#(if you ever come back I know you'd like this)

[reshinless]

Hiii

Can you do reader masturbating while moaning Kinich’s name and he accidentally hears, then they bang?

you didn't get it. why was he so fuckin' attractive!?

you've always been close with him, ever since you both were kids and busy running around, playing house like every other kids do. but he has never looked better now.

he was just talking about his day, but he didn't have to play with the keys to your shared home with his fingers.

or how he just had to bite his glove off to use his bare hands to hold your waist back?

you always wished his fingers dug deeper in a different area on your body. Or maybe his cold lips, which spoke a word or two to others but are willing to speak all day with you, could go elsewhere, either.

"ahhn- kinich..." you catch yourself moaning, quickly covering your mouth to hide the lewd mewls coming from your throat.

he was in the room riiiight next to yours. shit.

it wasn't even on purpose—saying his name? while touching yourself? it came as an instinct.

fuck... you kind of do wish it was his fingers instead of yours. getting tired as is, but every time a picture of him flashed in your mind—you get hornier by the second!

yeah but, no way he'd be awake at this time of night. right?

with that realization, you decide no way he'd catch you. but little did you know...

as your digit creeps near your entrance, you let out a puffy, breathy moan. you were no longer hiding under any fabric, it was three am for crying out loud.

the hole grew tired, reddish-pink and ripe. it drooled from your essence, or it could've been the secret lube you hid in the nightstand.

you cried, and mewled quietly, lewd sounds from your tired entrance only getting louder.

"ffffuck! mmm—kin'.." you continued. "need you... s'bad.."

and through the slit of the door being slightly opened- there he was, his eye widening, watching how your naked body reacted to your touch that you imagined was his instead.

lurking by the actual entrance to your room. the vague, yet dangerous little whimpers you let out—not to mention most of it was just you pleading with his name.

shit- he felt a tent pitch in his pants, only tightening the more he watched. he felt shame for observing you, but he couldn't tear his eyes away so easily.

before you know it. your moans are prolonging, sweet, and hearty mouthfuls of cute little 'please's and 'kin's.

on instinct- he was already stepping inside, a flushed look in his eyes as he stood tall.

"ahh shit! I didn't mean for you to see me like this!" you immediately exclaim, hiding your exposed body under a pillow nearby.

"don't hide now, pretty."

well, this wasn't how you expected to lose your virginity. but you weren't gonna complain if the love of your life was already biting his glove off to finger your pretty lil' hole.

his pace was enough to bring you back to the peak you were about to reach previously.

"ahhn- kin'- hhhnngh.." you felt it knot in your stomach, the more and more his digits hit those oh-so-perfect spots, of course it was only a matter of time you'd cum and leave his fingers literally soaked in cum.

he only circled the cold-turned-warm fingertips around the rim of your soppy entrance. he admit he was biting his life to hold himself back from letting out a deep groan into your ear.

"haah.. ffuck.." left breathless—the sight of your hole simply squirting onto his palm. shit he could drink this for days.

by the time he wants more, his feral side takes form- he didn't even notice he already positioned himself to thrust into your slippery hole.

it felt so easy, yet so tight when his tip invaded it ever so slightly. your little sobs of pleasure didn't help his case, his lips inevitably reach yours, making out at the touch of your soft lips hitting his chapped ones.

he smirked as he left the long lasting 'peck', a string of saliva connected you, his thrusts only getting deeper. leaving your hole drooling for more- he could only stare lovingly at the simple sight of what connected you to him. at least to his tip.

a long night it truly was, hours later of what seemed to be back-to-back orgasms, it felt surreal. you could see the stars so clearly at this point, the amount of times your back arched, and ached for more a few rounds before-

or how many times you knitted your eyebrows right before releasing essence all over his shaft, he couldn't even count it on his fingers ;'(

leaving your legs shaking, he laid you down into a better position, one where it wasn't so uncomfortable. a peck is felt over your forehead, as well as a hand to accompany.

flying through the strands of your hair, he simply laid beside you.

"y'know, I would've gotten hear sooner if you moaned a little louder.." "kinich, its already morning!"

[majinbangus]

I love guard dog Simon so much 😖

thank you anon, you make me feel better about sharing about my incoherent thoughts about him <3 -> more here

》 18+

You know what gets him going? Pulling on his collar.

Except you don't actually know that until you wake up to him sleeping on top of you and you unsuccessfully try pushing him off.

"Simon." You push at his shoulder, wiggling your hips. He's a heavy man—or dog, it's what Soap usually refers to him as—and you lack the strength to extricate yourself from underneath him. You'd have a better shot at trying to wake him up. You raise your voice, "Simon."

There's a sound of complaint rumbling from within his chest. A warning growl that means nothing when directed towards you (usually). He's almost as cute as an actual dog like this. You still need to get up, though.

"Simon, c'mon." You bring your hand up behind his neck to thoughtlessly loop a finger around his collar, oblivious to the sudden rigidness above you. "We need to pick Johnny up from the airport." You make the mistake when you begin to gently tug. Once. Twice. Three times. You pull a little harder on the last tug. "Simon—"

You're wholly unprepared for what comes next.

His eyes shoot open, half snarling as he looks at you with something wild in his eyes. His mask is off, but somehow he looks more like the dog Soap always refers to him as. Feral. Raw. Unbridled. He lacks the usual composure he has when he's playing the part of your guard dog.

Your finger slips from his collar.

"We'll be late," You meekly whisper, hand resting on the base of his neck, careful not to touch the collar again. "Johnny will be waiting for us."

It does nothing. He grabs your hand and curls your fingers into his collar again, gripping your wrist to make you pull him closer. You gulp when he leans in to growl slowly, "Johnny can wait."

-

"So this is why I had to order an Uber?"

Soap comes home to find you still in your predicament: writhing and whining underneath Ghost; however, unlike earlier, you're squirming for much different reasons.

"Ah—mm!" You're holding on tight to Ghost's collar as if to ground yourself. "S-sorry, we..."

You can't finish your sentence, throwing your head back, muffling a moan. Soap doesn't fault you for it.

"It's okay, sweetheart. I know you have to take care of your dog." He smirks when Ghost switches up his rhythm and you cry, legs shuddering in that way he's intimately familiar with. He slips a hand into his pants and takes himself out, pumping his cock lightly. "You can make it up to me once you're done and give me a proper welcome home. Alright with you?"

You answer back with a warbling sob.

He'll take that as a yes.

(Note to self: if you ever want Ghost to keep you trapped underneath him and fuck his weight into you, pull on his collar. Otherwise, leave it alone. The command 'down, boy' can only do so much. Lesson learned.)

[sleepyangelkami]

AN ANGEL d.winchester

𝜗𝜚 WORD COUNT - 4.5K

DEAN WINCHESTER X FEM!READER

𝜗𝜚 SUMMARY - You're nervous to lose your virginity, Dean shows you everything that you've been missing out on.

𝜗𝜚 WARNINGS - smut, dom!dean, sub!reader, nervous/shy!reader, unprotected sex, creampie, p!v, teasing, loss of virginity, fingering, hickeys (r.recieving), size kink, praise kink, dean is experienced, reader is inexperienced, (1) thigh slap, big dick!dean, boob fondling, boob sucking, reader is smaller than dean, illusions to past masturbation, reader blushes, petnames, intended lower case, nothing i write is ever proofread 🩷

dean liked having you sat in his lap.

this wasn't the first time, your legs stretched around his waist while your hands scrunched idly at the black shirt he'd been wearing, your lips against his own. making out with you had to be possibly the best thing he'd ever done. it was like getting sent to heaven and back, between each breath he damned the gods that disallowed him to press his lips against yours for forever.

but you were new to all this.

he had to be gentle.

dean was the first real relationship you'd ever had. and if he was being honest, you were sort of the first real relationship he'd ever had too.

he used to hop from girl to girl, bed to bed and not think twice about it. you were the absolute opposite. you were the type of girl that didn't speak unless spoken to, you kept your head down and got through everything without so much as letting your imagination wander with what it would feel like to be with a man.

then you met him.

his hands were pinching at the fat of your thighs, he found it hard to keep his hands to himself when you were like this. between kisses, he could hear the shakiness in your breaths, it drove him unbelievably mad.

you felt almost sorry for dean, knowing it'd taken this long to get comfortable enough to even make out with the man. you knew his history and how he wouldn't go longer than a week without someone in his bed. now he'd went more than three months with you like this, aching for more.

and it wasn't like you didn't want more, believe me, you'd been aching just as horribly.

you were just... scared?

deans hands moved harshly against your skin, right hand coming down to gently slap your thigh before gripping it once again. the feeling prompted a low whimper to leave your lips.

dean almost groaned. he could get used to hearing noises like those.

when the man pulled away from your lips, heavy breaths still leaving his own, you swore you could have whimpered again just from the loss of contact.

he looked down at you, eyes all blown wide, lips slick and swollen, it was a sight he hoped was never erased from his memory. he wanted to remember this forever. "y'so needy." he had that cocky grin on his lips, cocking his head to the side as he viewed you as a whole, all his, right in his lap for the taking.

you felt your cheeks get hot at the sentence, eyes immediately darting anywhere other than his face. "don' be mean." was the mumble you let out, eyes adverting and voice lowering. you weren't able to talk to him, not when he got like this, all 'bigger' than you, it made you feel small, it made you feel wet.

"'m not, 'm not." he spoke with a low chuckle, one of his hands raising to meet your face, you felt the padding of his thumb wipe across your hot cheeks, he could tell you were nervous. then again, you were always so nervous. "i think it's cute."

again, your face got increasingly hotter but dean didn't leave you any room for words, dipping his head so his lips could meet your neck.

there was something so surreal about being like this, your hands gripping at his shirt, top lip clamped down on your bottom as he kissed against the skin of your neck.

again, this wasn't the first time he'd done something like this. makeouts and hickey-leaving was getting more and more natural in your relationship, common, even.

he'd come home from his hunts with sam and all he'd want was you either below or on top of him, his lips against anything they could reach.

you felt his lips part, sucking against your neck as one hand ran up your back, the other cupping the back of your hair. once he sucked, his tongue would smooth over the skin, pleasure to ease the pain. and he'd go again, gradually moving to different places on your neck. marking you.

your own lips were strewn shut, you were hoping and praying on every star that you didn't let a noise slip from you. you were too nervous, too embarrassed but the whole point of this was to feel good, wasn't it? so why did you feel so embarrassed to show him how good it felt?

your eyes fluttered shut, the feeling suddenly overwhelming.

you didn't register the move of your hips until his lips left your neck and his hands clamped down on your waist, low grunt leaving his mouth.

you stared at him with those big eyes and he swore he was gone. "y'can't do that, sweetheart." despite his words, his tone was gentle. "can't start something if you don't want to finish it."

he knew how inexperienced you were, he thought you wanted to hold off on losing your virginity which is why he'd never made such a move but by the way you were looking at him now, he swore you wanted nothing more than for him to take you.

and he'd gladly do so upon your command.

"i do..." you uttered. ".. want to." the words made your insides twinge, made your nose scrunch and your lips purse.

you were too nervous, shaking like a leaf on top of him. even so, with so much anxiety bottled into a human, dean made no movements of caution.

you sort of liked that dean wasn't as awkward or nervous as you were. dean was confident, that much was for sure. but being so confident also gave him this openness, seeping comfort into your veins as his large, warm hands trailed up and down your thighs.

"yeah?" his voice was breathy and his smile had left his features. he didn't need to be so teasing now, he knew you would simply burst of shyness. and he didn't want you in a position of uncertainty. "what d'you want?"

he wasn't trying to tease you, though he knew his fingers that began to dance against your skin were doing nothing to calm your nerves.

he just needed to hear you say it.

you planted your face into his chest with an incoherent mumble, cheeks alight as flames.

dean could have laughed at you but he didn't want you thinking you'd done something wrong. on the contrary, he found it downright adorable how shy you'd been getting. but you couldn't help it, this was such an unfamiliar feeling bubbling in your stomach.

"can't hear you, sweetheart." his head came down to sit atop yours, his voice a gentle whisper. "i need you to tell me what you want, okay?" his free hand tipped your chin upwards to look at him, those pretty green eyes held so much sincerity. "use your words f'me, baby."

words felt stuck in your throat, you couldn't seem to get them out. but dean didn't want to let this get away from him, he steadied your chin between his fingers.

"i want..." your voice was all breathy, all needy. it had dean reeling. "i want you to touch me."

and as the words passed your lips, you swear all the air was knocked from your lungs. listening to yourself talk had made your head feel fuzzy. before dean, you couldn't have even imagined such words leaving your lips.

dean was struggling to compose himself but nonetheless, he did. his lips quirked into this proud yet sly smirk as his fingers ran up and down your thighs. "where, angel? here?" he practically mocked, fingers against your knee.

at this point, dean had never seen an angel, he didn't believe in them. but he was sure that if angels did exist, you had to be one of them.

you could have corrected him verbally, told him to stop teasing or even scolded him for mocking you while you were all worked up like this. but instead, you chose to grasp his bigger hand in your own and trail it towards your core.

as your hand cupped his own, he could feel them shake, he almost cooed at you but he didn't want to make you more nervous than you already were.

but when his hand finally reached your clothed core, he couldn't help but let out a groan.

it didn't take longer than a second for dean to have you flipped over with your back against the mattress of the bed. a noise left your lips as he towered over you, that infamous smirk etched to his lips.

but a type of seriousness washed over him. "are you sure you want this?"

you knew he wasn't asking you to tease you or make you wait, he was being sincere and you couldn't have been more sincere back by bucking your hips with a low whine of the word, "yes." quickly followed by a "please."

"so needy." he mumbled back, lips moving to your neck while his fingers fumbled at the cotton material of your baby blue sleep shorts. he hooked his fingers around the waistband and tore it off skilfully.

he supposed his experience was paying off.

you didn't have any time to counter what he'd said, too focused on the feeling building in your stomach. much of it was worry, anxiety even but the majority of it was this foreign, amazing feeling.

"fuck." his ring clad fingers circled against your panties. you were suddenly hyper aware of how worked up you'd gotten while making out with him, a blush creeping in on your face as you turned away from him.

dean all but tutted, dragging your face back.

"don't get shy on me now, sweetheart. This wet for me, the least you can do is look at me." he had that empowering stare that told you he was in charge here, it had you shrinking further into the mattress.

but dean wasn't demanding, sure he was dominating but he didn't make you uncomfortable. truthfully, you'd been rather scared of getting this far with anybody but you were sure that if there was anybody you wanted it to be with, it was him.

his hands toyed at waistbands of your panties. "this okay?" his eyes were glued to your face, trying to watch every way your face contorted, making sure you were okay.

believe it or not, there was a lot one could tell from just looking at someone.

you nodded your head briskly, darkened and bitten lips parted slightly, covered in the slick left behind from your tongue. your cheeks had turned a darkened colour too, blush spreading across your face.

there was something so surreal about looking at you like this, knowing nobody else ever had. he pulled the panties down your legs, watching you steadily with his own lips parting open. his eyes moved from yours to trail down your body, landing on your sopping core. he couldn't help but breathe in a breath.

