#But with David the line is really thick for me!

[2x4plank]

Okay, yes. I know I wrote that entire thinkpiece about David and I should've stopped there. But I'm on Permadeath and keep having to replay the winter act, and I feel like I still have so many thoughts about not only David, but the entire act. I'm talking game-only, because I don't feel like watching the show, so spoilers for that if you want to play the game.

The more you acquaint yourself with David, the more you hate him. He is one of the only videogame characters that ever upset my stomach.

When you replay the game, his allyship and empty flattery just becomes that much more disgusting. Having to depend on him to fight enemies off of you (because on the higher difficulties especially, he's useless otherwise! Thanks for all those losses due to Ally Death, David!) and looking to him for help and helping him just feels terrible.

I notice that even James is surprised when David talks to him in that demanding tone. Part of me wonders if he used that tone to impress Ellie or something, like saying that he's the top dog around here. I hate it.

Sidenote: When Ellie calls David an "old man", I like to think she pulled that from Henry calling Joel that. I like to think. Henry and Sam are my favorite allies.

Paying more attention throughout the act, I noticed two kind of repetitive symbols: deer and fire.

The deer symbol is pretty obvious: Ellie starts out hunting a deer; she hides out in a hunting lodge; and all throughout the steakhouse, there are pictures of deer and deer mounts which I somehow didn't notice before.

But I never thought about the fire. How she starts out quite distant from the fire that David started, even though it is freezing cold in winter and she's rubbing underneath her nose because somebody needs to give this girl a scarf! But after they fight together, she gets closer and immediately regrets it because these two men she met aren't normal.

While navigating through the wintry hellscape that is David's town, fire lights your path as you crawl through buildings (I found the inclusion of an arcade interesting; it felt like a marker of childhood to me, and there's even a stuffed giraffe). And then of course, the Steakhouse is on fire, and that fire slowly spreads. The use of fire during this act sort of reminds me of the use of fire in Silent Hill 2, where Angela Orosco who experienced sexual abuse lived in this personal hell of narrow, fiery corridors.

And as I hear, "Ah, thank you, Lord!" for the millionth time, I realize that seeing David as similar to Joel still does not work for me. I just continue to contrast them. The only two things that allow for comparison is that David is an older man who also boosts her up to a higher platform. Otherwise, I don't see many similarities.

As I've said, Joel wants to protect Ellie--both mentally and physically. He doesn't want her to see the burning dead in Bill's town. He doesn't want to traumatize her by letting her shoot other people, or encourage her to jump on the frontlines by giving her a gun. He very much acts like a father who wants to take on all those burdens so his child doesn't have to.

David, on the other hand, exposes her to stuff as a weapon. He locks her in the cage in the same room they chop up bodies. He gleefully smiles as he almost cleaves off her head. He is more than happy to make everything worse for her.

And maybe it bears repeating: JOEL WOULD NEVER ABUSE A CHILD LIKE DAVID WOULD! Which is a vast land of difference when it comes to characterization.

Upon returning the steakhouse, it genuinely felt like going back to a place where something terrible happened, and you don't even want to think about it. It's so quiet, but you're collecting health kits to protect yourself because you know it's about to be something. It's this particular kind of dread. And then David bursts in, starts a fire, takes away your weapon, and you have to face him.

So come the next act, when I see Ellie staring at that deer like she can't pull away from it, it's very painful.

[sceletaflores]

woo, my baby's got me all mixed up!

feat: logan howlett & wade wilson

contains: 18+ SMUT MDNI, fem!reader, swearing, a bastard doomed polycule, more of 'why have just one bf when you can two bf's and why have just two bf's when you can have two bf's that are also each other’s bf's???', p in v, double penetration, one (1) single use of daddy, creampie(s), fingering...kind of (fem!receiving), oral sex, face sitting, face fucking, straight up nasty porn w/ zero plot, no use of y/n.

nat’s note: this is a shorter one-shot but i can't not format it like a full fic i have to or i'll get hives. this is also just pure freak nasty gross actually probably the filthiest thing i've ever written that i thought up off too much nyquil pm last night. kisses!

wade gets to whiskin’ (and logan's there too)…

"You're killing me babe," Wade groans lowly, cheek pressed to the slick skin of your inner thigh. "If my balls didn't feel like they just got the shit beat out of them in a back alley I'd be as hard as David Hasselhoff watching David Hasselhoff movies."

His hand is at work between your thighs, thick index finger slipped into your sensitive, puffy pussy.

It should gross you out that he loves doing this so much. It should make your stomach twist with all the unpleasant feelings a normal person might get.

It should, but it doesn't.

The familiar stretch is lost from taking Logan and Wade at the same time, a rare thing in your sex life because of how big they both are. But you were in a mood tonight.

Your pussy still clenches around him, trying in vain to tighten up, not used to feeling so empty.

The subtle pressure of Wade’s finger toes the line between pleasure and the sharp burn of 'almost too much' as it swirls along the sensitive walls of your pussy.

The first time he did it you were too fucked out of your mind to do anything other than ask what the hell he was doing.

"Gotta mix it up babe," was his reply, as easy as anything. "Don't want the baby batter to curdle, if you know what I mean."

Your heart stopped, flames lapping their way up your body as Wade scooped the thin line of come trickling from your abused hole to fuck it back in, back where it belonged.

It was so filthy, so depraved that it made you go liquid between your legs.

Your eyes almost immediately slid over to Logan, ready to see him shaking his head in irritation like he usually did whenever Wade ran his mouth in bed. You found nothing, no deep grimace or raised brow in sight.

There was an unmistakable heat in his gaze that matched your own, the inky black of his pupils blown so wide you could hardly see the hazel of his irises.

The casual raise of his right shoulder when he met your eye was undermined by the way his cock started to harden where it laid against his thigh, effectively tattling on him.

It told you all you needed to know about how he really felt watching Wade between your spread legs. That alone was enough to get you ready to go all over again.

It sort of became a thing after that.

"I'm not even doing anything..." you mumble breathlessly, your voice barely above a whisper.

"Don't have to baby," Logan purrs from behind you, lips pressed to the top of your head. His hand skimming down the side of your body is enough to make goosebumps pebble along your skin, "Look perfect just like this."

It's been hours now, but they're still going. You're convinced that the two of them are the world's biggest horndogs, just once is never enough.

You lost track of tonight's rounds sometime after number five, not counting mouth and hand stuff of course. And it's starting to catch up to you, you’re tired, spent.

Wade curls his finger just right, brushing against the spot inside you that has a broken whine passing through your grit teeth. Your thighs start to tremble as a smug grin spreads across his face.

"Yeah, there it is," he teases, his voice low. He keeps the tip of his finger snug against that spot, rubbing firm circles over the sensitive nerves. "That's that spot ain't it, gorgeous."

"Wade," you mewl, hands fisting the sheets as you fight to keep still. You're worried too much squirming will make their come start dripping out around Wade's wrist, and you can't have that.

There’s a sudden silence to your right, the heaviness of it pulling at your attention. You shift slightly, catching the faintest rustle of movement from Logan.

His breath is warm against the crown of your skill, his strong chest still plastered to your back—but he's too quiet, too still. You tilt your head just enough to peek at him out of the corner of your eye, and the sight alone is almost enough to make you come on the spot.

Logan is leaning against the headboard lazily, arm that isn't circled around your waist snaking down his own with the hard length of his cock in his hand.

Your mouth waters at the sight of him, red and leaking pre-come all over his knuckles each time he twists his fist over the thick head. Your hips grind down unconsciously, a needy moan falling from your parted lips. The wet sound of it has your cheeks burning, eyes fixed on the way his heavy balls bounce with each rough tug, still so full.

"Fuck, that's it," Wade murmurs, slipping a second finger inside you while he presses a shit-eating grin to the soft skin of your lower stomach. "You like it when daddy jerks off while I'm knuckle deep in you?"

"Watch it," Logan mutters warningly, tone gone low and dark as spilled ink. His hand doesn't slow, the loose grip of his fist slipping up and down his dripping cock in time with the slick squelch of your pussy.

Your hips buck up against Wade’s hand, a loud whine tearing from your chest at the dirtiness of this whole thing. The familiar heat starts to stir in your belly, your pussy drooling more mess over his wrist the longer he plays with you.

