune. The strong man was rich and had hardly needed to lift a finger.

As the weeks unfolded, however, only one winner emerged. Avery’s crew scattered. The pirates were spotted openly walking the streets of Philadelphia, thick as thieves with judges and sheriffs, the Gunsway’s riches buying influence and power. Others preferred spending their loot in New York, Connecticut and New Jersey. A few of the crew stayed local. Two men settled in Bermuda. Some seven of Avery’s crew married in New Providence and bribed Trott to sign royal pardons. Most of the pirates went straight.

All the while, the rumor mill churned alarmingly. The wrecking ball of Avery’s recent past was catching up with him. East India Company agents were seeking the pirate king in Bombay and Calcutta. The Royal Navy was thinking about dispatching battleships to hunt for the Fancy in the waters between West Africa, Madagascar and Arabia. Bounty hunters crisscrossed the world from the Indian Ocean to the English Channel. Avery was the most wanted man in the world. The world’s first global manhunt was underway.

As the number of guns for hire searching for the pirate grew, proclamations for his apprehension flew from port to port. The legend of Avery the pirate king echoed through the world’s taverns, smoky coffee shops and fashionable ladies’ salons. Avery had shown the world how to unpick the richest treasure box on earth and revealed the wealth waiting to be stolen from heathens’ pockets.

A 19th-century illustration of Captain William Kidd. Public domain via Wikimedia Commons

Every pirate wanted to match Avery’s strike. The golden age of piracy had begun. Men of fortune flooded the Red Sea and the Indian Ocean. Captain William Kidd, the Scottish privateer sent on a mission in September 1696 to hunt down and destroy pirates, instead joined the free-for-all by seizing the Quedagh Merchant. Four years later, Kidd ended up dangling from the end of a rope at London’s Execution Dock.

Avery, for his part, wanted to keep his precious head on his neck. So far, his plan had worked like a dream. Trott was eating out of the palm of his hand. Avery was now the strongest man in Nassau.

The burning question in need of an urgent resolution was how to slip through the closing net. Should the pirate king hide out in the Caribbean or head to England for payback? Should he live a life of luxury in the West Indies or risk it all and be damned for retribution on far more dangerous British soil?

Within a few months of his arrival in the Bahamas, Avery was back on the waves. He was seen landing in Ireland in June 1696. That November, five of his crew members were hanged in England. But Avery himself escaped punishment. Some said the pirate king went to ground in London or Scotland, others that he died penniless and was buried in an unmarked grave in Devon. Or was he sipping fine French wine in the hills above Marseille?

Most ballads and books were convinced that Avery vanished in Madagascar, home to a supposed utopian pirate colony called Libertatia. But one fact was certain: When the Lords Justices of England offered the “assurance of our most gracious pardon” to all pirates in December 1698, only Kidd and Avery were excluded by name. The pirate king was still wanted, dead or alive.

#Smithsonian Mag #History #Notorious Pirate King #Mughal Treasure | Ship 🚢#Henry Avery #Bahamas 🇧🇸#Sean Kingsley | Rex Cowan

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nctsworld · 3 years

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completely floored

✩ jeno x reader | best friends to lovers | fluff | smut | 1.5k

SUMMARY | who knew gaming on the floor like you two used to could change everything between you and your best friend? WARNINGS | smut, floor s*x, oral s*x (m receiving) RATING | mature PROMPT | staring at each other’s lips for a moment before giving in REQ BY | anonymous

AUTHOR’S NOTE | bless up for the boring jalapeno teasers to give me inspo and i’ve been wanting to write jeno for a long time so hehe i also haven’t played uno in forever sorry if there’s anything off

In Jeno’s basement rental suite, you two are sitting comfortably near each other on his carpeted floor, playing Halo together with your backs leaning against his worn-down sofa.

“You doing okay?” Jeno asks with care, glancing over at your side of the TV screen where you’re blatantly struggling to stay alive from the onslaught of enemies. His gaze then falls on you for a second.

“Yep, doing great,” you singsong, sarcasm laced in your tone. He catches sight of you sticking out your tongue in frustration.

Jeno’s not sure why the expression from you comes off more cute to him than usual. He smiles to himself in amusement and turns his attention back to the game.

It’s been about six months since you’ve last hung out one on one with him. Third year of university has been busy for both of you, but you’ve managed to find some free time now that finals were finally over this semester.

And it feels exactly like old times from high school when you two used to sit on the floor at his parents’ house, gaming until the sun rose.

But things have definitely changed since then.

Like how gorgeous Jeno has gotten.

When you unsurprisingly die and have to wait to respawn until Jeno plows through the current batch of enemies, you waste your time in noticing his chiseled jaw line, the sexiness in his confident grin, and the raw attractiveness that exudes from him.

You shake your thoughts away, attributing them to how you probably just missed hanging out with him, along with the fact that you’ve been single for way too long.

After a couple more rounds of Halo, Uno replaces it as the next game of choice. Still on the floor, you’re now facing each other. About a few feet apart from you, Jeno has a leg pulled nearby to his chest, his arm resting on his raised knee. On the flipside, you’re sitting with lax legs bent onto their sides, parallel to the carpet.

The early rounds of Uno are peaceful, but as it progresses, playful competitiveness emerges. The game shifts drastically when Jeno suddenly plays a handful of draw four cards.

Your jaw swings open, shocked that he held onto so many for so long, and you complain about the unfairness of the situation. Smugly, Jeno shrugs and retorts back that’s simply how the game works.

Twisting your mouth to one side and squinting your eyes, you then drop your cards in a teasing state of anger and launch yourself towards him. Your best friend merely laughs as you attempt to punch him in the arm.