"you're so pretty, angel." he moved his hand upwards again, closed fingers gently toying with your clit, which earned a soft gasp from you. his lips quirked as he brought his hand away, using the other to slip off his ring. he took your wrist, holding it up gently. "take care of this for me, yeah?" you nodded as he slipped the ring onto your thumb, seeing as your other fingers wouldn't fit it. "good girl." he mumbled, pressing a kiss to your cheek.

he was suddenly hyper aware of the fact that you were a virgin.

now, dean wasn't necessarily put off by the fact that you were a virgin. dean couldn't have cared less what you were. but he needed to make sure he was gentle, more so than any other time.

because he was the first, the one you'd remember forever.

though, he intended to be your very last, too.

his fingers trailed across your pretty tank top, down to your hips and finally edging between your legs. he peppered kisses against your face and down across your jaw, finally landing on your neck, fingers pushing your legs apart with ease.

as shy as you were, you didn't hide from him, you allowed him to part your legs, his hand was against your inner thigh, softly soothing up and down against your skin.

but he had to make sure, before he touched you. "sure this is okay? not having second thoughts?"

of course dean wanted to but he only wanted to if you wanted to. but you nodded anyway, swallowing though your mouth was dry anyway. "'m just nervous." you admitted softly.

it was no secret to dean that you were a nervous creature already. he knew this was all new to you but he didn't want you to feel shy around him. "you don't need to be." he pressed a kiss against the supple of your cheek, hand moving further as you let out a shaky breath. "not with me." as the whisper left his mouth, his hand came up to touch your hot core.

the noise that left your mouth should have embarrassed you but right now, you couldn't think of anything other than the feeling of his hand right where you needed him.

he collected your wetness onto his fingers, spreading it up and down your folds, two fingers parting from the rest as he gently eased them into your hole.

heavy breaths suddenly left you, chest rising and falling while dean's face was practically hidden in your neck, peppering kisses, sucking and licking against the soft skin while his fingers settled inside of you.

he gave you hardly any time to adjust to the feeling, pulling them out and then thrusting them right back into you. "you're so warm, sweetheart." he mumbled in slight awe. suddenly, the image took over his mind, the image of him inside of you. he couldn't seem to wipe it away.

he knew that giving yourself to him even just like this was a lot for you, he didn't want to push you any further than he already had tonight.

however, the image still tainted his memory.

as the speed of his fingers increased, so did the volume of your noises.

a sticky, wet sound bounced from wall to wall, causing your cheeks to warm incredibly further. you flushed, your own hand coming up to cover your mouth, suddenly aware of how loud you'd been.

a coo left his lips, free hand coming to drag your wrist away from your mouth. "wanna hear every noise you can make, angel."

and his words alone made you whimper.

the palm of his hand bounced against your clit with every thrust of his hand, emitting these noises from you that you'd never been able to draw from yourself.

"y'sound so pretty, you know that, baby?" you made a noise to show you were listening, though all it told dean was that you felt good. "look so pretty too. so beautiful. all mine."

dean couldn't keep his hands to himself.

his free hand dragged against your skin, pushing at it as if trying to get closer to you in any way possible.

against his fingers formed a creamy ring. he looked down at his digits sliding in and out of you, wetness surrounding you both, keeping you together by a wet string.

he let his thoughts wander.

as evil as it was, he simply couldn't think of anything else, he imagined it was his dick sliding in and out of your hot, wet hole, the noises you'd make would be so much louder, you'd be so much fuller.

then he was suddenly aware of your experience once again.

you were tight, incredibly tight which only made him scissor his fingers. if you were going to take his dick, he needed to stretch you out first.

"dean!" you spluttered out as he scissored his fingers inside of you. "c-cant."

your hips bucked backwards, as if you were trying to tell yourself to stop, but it felt too good to stop.

and dean knew your body well, more than you knew it apparently for he only tutted, holding your wrist in his free hand. "you can take it baby, there you go." and he must have known what was happening because your insides were turning to mush.

you'd orgasmed by yourself before but this? this was true bliss.

he held your waist down to the mattress as your body squirmed, head falling back into the pillows as his name fell on your lips, moans and whines blissfully leaving your slick lips.

"good girl." he mumbled, pressing kisses anywhere his lips could reach. "you're so good, there you go. atta girl."

his words of praise fell on your lips, only making you squirm impossibly more. but nonetheless, he kept up his pace, fingers moving to help you ride out your high.

dean swore he'd never seen something so beautiful.

he watched in awe, staring at the way your face scrunched up, pretty lips parted and your eyes screwed closed, though he could only imagine you were seeing stars behind your lids, not that he was being cocky or anything.

the sight was pure bliss, angelic, even.

he swore he'd been to heaven and back, just watching your face contort.

and he'd watch it forever, if he could.

he was suddenly aware of how tight his jeans felt.

"i need to fuck you." he was mumbling with a slight neediness in his tone, kissing up and down your throat, his hand only coming to a halt when your own practically pushed it away, the overstimulation becoming too much. "can i?" a beat passed. "please?"

his face rose to meet yours and you stared at him, all blissed out. you swore that his fingers were the most skilled, pleasurable feeling you'd ever felt, much better than to how it felt when you'd done it by yourself. your lips were glossed over, heavy pants leaving your chest. huge eyes and flushed cheeks.

almost a whine of the phrase, "uh-huh." passed your lips.

and it was enough for him.

his lips crashed into your own, kissing you ever so softly, though there was passion hidden somewhere between your heavy breaths.

needy hands pawed at the end of his black shirt, his own hands reached down to cup yours, helping you tear it off of his body. his amulet dangled downwards, just below your face and he was suddenly very aware of the fact that your top was still on. he supposed he'd been too focused on making you feel good to realise.

his hands reached the end of your own top, helping you push it over your head.

no words left his lips but they parted, tongue passing over the bottom one as he stared.

your pink bra was so pretty on you he almost had to think to decide whether or not he wanted to keep it on. but he decided with the latter, hands unhooking your bra skillfully, as if he'd done it a thousand times before.

he hardly got to see your boobs, for his hands cupped them as soon as they were let out of the bra. he cursed out a grunt under his breath, one hand leaving your breast so his mouth could replace it.

against the mattress, your back arched, stomach against his own while you bit back the pretty whimpers which he yearned to hear. his mouth worked against you, rolling his tongue back and forth, practically flicking your nipple in his mouth making you unable to contain the sounds you so desperately tried to keep back.

"d―dean!" you spluttered, eyes fluttering shut. his own eyes looked up at you, watching your face contort once again.

he had to have you.

as his face left your chest, a string of spit connected your boobs to his lips.

he wiped it away, though nothing could wipe away that smut smirk he held. nonetheless, he helped himself to shimmying out of his jeans, taking his boxers off with it.

it wasn't until he took everything off that reality set in. you stared, eyes blown wide, he was, well... big. and it was sort of hard not to get nervous, even with the fact that his fingers had just been stuffed inside of you, you weren't so sure it was going to fit.

"you okay?" he leaned down, towering over you. he realised your eyes hadn't moved from his dick, pulling your chin up with his two fingers. "are you sure you want this?"

you nodded your head, thoughts a mere muddle of clouds. "i just... 'm nervous." you admitted, feeling your stomach fill with this fuzzy feeling that you only got when you talked to dean.

"you don't have to be nervous, sweetheart, not with me, okay?" the palm of his hand rested on your face. "do you want this?"

"yes." you answered without a beat.

"promise?" you could have melted right then and there. dean winchester was of many things but above all, he was gentle.

"promise." you mumbled, finding yourself relaxing just at the mere sound of his voice. his hand trailed up to find your own, fingers interlocking yours. his free hand moved down to his dick, pressing it in his hand.

you watched with curiosity yet also nervousness. you'd never seen this done in real life, so the shyness was creeping in as you watched him move his hand up and down his shaft, dragging it towards your wet hole. instantly, a sound left your lips, blush instantly creeping in as your eyes snapped up to him. he only smiled gently at you, finding your shyness rather adorable.

the head of his dick slowly pushed inside of you and that alone had you feeling awfully stretched. he wasn't just long, he was thick too meaning he stretched you out completely. "okay?" you nodded at the sound of his question, the feeling of his lips on your cheek moments after. "'s gonna hurt a little, alright?"

you nodded your head, eyes shutting closed as you braced yourself.

you weren't an idiot either, you knew first times were supposed to hurt but luckily for you, you had dean right there, holding one of your hands tight in his own, soft whispers and kisses against your skin.

what more could you really ask for.

he slowly eased himself inside of you, worried he was hurting you. then again, there wasn't really any other way to get inside without hurting you. he watched as your face contorted, a gentle whimper leaving your lips but he knew it wasn't one of pleasure, more of pain, actually.

he mumbled gentle apologies and left a trail of them in kisses from your neck to your cheeks.

finally, he was in completely and he couldn't help the string of curses that he mumbled under his breath.

dean stayed as still as he could. worry set in, he didn't want to hurt you, not when you'd been so nervous in the first place. he'd been with many girls but you were a tight fit around him, swallowing his dick whole. he couldn't help but almost coo at the way your hole clenched around him.

he felt your hips shift, and he knew you were ready. "can i―fuck, sweetheart, can i move?"

again, you nodded with a subtle whine that told him in other words, yes, he absolutely could move. and that was exactly what he did.

he slowly pulled his dick out from inside you then suddenly slammed his hips back in, his dick hitting the spot deep inside your walls. instantly, he was met with a mewl.

"shit." he uttered, wanting to draw as many sounds like that out of you as he could. his two hands now rested on yours tightening his grip as he placed them over your head so he could gain better access. "oh, fuck, sweetheart, you're so fucking pretty."

it seemed as though dean had the mouth similar to a sailor when put in a position like this.

but he couldn't help it, you were staring at him with those doe eyes, pretty noises falling from you. his hips moved with ease, slamming in and out of you, it didn't take him long to pick up the pace either.

your legs lifted to surround his waist, moans leaving the two of you as his hips slammed inside of you.

"shit, you're so good for me." he was a mumbling mess, he meant every word of what he said, though he wasn't too sure what was leaving his lips as of now. "oh, my sweet girl, thaaat's it."

he tipped his head forward, connecting his forehead to your own. your whimpers and whines were swallowed by a kiss, gentle yet so full of neediness, it was exactly what you wanted.

"feels..." you mumbled once your lips had parted, though you were sort of dazed, not all the way there. "feels so good."

"good girl, 's it, take it all." you felt his hand suddenly trail down, fingers soft against your clit while his dick still hot between your gummy walls. "'s okay, you're okay."

you shook your head, swallowing thickly as your hips bucked. "'s―'s too much!" you panted out, moans leaving you as if you couldn't keep them inside.

"you can take it, baby, know you can." but he could tell by the way your face twisted again, you were close.

and so was he.

"you gonna let go f'me? huh?"

at this point, your eyes had fluttered shut and you lips were parted as you nodded, brows strewn together. "gonna... 'm gonna cum, dean."

"that's my girl." he answered, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "cum all over my dick f'me, sweetheart."

you supposed you were more obedient than you thought.

dean watched as you squirmed and moaned, eyes screwed shut as you finally let go around him. he could feel your gummy walls squeezing him tighter, a ring of slick had formed at the base of his dick. the mere sight, his dick still stuffed inside your cunt and you, cumming all over him.

well, it was enough to have any man weak.

which was why he'd finished so quickly, too.

after all, he'd been holding on since you were sat on his lap.

and that one feeling, cumming in your wet, hot walls and watching you with that pretty, stricken and worn out face as you came on him too... he swore he had really been to heaven and back.

when you both rode out your highs, he laid himself on the bed next to you, watching as you reached your hand up, playing with his silver ring that sat on your thumb.

he swore he was staring at an angel.

main masterlist/dean's masterlist

[aperrywilliams]

Tin Wedding (Spencer Reid x ExWife!Reader)

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Author Masterlist | Event Masterlist

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Pairing: Spencer Reid x ExWife!Reader.

Summary: You've become friends with Penelope Garcia over the past year, and after much insistence from her, you agreed to visit her at her office one day. What you didn't expect was to run into your ex-husband there. And surely you didn't expect that he - Spencer Reid - is Penelope's coworker.

Word Count: 7.2k (please, stop me!)

Warnings: Yes. I set this one as +16. Mention of Reader being drunk. Curses and some strong words. Mention of sex - oral (m&f). Nothing detailed. IDFK anything about the US marriage and divorce system.

A/N: 2nd Fic for the "We are not gonna make it" writing challenge I was hosting during October with my sis @babymetaldoll. I'm so sorry for the delay, but life has crushed me these past weeks.

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The ding of the elevator signals you are already on the sixth floor. The doors open, and the first thing you see are people going and coming. It's the bustling of a lively office at noon. But this is not just any office; this is the FBI headquarters in Quantico. You never thought you would be in a place like this in your life, but here you are after your friend Penelope convinced you to visit her at work after insisting for weeks.

BAU - Behavioural Analysis Unit reads the glass doors in front of you. This is the place. Looking at the scattered desks on the open floor, you look for a clue that leads you to Penelope.

People walk past you without paying much attention. Maybe you should ask for help. But before you can decide to do so, a voice behind your back breaks you out of your thoughts.

"Can I help you?"

You know that voice. You're sure of that. But wait. It can't be—not after years of not hearing it.

You slowly turn around just to confirm that your suspicions are correct. Standing in front of you is a curious Spencer Reid, who pales when he sees your face. He remembers you, too.

"Oh God, Spencer?"

A stupid question with an obvious answer, but that doesn't take away the surprise of coming face to face with someone you never thought you'd see again in your life.

"(Y/N)? Wow..."

Time has passed, you tell yourself. Spencer looks more grown up. His hair is a little shorter, and he doesn't look so skinny anymore; it even seems there's some muscle under the white shirt he sports. Some stubble adorns his face, and dark circles can be seen under his eyes. But his beautiful eyes are the same as you remember them from when you first met in Pasadena.

"What are you doing here?" You ask, still shocked. Spencer's expression seems pretty much the same as yours.

"Uh. Well, I work here," he explains after clearing his throat.

A Caltech's genius working with the FBI? You wouldn't have expected it. But then again, you didn't expect to cross paths with him after all this time. "And what are you doing here?"

Good point. Why did you come? Oh, yes. Penelope Garcia.

"I'm here to see a friend," you mumble. Spencer's confused look changes to what? Disappointment? Of course, you're not there for him. It's stupid ever to think that, considering you haven't talked since the day you said goodbye and parted ways in that tiny apartment you shared in Pasadena.

And then an awkward silence. What are the chances that after so long, you were going to meet Spencer? And if you're wondering how long, we're talking about ten years when you were both pursuing your degrees at Caltech. In your case, it was the first one because Spencer was already in his third PhD when you met.

Before you can say something else, the one and only Penelope Garcia burst into the room, looking for you.

"There you are! Why didn't you call me when you got here?"

Totally unbeknown to the tense silence, she steps in front of you and hugs you. You can feel Spencer's confused look on you. "I'm glad you made it! We have so much to talk about."

"Garcia is your friend?" Spencer asks, gaze on you, and it's when you realize how weird the situation is. Penelope turns to him, an eyebrow furrowed.

"Of course, I'm her friend. And she came to see me," Garcia scoffs until she realizes something. "Wait a minute. For what reason would you ask that?"

Spencer clears his throat. He doesn't know what your opinion is about people knowing that fact.

"We know each other," you explain to her before asking. "How do you know Spencer?"

"No way! What a coincidence!" Garcia chirps. The exclamation raises the interest of the people entering the bullpen. Some of them approach to where you all are. "Reid? We work together!"

What were the chances of something like that happening to you, you wondered, as Spencer continued to stare at you, his eyes never leaving yours.

"What's happening here, baby girl?" A toned man asks Garcia, who can't contain her excitement.

"Oh, you wouldn't believe it," she announces as two women join the conversation.