Wade barely muffles his chuckle against your hip, dropping a quick kiss there before pulling his soaked fingers from your velvety warmth. You whine at the loss, but he doesn’t pay it any mind.

You’ll both get what you want soon enough.

"Alright, we should all know the drill by now people," he announces to you and Logan with a loud clap, pulling away from between your thighs to roll flat onto his back.

“Time to hop on the saddle, John Wayne,” he finishes, giving your ass a loving tap.

Logan snorts into your hair, dropping his cock to grab your hips and gently manhandle you until you’re situated directly over Wade’s face while Logan kneels in front of you. The jut of his cock bobbing inches away from your mouth.

Wade’s greedy fingers pry your swollen lips apart to watch the way his and Logan’s come starts to seep out from you, falling to drip onto his bare chest. He blows over the wet length of you, the cool air from his mouth has your hips twitching down in search of any friction you can get.

“Not so fast,” he scolds lightly, grinding his knuckle against the wet seam of you. Your nails dig crescent moons into his scarred shoulders, threatening to break the skin.

“You’ve gotta savor this moment, hot stuff,” he says slowly, leaning up to press a kiss directly over your throbbing clit. “You got the best seat in the house, don’t take it for granted–”

"Enough," Logan grunts, heavy hands falling on your shoulders to push you down on Wade's face, fully closing the gap. "Quit runnin' your damn mouth and make our girl feel good, red."

Wade's hands tighten their hold on your thighs, his hips bucking up off the mattress like he can't help it. His surprised moan rumbles against your clit, loud and shameless.

You cry out at the first drag of his tongue over your aching pussy, hot and wet as it slides through your dripping slit. You pitch forward, too caught up in pleasure to think clearly as you take Logan’s cock into your mouth. You take him all the way down to the root in one swift move, burying your nose in the dark hair surrounding the base. 

"Fuck," Logan bites out, eyes twisting shut as he feels your warm throat enveloping him. He takes your hair in his fist gently, just holding it as you swallow around him. 

Your hands move to rest on his thick thighs, nails scratching over the hair scattered along his skin. His breath shutters in his chest, his hips rolling forward ever so slightly, chasing the tight heat of your mouth.

The mix of your tongue tracing along the sensitive vein on the underside of his cock and the low, wet sounds of Wade devouring you has him pulsing in your mouth.

Your thighs shake on either side of Wade's head, the steady grip of his hands the only thing that keeps you from collapsing into a boneless heap on the mattress.

Your hips twitch the tiniest bit, rocking forward enough to grind your clit over the slope of his nose. He groans under you, squeezing the meat of your thighs in encouragement as he swirls his tongue through the mess dripping from your hole.

“That’s a good girl,” Logan praises gruffly, his hips speeding up. “Shut him up, baby. Make him fuckin’ eat it.”

You squeeze your eyes shut, dragging your pussy along Wade’s mouth faster. You moan desperately around your mouthful, brain going hazy around the edges.

The frantic pace you set only makes their come leak from you faster, dripping down Wade’s face faster than he can keep up, and there's just so much.

A steady, thick stream of it that feels almost never ending thanks to Logan coming like he busted a pipe and absolutely flooding your insides every single time.

Wade doesn’t seem deterred in the slightest though, swirling his tongue along you with a new sense of urgency. His hands grip your hips tighter, his blunt nails digging into your skin deliciously as he slurps and sucks with unbridled enthusiasm, chasing every drop of come.

He’s sloppy with it, come sliding down his cheeks and chin in thin rivers of white.

Logan’s rough breath hitches above you, his fingers tightening in your hair as you take him deeper, hollowing your cheeks just the way he likes. His growl sends a thrill down your spine.

"C'mon, Wilson," Logan grunts, his hips speeding up. When you peer up at him, you can see the goading smile that just barely tugs the corner of his mouth up.

“Spitters are quitters, you know that."

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[bamboozledbird]

Written in the Stars // Stiles Stilinski Imagine

Characters: Stiles Stilinski, fem!reader Pairing: Stiles x Reader, Stiles x You (no use of y/n) Word Count: 5k Tags: fluff, fluff, fluff, i love my men nerdy and desperate, all characters are over 19, my vibe is it's like their sophomore or junior year of college Warnings: NSFW, MDNI, unprotected pnv (terrible advice, babes, don't listen to these idiots)

Request: stiles smut plssss!!! anything fluffy??? A/N: request mixed with a lil bit of an old work to ease me into my first smut. still coming across virginities at 27, and that is really something. s/o to the anon who requested it lmao.

Stiles’s childhood bedroom is an assortment of Star Wars paraphernalia, baseball posters, and bundles of wrinkled flannels squeezed to fit within four faded blue walls. There are a few books stacked on top of his desk, coated in a thin layer of dust from the semester away from home, and little plastic stormtroopers stand at attention on his dresser corners. It smells a little musty in his room, a little like damp earth, but you’ve always liked that smell. You especially like how his cologne smells here—like spice, like fallen leaves, like Christmas morning. 

“The curtains are blackout,” Stiles says. He pulls the heavy navy curtains over the window facing the small backyard. The grass is yellowing from the cold of winter, and the air is crisp with the same bitter chill. You shiver and burrow further into the sweatshirt you’d somehow commandeered long before you and Stiles were a we. A few flecks of dust float off the plaid bedding when he sits down on his bed. He looks up at you and grins at the sleeves hanging limply below your fingers, “Flip off the light.” 

You turn off the light and shut the door. It’s dark inside the room now—almost completely black. What little remains of the sun is gone, and now you can only see the glow-in-the-dark stars sticky-tacked to the ceiling. “You must have taken a lot of people up here,” you hum, grinning at him coyly over your shoulder. You’re not quite sure if he can make out the glint in your eyes under the pale fluorescent glow, but you’d like to think he can. Either way, you’re sure he knows.

Stiles laughs easily and scoots himself down to the edge of his bed, “Why?”

“For kissing,” you say, matter-of-factly, but you’re still grinning. You make your way towards him, and your prowl is far less smooth than you’d like it to be—the piles of books and a couple month’s worth of dirty laundry make an already difficult path downright hazardous. You count it as a win when you end up in his lap without tripping on anything, “Doesn’t everyone want to be kissed under the stars?”

His hands, his wonderfully large and veiny hands, find their way to your hips. It’s instinct for him, reflexive at this point, and here in the dark it feels like the only thing he knows. You can feel his grin against your neck, “Do you?” 

You hum, playing coy, and absently curl your fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck, thick and curling a bit at the ends. It’s grown out over the last few months. He’s been too busy with studying for finals and working at the library to bother getting it cut. You like it like this, long enough to hold onto, long enough to yank. “I like the stars,” you sigh—so close to his mouth, but not touching—and then you pull back, smiling fondly when you see his mouth is already puckered. “Tell me about ‘em.”

Stiles groans and falls onto his back, pulling you down with him. You end up tucked against his side, shivering as he slides his hand under your sweatshirt to trace a feathery line up and down your back. “That’s like the worst possible genre for innuendo. I can’t woo you while I’m David Attenborough-ing about astrology.”

You smile against his shoulder, and he yelps when you nip at his skin through his thread-bare t-shirt. “You like a challenge.”

He wraps a strand of your hair around his finger and pulls a little, just hard enough to tip into a reprimand. It’s at least half the reason you turn into a brat when he’s this close. “There’s Andromeda,” he hums against the top of your head, pointing towards a small cluster of stars. “Those are supposed to be her legs, and that’s her head, and the ones over there are her arms—fuckin’ uneven, I know. I think that side kinda looks like she’s holding out one of those canes with tennis balls on t—”

You smile and knock your head into his chin lightly, “Wooing, Stiles.”

He tugs on your hair again and swears under his breath when a little whimper tumbles past your lips. “Anyway, she’s next to Perseus—who looks a lot more like Patrick than a demigod. I mean, look at him; his body type is like…something between Dorito and spanakopita.” You laugh, and Stiles squeezes you closer to his side, tangles your legs together, and kisses the tip of your nose like he just can’t help himself. “Story goes, Andromeda's mom royally pissed off Poseidon, so he sent a sea monster to destroy her kingdom—as one does when someone’s talking shit.”