However, things take an unexpected turn. You lose balance and accidentally topple him down towards the carpet, your chest pressing atop of his.

Your faces are inches apart from one another. You’re both heavily breathing, practically inhaling the other’s air.

Each parties’ eyes flickers towards the other’s lips. Your gaze lingers longer than it should and you reprimand yourself because this is your best friend—your drop, dead gorgeous best friend who is looking at your lips with the same craving.

Chest to chest, your hearts race together, pounding against the other almost in sync. Carefully, with a gulp, Jeno gently palms your cheek. Your eyelids flutter to a close.

Lips meet and collide, and you lay your hands on the planes of his chest. You’ve always felt safe around Jeno, but you’ve never felt more safe with him than like this.

Soon enough, the kissing escalates, transforming into ones that drip of neediness and burning desire. Your touches dig deeper into each other. Throughout it, your shirt is thrown aside and you quickly attach yourself back onto him to help him rid of his layers.

Marking his body with a trail of hot kisses, you slowly make your descent towards his significantly hard desire. Seeing him shirtless is nothing new, but now that you have him up-close and all to yourself, you traverse his beauty without hurry.

Peeking up at him when you reach his abs, you see him looking right back with an intent, ravenous stare. Because you’re not used to it, you feel a tingle in your cheeks and brush some hair behind your ear as you continue your trek.

Once at your destination, you strip him of his jeans and brief-boxers. Gasping silently at the sight, his sizable cock springs out and slaps against his stomach. You lick your lips, wanting his length immediately in your mouth. Instead, you restrain yourself and leave feathery kisses upon it.

Jeno sighs at the minimal sensation, his erection twitching in yearning for more. His sighs melt, replaced by sharp gasps and the ruffling of eyebrows as you devour him whole. For what you can’t engulf with your mouth, you pump with your hand.

“God...” he pants, eyeing you closely with with his hands behind his head, bare arms flexing delectably. Saliva begins to pool around his base as you suck endlessly. He peels a hand away and runs his fingers through your hair. “You’re so beautiful.”

Coming up for air, you chuckle as you stroke him steadily. “You’re saying that ‘cause I just sucked you off.”

“No.” Jeno strongly disagrees, a stern glimmer obvious in his eye. Shaking his head, he rises onto his forearms and leans in right up to your face.

Your best friend whispers the following into your mouth as he rubs his thumb tenderly over your cheek—

“I’ve always thought you were beautiful.”

Another kiss, but this time, lips are crashing fiercely, like it’s the last time you’d ever kiss anybody. Jeno caresses your upper body and similarly, your hand continues to squeeze and jerk him off. Impatiently, you stand to hurriedly remove your bra and tug your bottoms off.

Jeno’s tongue drags along his lower jaw when you rush to your purse to grab a condom; he watches attentively at the perfect view of your ass.

You scuttle back and ease the rubber onto him, and within seconds, you’re sitting on his length. Once he’s completely inside, an acute throaty moan pierces the room and your head cranes back. You’ve never had anyone fill you up so full before, and yet, it doesn’t take much time to acclimatize to his girth.

Riding him, you bounce relentlessly with your weight on your knees and your hands graze his upper frame. You’re gone, blinded by ecstasy, but Jeno’s hazy look doesn’t stray from you.

His pretty fingers glide upward over your stomach, then over your breasts. At first, he thumbs your nipples to play with you prior to kneading them hungrily in their entirety.

Without warning, Jeno seizes your back with one hand and brings himself up, snatching your breasts into his mouth.

“Fuck, Jeno,” you exhale in pleasure, sinking your nails into his flexed back and shoulders. “What are we doing?”

“Do you wanna stop?” he asks between the snug puckering of his lips around your nubs.

“No, no,” you immediately reply, shaking your head profusely. “You feel too fucking good...”

When he’s finished loving your breasts, you gesture for him to lean back down during a kiss. Like before when you fell on him in the beginning, your chests are glued together again, this time now sans clothes.

Your lips maneuver over to his neck, attacking him with kisses, and you fuck him with the your ass jutting out. The wet slaps of your sexes intermingling, Jeno’s panting, and your whines penetrate your surroundings.

“I’m close, I’m close...” he says, his eyes rolling to the back of his head in timing for what’s about to happen.

Dragging yourself away from his neck, you kiss him fervently while you fasten your pace. He moans into your mouth as he unravels, his sweaty palms relaxing against your perspired back. You follow right after, practically reaching your peaks together.

After a few moments, you roll off and lay beside him. Both of you pant towards the ceiling in disbelief. The disbelief that runs through you is immersed with an underlying fear.

“Maybe I should get going...” you say unsurely, sitting up and looking at your clothes at the other side of the floor.

Just because you’ve had sex with him, it doesn’t mean Jeno still isn’t your best friend, nor does it rid of the fact that he knows your change of emotions like the back of his hand. He sits up too, warmly wraps an arm around your shoulder, and kisses the top of your nude arm.

“How about one more game?” he mumbles into your skin.

“Which game?” you whisper curiously.

One more peck, this time on your cheek.

“The game called Stay the Night.”

Your head turns to face him, gazes converging. He flashes you his saccharine smile, his eyes following suit and smiling as well.

“Can’t play it without you, but only if you want to.” He rubs the tip of his nose against yours, causing you to giggle. “What do you say?”

You get lost in his eyes, realizing that maybe you’ve always had something for Jeno, whether you were conscious of it or not.

Despite it all, you know your feelings aren’t unrequited. They can’t be, not with the way he’s looking at you as if you’re his entire world right now.

In response to his proposition, you lean in for another kiss. It’s definitely not the last kiss you give him tonight.

Not by a long shot.

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