Garcia briefly explains to the audience who you are and that she just found out that you both know Spencer, too. After the first impression, she proceeds to introduce you to those there: Derek, JJ, and Emily. From the corner of your eye, you can see Spencer downcasting his look at their curious glances at him.

"So you guys know each other?" JJ asks.

You both nod at the same time as Spencer mutters, "Caltech."

"Ah, fellow grads," JJ assumes. And in part, she is right. Indeed, you met while you were starting your master's degree and subsequent doctorate in the same area as Spencer.

"Kind of," you admit, seeing Spencer's cheeks flush and feeling yours burn too. The guy who was presented as Derek Morgan has a smirk plastered on his face.

"College sweethearts?" Morgan asks in a teasing tone. And he is kind of right, too. You lock eyes with Spencer, and you can't tell if he did or wants to say to his colleagues what you really were at that time. But before you both can even think of saying anything, Garcia's eyes widen in recognition.

"No! Wait a minute! Did you go to college together? You said the other day that you-" she starts connecting information, and you start to freak out internally. Before you can stop her, Garcia blurts. "Oh! Spencer is your ex-husband? You have to be kidding me!"

Shit. How did she figure it out so quickly? Sure, it might be your fault for sharing details about your college love life with her on a night filled with alcohol, but how could you have known she was already acquainted with him? You were careful not to mention any names or specifics, yet here you are.

"Wait, what?" Morgan's smirk turns to jaw slack in astonishment. There is no difference between JJ's and Emily's reactions. Spencer's face is flushed, and so is yours.

"Someone is going to say anything?" Emily asks, bouncing her eyes between you and Spencer.

"Uh, well—" you start, giving Spencer an apologetic look, who returns you an awkward tight-lip smile.

"Yeah. We were married," he confirms.

"When we were at college," you add.

You can feel the heaviness in the air and the mid-surprised, mid-incredulous looks from the people around you. Morgan is the first to break the silence.

"Damn it, pretty boy. What a story you had hidden from us," he says, patting Spencer's shoulder. JJ - the quietest one until now - senses how uncomfortable you and Spencer are with all the attention.

"Guys, why don't we give them a minute?"

After a moment of consideration, Emily seconds the motion. "Yeah, Morgan, would you help me with something?"

"Su- sure," Morgan agrees, still confused but following Emily nonetheless.

"But—" Penelope is still trying to understand the whole situation and has many questions she wants to ask.

"Come on, Garcia. I'm sure (Y/N) will find you when she is ready," JJ encourages, looking at you. That's when you get out of your daze and nod.

"Yes. Yeah. I'll text you, Penelope."

And just like that, the same way people surrounded you just seconds ago, now it's just you, Spencer, and an awkward silence.

"I'm sorry. I didn't know you worked here. I didn't know you were Penelope's coworker, and—" you start to apologize.

"No. Don't. It's not your fault," Spencer rushes to speak.

"I shouldn't have told her about - about," you trail off.

"About you having an ex-husband?" Spencer supplies, and you shyly nod.

"Believe me, it's not a thing I tell everyone I meet, but Penelope, well, she-" you try to find the right words. Spencer nods in understanding.

"Yeah, she can be pretty convincing when she wants to know something."

Another halo of silence passes between you until it's Spencer who breaks it this time.

"So, how have you been? I mean, it's been a while." You nod, still uncomfortable with the situation but just as curious as you assume Spencer is.

"Yeah, it's been a while," you confirm. "Good, all good on my end. Working and living. What about you?"

"Me? Good. Working here at the BAU."

"Cool."

Cool? What does that mean?

A sharp 'Reid' is heard from behind you both, making you turn to the source. A well-dressed man with a serious gaze is looking at Spencer from an office threshold. "Can you come, please?" the man adds. Spencer nods quickly. "Sure. I'll be there in a second, Hotch." The answer seems to satisfy the man, so he nods and returns inside.

Spencer turns to you again. "Uh. I - uh-" he stutters, motioning where the man called Hotch was a second ago.

"Yeah. I have to go, too." You have to, actually, but you don't think you can face Penelope or anyone else right now, for that matter. "It was nice to see you." As you are about to run away subtly, Spencer calls your name. Stopping in your tracks, you turn, and your eyes make contact with his again.

"Would you - uh. Would you like to grab a coffee with me sometime?"

It catches you off guard, but you only assume he's being polite. You think you should return the gesture.

"Sure. Why not," you say, giving him a little smile. "Now I have to go. Bye, Spencer."

And with that, you resume your escape to the elevator.

----------

From the moment he saw you at the BAU, Spencer has never been the same. He never imagined he would see you again, especially under those circumstances. Spencer was so astonished he wasn't even able to start a decent conversation or even ask for your number after inviting you to a coffee.

Also distressed about the interrogation he knew his colleagues would subject to him, Spencer wanders through the BAU halls as if he were not in the present. And, in fact, he is not. After seeing you, he has only been able to think about you and the years you both spent in Pasadena.

A smile tugs the corners of his mouth every time one of those memories comes to him.

"Okay, pretty boy, spill," Derek prompts when he sees Spencer in the kitchen two days after your encounter.

"Uh? What are you talking about?" he turns, confused, to see Derek looking at him with a frown and arms over his chest.

"Come on! You know what I'm talking about. About the pretty lady, Garcia's friend, who happens to be your ex-wife?"

Spencer huffs through his nostrils.

"I already told you. We met in college, and we were together until we graduated," Spencer says nonchalantly as if it's normal. He tries, at least. Morgan scoffs at his attempt.

"Reid. You married her. You just can't tell me you 'were together' as you're talking about any other relationship. She was important; what happened?"

Morgan remembers well a few years ago when Spencer told him about a great love he had while at Caltech and how, from time to time, those memories would come to plague his head. It wasn't hard for Morgan to connect the dots and assume you were the person Spencer was referring to.

Spencer sighs thoughtfully. "We ended it by mutual agreement. We both knew our career paths were going to be incompatible, and we both had so many dreams to fulfill. Our greatest act of love was letting each other go. At least that's how I saw it for a long time."

"But you regretted it at some point," Morgan adds, and Spencer nods. "Why didn't you try to find her then?"

"I didn't want to be selfish. What if she already had her life going perfectly, and I was just going to show like a kicked puppy? It wasn't fair for her."

"Man, I get it, but what about now? You found each other again. Can it be a kind of sign or something." Spencer glances at Derek with an incredulous look.

"Are you listening to yourself? You sound like Garcia," Spencer grumbles, making Derek laugh.

"Yeah. Definitely, it's something my baby girl would say. But, truly speaking, Reid, why not take a chance?"

Spencer huffs in frustration. "I - I don't know anything about her in these years! I didn't even ask for her number that day. I was frozen on the spot!"

"And that will stop you?"

A satisfactory smirk appears on Derek's face when Spencer stays silent, contemplating his options.

---------

Not wanting to talk about the encounter with anyone, you write to Penelope, apologizing for having to leave suddenly that day. She responds everything is fine and doesn't even ask you why, to which you are tremendously grateful.

But as the days pass by, you know you have to talk to her at some point, so you invite her to come over one afternoon.

You have been thinking a lot and rationalizing everything that happened. Of course, there was always a possibility of crossing paths with Spencer someday, but turning it into reality is different. So you conclude all your nerves were out of the shock of something unprovable happening, not because seeing Spencer after ten years made you fall off your balance.

With that in mind, you were ready to talk to Penelope.

Once she gets to your apartment, you first apologize for leaving that day and explain how you got frozen after the unexpected encounter. Garcia tells you not to worry and even says she is sorry for telling everyone about her discovery without any filter.

"It's just- I was so impressed. I couldn't help it!" she explains, and you nod in understanding.

"It's okay. I guess no one expected something like that."

"Right? But I have to ask. How did Spencer Reid become your husband? I mean, you told me about your ex-husband and all, but I'm sorry, I can't picture Spencer even talking to a girl without stuttering, less asking for marriage, and then divorcing? It's beyond me."

It catches your attention how she talks about him. Although you met Spencer when you both were very young, knowing how shy he was, over time, you managed to beat his barrier and meet a wonderful man full of charisma and not so sheepish after all. Has he never shown that side to anyone else in all these years?

"Why so much interest in my marriage? It's been a decade," you ask Penelope, and her scoff sounds a mix of obvious and disbelief.

"Honey, it's unbelievable Doctor Loving Reid has kept THAT information to himself for so long. So now that it is out, it does pick my full interest. Spill. What happened?"

You shrug your shoulder. "It's like I said the first time I told you. We were young, a whole life ahead. Neither he nor I wanted to cut each other's wings."

"But you loved each other!" Penelope complains with an adorable pout. You have known this woman for what? Less than a year? And she seems brokenhearted about something that happened to you and Spencer ten years ago. She's right, though. You and Spencer were mad in love. Unlike what people have believed for years, your marriage was not a result of a wild night of alcohol and passion in Pasadena. You were both quite sober when you went to court that day. Both even had written down the vows you professed in front of the judge- yours on a piece of paper and Spencer in his brain, of course.

"If it's any consolation, the year we were married, we were very happy," you tell her, fondly remembering that time. Garcia rolls her eyes.

"Well, exactly that's what I mean, miss. If you were so happy, why end it like that?"

The only answer you can think of is 'it's complicated,' but that will surely increase her curiosity.

"We wanted the best for each other, even if it meant being apart. As good rational beings, we weighed our options, and the sensible thing to do was to end it."

Putting it in that way, Penelope can believe it. Having known Spencer for years, she knows for a fact his big brain is capable of analyzing every probability of every possible outcome. What seems incredible to her is how feelings - how love - can be rationalized like this.

A ding from your phone pauses your talk with Penelope. You glance at the device and see a text from an unknown caller.

'Hi. I'm Spencer. I stupidly didn't ask you for your number, so after cursing myself for the past few days, I had to find it out. Don't get mad, please. I would really like to grab a coffee with you if you are up to it. If you don't want to, I understand. And if you don't want me to contact you again, just say the words, and I'll stop. But I really hope you say yes. SR.'

Okay. This is unexpected. Indeed, you remember not having exchanged numbers with Spencer, and you didn't give it much thought either, assuming his invitation had been out of pure kindness. But here you are, reading the message and feeling an emotion you can't describe. Nostalgia, maybe?

You narrow your eyes to Garcia, who immediately suspects who sent you a text.

"Before you ask, I didn't give him your number!" she defends as you breathe a deep sigh.

"He's asking me out for coffee," you tell Garcia, and she can't help but squeal.

"Will you say yes?"

"I don't know. Is it a good idea to get back in touch after all these years?" you muse more for yourself than her.

"Honey, only you know what's best for you, but if you ask me, I remember you telling me after you both split up, you were left with a lot of 'what ifs' in your head, and some of them are still floating around. Maybe this could help clear them up once and for all."

Penelope has a point. But now, you have a dilemma in the form of a coffee invitation.

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It's just a coffee. Don't overthink it.

You have been telling yourself that for a while as you walk to the coffee shop where you agreed to meet Spencer today.

He is just being nice.

Sure, after ten years of no contact, this sudden encounter in the FBI - with all his colleagues there - maybe pressured him to invite you to grab a coffee.

Still lost in your thoughts, you don't realize you are already there. After taking a deep breath, you step inside and look around. You spot him in a booth in the corner, back to you. A smile tugs at your lips, remembering all the coffee dates you both had back then. It was your thing. Hours and hours talking about everything and anything until the owner asked you to leave because they needed to close.

"Hey," you greet, making Spencer look up to you.

"Hi," he returns, a smile plastered on his face. "Thanks for accepting my invitation," he gestures for you to sit.

"Sure. Why I wouldn't?" After taking off your coat, you sit in front of him in the booth.

"Yeah. I mean, we haven't talked in ten years. And then we see each other at my work, and- well, it's kind of weird, I guess?"

Weird is an understatement, you think.

"You are right. Kind of it is."

You notice there are two coffee cups on the table. Spencer follows your line of sight.

"Uh- I had ordered already," he points to the coffee in front of you. "I don't know if you have changed your order, though."

"Thanks," you mumble appreciatively. "I haven't changed it, actually."

"Great!"

You try to gauge his expression. Is he nervous? Anxious? Because you are.

"Spencer, if you are uncomfortable, we can just go home. There is no—" You can't finish the sentence before Spencer cuts you off.

"No. No, I'm not. Please, don't think that."

"Okay," you concede. "I won't. But you need to be honest with me, okay?"

"Of course," Spencer agrees.

"You felt obligated to invite me here after what happened?" You bluntly ask, and Spencer's eyes widen.

"What? No, of course not," Spencer immediately denies. "I really wanted to see you. It's just that-" he hesitates. You tilt your head, waiting for him to continue. "I just didn't know if it was right, you know? I mean, we never reach out, and then it happens. We never agreed-" he trails off. And you know exactly what he's talking about.

Back then, when you decided to go separate ways, Spencer asked you what would happen if you met again in the future, and you shook your head, saying it probably wouldn't happen. So yes, you never talked about the possibility, and Spencer understood he should never contact you, and so did you.

"I know. We didn't," you recognize, regret slipping in your voice. "I guess I didn't want to think about the possibility back then."

You two know there are things you left out and left unsaid the last night you were together in Pasadena, but you don't think it's a good idea to say them now—not when this is supposed to be a friendly reunion between exes.

"So, since when have you been working in DC?" Spencer asks after you tell him about your work career on the west side.

"Almost two years," you admit.

Two years living in the same city. Spencer wonders if Garcia hadn't met you, he would have ever seen you again.

Your professional career has certainly been prolific; Spencer can tell after the stories you have been recounting. Years of experience and important jobs, just as you had dreamed when you were in college. These are the same dreams you shared with Spencer during the nights of studying and those where there was everything else but studying.

"I thought you were going to pursue academics. When did the FBI happen?" you ask after saying it's enough of talking about yourself.

"I thought that too. And I did it for a while. Then I met Gideon. He - uh, he showed me what the BAU had been doing, and I knew it was my place to be."

Spencer fondly tells you about his early years working as a profiler and how much he has learned. It seems that, like you, he has found his professional calling.

Two hours and three coffees later, you are both laughing about the weird and funny things you have seen in the past years. It feels good, and much of the initial nervousness has dissipated. But there is one topic you both have actively avoided: romantic relationships.

You are curious about it, and Spencer is, too, but neither of you wants to be the one to mention it first. Spencer is who breaks first.

"Are we going to talk about - about that? I feel we have been dancing about the topic, but I don't know if you want to."

You can't help but snort out of being caught and for the subject itself. You are sure your almost nonexistent love life is enough to make anyone cry or laugh.

"I'm still that obvious?"

"You have your tells," Spencer shrugs. You raise an eyebrow.

"I have my tells? What about you, doctor? You have been bouncing your leg the same way you did the day you defended your engineering PhD dissertation."

Spencer's eyes widen. "You still remember that?"

The insinuation of you forgetting that day makes you scoff.

"Of course I do! I tried everything to try to calm your nerves. Do you remember what I did, and actually, it worked?" Spencer's cheeks redden because he remembers.

You won't tell the details, but you recall, as clear as the day, how you helped him to 'decompress.'

"Okay, okay. Guilty as charged."

"So, what do you want to know?" You ask, still not fully ready but resigned, leaning back in your seat and crossing your arms over your chest.

"Are you with someone?" Spencer asks, and you gasp, feigning surprise.

"No beating around the bushes, uh?"

Spencer's cheeks flush, and he can't help it. "If it's out the line, you don't need to answer."