“Naturally,” you hum as you reach for the hand he has cupped around your waist. 

“Naturally,” Stiles agrees, nodding against the crown of your head. You try not to get too distracted by the length of his fingers, bending them and straightening them out one at a time, as he carries on with the story, “So Andromeda’s mom is up there with the titans of bad parents—like right next to Vader and every Disney step-mom ‘cause she fuckin’ ties Andromeda to a rock as a sacrifice for the mo—” He sucks in a shallow breath through his teeth when you start kissing along the row of his knuckles, first little soft brushes that almost tickle and then a few lingering ones that wet his skin. He swears again and ever-so slowly shifts his hips against the thigh tucked between his legs. You take pity on him and rest your entwined hands in the small gap between your breastbone and his ribs. His exhale is warm against your forehead, “Obviously, Perseus swoops in at the last minute, slays the beast, gets the girl, etcetera, etcetera.”

Humming, you tip your chin up against his chest and look at him through your lashes, “What happens during etcetera, etcetera?” 

“I think,” Stiles rolls over so that he’s on top of you, bracing his weight on his forearms, caging you in delightfully close to his broad chest, “something like this.”

You forget about the game for a minute when he starts mouthing at your skin with just the right amount of teeth. His hair, adorably messy and sticking up in little patches from your fingers, tickles the hinge of your jaw. “Didn’t Perseus kill Medusa?” you mumble, head tipping back into the mattress, eyes closed. 

“Uh,” Stiles keeps kissing along your neck, obviously distracted by the hitches in your breath and the soft sighs you let out when he breathes against spit-slick skin, “yeah?”

You can feel the heaviness of his whine against your mouth when you pull away, blinking up at him with big, round eyes—the picture of innocence. A little lamb, an unplucked daisy, a gossamer butterfly wing, entirely unaware of the raging hard-on pressed against your inner thigh. His skin is warm through his shirt, so warm you feel it on your legs when you wrap them around his waist. “While she was sleeping?”

“Uh huh,” Stiles slides a hand up your thigh. The other one is pressed into the mattress, and the muscles in his forearm flex under his full weight. You’re pretty sure he’d agree with anything you say like this.

Unfortunately for the pulsing between your legs, you’ve fallen victim to your own ruse. Your head tilts as you recall all the unsavory details of the Medusa myth, “After she was literally assaulted by his dad?”

Stiles drops his head against your chest and groans, “You’re killing me, baby.”

You grin and curl your fingers in his hair, petting him gently and squeezing your thighs against his hips, “Tell me another one.”

He sighs and rolls over, starfishing his right arm and leg over the edge of the bed with a dramatic flop. “We’ll skip Orion and the seven girls he stalked.”

“Smart choice,” you hum and snuggle into his side. His chest is firm from hours of trying to lift enough to play lacrosse with werewolves, but it still makes for a nice pillow. Stiles’s fingers find their way into your hair, and you swallow back the purr rising in your throat for his sake. He’s been so good for you, after all. You don’t want the torture to be too painful.

“And the swan-fucker,” he adds, scratching lightly at your scalp.

“What?”

Stiles ignores your wide eyes, smirking, and continues playing with your hair, “Altair and Vega. That’s a good one.” In the blanket of darkness and under the strain of yearning, his voice sounds soft and crackly, like one of those singers in the black and white movies, the ones that dance with the microphone. “Starts with a gorgeous, sexy, incredibly charitable goddess falling for a lowly mortal,” his grin is sly as he hikes your thigh over his, squeezing just under your ass, “a lot like us.”

“Boo. Awful.” You pull a face as he drops a flurry of kisses over your cheeks, nose, chin—your laughing mouth, “Disgusting. I’m disgusted.” 

His fingers dip into the waistband of your leggings, tauntingly close to just where you want him, “You don’t feel disgusted.”

Now, that won’t do. You’re just getting started. You trap his hand with your thighs and tap your finger against the slope of his upturned nose, “Finish the story.” 

Stiles whines a little and then sighs, returning the palm of his hand to the little dip above your hip. “Her dad is disgusted that she wants to bring a loser human home, so he turns them into stars on opposite sides of the galaxy.”

Frowning, you squint at the collection of stars he’d pointed to. They don’t look so far apart on his bedroom ceiling. “That’s…depressing.”

“It’s not over yet,” Stiles pulls on your hair and does his best to look annoyed, but the nip to your bottom lip feels far more like a reward than a punishment, “hush.” He waits a minute for you to comply—or, more likely, not comply—and you settle back on his chest and arch your brow, waiting. He arches his brow right back and then keeps going, “One day a year, on the seventh day of the seventh month, Altair fills the galaxy with his tears, and every bird in the sky makes a bridge with their wings so that they can spend one more night together.”

The corner of your mouth tugs into a little grin, “That is a good one.” You trace little patterns on his bicep, little swirls and stars, and rest your chin on his shoulder so that you can see his pretty face, “But just for the story. Only one night a year would kill me.”

“Baby,” Stiles clicks his tongue against the back of his teeth and shakes his head like he's disappointed, bottom lip jutting out slightly from under his top, “it'd take a helluva lot more than a couple light-years and an immortal father-in-law to keep me from getting to you.” 

It’s such a line, but the dopey grin he gives you while he says it somehow makes it charming. Maybe you’re just a little bit lovesick. Okay, maybe a lot. “You can kiss me n—”

He’s on you before you can finish, but you don’t mind being interrupted when he's slanting his mouth against yours just right and groaning into your sighs with a gravelly pitch that makes your toes curl. “Fuck me,” Stiles sighs. He dips back in before you can quip something bratty, something that would definitely earn you another yank on your hair—later perhaps. 

You straddle his waist, sit back in the cradle of his pelvis, and lace your fingers together on the mattress against the sides of his head. He whimpers. You curse. “Off,” you mutter against his mouth, tugging petulantly on the hem of his t-shirt. Stiles is quick to comply, like always, but the fabric gets stuck around his shoulders. You let him struggle for a minute, just long enough to hear more of those petulant little whines. When you finally help him wrangle his shirt over his head, you’re up close and personal with his mouth. His lips are pretty—swollen, pink, and shiny with salvia and your lip balm—and you’re filled with the overwhelming urge to bite. You toss his shirt somewhere on the floor behind you and lean down, your chest pressed against his. You can feel his heartbeat stutter, like a rabbit in a trap, when you stroke your thumb over his bottom lip. It’s soft and wet against your finger, and you sigh high in your throat, “Pretty.”

His chest warms, and you wish you had more light to admire the flush spreading from his neck to his cheeks. You know it’s pink and pretty too, but you’d enjoy seeing the proof. “Pretty?” Stiles echoes, cocking his head slightly, and slides his hands from your ass to your hips. He continues his path along the sides of your ribcage with the bottom of your sweatshirt bunched between his fingers.

“Pretty,” you nod, sharp and definitive. You sit up a little so that Stiles can pull your hoodie off, and then it’s lost to the dark abyss. Frankly, you aren’t that worried about if you ever see it again. You can always steal another one after you’re done. 

He shakes his head and runs his hands over your torso, your collarbones, your stomach, just under your tits—he can’t see that well in the dim light, so he’s damn well going to see you the only way he can. “Pretty,” Stiles groans, cupping your tits and gently thumbing over your nipples through the thin fabric of your cotton bra. It’s simple, white, unadorned by lace or a pattern—and it’s sexier than it has any right to be, he thinks. He’s eager to rip it off.

You shudder through the entire length of your spinal column, through all the nerves attached, and arch into his touch, “Yeah?” 

He coos, and your nipples pebble in response. It’s embarrassing but soon forgotten when Stiles cups your face, big hands encompassing almost the entire length of your jaw, and whispers, “Pretty girl. My pretty baby.” 

It’s even more embarrassing how quickly you feel your underwear dampen under the scrutiny of some simple praise. Now, you’re whining, and he’s letting out a string of guttural, “Fuck,”s as you grind down against the increasingly painful bulge in his jeans. Your nails leave little pink lines along the sculpted v of his pelvis, just deep enough to sting a bit—enough to send his head back towards his shoulders. He sits up a little more so that he can grip your hips, holding them still as he catches his breath, and you’re only a little ashamed of the way you mewl his name in protest. Stiles shuts you up with a kiss and shakes his head, “Can’t come in my pants like I’m 17 again. That’s the worst possible ending to our constellation. Like a 1/10, definitely certified rotten.”

You grin against his throat, and he swallows at the sharp press of your teeth. “Oh, I don’t think that’s the worst ending. Wouldn’t the worst be the one where you don’t come at all?” 

Stiles’s fingers dig into your hips and he pulls you down firmly against his lap, like he’s scared you’ll get up and leave him with a weeping cock and teary eyes. “Baby, don’t even joke about that. That’s a billion times worse than letting a sea monster rip me in half.”

“Guess you can split me in half then,” you shrug a little, and Stiles goes taut under you, fingertips flexing into the small of your back, “unless you want me to tie you to a rock. I’d be into that.”

He growls in your ear, nipping at your jaw and flipping you onto your back. You laugh, a little breathless, as you bounce back on the mattress from the force of it. “Definitely wanna split you in half,” Stiles mutters as he shucks off his pants and kneels at the edge of his bed. He starts peeling back your leggings, taking his time to kiss each sliver of skin revealed to him despite the urgency in his eyes, despite the ache in his white-knuckled grip on the buttery martial of your bottoms. “Gonna wreck you,” Stiles promises as he brushes his lips over your ankle a few times. His words are filthy, but his eyes are honey-sweet and lit with nothing but complete and utter devotion—like you really are a goddess in the sky. You’re already wrecked, probably have been since he kissed you for the first time, entirely ruined for anyone else.

“Did’ya know that Vega is brighter than Altair,” he says, quiet and reverent as he drops your leggings. You blink at him, a bit dumbly, but it’s his own fault for trying to have a conversation while he’s sliding your legs over his shoulders and fiddling with the hem of your underwear. “By, like, 5 places? I think? That’s us too—can’t even look at you sometimes,” he hums, warm against your wet cunt, and hooks his thumbs around your panties. You shudder, and he smiles. You aren’t quite sure if he’s talking to you or to the glistening flesh he reveals when he yanks the baby pink cotton to the side. Either way, you understand his dilemma. It’s torture to watch him sometimes. You have to close your eyes when the pink tip of his tongue darts out, wetting his lip, tasting the air. 

There’s a sigh. So soft. Really more of an exhale, and you aren’t sure where it came from. It could’ve been you, or him, or the stars. “You talk a lot,” this time you know the sigh is coming from you. 

Stiles smirks a little and slips his thumb inside your panties, swiping through your slick folds like he’s fingerpainting, “Is that a complaint?”

Your hips stutter, and his other hand is quick to clamp down on your skin, stopping any attempts to skitter away from his light touch. “I love it when you talk,” you hum, leaning up onto your elbows so that you can watch him work. He grins up at you, almost shy, and presses down against your clit. A wet gasp bursts through swollen lips as your back arches, and Stiles isn’t so shy when he bends down to drop a gentle kiss over his thumb. “But I, uh,” you brush your fingers through the dark hair flopping over his forehead and squeeze your eyes shut when his kisses become kitten licks, “I also love it when you use your mo—” His finger (his long, gifted finger) slides into your cunt with an embarrassing squelch, and his lips wrap around your clit as he sucks. “That,” you whine, back arching a little until Stiles spreads his fingers over your stomach and presses down, “I also love it when you do that.” 

His laugh vibrates deliciously against all the places he’s trying to devour, and you think it wouldn’t be such a bad way to go—being eaten alive by your gorgeous boyfriend. He pulls back to slip another finger in your pussy, spreading them just enough to burn in the best way, and then he’s prodding at the spot inside you that sends a jolt up your spine—makes your fingers wind in the bedspread, pull on his hair, fly to your mouth when you start to cry a little. It didn’t used to be like this. Sex. Getting fingered, fucked, even eaten out—it never felt like this before him. It’s…overwhelming, sometimes. Most of the time, actually. You keep waiting to get used to it, for the newness, the discovery of it all, to wear off. Hasn’t happened yet. You don’t think it ever will. Certainly not tonight. 

“Good?” Stiles licks his lips, at the glistening corners of his mouth, and you toss your head back—overwhelmed. “Good,” he concludes, and he’s not even smug about it. More like he’s making a note in one of his case files, something to look back on later when he needs it. He’s quick about getting what little remains of your clothes off, and when he crawls on top of you, you’re immensely grateful for it. Skin on skin, nothing quite like it. Quick romps in the jeep, up against alley walls, the sink of the occasional bar bathroom—all fun, but not nearly as satisfying as being completely pressed against his naked body, completely caged in by his large frame. Sappy, maybe, but it feels dirty when he drags the tip of his cock through your folds. When he bumps against your clit, you mewl and dig your nails into his back. He sucks in sharply and buries his face in the crook of your neck, “There’s a condom in th—”

“Forget it,” you whimper, carding your fingers through his hair. It’s a little sweaty where it meets his neck, and it’s so soft, and thick, and perfect, and—he’s stopped breathing against your neck. 

He groans from a place deep in his gut, deeper actually, and his arms shake, “Are you su—”

“Yes,” you nod rapidly and wrap your legs around him, arms too, and your fingers join in on the clinging when they twist in his hair. “Absolutely. 1000%. Please don’t make me say please.”

He lets out a little laugh that stirs the hair framing your face, and he traces your cheekbone, barely touching your skin. Your head swims with the look in his eyes: amber, warmth, and worship, “But you’re just so pretty when you beg.” Not that you’ve ever had to for long. Stiles gives you anything you want if you ask him the right way. If you look at him with big, wet eyes, if you jut out your lower lip just so—wet as well, the little lick of your tongue is part of it; that took him months to figure out—he crumbles. He’s said many times that better men than he have fallen victim to far less beautiful schemes. 

Stiles kisses the pout off your lips and nudges the tip of his nose over yours, grinning like a drunken idiot, “Told’ya, baby. Not a light-year, definitely not a little latex.” His grin slides into a little ‘o’ when you slither your hand between your bodies and grip his cock, sliding the first inch into your cunt, impatient. “F-fuck—fuck-ing hell,” he grunts and takes over for you, squeezing your hip until it starts to hurt a little. You’d say something, but then he’d stop—and you like the way it aches. You like knowing there will be a bruise. He’ll fret over it later, kiss each mottled spot better a million times, and you like that too. You like being taken care of, almost as much as he likes taking care of you. 

When he bottoms out, when his pelvic bone ruts up against you, a long, drawn out whimper spills through your pout. “Yeah? Feels good, baby?” Stiles watches your face closely, brushes away the hair sticking to your forehead, and drops a few kisses on your shut eyelids. You nod, and nod, and nod, until he stops you with another kiss to your lips. He kisses you slowly, presses his tongue against the seam of your lips, and you sigh. The kiss quickly becomes wet and filthy, and you’d be embarrassed by the sound of your tongues sliding together if you could actually hear it. At the moment, all you can hear is his cock sliding in and out of your dripping pussy—and that’s definitely sending a dizzying heat up your neck. You don’t worry about it for long when his hips shift and he starts hitting that spot inside you again. After that, neither of you can hear anything over your squealing. Stiles kisses away the tears gathering at the corners of your eyes and licks his lips, chasing the taste. “Right there, huh?” You babble an incoherent answer, and he strokes your hair and noses at your cheek, “Yeah, right there. I know. It’s okay.” 

Stiles slides his hands under your back and sits up, taking you with him. The new angle is impossibly deep, and you bite down on his shoulder and wind your arms around his neck to keep yourself there. With him. In the moment. “It’s okay, baby. I got you, promise,” he squeezes your hips, and despite his reassurances and the strength of his grip, you know he’s falling apart too. He’s close. You can feel it. His hips stutter a little, change direction, lose their dedicated pace—and it’s perfect because you’re right there with him. It’s been building for a while, probably since he led you by hand to his room, maybe even before that when he smirked at you behind his cup of tequila and (mostly) pineapple juice. 