Seeing him flustered and biting his lower lip makes your heart do flip-flops. It's something you haven't felt in a long time—ten years, to be exact.

"If you had asked me a month ago, I should have said yes."

Indeed, you had a boyfriend until a month ago when his insistence on moving in with you was too much to handle, and his frustrated self decided to say a lot of awful things when you said no to him.

Some people would say you have commitment issues, and maybe you have. But in all honesty, until this day, there is no one you have felt secure enough to take that step.

It's ironic, considering you already have a marriage under your belt.

"I'm sorry," Spencer mumbles.

"No. Don't be. It wasn't meant to be."

'Like I used to think about us,' you want to add, but you refrain. Instead, you explain in not much detail every failed relationship you have had. Spencer listens intently, his heart aching to think of how a part of you might have been broken with each failed relationship. He hasn't done any better, though.

"And that's all. As you can see, there is nothing too exciting to remark," you chuckle to lighten the mood. "Tell me about you. There is a Mrs. Reid waiting at home?"

Spencer snorts, shaking his head. "No. There's no Mrs. Reid. The only one who has held the title has been you," he says with a look that makes your breath hitch in your throat. What is it? Longing?

"Wow. I feel honored," you tease, trying to hide the heat rising to your cheeks.

Spencer tells you about the few relationships he's had over the years. In his own opinion, none of them are very meaningful. When you ask him why, he doesn't hesitate to answer. "This job not only consumes my time, but also a lot of me as a person. Not everyone understands that."

He would like to say no one has ever been so important as to make him doubt continuing to work in what he does. The only person who ever made him doubt was you. But instead of saying it, he prefers to end with a "I guess that's why no one has stayed."

Listening to him talk is like listening to yourself, trying to minimize the fact that professional success is possibly one of the main reasons why other parts of your personal life have never flourished.

It was your choice. You both decided to make it that way. But sometimes you wonder if...

"Do you think we made a mistake?"

Spencer's question gets you out of your thoughts.

You look at him, baffled. "What?"

"Do you think we shouldn't have broken up? That I shouldn't have left?"

You pondered his question for a second. It has to do with how you felt at that time? Or does it have to do with how you felt after or even now?

"Honestly? I don't know, Spencer." A resigned sigh leaves your lips. "I always wanted to think it was the right thing to do."

"You never regretted it?" He asks you, and you shrug, not knowing much to say. Instead, you opt to ask him the question back.

"Did you?"

"Yeah. I did," he admits. "Sometimes I still do."

A heavy silence settles between you. The admission that you both had doubts about the drastic decision you made almost ten years ago is difficult to take. It unfurls a whole new set of questions whose answers you are not sure you are ready to hear or say. But it's only fair he knows your truth as you know his now.

"For what is worth, me too. I regret it. More often than I would like to admit."

Spencer's heart starts to beat faster; breath hitches in his throat for a second.

He tentatively reaches out to rest his hand on yours. You watch the action and think you know what it means. His eyes are hopeful. Something you'd like to mirror in your own, but the uncertainty is there, and you can't help it.

"Spencer, no. Please, don't." You try to articulate but not take your hand away from his. "I wish I could tell you I'm willing to try- to try to make up for lost time, but I can't. Even though it may not seem like it, we're strangers to each other, and I'm not in a place to even think about- you know."

Spencer gives a little squeeze to your hand, nodding.

"I know. And I'm not asking you for us to redo our story and start from where we ended. No. But I would love to get to know you again and be your friend."

"Friends?" You ask, brows furrowed. He smiles.

"Yeah. First and foremost, you were always my best friend. My person. Even if we never get back together as a couple, and we don't have to, I don't want to lose you again."

You take a moment to think about his words. What would be the harm? You're at a stage in your life where you don't want to live thinking about those things you wish you had done and didn't. The things you might have done differently. Why not put reason aside for a moment and just be?

You squeeze his hand back, a sign of yes; you're willing to get to know the Spencer in front of you.

---------

Three months have passed since your conversation with Spencer at the coffee shop. You both agreed to reconnect as friends, which has led to many coffee meetings, lunches, dinners, movie nights, and walks in the park. And to say your heart feels full and happy would be an understatement. You've realized how much of the Spencer you met in Pasadena still exists, and the connection that once brought you together has revitalized and is stronger than ever.

Neither of you has wanted to rush things, and so far, you're both happy to be able to spend time together.

Spencer has also opened the door for you to the BAU team, which has been his family for eight years now. In addition to the bond you already had with Penelope, you now regularly attend the girls' night she hosts with JJ and Emily. You've also gotten to know Derek and Hotch better and understand why Spencer considers them like his older brother and father figure, respectively. You've also become a favorite of David Rossi, who doesn't take no for an answer every time he invites you to one of his dinners.

Like tonight, where you find yourself vividly chatting with the girls in a corner of Rossi's backyard.

"No way I could have passed Dynamics and Mechanics without Spencer," you acknowledge when you're talking about the most challenging subjects you had in college.

"It seems a very interesting topic," Emily jokes, not knowing what the hell you were talking about.

You giggle at the memory, cheeks turning a shade of pink.

"I still remember those afternoons Spencer spent trying to help me memorize the Euler–Lagrange equations and the Hamilton's principle. He made it interesting, if you know what I mean," you wink at them.

"I don't think I want to know," JJ muses. Emily snorts at the suggestion.

"Oh, I definitely want to know what that means," Penelope pipes. You chuckle.

"One night, he made me recite the whole equations with his head buried between my thighs," you confess with a mischievous look.

"Oh my God!" Garcia's jaw goes slack, and Emily's eyes widen in disbelief.

"You fucking kidding me!"

"Definitely, I didn't want to know that," JJ shakes her head.

"Well, I helped him with Applied Computer Science. He had to produce a code to operate a string of relational databases while I was on my knees su-"

"Okay! I get it!" Garcia cuts you off, with her hands in the air, as Emily laughs and JJ groans.

"You asked," you shrug, a smirk on your lips.

"Okay, okay. But hear me out. Since we are talking about college time, and honestly speaking, we all have had someone in college, more or less important, with whom to study or do other things," Emily prefaces, making you giggle. "But from that, to marry, and one year later to divorce? How do you get over something so intense like that?"

You have questioned yourself the same for years.

Looking past JJ's shoulder, you see Spencer talking with Morgan, beer in hand, and you can't help but feel the smile creeping on your face when he looks back and winks at you.

If anything, the past months have made you realize what you had back then with him was unique. But what you're having now? It is as unique as before and better.

"I don't think you get over it. And it's okay; you learn to appreciate it and value the chances life gives you after."

The girls follow your line of sight and share a knowing look. When they see Spencer approaching the group, they collectively decide to go inside the house for a new drink.

"All yours," Garcia whispers to Spencer before going in a bee-line with Emily and JJ.

"What was that?" Spencer asks you with a quirked eyebrow when the girls are out of sight.

You look at him, pretending not to understand.

"I assume they wanted a refill," you say with a shrug. Spencer nods and smiles at you.

"And you don't? Do you want me to get you something?"

"No. I'm fine," you respond to his offer. "Besides, I think I've got my alcohol ration filled for the night."

"If you're done for the night, I can take you home if you want."

That's the Spencer you know, always concerned about your well-being and comfort. You shake your head.

"Not yet. Walk with me, though?" You ask, extending your hand for him to take. Without questioning reasons, Spencer nods and takes your hand. The two of you begin to walk towards the pool area, where the sound of the music coming from the house is less audible.

It's not unusual for you to hold hands now. You trust each other, and it's been an innocent way of showing affection. And while the tension of something more has been building, neither of you has wanted to take the next step yet.

When you stop in the pool deck, Spencer moves to stand in front of you, his free hand reaching to tilt your chin with his index so he can inspect your face for some kind of clue.

"Are you okay?"

You nod as your fingers, from your joined hands, absently play with his. A thorough smile tugs the corners of your mouth. Your eyes admiring Spencer's honey ones in the moonlight.

"More than okay," you admit. But Spencer knows there is more in your mind you're not saying.

"Yeah?"

"Yep." You're stretching this on purpose. A smirk plays on your face. Spencer knows what you are doing.

"Good." His voice is amused. This game was one you both used to play back then, testing each other's curiosity and seeing how long it took the other to demand an answer about what the other was thinking. Usually, you were the one who won since Spencer couldn't stand not knowing.

"Have you grown patient over the years, Dr. Reid?" You ask, entertained. Spencer's laughter fills you with a feeling you thought was dormant inside you, but he has managed to refloat.

Not wanting to prolong his torture, and because you don't have it in you to hold back any longer, you decide to speak.

"I know you remember, but can you tell me the first thing I said to you the day I met you?"

Spencer's eyes narrow in search of the moment you're referring to.

-

You were in the library, busily searching through the shelves for a book you couldn't find. Spencer could see the stress radiating off of you. After watching you for a few seconds, he decided to walk over to the shelf, and leaning down, he pulled a book from the top shelf before presenting it to you. "Maybe this is the one you're looking for?" And he was right. Your first thought was, 'How did I not see it before?' and then you realized the weirdest thing of all, 'how did he know which was the book you were looking for?' You didn't know the guy, and as far as you knew, he didn't know you either.

Seeing your confusion, he proceeded to explain. "It was an educated guess, seeing as you have Fuller's, Richmond's, and Helbert's there. I assumed you were in Thermodynamics 301 and didn't have Priest's."

-

Spencer laughs before trying to imitate your voice. "Can I buy you a coffee in appreciation and keep you in my purse for future reference?" You nod, smiling.

"Bold of me for asking that to a stranger, uh?"

"Bold of you for thinking I would ever refuse," Spencer says in a mocking tone to match your joke. You both share a fit of laughter. Once it subsides, your eyes fix on him.

"Bold of me to think I wouldn't fall in love with you after all these years." Your words hit Spencer, whose expression changes from light to serious in a second.

"What?"

"It's like they say. At some point, something has to give. And this is my moment." You pause before continuing. "I can't say I'm sure what's coming, because I'm not. I also don't know if what you've seen of me these past few months is worth enough for you to love me again. But there's one thing I do know. I love you. I loved you, I missed you, and now I've loved you again."

Spencer is speechless. His brain tries to piece together each word you say. You take both his hands in yours, and you can feel them tremble.

"If you'll have me, I want to be the one that stays," you add, hoping your words are good enough to convey your emotions.

You don't know when tears start running down your cheeks. It might be when you see Spencer's glassy eyes.

"I do love you. And I want you to be the one who stays," he rasps before releasing your hands to cup your cheeks with his own, leaning down to whisper, "Let me be the person you want to stay for."

"You already are," you whisper back before closing the distance between you, allowing your lips to meet in a tender, sweet kiss. A new promise and a new beginning for two souls that were meant to be. Thanks to fate, or maybe not. That doesn't matter anymore.

-

As you kiss, part, whisper sweet nothings to each other, and kiss again, not so far away, are two people watching the scene with satisfied looks on their faces.

"Do you see that, Hot Stuff?" Garcia asks Morgan. A smirk appears on his face.

"Yeah, mama. I see it, clear as the day."

"We did it!" Penelope cheers, whisper-yelling, making Morgan chuckle.

"I should never have doubted you, baby girl," the man says, kissing her cheek.

"Of course not. But I forgive you only because I'm so happy our plan worked wonderfully."

-----------

SIX MONTHS EARLIER

Penelope Garcia's curiosity always gets the best of her. She has gotten to know you better in the past months since the IA convention where you met. She sees you as a beautiful person and a good friend. So when you told her on a night full of alcohol about your ex-husband and how important your relationship was for you, Penelope couldn't shake the feeling of wanting to know more, so maybe she could do something to help. Do what? She didn't know, but maybe more information about it would give her an idea.

Quickly typing on her keyboard, she finds a Pasadena Marriage License with your name on it. Checking the date, Garcia notes you had married in the summer before your senior year. It was expected. You already told her that.

What was unexpected, though, was finding out who the person you had married was. Garcia had to read the name twice before realizing the huge discovery she had just made: Spencer Walter Reid.

'No way! It has to be a mistake,' she squealed, fast-reading the information on the papers. No, there wasn't any mistake. You married Spencer Reid almost ten years ago. The same Spencer Reid she has known for so long and works with her every day.

But wait. You had said, ex-husband. Where are the divorce papers?

Typing again, she finds a divorce request signed by you and Spencer a year after you married. So that is true, too.

Overwhelmed by everything she has just discovered, Garcia is about to close the web tabs with all this data when something pops up: it's a court resolution dated six months after the divorce request. The resolution reads that the request has been denied because one of the parts couldn't be notified for comparison to the Pasadena tribunal. Garcia narrows her eyes and types again, looking for an updated legal document granting the divorce request. She finds none.

'Double holy fucking shit! They are still married!'

Without knowing what to do with this new information, she starts pacing frantically in the office. Garcia knows that the information she found wasn't for her to know, but at the same time, how does it not you or Spencer know this? She can't tell you, but she should, or maybe not. Grabbing her phone, she dials the only person she knows will help her with the dilemma.

"Derek Morgan. I need your delicious ass in my office right now!"

And just like that, a plan emerged. A plan to give a little push to destiny. A little push to you and Spencer cross paths again. Maybe this time, for good.

-----------

"And when are you going to tell them about their failed divorce?" Morgan asks Garcia, who is still looking at the couple giggling and kissing.

"Oh, shush. Let them enjoy tonight. There will be time for that."

Derek Morgan shakes his head, laughing. "Okay. You're the boss, mama. You're the boss."

---------------

Spencer Reid's Taglist: @dreatine @nomajdetective @jayyeahthatsme @rosalinasam2 @averyhotchner @lovelyxtom @princessmiaelicia @pastelbabygirl19 @reidsbookclub @alexxavicry @gspenc @spencerreidisbae123 @calmspencer @pauline5525mgg @anamiad00msday @milivanili99 @laylasbunbunny @leahblackk @miaxx03 @missabsey @taintedstranger @khxna @hiireadstuff @pleasantwitchgarden @dysphoricsanity @themoonchildwhofell @silver138 @lovelybaka @shinytinywhispers

[pleasantlycrazyworld]

Summary: Worst! Logan thinking you're dating Wade and is pining for you. Only for Wade to say that he's been spending hours telling YOU everything about LOGAN so you can ask him out.

A/N: Reader is mentioned as she a few times but mostly is referred to as sweet cheeks. Logan is insecure and gets too in his head. This is left on a cliff hanger sort of so lmk if you'd like a part two! This was requested; thank you @squishyfruitloop for the idea I hope you like it <3

You were there the first night he moved into the apartment. You welcomed him along with Al and he just thought you were the most beautiful person he'd ever seen. He wanted to know more about you and it was easy to fall more in love with you with the more he learned about you.

You seemed to always be around, not that Logan was complaining. He would come home from work, and you were there making dinner, he would wake up and you were there making a pot of coffee or standing at the kitchen counter trying to finish a last-minute work project. You were just always there.

At first, he thought it was just him assuming things, he knew that you and Wade had been friends for a few years now and that you two were close. You helped him become Deadpool, you helped him with the breakup with Vanessa, you just always helped so of course he understood why Wade would want you around. However, you started emerging from Wade's bedroom in the morning wearing his shirt or pajama pants. The two of you started whispering amongst each other and just seemed to be closer than before, so obviously he figured you and Wade had started seeing one another.

He was really hurt by this realization; he started to really fall for you and was wanting to ask you out, but he kept talking himself out of asking you. He was more hurt by Wade; he had confided in him about his feelings towards you and when Logan asked Wade what he should do Wade continued to reassure him that asking you out would be a great idea. 

Logan sent Wade glares all day trying to figure out what the hell was going on. It’s not like Wade didn’t deserve someone like you, but he was so ensuring that you felt the same as Logan. Wade deserved someone as sweet as you, but you were Logan's in his mind. He called dibs and Wade knew that. Now he’s dating her... What the fuck kind of friend does that? Logan shook his head; maybe it was a misunderstanding. It had to be that. Right? 

Tonight was movie night and Logan was excited to see you, he was hoping to get you alone for a moment and to finally talk things out. He had a strong feeling that the whole you dating Wade idea was a misunderstanding but the voice in the back of his head wouldn’t stop nagging him until he had the confirmation. Logan was sitting next to you on the couch and before he could say anything to you Wade plopped himself right next to you and showed you the movie he picked for the night. Apparently, it was your favorite. You squealed with excitement and gave Wade a hug, thanking him for finding the movie you’d been wanting to rewatch. Logan could feel himself deflate and curl into himself, maybe it wasn’t a misunderstanding. Maybe you actually did like Wade and Wade was just an asshole who wanted to fuck with Logan’s emotions. 

He wanted to leave movie night so bad; it felt like he wasn’t welcomed anymore, and he wasn’t paying any attention to the actual movie. He could feel his hands starting to shake and his ears were buzzing from trying to hold back from lashing out at Wade. His chest was getting tighter and tighter as he could hear himself scream in his head. As soon as the movie was over, he ran to his room trying to breathe again. Sitting next to you was his favorite thing in the world, having you close gave him the ability to smell your shampoo and body wash, it gave him the ability to feel grounded but now it felt like he was being suffocated. 

You watched as Logan ran from the living room to the spare room that he calls home now. You felt your heart break and your eyes started to sting as you blinked back tears. “Did we do something?” You asked Wade meekly and the merc felt growing frustration with his friend. “You didn’t do anything sweet cheeks. How about you head home, it’s getting late, and you know how everyone who lives here needs their beauty sleep” You giggled and nodded before getting up to collect your things. 

Wade waited for you to leave before he confronted his lovely roommate. 

“What the fuck was that Wolvie? Now she thinks she did something when you’re just a moron!” Wade huffed and got even more angry when Logan rolled his eyes, “Are you going through puberty? Is that the issue? Too much angst bottling up in you that you just can’t communicate anymore because then I think by law, I need to enroll you in high school or something.” 

“Oh, go fuck yourself I mean really do you ever shut up?” Logan muttered not wanting to look Wade in the eyes. Wade shook his head dramatically, “Nope, never it’s a disease. But I definitely won’t shut up when you hurt sweet cheeks feelings. What’s the deal? I thought you liked her?” Logan’s eyes snapped to Wade, and his anger finally boiled over. 

“Yeah, I do like her! You know this and you still get with her? What kind of shit are you playing at? Do you just get off on fucking with emotions” Logan lashed out, yelling at Wade.

Wade’s faces scrunches with confusion, “Get with her? I’m not with sweet cheeks metal man! I’ve been trying to convince her that you love her! I've been telling her all the stupid little facts about you! How do you think she knows how you like your coffee, or how you always are missing socks, she thinks you're this amazing man, and I finally had her believing that you loved her too when you wanted to act like a pre-teen! Now she’s home probably crying over the fact that you seem to hate her and can’t even be in the same room as her!” Wade groans loudly after his rant “Oh my god do I have to do everything in this universe!!” He sighed, calming himself and looked at Logan, “You are going to her apartment and apologizing and admitting your feelings for her. Then maybe you finally get fucked and I can meet the happy version of you too.” With that Wade left Logan alone to think and to get himself a beer.

Logan was left standing in his room with wide eyes. Wade was trying to convince you that he loves you…why would you need the convincing? Obviously Logan knew that he needed convincing, like look at him? Hundreds of years older than you, from a whole different universe than you, full of a dark past and trauma…but you loved him too? Or at least you did before he threw a hissy fit tonight. 

FUCK! Logan yelled out when he realized that he had to go fix this now! 

Part two

Tagging:

@userchai

@mahi-tamashi

@100percentlazybonez

@lanassmarty

@western-pyro

@misscrissfemmefatale

@marit332

@navs-bhat

@fluffy-b33z

@chaimshelii

@aoi-targaryen

@eyes-ofhell

@sad0ni0n

@fries11

[the-modern-typewriter]

Not an ask, I just wanted to tell you I love, love, LOVE your snippets. It always makes me happy to see a new post by you on my dash, then I know I'm in for a treat. I especially love your villains, they're so much more than just "the bad guy". I always find myself wanting to know more about them, even though they send a chill down my spine and I know I'd be terrified to run into them in a dark alley at night. Thank you for sharing your genius!

"Has anyone ever told you that it's a dangerous idea to walk down dark alleyways alone at night?"

The villain was well-concealed in the crisp evening, leaned slim as a shadow against the wall.

The air stank of a mixture of oncoming snow and the garbage bags piled up and threatening to spill. It wasn't, the hero thought, the sort of place that really suited the villain. They seemed the type best made for pristine conference rooms and expensive penthouse lairs. Spacious. Glittering. Cold, corporate monstrosity.

"Yes," the hero said. "But then I wouldn't have the pleasure of running into you, would I?"

"Is that what this is?"

"You don't think so?"

"I'm always a delight, but few fully recognise that facet of my personality. Most instead, should they choose to see me in a dark alleyway, walk swiftly in the opposite direction."

"Mm." The hero shook their head. "I admit, your general habit of instilling terror in everyone can sometimes overpower other impressions."

"But not with you."

"Oh, I'm crapping myself. Speaking of. If I aim my phone at you so I can see you properly are you going to hiss at me like a feral cat, eyes glinting, and scurry away? Or am I just going to spontaneously combust for daring to look at you? The rumours vary."

"No one would ever dare call me a feral cat, dear."

"Not in as many words. But you are sort of lurking in the shadows and stalking me, so I think its apt."

The villain snapped their fingers. A ball of light appeared shining at the tips, illuminating the few metres between them. None of the usual rats or cockroaches went skittering away from the villain's immaculate shoes, everything was eerily still, so the hero figured they (like most creatures) were smart enough to keep their distance. Vanish somewhere else, if they could. Hold their breath. Hide.

The hero eyed them and resisted the urge to move closer.

The villain offered a soft, mocking, snake-like hiss.

"You wanted to see me," the hero said instead. "At least, I assume that's why you're lurking outside of my workplace and doing the aforementioned stalking routine. You could come inside, you know. I don't bite."

"I do."

"You're not beating the feral cat allegations."

"If I came inside, your colleagues would pass out or start screaming. It would be a whole thing and I'm not working right now."

"Well-" The hero had no good answer to that. 'It would make my shift go faster' was not a good answer. "Anyway. My break is only ten minutes. What do you want?"

"To see you," the villain said. "Talking with you is a debatable experience."

"Wow, rude."

"You followed me out here. I was happy looking."

"Well, I wasn't just going to leave you to it!"

"Most people wouldn't notice."

"Good for most people," the hero huffed. "Do you want an autograph and a picture so you could take it away and maybe the photo would last longer than looking at me?"

"Yes, if you're offering."

The hero stared at them. The villain stared back.

"...I'm not offering," the hero said, after a beat. "God knows what you'd do with my signature."

The villain snorted. Their head tilted as they studied the hero, twirling their fingers idly, making the light shift and cast the world in strange uneasy fragments.

"Come to dinner with me," the villain said, after a long moment. "After your shift."

"I thought talking with me was a debatable experience."

"Yes. And I'm debating."

"Does inviting people to dinner normally work for you after you insult them?"

"Yes."

"Because most people are afraid to say no."

"Yes."

"No."

The villain smiled. At least, in the light, it looked suspiciously like a smile. There and gone in an instant. The hero couldn't tell if it reached the villain's eyes, cast in the alleyway gloom as they still were. It shouldn't have made a thrill run down the hero's spine, but it did.

"Another night," the hero said. "Maybe. When I'm not working."

"You're always working, be it here or in your adorable crime-stopping ways."

"Adorable doesn't win you any points either."

"I'm not trying to win points with you."

"But you're trying to take me to dinner. Why?"

"Novelty. I make a point to invest heavily in my own amusement."

"And I'm amusing you."

"You're...intriguing me. Whether you say yes or no," the villain said. "So entirely up to you if you want the free dinner or not."

"I can afford my own dinner."

"Is that why you're so skinny?"

"Again," the hero said, because the only other option was to be rendered speechless at the villain's audacity. "Rude."

"Politeness is for people too weak to say and do what they like. Dinner on Wednesday then?"

"They say you're horrifying. No one told me you were also insufferable."

"Well, most people are attached to keeping their tongues, so that's not really surprising." The villain continued, waving a dismissive hand, before the hero could possibly respond to that nightmarish gem of a comment. "They say you're generally brave and lovely, but five minutes alone with you already makes it clear that there's something desperately wrong with you or you would never have followed me here."

The hero spluttered.

"Death wish?" The villain asked curiously. "Adrenaline junkie? I didn't think you were especially stupid, but it's hard to tell watching you from the other side of the street."

"You really are something, huh."

The villain flicked the light off their fingers in the hero's direction in response. When the light reached them it didn't hurt, only popped like a bubble against their nose. They were plunged into darkness.

When the hero raised their phone, the villain was off the wall and right there in front of them.

The hero sucked a sharp breath, eyes going wide.

"As are you," the villain said. "Most people would have flinched."

The hero swallowed.

They felt suddenly infinitely aware that the silent darkness was also beneath the villain's power, as much as the light was, swallowing up every inch of space around the two of them one way or another. Who knew what was the villain's and what was just there.

Dangerous to walk down a dark alley indeed, as if it was the dark or the alley that was the real problem.

The hero had never felt so damningly alive.

"Wednesday," the hero said. "Tell me where to meet you."

"It's a date."

The rest of their shift passed in a blur.

[just-a-creep-babe]

What Makes You Tick - Prologue

(Ticci Toby x Reader)

Cheers to the new longer fic series starring Toby! Hope you enjoy this brief little intro to get a taste of what's to come~

Commissions are open!

Masterlist: x

Divider by @plum98

Work.

That’s what Toby’s life revolves around. Day in, day out. He doesn’t have hobbies, doesn’t have friends to hang out with—and he certainly doesn’t have a family to go back home to, either. He has work.

It consumes him.

He’s thankful for it, though. It’s pathetic to say, but at least he has something. At least he’s still good for one thing. At least he’s not completely fucking useless.

So it doesn’t bother him when Slender sends him out on a mission not even a full 24 hours after the last one. It's just another distraction, another way to kill some time and keep his darker thoughts at bay. It's another way to feel useful, to feel needed.

He notices, as he's preparing his things, that his partners in crime aren't the happiest about getting thrown into another job. But then again, when are they ever happy?

Toby sits on the couch in their dingy cabin when he finishes prepping. Hoodie joins him not too long after, leaning against the side of the couch with his arms folded over his chest, and both wait in silence for the following orders.

When Masky has most of his things ready, he stands in front of them and addresses them for a debrief. It's a fairly standard mission, as far as jobs go. Something about someone with the Sickness who's trying to find the cure and needs to be intercepted—same old, same old. There's a strange kind of comfort in the regularity of the work.

Ever since the incident, Toby's life stopped making sense. But at least there's still some semblance of routine within the insanity of it all. At least he could still cling to these fleeting threads of normalcy.

"Toby."

Snap.

Masky snaps his fingers in front of Toby's face.

"You're zoning out. I need you focused."

"I am focused," Toby retorts.

"No, you're not. You're not taking this seriously."

With a roll of his eyes, Toby looks up at the ceiling.

"That's because we've done this exact same job hundreds of-of times by now. I don't need to listen to the same fu-fucking debriefing every s-single time."

Masky pinches the bridge of his nose, furrows his brows, and exhales deeply through his tired frustration.

"It's not the same every time. I'm giving you important information that you need to know and you need to remember. I don't do this shit for fun, Toby; it's not a fucking game."

"I'm not saying it's a fucking game," Toby stands abruptly as a jolt of anger snaps through his body. It takes everything in his power to stop himself from grabbing Masky's collar and shaking him. "I'm saying I'm sick of hearing you spew out the same crap time and time again when you—when you could just s-summarize it or something!"

"I am summarizing it—you fucking dipshit. You'd know that if you fucking listened for once in your life."

Toby's about to lose whatever meager ounce of self-control he has, when Hoodie steps in between them and separates them.

"Alright, that's enough. No injuries before we're on site. I don't wanna have to work more to compensate for dead weight."

"Just—focus, alright?" Masky insists, and all Toby can think about is how satisfying it would be to throw his fist into his dumb fucking face.

"I am focused," the youngest of the three seethes the words out.

"Alright, can you repeat the plan to me, then?"

"We're finding our target, going in, seeing what edge we can find. They have some—some notebook or wh-whatever and Slender wants it back. We kill if we need to."

Masky groans, as if the recap isn't good enough, but Hoodie shakes his head, as if to dissuade his partner from arguing any further.

"It'll do," Hoodie states, "C'mon, it shouldn't be a long one. The sooner we're in, the sooner we're out."

And just like that, the three separate to start loading up the car and heading out.

Masky drives, as usual, and Hoodie takes shotgun, leaving Toby in the back, as usual. He doesn't mind it too much, though; anything is better than sitting next to Masky for an extended amount of time. Plus, not having to worry about the road gives him plenty of time to look out the window and daydream. It's one of the few times he can escape, and his mind won't take him anywhere unpleasant.

Well, most of the time it won't, anyway. Which is about as good as it can get.

They sleep at a hotel after driving non-stop for the rest of the day, and they're on the road for the following two days after that. It's only on the fourth day that they finally crash at a hotel that Masky announces will be their "home, sweet home" until the end of the job.

He recaps the mission, again, but Toby, admittedly, only really pays attention to their target's description. He hears Masky explain that they’ll start working at dusk, but Toby’s already too busy testing out the mattresses and pillows to bother listening.

Thankfully, Masky ignores him instead of bitching at him, and the two other proxies talk about more shit Toby doesn't care about.

At least this won't be a long one, Toby thinks, his eyes already growing heavy as the comfort of the cheap hotel bed encourages him to relax. The last coherent thought he has is the feeling of relief that at least this mission’s bound to be over before he knows it.

And then his thoughts are lost to his dreams.

[hanmaitani]

FIRST BORN

a rumplestiltskin twisted fairytale...

PAIRING - Ryomen Sukuna x Reader WC - 1.3k GENRE - smut CW - heavy dubcon, tf sukuna, monster fucking, two cocks, oral m!receiving, unprotected fucking, size kink, mentions of breeding, cumplay? /SUMMARY - you were nothing until you made a deal with the devil, to give you a name, a status, success, he told you that you'd owe him your first born... you didn't know how he'd meant it...

KINKTOBER MASTERLIST

It had been years. Years since the day you made your deal with the devil.

It isn’t like you ever forgot about it. It lived in the back of your mind constantly. The devil’s clawed fingertips digging in whenever you thought you could be happy, reminding you of the promise you’d made in return for what he’d given you.

What he’d given you… Every now and again you’d find yourself questioning if what you’d gotten was worth the price. A status. If you broke it down, all he’d done was change your status with a few people. A few of the right people.

But that small change had freefalled, spiraled into a change of success rate, your wealth, the respect people had for you. You’d been nothing when you’d made the deal, and now? Now you were well renowned in your field and making so much money you didn’t know what to do with it.