You cry a little and bite down on your bottom lip, hard. Stiles kisses the sting away, and your eyes screw shut as you start babbling again, “I’m—”

He kisses you again and lifts his hands from your hips to cup your face, thumbing along your bottom lip when he pulls back—not far, just enough to look at your face, shiny with sweat and tears. “I know,” he stills for a moment, pausing the movement of his hips so that he can just feel you pulsing around him for a moment, “me too.” You aren’t sure if you want to hit him or kiss him for stopping, but you don’t have the strength to do either when he starts what must be his final round of thrusts. It has to be—you’re a few seconds away from collapsing or coming, whichever comes first. When Stiles moans your name in your ear, soft and high like he does when he’s right there, and he slides his hand down your stomach to rub firm circles on your clit, you’re happy it’s your orgasm that happens first. Your abs convulse a little as you twitch around him, and you curl in on yourself as much as you can with Stiles in the way. He’s not in the way for long. Growling, he shoves you back against the bed and mumbles, “Where?” after a few sloppy thrusts. 

You mewl as he keeps the pressure on your clit, reach for his wrist and try to pull his hand away, but he’s determined and you’re tired. You twitch and throw your head back, whimpering, “Inside,” before you can think better of it. It’s his fault, you’ll decide later, for prolonging your high with his mean, unforgiving, wonderful thumb. 

He’ll blame you, for feeling so perfect around him—for fluttering, and leaking, and trembling better than…anything he’s ever seen in porn, and he’s watched...a lot of it, so he’s a bit of an expert on the cinematic orgasm. “You’re so fuckin—you,” he shakes his head against your heaving chest and groans, “you’re everything.” And when he finally comes in you, you’re okay with taking the blame for something that feels so good. He manages a few more thrusts, and then he finally lets you pull his hand away from your cunt when he collapses onto his forearms, barely holding himself up from crushing you with his full weight. You’d tell him to roll over, but then he’d be over there and not in you, so you put up with the sweat and heaviness while your head spins. 

“Baby?” Stiles hums noncommittally in response to your soft prodding, and you smirk against the top of his head. All the smugness leaves you when you finally feel the foreign sensation of his cum leaking out of you. Shuddering, you kiss his hair a few times and scratch up and down his back lightly until he’s able to breathe normally. He pushes himself up onto his arms and glances down when he pulls out, staring for a moment at the way your pussy gapes a bit, watching the trickle of cum drip down your folds and onto the bed. He rubs his hand over his jaw and licks his lips, shaking his head—at a loss for words for the first time in his life. Your tongue is a little thick when you fill the void for him, “Next time, towel first.”

He finds it within himself to tear his eyes away from your cunt and gives you a crooked little grin, “Next time?”

You roll your eyes, but your grin is stupid with affection, “Sure, next time. Maybe. If you’re good.” 

It’s a little disgusting, the way he just rolls over and pulls you on top of him with absolutely no regard for the various bodily fluids sticking to your skin, but you forget about the unpleasantness of drying cum and cooling sweat when he kisses you. “I’m always good,” he huffs against your cheek. You shoot him a look, brows arched and eyes narrowed, and he smirks, “Okay, maybe not, but I’m always good for you.”

You nuzzle in a little closer and scoff, but it’s true. Stiles is so good, always—especially for you. “I guess you did manage to woo me. You’re very sexy when you’re talkin’ astrology, you know that?” 

He smiles, wide and happy, and wiggles his brows, “An absolute banger of an ending, right? I don’t think they could chart it in the stars without ruining your pretty face, but that’s probably for the best.” Stiles brushes his fingers over your lips when you let out a little questioning hum and takes your hand, growling playfully as he nibbles at your fingertips, “You’re mine. Nobody’s allowed to see you like this but me—definitely not horny little nerds with their telescopes.” 

You grin and bump your nose against his, “You’re a horny little nerd with a telescope.”

Stiles tips his head with a sly grin, and you already know what he’s going to say—it’s still devastatingly adorable when he whispers, “No, I’m your horny little nerd with a telescope.” 

Adorable enough to make you consider pulling him into the shower with you, and if the heavy-lidded look he’s giving you is anything to go by, you’d say he agrees.

[1-800-local-slut]

House of Memories (Spencer's Version)

Spencer Reid x Black! Fem! FBI! Reader

A look at your life with Spencer through the eyes of his team mates

Warnings: none really, just fluff, the team being observant, adult objects (condoms, alcohol, etc.,), not a warning but a note: reader isn't in the BAU but she works in the FBI, through Emily's POV

“I wasn’t expecting an invite from you, Reid. Thanks for having me over.” The front door to the apartment opened. Emily was holding a bottle of cheap wine that she grabbed from the liquor store down the street when she realized she forgot to bring a house gift. It was a close call too, she was literally driving past it when she realized and had to make a very hasty u-turn. 

“It’s no problem, thank you for coming! Derek, Garcia and Hotch are in the living room, Rossi’s in the bathroom and JJ’s coming late. Her loss though, I think she’d really enjoy Interstellar and if she comes late I know she’s going to complain. Come in, just take your shoes off if you don’t mind.” Emily nodded, after Spencer gave her a light side hug and accepted the bottle from her. 

He wore a white tee-shirt, pajama bottoms, and smelt fresh. His hair was damp as well, like he’d showered a few hours ago but his hair is so thick that it takes a minute for it to dry. She noticed his light shrug, as if it wasn’t his preference but he would take it anyways. 

Ghosting through the threshold, she bent down and slipped off her boots. She heard light chatter, music, smelt a vanilla and sea salt (it was a rough guess) candle burning, and heard the clatter of pots in the kitchen. 

She couldn’t help it, her analytical mind working before she could stop it. Sometimes she would find herself profiling strangers even when it was rude. And profiling your coworker who invited you into his home was very rude. 

Spencer’s shoes were thrown on the floor, one knocked on its side but still close together. As if it was an attempt on his end to be some sort of neat. Pairs of heels, pumps, boots were lined on the shoe rack but after doing a quick count, she noticed something. There were far more womens shoes than there were mens shoes. About six pairs of men's shoes to a 10 women’s shoe ratio.

Aaron, David, Derek make three, and the other three were clearly Spencer’s. Pen’s shoes obviously were one of those female shoes. The bright purple heels sticking out like a sore thumb amongst the browns, blacks, and deep reds of the female shoes. 

‘Enough Emily, stop being rude.’ 

“Your house is beautiful Spencer.” She couldn’t help but look around in slight awe. She wasn’t expecting Spencer’s house to be so…neat? No, that sounds mean. Neat in a way that didn’t seem like it was all Spencer. Sure Spencer’s little unique touches were sprinkled about the apartment and she was still standing at the doorway.

There were pictures of nature hanging on the wall, of a young black woman standing in front of a large pond far from the camera. She wore a pink baseball cap and had her hands flung out as if to emphasize how big the pond was. Who was that? A secret lover? She looked familiar, like a face Emily had seen in passing.

“Oh thanks. I just moved in a few months ago so not everything is fully set up.” Spencer called from the kitchen, and there were three clicks from the stove. Then he slid out, wiping his hands on a towel. As she walked through the house, she noticed more.

Potted plants with lush green leaves, knitted plant holders hanging from the ceiling, a red and dark blue patterned rug on the floor in the hall. From where she stood, she could see there was a small dining area. A nice wooden table, with papers and files scattered all over. 

She found her way to the living room and saw her coworkers engaged in whispers on the couch. More papers and files were on the small tables on either side of the couch, a contrast to the neatness of the rest of the house.

“Hey everybody, what’s up?” Emily asked. Heads snapped towards her, and she noticed Penelope’s eyes curved up in a mischievous grin. 

“Hi! Come sit, come sit.” Penelope motioned next to her, Derek and Rossi sliding over to make room for her. 

“Did you make it in okay?” Hotch asked and Emily nodded while she slipped onto the brown leather sofa. A dark purple hand knitted black was thrown over the back of it. Did Spencer take up knitting or was this just a nice purchase? 

Spencer plopped down into the brown leather armchair and rested his feet on the pouf in front of him. Emily noticed how spotless the glass coffee table in front of them was. 

The whole house was ridiculously clean. The wooden floors sparkled, the carpets meticulously vacuumed, the TV sparkled and the speakers next to the TV were flawlessly dusted. The large oak bookshelf that was up against the wall that was closest to the kitchen was also dusted and the books neatly organized. 