All for the low low price of a child that hadn’t even been born yet…

Sometimes the thought kept you up at night and you tried to think of loopholes. How you could just never have kids, sacrifice that desire. Or how you could convince your now soon-to-be husband you weren’t pregnant during the first and he’d never have to know.

You’d promised away your first born child and that haunted the back of your mind some days. You hadn’t thought about it at the time, the deal seeming childish and implausible. You’d regretted it since. Especially now.

You twisted in your bedsheets, your room only illuminated by the moon through the window. Every time you moved, the white silk of your nightdress brushed against your skin softly. You were nervous, but not because of the deal. In fact, it was pushed to the back of your mind for the night. Your only focus was your wedding. The one set for the morning.

The relationship had been a whirlwind. An unexpected union. But the man you’d be marrying had pursued you so purely that you were sure you could be happy with him. But that was what you were worrying about, twisting in your sheets. Would you truly be happy?

“All dressed up for me?” The voice that echoes through your room takes you by surprise. You nearly jump out of your skin as you jerk up into a sitting position, searching for the source of it. Red eyes seem to glow in the space by the window, four of them staring right at you. “Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten of our deal?”

You know who it is before he steps into the light, the deal that haunts you. “Y-you…” your voice is shaking as his form comes into shape, he looks different than when you first saw him. He looms taller, nearly as tall as your ceiling, four eyes and four arms. A monster in your midst.

You shake your head as you scramble up out of your bed, scuffling backwards, trying to get away without turning your back to him. “But I- I’m not- it’s not time for you to collect yet…” You’re confused, scared, and feeling so, so small.

“You all dressed up like a sacrifice for me already?” He chuckles when you hit the wall and he only has to take a few steps to cross the distance to you. Two of his arms lean against the wall near your head, caging you in, one immediately starts to grope at your hip while the last one pinches at the light fabric of your white nightdress.

“I don’t- I don’t have a child to give you…” you’re not understanding his implications, your brain not wrapping around the smirk he wears.

“You mistook my words, sweet thing,” his nose drags along your neck as he inhales and you’re sure you’re shaking when his tongue flicks out to lick you. “I left you alone for these years, waiting until you were ready. And now you think you can give yourself to another man? A mere mortal?” He laughs as his clawed fingers dig into the fabric of your dress, immediately starting to tear at it. “I made you, you’re mine. And now you’re going to give me your first born. He’ll be mine too.”

You can barely process what he’s said before he’s tearing your dress as he shoves you to your knees. Your gasp is cut short when the lower two of his arms pin your own to the wall by your head and you’re suddenly aware of how little is covering such a big part of him. Or… parts of him, you learn as tears that fabric away too.

He can smell the fear that radiates off of you as you take in the sight of his two cocks bobbing under your attention. He grips the lower one first, fisting it as he brings it closer to your lips. “Open up now,” he laughs as you obey out of fear, worried of what would happen if he were to have to force you. He’s lewd about it too, smearing the leaking tip of it against your lips before pushing past them.

The stretch of it mixed with how the second cock drags across your cheek, leaking onto it, makes you tear up in humiliation. Your lips have to open wide, stretch almost painfully to accommodate the way just one of his cocks as he pushes it in without remorse. “Remember I made you,” rings in your ears as he groans, his hand wrapping into your hair to force his cock deeper.

He isn’t kind with it. You swear your ears stop working, fuzzy sounds barely making it through the haze as he fucks into your mouth without remorse. Your saliva drips from the corners of your lips and the gags forced from your throat sound wet, squelching.

“You’re such a messy little toy, knew you would be…” His comment is paired quickly with a large glob of saliva landing on your cheek. You whine at the impact, the demeaning act of him spitting on you as his cock is snugly down your throat. Your vision darkening on the edges and your lungs burning.

You swear you’re about to lose consciousness when he pulls back, leaving the tip in your mouth as he fills your mouth with his cum. Before you can think to spit or swallow, he’s dragging you up with one hand keeping your mouth closed as he looked down at you. “Let’s keep that in there for later, okay?”

You’re dizzy as he manipulates your body. It’s embarrassing to admit but you’re already dripping by the time his second cock is prodding at your entrance.

He doesn’t care to prep you, as he holds your back to his chest, two hands on your waist to hover you over his cock. The stretch itself feels like you’re being split apart, like he’s rearranging you to fit only him as he presses into you.

Your eyes are already crossed, his hand cupping your chin so he can see your expression as you lose your wits, trying to keep you from losing the cum he’d left in your mouth. Your whines sound like gargles as he fucks into you, his other cock brushing against your clit.

“You’re such a tiny little toy,” he growls above you, one hand pressing to your lower stomach as he fucks into you, the tip of his cock bumping against his hand through your skin, “I’m going to enjoy shaping your womb to the size of my heir…”

A/N - i have many thoughts and no spoons

TAGLIST - OPEN

@needtoloveoutloud @littleplantfreak @hayatoseyepatch

@tsukiran @awkwardaardvarkforever @all-in-the-fandoms @mightyknight501 @qichun

@megumuro @s0uldarling @seiri-ously @deepenthevoid @winniethepooh-lover

@stunies @all-in-the-fandoms @little-miss-naill @hayatoseyepatch @lumestar

@theycallmenanamisgirl @iluv-ace @rockrose-blossoms @afire24 @raven-nevra

[mouseymilkovich]

hihi congratulations my love!!

i am thinking smut prompt 16, classic let me help with your sunscreen, with lifeguard Steve harrington 🙇

I LOVE U CAS!!!!! everybody say thank u cas

steve harrington, save me. save me steve harrington.

16) the classic “oh, let me help you put some sunscreen on” but then the little massage turns into something more — from ; smut prompts

content tags: gn (but afab) reader (wearing a bikini top tho), mostly a lot of teasing, light spanking, lil biting

come celebrate with me! 🪩 → mouse's 500

It was a nice, early morning at the Hawkins public pool, and you were the only one there— except for the lifeguard, of course. Steve Harrington. You'd had an on and off thing in high school with him, and you were both now graduates of Hawkins High.

Of course, when he saw you at the pool, he was delighted to see you. So, he came down from the heighty chair in which he sat, and strode over to you with a grin.

"Well, hello there, fancy seein' you here on this fine morning," He hummed, just as charismatic as ever.

"Hi, Steve," You greeted with a sweet little smile, lowering your sunglasses to gaze at him for a moment before you began to put sunscreen on your arms.

"Mind if I give you a hand with that?" He asked with a little grin. "You must need help gettin' your back."

"Oh, I'd never turn down help from you, Steve Harrington," You replied with a little giggle.

So, you rolled lowered the back of the beach chair, and rolled onto your stomach. You undid the back of your bikini top, and got comfortable.

Steve had to bite back a groan as he looked at your body. The familiar curves, dips, and textures of your skin was seared into his memory, and as much as he wouldn't admit it, he longed for you again. He slathered some sunscreen between his hands and began to massage the white liquid into your skin, his hands moving slowly and deliberately.

"Mm, Steve, that feels so nice," You hummed with a soft sigh of contentment.

"God, you can't make noises like that or you'll get me hard," Steve protested.

You smirked a little. "What if that's what I want, pretty boy?"

"You're such a pain in the ass," Steve chuckled. So, for a bit of revenge, after rubbing in most of the sunscreen, he gave your ass a little swat.

You gasped softly. "Oh my god!" You laughed. "Jerk."

"You love it and you know it," He smirked. He put a little bit more sunscreen on his hands, rubbing it on the backs of your thighs, making sure his hands crept a little too close to your core.

"Steve," You whined softly.

"Yeah, baby?" He murmured, acting as if he didn't know what he was doing. "What's up?"

"God, I wish we weren't in public right now," You whimpered.

"My lunch is at noon and I get off at three," Steve mentioned casually before he leaned down, planting a kiss on one of your ass cheeks before biting it lightly. "There's a little taste, if you want it."

Oh, you were gonna stick around, there was no turning back now.

[pandorascripts]

Familiar By Thy Side

author yapping: here is part one to the Salem AU! I've decided to make this multi-chaptered because I don't want to rush the bonding that needs to take place. But, for you readers, I have a question.. do I make it Agathario/Reader? It's at a point right now where it totally could be and it would develop naturally, maybe even better. It's up to y'all though! The second chapter is almost done :) Pairings: Agatha Harkness/Reader Warnings: kidnapping, violence, agatha being agatha

Disclaimer: this is the 1700s. THEY WILL SPEAK AS SUCH. no use of thy and it's other forms because I'm too lazy to learn how to use them and they're strictly used in an informal sense. Let me know thoughts, opinions, and if you'd like to be tagged from this point on for this series :) ----------------------------------------------

Agatha’s calloused hands run along Nicky’s sleeping face, her pointer finger gently gliding down his nose. Her time with him is borrowed, she knows, but even if the knowledge is supposed to find her comfort in the inevitability, she can’t deal with it. Death, her lover, will take the one thing that’s truly ever mattered to her – her baby boy. The denial is strong, Agatha needs to stop Rio from doing her job, no matter the cost. It’s why she’s forced to bring Nicky into her scams – why she’s forced to kill so many witches. Agatha needs power to defeat such a vile eldritch horror – to accomplish something no one has ever done. Even now, she’s managed to stall death when no one else could. If Agatha could trade her spot for Nicky’s, she would.

It’s another one of their scams in the morning, Agatha sweeping some dirt out of her temporary home and through the threshold. Nicky comes bolting in, Agatha’s face holding bewilderment as a witch yells out he’s stolen from her. “You dare shame your mother with theft?” she barks out, setting her broom down whilst Nicky darts out of the house and through the back. Agatha makes sure that he’s out of sight before starting to rile up the witches, a shocked gasp leaving her lips when their magick hits her earlier than she expected. Nonetheless, the power rips through her and settles in her bones, a low groan echoing out of her lips. 

When her eyes are open again, Agatha makes eye contact with a young witch, one who hadn’t blasted her with magick. Wordlessly, you stand and watch in horror and confusion at the scene before you. All you had done was try to chase the thief down with a co-worker of yours, not at all expecting this. 

“What is this?” you gasp out, stuttering a couple steps back from Agatha. 

Her hands wrap around the wooden broom once more, jaw tight and lips clenched. You're visible to Nicky in the doorway now, his eyes darting around to take a good look at you. 

Agatha swings the broom down with a yell, forcing as much impact into the swing so it knocks you out. A hard thud echoes across the house, Nicholas barreling to stop Agatha from hurting you again. 

“Mama, wait,” he says quickly, Agatha’s hands immediately dropping the broom before she herself even realizes Nicky’s in front of her. 

“What are you doing, boy?” 

Despite his mother’s hard tone, Nicky feels something – something like his growing magick. There’s a sense he gets about you – your strength, bubbling just under the surface like his is. He can feel it. You’re powerful and you can aid them to stop Death. 

“She’s – she’s powerful, Mama. You can help her like you’ve helped me – then she can help us stop mo – that lady.” 

Agatha clenches her jaw harder, but tries not to show her frustration with him. He’s a sweet boy, curious and full of a zest for life, but he’s naïve. Too naïve. “No, she cannot help. She’s but a young woman – hardly a witch, Nicky. We’d be best to cover tracks and leave this village. Go back outside now.” 

Nicky shakes his head again, holding his mother’s hand when she grabs for the broom again. “Mama, she can. Please, trust in me.” 

Agatha stares down her boy, lips pursed into a thin line, her hand slack on the broom. It falls to the floor as she turns her head, huffing out. “You’ll be fetching that food for her then, and not complaining when she’s given your sleeping arrangements.” 

Agatha couldn’t say why she agreed to this. You’ll harbor a resentment for her, a hatred, and Agatha’s sure that you’ll need to be killed within your first night so there’s no betrayal. When Nicholas smiles that toothy grin of his, face buried in her stomach a moment later, she knows then why she agreed. Of course, Agatha won’t be giving you his sleeping arrangements or forcing him to fetch you food – you’ll do all of those on your own and Agatha will refuse to look out for you. If you die, you die. If you try to leave, she’ll kill you. If you try to hurt her or Nicky, you’ll be killed as well. 

Your first couple nights with the odd duo finds you quietly nursing a migraine, too timid to speak to either one of them – despite Nicky’s attempts to get you to converse with his never-ending chatter. That innocent boy keeps asking to know from where you come from, why you were alone in that village, what type of witch you are, how strong you are – everything is on the table. His mother – the ever-growing infamous witch-killer – is the exact opposite. The glances she gives you tells you she’s watching you, but she’s comfortable enough in either her own skill or in your lack of, that you're not needed to be constantly watched. She’s yet to introduce herself, as you are to them both too, but Nicholas wasn’t shy about it. He seemingly can’t understand how dangerous of a position you’re in – to be this close to a witch-killer, a traitor, a murder, because he can only see his ever-doting mother, Agatha. 

You shift on the leaves under your dirty dress, the woods doing work on the fabrics. You’re not sure when you’ll have access to more clothes again – hell, you’re not even sure when you’ll have access to the world again. 

“Mama, what is it you’ve made for supper?” Nicky asks, drinking out from a small flask that he then hands to his mother again. 

Agatha watches him, her eyes darting over at you with a mean glare before going back to Nicky. “Bread, some turkey too. You must eat the turkey quickly, I lifted it from the last village and am not sure how much longer it may last.” 

Nicky nods his head, murmuring a “thank you” before diving in. Agatha eats her portion, not sparing you a glance. You’ve expected this – even been able to realize Agatha has no care for you being here. This wasn't her idea, but you’re unaware of the circumstances that require you to be imprisoned by her. Regardless, Nicky’s complete innocence and unawareness of this tension between you and his mother results in him splitting off his food to share with you. 

Agatha glares at you from next to Nicky, your stomach growling and begging you to grab the food offered. Simply, Agatha’s mean glare sends shivers up your spine and stops you from even considering grabbing it for another second. You shake your head at the young boy, fiddling with your hands as you stare down in your lap. The sun is starting to set by now, the light-source mainly coming from the campfire Agatha lit with her magic. Your head turns to watch the hues mix in the sky, so akin to the palettes you used to paint on just days ago. Never in your life had you ever thought you’d miss something that used to be so routinely ingrained in your day-to-day life. 

Nicky looks at his mom before back down at his food, eyebrows pressed together and lips thinned – an expression you’ve seen his mother do countless times over these past couple days. It’s been some time now and she’s yet to introduce herself, which is the least she could do considering the situation she’s forced you into. With a slow blink, fighting a yawn and tears, you stand up and walk over to a tree just a few feet out. Your small shawl is used as a pillow, legs scrunched together so your body is like a ball, and you keep your back to them. The thought that this doesn’t suit your preservation is fleeting, being replaced by a hope that maybe the witch killer will live up to her name with you. 

The night passes and you do actually wake up, waking up in fact to Nicky’s mother watching you. Your head turns to look for the boy, oddly enough, but you can’t spot him at all. Tightening your jaw for a moment, you search again within your immediate vision – nothing. The words leave your lips before you can even think about the repercussions. 

“Where’s Nicky?” 

Agatha shifts from a couple feet away, a blank look on her face. “Nicholas.” 

“What?” You give her an incredulous look, blinking a quick couple times as you watch her fix up her hair. 

“His name is Nicholas to you.” 

Silence suffocates you, just as much as confusion. Why was it such a big deal to her? It was a stupid name, in fact, if names mattered so much to her then why hadn’t she asked for yours yet. Alongside that, why hadn’t she introduced herself to you either? Shrugging mentally, which was definitely paired with an outward huff, you look at the dirt beneath your fingertips. They reach into the soil, your body tingling as you feel connection to the Earth around you. You keep them buried in the dirt, enjoying the warmth it provides before she speaks up. 

“Agatha.” 

Your head snaps. “Excuse me?” “My name. That’s what it is, since you’ve been complaining about your lack of knowing.” 

There’s a nod of your head, face red with embarrassment. Telepathic abilities, alongside siphoning? What else is she harboring? 

“Nothing you’ll find out. You’re not going to be with us for long.” 

Again, your head shoots over to look at her, a sneer on your face. “Out of my mind, witch.” 

“Using the term, but are you not also one?” “I am not a traitor, though.” 

“And what? That simply makes you better? How? You’ve no prior knowledge of what’s led me down this road – what’s led me to take action how I have. You judge without knowing, that is a crime truly more damaging than killing some odd hundreds of mediocre witches.” If her tone is anything to indicate, she’s pissed. You know this, your mind trying to fortify itself from her invasions. 

“You may relax, I don’t tend to dive into the minds of those who are inadequate. There’s nothing there they won’t speak – bigotry, fallacies, and lies.” 

Agatha, as you now know, is brutal in describing her picture of you. There’s not enough time for you to respond even if you had planned to, Nicky – Nicholas jogging into the small clearing. 

“Boy, you were gone too long.” 

“I am sorry, mama, but look at what I’ve made for you,” he says happily, completely missing how his mother is on the brink of homicide. In his hands is a delicate, messy, chunky crown crafted from daisies and other sorts of flowers. They do not go with Agatha’s outfit, her eyes, her glowing skin, or even her deep hair. Agatha looks at it as if it’s a crown fit for the queen. 

“Do you like it?” 

“Oh, Nicky, my love, it is divine. How is it you’ve managed to craft this beauty from such dainty flowers?” 

“Mama, you’re quite the jester this day,” he laughs out, sitting down to rest the back of his head in Agatha’s lap. 

You watch from a bit out, eyes flickering between the son and his mother. At one point, you and your mother had been like that – inseparable, bonded, attached. You can’t really remember the fine points of her face now. 

The conversation and laughs are muffled by your loud heartbeat, which has started to echo in your ears. It’s all-consuming, taking you hostage as you focus on it. With it come memories from before this, your life you lived happily and contently. The one that Agatha ripped away from you. Technically, yes, it was the boy’s fault, but he knew no better. There was nothing but pure child's optimism for his future, the truth about his mother’s treatment of witches slipping his mind. You hadn’t eaten in days now, your body angry and fatigued. 

“Girl, are you listening?” Agatha snaps out, your head moving to face her just as fast as lightning. 

“Apologies?” 

“Good lord.” She pauses to groan softly, Nicky scolds her as her flower crown tips off her head when it drops. “We leave at sundown and travel to the next road in the night. Day time is too popular an opportunity, so we’ll make haste for the river, hours before the next town.”

“What is the town?”

“Salem.”

Your jaw is tightly wound together, wide eyes glaring at Agatha. With a soft shake of your head, which metaphorically shakes off the memories of your brief time in Salem, you speak up. “No, I refuse to travel to that wretched town. Salem will kill us all, how do you not see?” “I’ve lived and breathed Salem many years, you’ll do fine. Long as you stick with the boy and I without speaking your insipid mind,” Agatha spits out, annoyed by you making this more complicated. “We are doing nothing but passing through for a few days. The trials have mainly migrated out of Salem and went southern.” 

“The risk is not worth wherever you long to be. I will not journey with you.” 

You’re sure you’ll be killed by Agatha, right here and right now for your clear disobedience. Alongside that sure reality, you’re positively aware that you’ll die trying to get back to your town. The way is lost on you, completely unfamiliar with the route Agatha has stuck you and Nicholas on. Your thoughts are losing volume, an awkward haze taking over you. Surrounding your vision is a small cloud of purple, one that mimics the colors in Agatha’s usually blue eyes.

[haveateadude]

don't say yes, run away now

summary *. ⋆ ⋆·˚ what happens when you invite Ellie to your wedding, and what would you do if she stands up?

warnings *. ⋆ ⋆·˚ i mention sex like,, once but nothing happens. homophobia and some white guy named michael.

author notes *. ⋆ ⋆·˚ I LOVED THIS IDEA OMGG AND I FINALLY GOT TO WRITE ITTT

I hear the preacher say, "Speak now or forever hold your peace"

There's the silence, there's my last chance

I stand up with shaky hands, all eyes on me

Horrified looks from everyone in the room

But I'm only looking at you

You've wanted to get married for as long as you can remember. You have always dreamed of wearing a white dress, with your arm hooked around your father's while he walks you down the aisle, your whole family and friends sitting on those wooden chairs applauding as you kiss the person you love the most. Except, today is your wedding. And you don't think you want this. A little voice in your head is going: this is wrong this is wrong this is wrong and you don't love him you won't be happy don't do this don't do this you'll be miserable.

Don't do this

Don't do this

Don't do this.

"Don't move," you hear your mother say. You come back to reality as she zips up your dress. It's itchy and uncomfortable and you can't breathe. Is this really what you've been wishing for your whole life? "All done."

You turn around to look at your mother. You chuckle, trying to hide how shitty you're feeling, "This is uncomfortable."

"Oh, shush," She says, smiling. "Bear with it. You only get to do this once in your life—unless you divorce Michael and get married again. Which, you shouldn't because the divorce papers cost a shit ton of money. And he's a good guy, isn't he?"

You nod, "Yeah, mom. He is."

"That's good." She stops for a second, then looks at you: from head to toe. She's still smiling and it's starting to freak you out. "I can't believe this is happening. You look so beautiful, honey. "

"Thank you."

"You know, you scared me for a second. For a while, I thought you were a lesbian when you used to bring that girl back then. What was her name? Ella, Amelia, Bella…"

"Ellie?"

"Right, Ellie. You've invited her, haven't you?"

You nod, "Yeah. She's still a friend."

You don't know if liking each other's Instagram stories counts as being friends. And it might seem cruel, knowing you've dated her secretly in the past, and now you've invited her to your fucking wedding. But it didn’t feel right not to ask her. You've known her since you were in high school.

You take a deep breath, desperately trying to get Ellie off your mind. All you're starting to think about now is kissing under the rain with her, secretly passing notes in the hallway, laughing in between kisses, sitting in between her legs while you read - just quietly existing in each other's presence without having to make it sexual. This is the moment you realize you've never felt this way with Michael. He makes you smile and he kisses you when he comes home from work. But he never laughs during sex, and he never holds your hand except for when you're in public. He never whispers, "It's okay," ever so gently like Ellie when you cry; he never runs his finger through your hair like Ellie used to when you couldn't sleep.

This is the day of your wedding, for fuck's sake. Maybe deciding to marry in church wasn't a good idea.

A part of you knows that you've been longing for Ellie your whole life.

You were wishing she wouldn't come, but as you walk down the aisle you can't help but catch a glimpse of her eyes. It always seemed that you were connected—as if you both had a string attached to your pinkies. If she pulled—if she looked at the back of your head you'd turn around to look at her; if she walked to the room you would be able to feel it—you would fucking feel it. Right now you could feel the string. She was tugging at it. She was tugging and tugging and tugging and she would not leave you alone.

As you stand in front of Micheal you try to smile; he smiles back. Ellie is tugging at the string. She could always tell when you had a fake smile on your face.

The preacher is talking but you're not hearing him.

"Are you okay?" Michael whispers to you.

You nod, still smiling. With teeth and everything. You then whisper, "Yeah, I'm just overwhelmed."

"Me too," he whispers back. "I'm so happy, I can't believe this is happening."

You're about to reply when you hear, "Speak now or forever hold your peace—"

And then someone stands up.

And then your smile drops as you look at her.

Ellie has always been reckless, the little shit. She's always bold and brave and she isn't scared of saying what she thinks but still—this surprises you. You hear an echo of gasps around the place and all eyes are on her as she's standing. But she doesn't say anything. She looks around the room and then looks at you so you look at her. Tug, tug, tug. You can't help but feel like a helpless teenage girl in a secret relationship—this is what you felt when you used to look at her in a party, knowing nobody knew about her and you and also knowing you'll find your ways to meet up later. And then she blinks, and then leaves. Just like that. She walks out.

Michael's eyes are on you. It hits you, suddenly, that you will be married to him. He'll want to have kids and you will agree because that's who you are and then you'll be miserable.

"Woah," He laughs. Like this is funny. Like someone has just told a joke. "Was that Ella? Your mother told me that—"

And then your feet are moving before you can think of the consequences. People gasp again, now they're starting to stand up. You walk out, taking out your veil and heels, and leave them on the floor of the church as you run. You can't help but feel happy, free, proud. Especially proud. Like this isn't your secret anymore—like you could scream at the world how much you like her without being embarrassed or scared. Everyone should know you love her.

"Ellie!" You exclaim as you look at her. She's also running. "Ellie, hold up!"

She stops suddenly, turning around to look at you. Her breath is ragged.

"Did you just—what are you doing here? You're getting married."

"Fuck Michael," You breathe out, hands over your knees, trying to catch your breath. "I think I hate him and I—and I keep thinking about you. And I just—fuck Ellie. I can't marry him."

"You've wanted this your whole life," she says. She knows how much you've wanted to get married, you always talked to her about it. "You've finally got it and—"

And then she's not speaking, because you're kissing her. Her lips feel like home. Ellie chuckles and then you're laughing, too. You press your forehead against hers and you feel like you could cry. Maybe you are. She wraps her arms around you like she just needs to hold you.

"I'm sorry to break this moment," she starts to say as she pulls away, looking behind your shoulder. "But we've got a mad mother running towards us."

You look behind as you see that your mother is running as she screams your full name.

"Run," you tell her. She nods and seconds after you're both running for your lives, Ellie holding your hand gently.

"Thank god I brought my car!" She exclaims as she pulls her keys with her other hand. She unlocks the car doors and as soon as she gets in she starts the engine. You get into the passenger's seat. "I can't believe we just did that."

You laugh as Ellie drives until losing sight of your mother.

You know this will bring a lot of consequences and maybe you'll never talk to your family again. But well—at least you'll live a happy life and will never run out of what to talk about in therapy.

[frmisnow]

summary. growing up with religious guilt had always made you rather avoidant of church, but a point comes where you feel like you have no one and must confess to well... anyone. you didn't expect to fall in love with the priest on the other side though !

warnings / includes. angst, alcoholism, themes of religious guilt, suggestive, inspired by fleabag

god loves you , just not enough to save you.

in the time where everything changes and you fuck up over and over, again and again — you yearn, crave thourly for patterns that remain alike. like the cigarettes you hold, that remind you of the burn marks on your skin or the alcohol, that turned you into a sort of alcoholic you promised yourself, you'd never become.

or would it be the cold cross that you haven't touched in years, which would finally save you out of your misery?

it cuts into your skin, leaves the same wounds it did once. you're weaker then you've ever been, so you let it. because at the same time, it's cooling against your heated skin. flush from the shots earlier, and the vodka bottle you just smashed onto the hard ground ahead of the church.

because damned be god for bringing you back to this place. you had promised, not just to yourself but him as well that you'd never enter it again. but who are you kidding? you were notourosly known for breaking promises.

the chapel is quiet, too quiet, and the echo of your footsteps sounds like the last word of a sinner's prayer. you can firmly feel your own shadow behind you, you want to ask it to reach it's black hands to the very you. end it once and for all, and let you burn in hell just to remind you of the fire that had once lingered in you, comforting and warm.

but you don't. you don't beg, instead sliding into the tiny, hollow space at the very back — the confessional.

"forgive me father, for what i have sinned.." you slur, leaning against the wall that seperates you and god knows who, because you need, you want to hear him breathe. not to see his face, because you couldn't bear looking at people anymore, but to hear him be there at least.

you don't await for a response, the alcohol in your system, just as always, making you speak before you think, "it's just- i feel like everything is going to shit. i have affectively pushed everyone and anyone out of my life, that i have even remotely cared about. and i- father, i- it's like i'm doing it on purpose, though i don't even want to."

you sigh, leaning against the wall even further, praying that hands would spawn out of the wood and embrace you, "i- fucking miss feeling," you pause, gulping, "loved."

"i want somebody to tell me what to do, exactly what for every aspect of my life. because," you groan, throwing your head back in frustration, "i don't want to make decisions anymore."

silence fills the wooden cabinet, deafening silence and you can feel something wet down your cheek.

"kneel."

you look up to the wooden wall once more ask you hear the request from the other side, your vision just a little blurry, as you croak, your voice just above an whisper, "what?"

“please, kneel,” he repeats, softer this time, yet firm. the authority in his tone makes you feel embraced because it's just what you asked for. please tell me what to do with myself, for eternity.

the creak of the cabinet door breaks through your thoughts, and before you can process it, he’s there, silhouetted in the dim light, casting a shadow that feels both holy and sinful.

he kneels to your level, close enough for you to inhale the heady scent of his cologne — rich, memorable, and everything you’ve been missing.

without thinking, you lean into him, your lips crashing against his in a desperate clash. it’s raw, fevered; every ounce of longing spills out in that one kiss. his hands find your face, grounding you, making you feel like maybe, just maybe, you’re worthy of this sacred act, this moment.

when he pulls away, your eyes remain closed but you can feel the thumb of his tracing over your bottom lip. it's like baptization, just a second time. please make me feel loved, pick up the pieces of me like the glass shambles of the vodka bottle outside, put them back together. fix me. you're the only one who can.

but you remain quiet once more and when you open your eyes, he's gone.

[shawtyfromdirtydocks]

Soft dom! König remembering that black ! Fem ! Reader gave him permission to fuck her if he got horny while she was sleeping, and he takes the opportunity because he’s so hard ‘n needy that he can’t wait till she wakes up :(((

Ugh this is actually something I think about too often. To me König is like the most regular guy ever. He’s average. That’s just him. But yk we’re kinky bitches so just IMAGINE that level of ungodliness consuming the most ordinary person on the planet.

Impatience.

Cw: Somno, guilt, corruption if you squint, previously established consent, several moments of könig watching you sleep, P in v, no protection, established relationship, vanilla!König x kinky!Reader, AFAB!reader, intimate and kinda sappy at one point (I love this man)

Not proofread, might later

20+ DNI 20+ DNI 20+ DNI 20+ DNI 20+ DNI

König is a pretty vanilla guy (no pun intended) so of course he was a little taken aback when you brought this up.

He didn't even know that this was something people could be into.

Whenever it had gotten late and he really needed to get off- he'd always go back and forth with himself, trying to decide if he should take you up on your offer or not. Even though you gave full consent it made him feel guilty.

Eventually he'd just settle for his fist, fantasizing about you and how perfect you feel, wishing the grooves on his fingers were your comforting walls instead.

Not this time though.

You'd been busy with work. Spending sometimes days at the hospital at a time. Coming home in your scrubs, tired and in need of a hot shower.

He wouldn't dare ask to have sex when you were so tired even though he knew you'd say yes. He'd just feel too guilty. It made him feel selfish.

But when he saw your skin glow under the moonlight. Your full two toned lips parted so prettily, begging him to kiss them. Loose curls peaking from under your bonnet decorating your beautiful face. He couldn't help himself.

At first he was just stroking himself, watching you sleep. Doing his very best to ignore the building desire to be inside you. The feeling got so intense that he even started whining :((

But then he gave up. He needed you more than anything right now. You'll understand right? Of course you will, otherwise you wouldn't have gave him permission.