When would Spencer have time to clean his house so thoroughly? They were on a mission all of last week, got back two nights ago and have been at work since then. Sure, it’s Spencer he could just be very clean but the way things sparkled, it was clear they were cleaned merely a few hours ago. 

When they did go home it was late at night and they were back at work early the next day. Did he spend his whole Saturday afternoon scrubbing his floors, and preparing to cook for them? Spencer wasn’t the type to have a housekeeper, especially when he does his work all over and you can’t exactly leave FBI documents in the eye of the eye of a random house keeper.

“Sorry about the paperwork, I still have to set up my study. I have to put up my desk and everything.” Everyone voiced a consolation, some variation of ‘I don’t mind’ or ‘you should see my place’.

“Not the handyman?” Derek teased, wiggling his eyebrows. Spencer chuckled and shook his head. Spencer’s been smiling a lot more lately.

“I like keeping myself out of the hospital. Did you know every 45 minutes a piece of furniture falls on someone, and 25,000 people a year are treated at the hospital for a furniture related incident?” Spencer rattled off, emphasizing the numbers with his fingers.

Before anyone else could say anything, the doorbell rang. Spencer glanced back at the door, before he sprung to his feet with enthusiasm like he was expecting  Emily and Penelope exchanged looks, giggling while Rossi lightly rolled his eyes.

“Of course he knows that. Also, did any of you know that Spencer moved to a new place?” Derek asked.

“Well I knew. I know where all of you live. But it was very considerate of him to invite us over.” Hotch nodded, taking a sip of a bottle of water. Not Spencer’s usual brand but she did notice a switch some time ago. From Purelife to Poland Spring.

“Did you see the coat? Hanging by the door rack?” Penelope whispered, motioning for everyone to come in closer. There was a devilish twinkle in her eyes, her brain working overtime.

“What, you think he has some… extra company? A secret lover?” Rossi chuckled. Of course she noticed, but she just thought it was Penelope’s. 

“Maybe! Do you think?” Penelope asked excitedly, her hands flapping around with enthusiasm. Oh Penelope, ever the romantic. Derek giggled next to Penelope. He was lightly smacked by Penelope as a rebuttal and he giggled as if the slaps tickled him and they heard Spencer’s reapproaching foot steps along with an extra pair of heels. 

They all turned, eager to see who it was. Would it be the woman in the photo? His mom? Someone else?

“JJ!” Emily exclaimed when the final member of their team came in. She twisted around in her seat, happy to see her friend. JJ wasn’t able to make it on their last assignment so it had been a minute since they’d seen her. For people who practically live together, spending almost every moment together while at work was normal. They’d all fallen into a natural balance of being around each other. Of course they’d missed JJ while she was out sick.

“Hi!” She held her arms open for hugs, while the entire team voiced their hellos.

“Sorry I’m late, the grocery store was ridiculous. You wouldn’t believe what I saw, some lady's ex boyfriend came there and she called the cops on him like right there in the store. Apparently, he gave her something on purpose. She got on the speaker and called him ‘Dirty Dick David’. And then they fired her for playing with the mic that way!” She told her story while passing out hugs and then plopped down in the opposite arm chair across from the one Spencer was sitting in before.

“What?” Spencer laughed while he sat back down. 

“Right there it happened.” The whole team was laughing and Emily remembered that this was why she got along with her team so well. The easy laughter was so simple and refreshing.

“Woah, right there is insane! I guess she was sick of him.” Emily leaned slightly into Penny, allowing herself more comfort

“Imagine being at work and your ex who purposely infected you with something shows up to both you? I’d be pissed too.” Derek chuckled.

“I’ve been through three wives and never got a reaction like that, Dirty Dick David certainly had it coming.” Rossi added before they all laughed even harder.

Then there was a loud ringing noise. Spencer’s phone was going off and he patted himself down, lifting himself up checking to see if he was sitting on it. Then he got up, his face making a tiny expression like he could finally recall.

“I’ll be right back guys.” He ran into the kitchen and Penelope pulled everyone into a huddle.

“Okay, here’s what you missed JJ, you ready?”

“I’m ready?” She asked with an arch eyebrow and a nervous smile.

“There’s a bunch of lady stuff around here, like a coat and I don’t know if you saw the shoes but there are a lot of lady shoes. Rossi was in the bathroom and saw a bunch of lady stuff too, like a special face cleanser but he didn’t wanna snoop. I think he should’ve gone for it but whatever. Also I don’t know if you know but I know that Spencer doesn’t cook. 

His house is also really clean like really really clean like it was just clean but when would he have gotten the time to clean it? I mean we got off work like three hours ago. Running theories? Spencer has a housekeeper, a secret girlfriend, or his moms visiting. Got it? Okay, got it.” 

JJ blinked after Garcia’s rapid rundown, Derek nodding like he was able to keep up with that and Hotch all around looked displeased.

“We are guests in Spencer’s home, don’t go looking through his stuff. Maybe Spencer likes that stuff, that’s not any of our concern.” He frowned with a crease in his eyebrows. 

“Yeah Garcia, besides if Spence did get a girlfriend then I think that’s great for him.” JJ chuckled and Derek rubbed her shoulder comfortingly.

“I’m back! I picked up the shrimp and some wine. I also got some beers if you want any. The coolers are for me, you can have one but don’t take any of the pink ones. I like those ones.”  A familiar voice sounded through the house.

The sound of socks hitting the floor padded through the house and a young woman walked in. The woman from the photo more specifically. Her hair was in long braids that curled around her waist. She was gorgeous, a red scarf was wrapped around her neck to protect her from the chilly winter air. More specifically she was familiar. 

More specifically she was from a different team. More specifically a member of the HRT. The Hostage Rescue Unit. They’ve seen Spencer speaking with her a lot. They’ve teased him for their closeness multiple times, and knew they were a bit closer. But Emily didn’t know they were such close friends. For her to just walk into his home this way.

No offense to Spencer but when Emily said she was hot, she meant she was hot. Like she just stepped out of a magazine. And she never thought Spencer would have it in him to pull. Spencer was certainly nothing to sneeze at but my god was this woman attractive.

She was making her way through the house, to the kitchen lightly waddling. She held a bag of groceries and as if she could feel all the eyes on her she turned. 

“Oh hi! I’m sorry, I ran out to the grocery store. I didn’t realize we ran out of shrimp but the food will be done soon.” She beamed at them and put one of her hands on her hips. And Emily did as profilers do. She profiled even if she didn’t truly mean too. She was wearing pajama pants, and a puffy coat that was zipped open to reveal a white tank top. Above all she radiated joy, confidence and comfort.

“It’s nice to see you again.” Hotch cleared his throat, and she nodded at the members of the BAU.

“You got the shrimp?” Spencer called, coming out of the kitchen, slipping his phone into the pocket of his pants. He came up behind her, wrapping an arm around her waist. She instinctively angled her head to his and pushed herself up onto her tippy toes to plant a kiss on his lips.

Penelope was on the verge of exploding, her mouth open in a wide grin. She let out an excited squeal. The two agents jumped upon hearing the high pitched noise and everyone on the couch turned to face her.

“What?! Oh my god, when were you gonna tell us?!” Penelope asked, bounding up from the couch. Spencer looked confused above all as Penelope raced towards him and his apparent girlfriend.

“I didn’t think I had to, we weren’t exactly shy about it.” Spencer laughed as he looked at Penelope basically bouncing up and down in front of him. She giggled and Penelope paused.

“Dude we thought you were just friends?” Derek questioned from the couch. Spencer shook his head, looking more and more shocked by the second.

“So how long has this been going on?” Emily asked with a laugh. She had to laugh! How could she not be happy for Spencer? He looked so happy, he literally hadn’t stopped smiling since she came into the door and they kissed.

“Like a year? I mean, I know we jumped the gun with moving, but my lease was up and I decided that this would work and I couldn’t find anywhere close enough to work. We decided to go for it.” Spencer added, scratching the back of his neck.

“You guys really had no idea? I mean I tell you guys that we go out every weekend, I have a picture of her on my desk. We literally come to work together everyday.” Spencer exclaimed, motioning around with his hands.

“I don't see you that often at work, they probably don’t really notice those things.” She rationalized to him and rubbed a hand over his chest. He never moved his hand from around her waist. 