König took his time. Every caress and tug at your clothes gentle, careful to not wake you up. He knew how much you needed your rest and he'd just feel awful if he woke you up with his problem.

When he finally got you in the position he wanted you in he prepped you. What kind of man would he be if he just took what he needed without caring for your perfect body first?

He had fun doing it too. Reaching into his bedside drawer, pulling out a new lube he picked up the other day. Smearing it over your pussy with his thumb. Subconsciously smiling to himself whenever you reacted to him rubbing your clit while you slept.

Stroking himself as he spread your lips. The sight of you alone making him twitch in his palm. "M’Sorry.. I tried holding off for as long I could mein herz."

Slowly but surely, he pushed his fat tip past your small opening. He was no where close to bottoming out and he was already panting like a dog!

You were just so warm. And it's been a long while since he's been inside you. The feeling was practically brand new to him again.

It was hard to stop himself from just pounding into you right then and there. His grip on the back of your thighs tightened a little. Whimpering and grinding his teeth while he struggled to keep himself together.

After he finally calmed down, he slow stroked you. Head bowed and eyes pinched shut as if he was thanking whatever gods he believed in for being given such an opportunity.

Your sticky warmth hugged him so lovingly. It felt so right. The feeling of guilt that weighed heavily in his stomach was soon replaced by intense feelings of affection.

All he could think about was how much he loved and missed you. How could you not be awake to enjoy this with him? It’s so unfair. All he wanted was to hear you whine his name and feel you hold him close.

Since he couldn’t have that he retreated back into his mind. Jerking himself off with your sleeping body as he recalled some of his favorite moments of intimacy with you. The real intense and sloppy moments.

“You’re so perfect, schatz. So so perfect.” his voice fell on deaf ears. Honestly he was okay with that. König was starting to appreciate the level of privacy he had.

It was just him and his love for you. He appreciated the way your tits lightly bounced whenever his control slipped and his hips met yours a little too hard. He appreciated the way you tightened around him whenever he kissed down the middle of your pretty body. He appreciated the way you pouted when he whispered I love you.

And it felt like you were only getting wetter. Sticky slapping sounds bounced off of the walls and back into his ears but he was too deep in his fantasies to notice.

Then a hand pressed against his abdomen and he heard a whine. When his eyes snapped open he saw your sleepy face. Eyes sparkling under the cool light of the moon.

“König..?” You slurred, still barely awake. The small smile on your face didn’t go unnoticed.

The big man chuckled and leaned forward, spreading your legs farther to make room for his wide torso between them. He kissed the corner of your mouth and tucked a few curls back into the safety of your bonnet.

“Shh, my love. Get your rest, i’m just taking what I need.”

[iichfilwypj]

take me home | percy jackson

ღ percy jackson x daughter of hypnos! reader ღ warnings: none! pure fluff ღ wc: 832 i tried to make it shorter sorry :( pt 1 - pt 3 - pt 4

The dining hall was especially… noisy. 

By next week, many campers would be heading home, and everyone was excited. She wasn’t happy about it; with no one to return to, she planned to stay at camp alone and sleep—just sleep. 

“What? I’d win!” she sat beside Percy at his table, engaged in a silly conversation. His confidence to defeat Superman was stupid; he was aware of how unlikely his victory was, but he remained stubborn.

“Percy, he can fly. You can’t walk a straight line!” 

“I can swim.” she burst out laughing. It echoed through the dining hall, drawing a few amused glances from other campers. 

Percy glanced at her, a grin creeping onto his face that he tried to suppress by frowning his eyebrows. He couldn’t let himself be exposed. 

Did he think he’d win against Superman? No, that man would wipe the floor with him. But she was laughing, so he wouldn’t mind coming up with more arguments. 

You'd think that the stronger your feelings grow for someone, especially if it's your best friend, the further you’d distance yourself. 

What's the point of getting your hopes up? 

Well, that was not Percy’s case. Ever since what happened last week in his cabin, he couldn’t manage to stay away from her. He made it his responsibility to wake her up, help during her tasks, and ensure she got enough sleep. He chatted with her, made plans, and even shared naps with her. He was sure he had managed to get at least fifteen hours more of sleep than he usually did. 

It didn’t matter, nothing did. He just wanted to be with her. 

But he had started to grow desperate. The desire to be with her had escalated into a need he couldn't ignore. And he was exhausted from holding back. ‘You have to tell her!’ his friends insisted, but how? The idea of confessing made him sick.

‘Hey, I’m in love with you. Wanna be my girlfriend?’ Yeah, no, that is cringe.

“Beth could totally beat Superman” the sweet voice of his friend jolted him from his thoughts. The dining was now empty, and the silence was a bit scary. “She’s very stro-”

“Do you wanna come home?” he stammered, the words tumbling out before he could stop them. His mouth fell open, his eyes wide open. 

OMG? WHAT THE FUCK PERCY!

“What?” she asked, also confused. He stood quiet, not wanting to look at her. 

Weird, considering it was the only thing he wanted to do lately.

“Not any home. To my house, during the holidays.” he dared to say. She was silent; did he overstep?, was it too soon? “I don’t want you to be alone, and I’m sure my mom would love to meet you. You can say no if-”

“Ocean breath” he immediately stopped talking, examining her features for any hint of rejection or disapproval. What he found in her eyes was something that resembled gratitude, fondness –he wouldn’t dare to say love yet. They were glossy, and while she wiped them, he wished it was just because of her tiredness. “I would love to.”

NOT A CHANCE! She said yes! And not only yes, she said she’d love to!  

“Oh, cool” he couldn't find any more words. His heart raced, and a smile settled on his lips, the joy he felt was something he had never experienced before.

She leaned her body against his side, eyes closing and letting out a soft sigh. However, he couldn’t stop himself from making a joke.

“You'll have to sleep on the balcony. You know, safety reasons. A stranger in my house? Pff, what a scandal!” 

“Oh, cool” she mocked him, and he nudged her in the side. 

Percy leaned his head against her shoulder, and softly rubbed her back, knowing she loved that. A few seconds later, soft snores could be heard, and her head would have hit the table if he hadn’t caught her. He leaned her head onto his shoulder now, before leaving a small kiss on her temple. 

He closed his eyes. For a moment, he was sure this was what heaven felt like.

hi hi hi! :) i'm very bored, please recommend me books! love u all, have a pretty day.

[ddejavvu]

i just read your drabble about Darry being sweet on pregnant reader and I love the part where he says he will lift her stomach up if the baby got too heavy 😭 can we pls have another drabble where he does that

send me requests for the outsiders!

--

It's pretty impossible for you to wash the dishes at this stage of your pregnancy. Your belly provides an immovable barrier between you and the kitchen counter, and leaning over into the sink puts uncomfortable pressure against your stomach that makes you nervous. Not to mention the backache from hunching over- doing the dishes is simply not in your wheelhouse anymore.

That doesn't mean you can't dry them, though. You can take a towel and wipe the water droplets off of the glasses once Darry is done washing, and you can set them neatly on the counter if you can't manage to put them away yourself. You can still contribute to the household, no matter what Darry says.

"Are you out of bed again?" He asks, his voice coming from the bathroom as he exits the shower. He's a little more forward thinking than Sodapop: he brings his clothes into the bathroom so that he doesn't get caught naked by any unexpected visitors, which means that he's wearing a threadbare sleeping tee that's tight around the chest, plaid pajama pants over his lower half.

"I'm just drying the dishes, Dar." You promise, "Nothing strenuous."

"It looks strenuous." He frowns, brows creasing hard as he looks at your posture. Standing while this heavily pregnant is inherently awkward; you have to hunch yourself to maintain your new center of gravity.

"It's not, honey. I'm okay, I promise."

He studies you for a moment, leaning against the counter on his hip. Then he makes his decision, starting forwards over the small kitchen floor. You think he's reaching for the dish you're drying, trying to take it away from you in another endearingly overbearing attempt to relieve you of moving a single muscle. So you turn away from him, clutching the towel and the dish to your chest as if you could ever fight him off if he truly wanted to take it from you. But his hands slide around your waist and beneath your belly, apparently exactly the angle he'd wanted as he slowly, gently lifts your baby's weight off of your back.

You nearly melt into his chest at the feeling of the relief, an audible sigh leaving your mouth as he holds your pregnant belly off of your tired muscles.

"That feel nice?" He guesses, his voice a soft murmur beside your ear as you lean back against him. You should be more considerate; maybe he doesn't want your entire body weight slung against him while he lifts your baby bump, but he's sturdy and strong nevertheless. It doesn't seem to be a struggle for him.

"It feels so nice, Dar." You hum, feeling your tired muscles loosen and sing with relief from their constant strain, "Love it when you do this."

He presses a chaste kiss against your temple, still unmoving despite your whole body sagging against him, "Well I won't be doin' it for much longer. Baby's comin' in two weeks."

"You'll still have to hold her," You muse, "She's gonna hang off of you like a little monkey, Dar."

He chuckles and it shakes you slightly, the warmth of his chest intensified by the sweetness of his laughter, "You think so?"

"I know so." You nod, eyes still closed as you lean against his chest, "She's gonna love you. She'll be a total Daddy's Girl."

"I hope so." He hums, and you know that it's not as casual as it sounds: he's truly worried about his capabilities as a father, and he has been since you'd announced your pregnancy. But you know he'll be a great one, not only from the way that he takes care of his brothers, but by the way his hands already so expertly cup your stomach, cradling your baby before she's even born. You tug his hands closer together beneath your stomach, feeling your baby squirm but not kick in your belly.

"You'll be a great dad," You promise, soaking in the warmth of his touch as you lean back against him. She squirms again, not kicking you in the ribs but instead gently settling against the support his hands offer, "You already are."

[em-ontv]

Reach for me.

Pairing: Soldier Boy x fem!reader

Summary: he couldn’t love—or didn’t want to love, and you loved too much, so he did what he does best—push people away, push you away.

Warnings: angst, mentions of alcohol consumption, reference to physical violence (not to reader), internal conflict/self-loathing, self-sabotage (Ben), no use of y/n, English isn't my first language

A/n: okay, I was suppose to be working on 'sing a song for me" part 2 but I am very very stuck so I decided to write this. I promise it'll come out soon, I know it's been so long :'(

Word count: 1.2k

You thought you'd seen the worst of him already. The anger, the bitter sarcasm that he tossed carelessly, the silent stretches that left you feeling invisible. And it wasn't as though Ben was ever easy to love. He was a wreck half the time, and he did everything to make sure you knew you were disposable.

He had been in plenty of beds, all warmth and fleeting sighs—but empty. Nights were easy—it was everything that came after that he had no patience for.

Commitment? Stability? It wasn't his thing. He wasn’t the settling-down type, he’d tell himself. And he sure wasn’t made for a "forever." And yet… he’d come back to you, again and again, as if some part of him couldn’t help it. You, who’d been there in all those small, ordinary moments. The kind of quiet loyalty he didn’t know what to do with.

So, Ben had this way of making every little kindness of yours seem like it was nothing. A late-night meal you made him? "That all you got?" He would spit it right out. Patience with his anger? He'd scoff and say, "What, you really think you can fix me?"

And when you'd touch him, hand on his shoulder or your fingers tracing a line across his jaw, he'd look away, just enough so you'd see the faintest flicker of something. But then it would be gone, and he'd shut down again, like all the times before.

But you loved him anyway.

For some messed-up reason, you could see through it. Even when he pushed you away, you stayed. Patient, offering a love he didn't deserve—and he knew it himself.

Maybe it was your patience that made him resent you, that gentleness in your eyes when he spat venom at you. He had gotten used to people leaving the second they saw what a monster he could be, the second he showed them the violence he kept just under the surface. But you stayed, and he both loved and hated you for it, because you made him feel things he'd tried so hard to bury. And somewhere deep down, that terrified him.

Because Ben did love you. That was the worst part. He'd feel it sneak up on him in the quiet moments, when you were sleeping beside him, or laughing at something stupid he said or something he'd mumbled. He felt it every time he reached for you. He loved you in a way that made him feel vulnerable and open, like he had nothing left to hide.

Then came the night that changed everything. A night you'd never forget. When he came back stumbling in, blood on his knuckles and bruises across his jaw—he had gotten back from a fight. You took one look at him and knew he was aiming for another fight with you, eager to burn the only good thing he had left just to prove that he could.

He sneered at you, and you just waited, waited for him to burn out. And he did.

The sharpness and anger in his eyes burned till it was nothing but a wavering sight of lost and hurt, his body slumping against the wall and he couldn't bother to look into your eyes again. He might have broken down.

But then he did what he did best. Push people away.

"You think you love me? Fuckin' waste of time. I don't love, sweetheart. And it's pathetic that you keep hangin' on like this, thinking you're special." he spat, eyes filled with resentment when his eyes met yours again.

You held his gaze and didn't flinch. "I know you don't mean that."

That was when he snapped. His voice went cold, the kind of anger that ran deep. "Maybe you're just too stupid to get it. I don't want you here. Don't need you lookin' at me like I'm some fuckin' wounded dog." His words were harsh, but he knew they were bullshit, just another excuse he used to push you away.

And it worked. It worked.

Ben saw the way tears started to well up in your eyes as you stared at him, and that was what finally made him feel something close to regret. But he couldn't go back now. Couldn't unsay it. It would have been too painful to admit the truth, to admit that he was terrified.

So you left. Quietly, without another word, because there was nothing left to say. You just gathered your things, gave him one last look, and walked out, leaving him alone in that dimly lit apartment.

He'd won, hadn't he?

He had pushed you away. He got what he wanted. No more vulnerability, no more of that insufferable feeling of being known and loved despite everything he hated about himself.

He told himself he'd feel fine. After all, he'd done this before. He'd been alone, and he'd always been better for it. But lying in bed that night, staring up at the ceiling, he realized the silence around him had changed. It wasn't a silence he was used to—it was hollow, cold in a way he couldn't ignore.

Days passed, and Ben tried to drown it out, with alcohol, with meaningless fights he'd pick, with anything that might numb the ache, but they all just made it worse.

He'd find himself in the bathroom, throwing up from one too many drinks, and he almost missed the feeling of your hand on his back, rubbing soothingly as he heaved, your touch steady and comforting, even though he reeked of liquor and shame. When he was done, you'd wipe his face with a cold washcloth, taking care of him like he wasn't just some disaster you walked into.

He'd lie on the couch, afterward, barely conscious, the side of his head pressed against your lap as you stroked his hair. Even through that kind of haze, he'd feel your hand smoothing over his forehead, your thumb brushing against his temple.

Now he was throwing up by himself, sick and alone, and how he wished you were here with him right now. He'd lift his head up and catch himself looking over his shoulder, as if expecting you to be there for him, a hand rubbing his back through it all, like before. But you weren't.

He hated it. Hated how much he wanted that same kind of comfort again, that sense of security he let himself get used to. The same kind he didn't know he craved until you were gone. But most of all, he hated himself more for needing it.

He had pushed you away, and he really didn't have anyone to blame but himself, didn't he?

So he sat there, taking in the silence, the first time he's felt so... alone. He let himself feel it, the way you weren't there with him anymore. All the hurt and vulnerability, the pain he’d spent his life trying to shove down. He was alone, and he'd done it to himself. Because loving you had terrified him more than anything, and instead of facing that fear, he destroyed the one good thing he's ever had.

In the end, he did the one thing he was best at—and that was pushing you away.