It all made sense. The candles littered around the house, the small basket of yarn and needles on the floor next to one of the arm chairs. The food even smelt too seasoned to be like anything Spencer could cook, the photos that Emily was just now realizing were taken of Spencer. The romance novel that Emily saw sitting on the glass coffee table. How spotless the entire house was. The shoes, the coat, Emily was just mad at herself for not recognizing the photo.

“Well. Way to go Reid, I didn’t know you had it in you.” She smirked at Derek’s remark and stood on her toes again. She whispered something in Spencer’s ear and he cackled with his mouth open in shock. 

He was turning a bashful shade of red and his voice squeaked as he sent her away. 

“I’ll be finished with your food soon, you guys.” Trailing into the kitchen, Spencer glanced over as if to check if she needed anything.

“Oh gosh, you didn’t have to cook for us! Thank you so much!” Emily exclaimed, realizing that she was just sitting there like a fish with her mouth wide open. 

“Let her cook, why not enjoy dinner and a movie?” Rossi joked. It seemed like the shock had dissipated and JJ giggled, her blonde hair shining like the Sun and Emily noted how her entire face lit up like a star.

“Honey, can you come help me with these groceries?” Spencer nodded, following her into the kitchen. They watched, waiting to watch them fully go into the kitchen. Then like little girls at a sleepover, they leaned back into their huddle. 

“Wow!”

“Let’s not get too ahead of ourselves.” Hotch tried to keep the peace before his team of impatient agents ran rampant. Emily herself felt like she needed answers and she needed them now. 

“Did you see the way he looked at her? They’re so cute, I had a feeling when he came to work that one time smelling like perfume and wearing the same clothes but they were like all up on each other.” Penelope whispered excitedly. 

“I always knew opposites attract. You know they make a handsome couple too.” The excitement died down for a second and everyone had to look at Rossi. Who even used that phrasing anymore?

“You’re so old, Rossi.” JJ giggled and Hotch shook his head. Rossi smiled playfully, the way he always did when they made fun of him for being ancient.

“What do they even talk about? I mean sure they have stuff in common but for a whole year? I wasn’t expecting that!” Emily exclaimed.

“Reid’s never short on things to talk about.” Derek teased and Penelope swatted him again.

“I mean I noticed he’d been a bit happier but I wasn’t expecting this! I guess you just never know.” JJ added in, glancing over to the kitchen to make sure the two weren’t standing right there. 

“We can find out what they talk about.” No one wanted to admit it but they wanted to snoop so bad. So bad that when Penelope suggested it the best thing to do was to stop talking and be extra quiet so they could hear. Even Hotch, slowly reclined.

Over the clatter of pans, the soft clinking of bottles and things being put away, and dishes being taken out they heard her voice. 

“Emily brought us some wine. Pink.” Spencer’s voice broke through and Emily tensed up. Oh god, what if they hated the wine? 

“Oh my favorite. I’ve always liked that Emily. If it wasn’t for you, I’d go for her.” She laughed and plopped something into what sounded like a liquid. 

Derek made some funny eyebrows at Emily and Emily felt her cheeks heat up. JJ and Penelope both grabbed each other to stifle a laugh. As bad as it was to listen to your teammate and his girlfriend's conversation, they couldn’t stop.

“Aw babe don’t pout.” Then a kissing noise.

“There’s that smile. Also I picked up some condoms, we were down to six and you know we go through those like crazy. Speaking of which, I was thinking, do we really need those? I mean I’m on the pill and at the rate we go we’d save more money just not having sex. To be honest we spend a bit too much money on that stuff anyways and I don’t want to replace another bed frame. I like this one and we literally just got it. That or we just need to stop having sex so often. The call is totally yours but that bitch who works at the front cashier keeps looking at me funny everytime she sees me walk up.” It took a moment for everyone to process what she was talking about. It really took a moment. An identical frown spread over both Rossi and Hotch, and Derek had to put his fist in his mouth to avoid cackling. 

Oh god, this was an awful idea. Now there was just awkward silence. None of them could say anything even if they wanted to.

“So my options are death, death or going raw?” Spencer whined immediately.  Emily focused her eyes on something else instantly, the patterned carpet on the floor, the TV that was showing different scenery as it was in rest mode.

“Oh my god, you are so dramatic! You’re not going to die if we don’t have sexy every day.” The sound of a spoon clattering down and then she broke out into a fit of giggles.

“But how do you know!” He whined again.

“Like I said, it's your choice. It doesn’t really matter to me, I’m just sick of always having to go to the store. And you’re squeezing my ribs.”

“I like your idea. Besides, we have abortion money.” She gasped softly and then broke into light laughter. JJ’s jaw dropped open and Derek snorted before he covered his nose. Of everything that was expected it wasn’t that.

“That’s awful, baby.” She scolded and Emily got a mental image of the two. Was she standing in front of the stove, the smell of food wafting through the house, Spencer standing behind her with arms wrapped firmly around her? If Emily wasn’t so uncomfortable right now her mouth would be watering. It would also warm her heart to hear how happy her friend was.

“I’m sorry.” He joined in on the laughter.

“Oh my god we’re being awful host! Plate up the soup and I’ll pour the wine.”

Once the two came back out, it was hard to even look at Spencer knowing that he had apparently helped break a bed frame. Even if he was holding trays of the most mouth watering gumbo.

“Who wants to watch Interstellar?”

[greenandsorrow]

IF THE MONSTER UNDER YOUR BED NEVER HURT YOU, MAYBE IT WAS THERE TO PROTECT YOU. 🎈

Pennywise bonding with a teen!reader/ platonic

-> I decided to write this more like a casual narration, for the storytelling vibes. Also, I might have tried to pull a "going back and forth in time like I'm S.King", so not everything will be crystal clear from the get-go. Hope you enjoy and feel free to interact!!!

-> I tried to keep the reader gender neutral, but the fem pov came more naturally to me, so I apologise if it takes away from the story for some of you.

-> Pennywise the Dancing Clown: A trans-dimensional entity that shapeshifts and feeds on the fear -and sometimes the flesh- of kids and animals. IT hibernates for 25 to 27 years, then wakes up for 12 to 16 months, manipulating reality and slipping past the notice of adults.

Listen to: Five Years by David Bowie

~ 1 ~

1979 Derry, Maine

A family of three moved to Derry, for the father's work. Maine has its fair share of factories and the average person here doesn't mind getting their hands dirty, if it means paying the bills.

You were twelve when your family settled in an amiable house in Witchham St.

You may be seventeen now and you may have embraced the Losers' Club almost like a parental figure... But that wasn't the case five years ago.

When you first moved to Derry, you were twelve.

It was that same year you attended the annual Derry Funfair -Pennywise's favorite time to wake up. How could it not be, with so many kids out after dark... The Derry Funfair. The perfect hunting ground for the entity. That fateful night, you saw him for the first time. You call IT a 'he' because in the form of a clown, IT feels like a 'he'.

The air at the funfair was thick with the smell of popcorn, sugar... and something faintly metallic. As you walked through the crowd, laughter rang out around you, along with the loud music coming from the speakers far above your head.

You spotted the Ferris Wheel turning slowly against the darkening sky, each of its blinking lights reflecting in the deepening puddles scattered along the path. The Carousel line was snaking on that very path. You always loved how the painted horses glistened under the soft glow of the carnival lights...

Fed up with a group of cocky twenty-somethings, you slipped away from the fair, eventually finding yourself by the bridge for a moment of peace. You liked the breeze and the faint smell of night-blooming flowers. You still do.

It was quiet, until you suddenly heard a distinct sort of giggling. You also spotted a single, shiny red balloon floating toward you, bobbing against the wind. The hairs on the back of your neck prickled. Chills ran down your arms. Instinct warned you that something was very wrong.

That night, in your rush to escape and flee back to the fair, you left your hairbow at the bridge.

Later, as you looked out the window of your father's car on the ride home, you looked back and saw him -an enormous figure in a dusty, faded clown suit, watching you, waving slowly at you. His face was ghostly pale, almost like porcelain, with eyes that gleamed a strange and unsettling shade of amber. Those eyes seemed knowing, as if they could peel back every thought and fear inside you. A painted smile stretched across his mouth, far too wide and framed by rows of teeth that looked far too many, like something out of a nightmare. Wisps of reddish-orange hair framed his face, stiff and wild. The ruffles around his neck were yellowed with age, their edges fraying.

The suit itself was old, streaked with grime. Large, oversized pom-poms lined the front in an even row. And yet, despite his faded, worn appearance, there was something disturbingly vibrant about him. It was as if he wasn't really standing but rather waiting -waiting for you to wave back at him.

Even from the safety of the car, a chill had crept through you, and somehow you knew that he was still watching long after the car had turned, his gaze following you all the way home.

That night, when you woke up thirsty from all the popcorn you'd had at the fair, you wandered into the kitchen for a glass of water. There, neatly placed beside the sink, was your lost hairbow -the same one you'd bitterly cried over after realizing it was missing.

Two days later, you returned to the fair with your parents. You felt happy. You were carefree. You were stupid. You couldn't resist looking for the clown who had waved at you... You had a strange feeling that the balloon belonged to him... It was the shame shade as his painted lips. You also had another, even odder feeling that he had somehow been the one who returned your hair ribbon.

Eventually you found him. The clown waved again and this time, you waved back, even managing a smile. But when he extended an unnaturally long arm, gesturing you to come closer, you were smart enough to keep your distance. You felt a shiver run down your spine as his voice, soft and coaxing, whispered your name.

Strangely, your parents didn't seem to notice him, neither that day nor the first time you'd seen him...

It was July. You didn't see the clown again until early autumn, right around the time you started feeling nervous about your new school.

That summer, he haunted your dreams night after night. They'd start innocently enough, not like full blown nightmares -you'd find yourself back at the fair, wandering through empty stalls. The colors were brighter -somehow too bright- and the air too thick. Then, he would appear. A clown in the distance, his wide smile aimed straight at you. You'd try to move, to turn away, but somehow, your feet kept inching closer.

In those dreams, he told you his name -Pennywise-, his favorite color -red- and his favorite food -cotton candy-. You remember telling him that you knew he was lying, that he wasn't just any clown. After that, the dreams stopped.

1984 Derry, Maine

You think back to all that as you blankly stare at the pages of your math book, you think back to what belongs in the past, but your mind drifting off to five years ago is more than justified.

People in town are noticing things these days, though no one says it out loud. There are hushed conversations about kids going missing -George Denbrough included-, strange sightings near the sewers, and that eerie feeling you get walking through Derry alone.

The old-timers say things aren't right this time, that it feels different somehow. You overhear a few whispers that maybe this time, it's sticking around longer. And the worst part is that you know why. You know why even better than your younger friends do...

Since last autumn, you've gotten close to Bev Marsh. She sees you as the older sister she never had. Bill lives right across the street. You babysat him and his little brother, Georgie, over the summer. But since Georgie's death in the Fall, you and Bill have drifted apart. Stanley… well, he may or may not have a crush on you. You know him through Bill -he's a good kid. Eddie Kaspbrak, same way, also through Bill. Thank God he gets some fresh air with his friends -you've heard his mom isn't the easiest. Then there's Ben, your reading buddy from the library. Richie Tozier? You two got into a fight once, over which Led Zeppelin song is the best. And Hanlon, he nearly knocked you over with his bike the first time you met.

Another remarkable mention? Henry Bowers. He is a year younger than you. Sure, the guy's a bully, but oddly enough he and his friends never caused you any trouble. And I say 'oddly enough', in the same way Derry's misfortunes oddly enough never seem to touch you. The bad luck that hangs over this town, the accidents, the disappearances, even the craziness... it's as if you've been given an unspoken pass, a quiet immunity no one else seems to have. Even when trouble looms close, you remain untouched, like some silent pact with the shadows in this place.

However, it's not just the gossiping ladies at the grocery store, or the old wise granddads who enjoy sitting on their porches, that made your mind wander to the past with their words.

As of late, your dad started locking the doors at night without explanation and your mom seems anxious, checking the windows like she expects something -or someone- to be watching. They'd never talk about it, but you can tell they sense it too... The whole town feels off, like there's something lurking beneath the surface. Sometimes, you catch a flash of red in the distance or hear a faint giggle that seems to echo from nowhere. It happens often enough that it feels like more than coincidence.

You've started wondering if he's ever really gone at all.

Even your dreams are different now.

More vivid.

In them, you're back at that same funfair... but it feels hollow, like something out of a faded photo. Every creak of the Ferris Wheel, every rustle of the trees ...sounds wrong. Sometimes, you see him waiting by the bridge, his head tilted in that unnatural way. His smile is sharper and more dangerous, as if he's been waiting all this time, keeping a part of you trapped there. You always wake up shaking, heart pounding in your ears.

The worst part is that the closer you get to waking, the darker the dreams grow.

In last night's one, Pennywise had held his gloved hand out to you, as if inviting you closer. You had felt the weight of his gaze, pulling you in despite everything inside you screaming to run. You started to remember that he's taken kids before, that he leaves things behind as markers -ribbons, scraps, things no one else notices... And then had woken up gasping for air.

No matter how much you try to shake it off, the feeling lingers, leaving you wondering if he's still out there, watching you, just as he was five years ago.

For you, fear twisted into something almost exhilarating five years ago... thanks to all those fleeting moments of intimacy when he would whisper secrets, just for you. It was wrong and you know that, but there was a thrill in the danger he represented. You think about the stories the others tell, how they shudder at the thought of him -of IT- while your heart races at the memories of the laughter, of the games. It's a longing that gnaws at you, even as you wrestle with the dread of his return.

It was easier to just forget before, but now the thought of him returns like a shadow. As you flip the pages of your stupid math book, you wonder if he's standing outside your house right now, waiting for you to come back to him, just as you've secretly wished for him to do all these years. Because, it's true, there's a twisted part of you that misses him.

When the Losers share with you Bill's and Ben's theories about IT and how IT came to be, you can't help but recall how Penny would laugh, a sound that echoed like a melody in the chaos of your childhood, dancing on the edge of terror. His voice, with its playful cadence, would weave stories that made the mundane feel magical. You remember how you'd lean in, drawn by an irresistible urge, despite the way your heart raced and your instincts screamed to flee.

Even the memories of those long, shadowy nights away from the comfort of your bed, punctuated by the pulse of adrenaline, stir something within you -an inexplicable yearning for the connection you shared, however dark it was.

You close the book since there's no way you can concentrate on your homework now and instead, you settle on washing the dishes.

Despite everything, beneath that longing lies the heavy weight of guilt and sorrow. 'Penny' killed Georgie and that truth looms over every fond memory you have with him. This is the part you feel compelled to remind yourself: he's a killer, a predator.

To any onlooker, all they would see is a broken girl, haunted by a lost childhood and a shadowy figure that once made her feel alive and seen. You know better than anyone that the line between fear and fascination is a thin one, and that's a truth you'll have to grapple with...

...in the chapters to come.

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[bluecollarmcandtf]

Becoming the Breadwinner

David has been a real pain since he turned 18. The kid refuses to get a job, skips school, and spends his time playing video games on the couch. The only effort he puts into anything is girls, and even that he quickly loses interest in.

I love my little brother, but I expect more from him than that. When our parents stepped out of the picture, I was the big brother who stepped up. I dropped out of highschool and got a full time gig at a garage. It was grueling work, but I always put in overtime to make sure David could finish school and play basketball.

Now my lazy brother rarely does either of those things.

"David, did you really just sit on the couch all day," my voice rises as I get home from a long day, "You had chores to do around here."

"I'll get to them tomorrow," he mumbles, staring at the screen.

"Are you kidding me right now?" I stomp over to the TV and turn it off.

"What the hell, bro!" he snaps, "Turn it on."

"No TV until you mow the goddamn lawn!" I roar.

"Lay off me, dad." he scoffs sarcastically, "You used to be fun, bro."

"Oh, am I not fun anymore? Sorry, I don't enjoy putting in 7 days of work a week so you can bum around all day!"

"Whatever, bro," he resigns. I can already tell I'm not going to win. He's already staring at his phone, and there's no way in hell David is picking himself off of this couch tonight.

"I didn't want to resort to this," I explain, "But I don't have a choice, do I? You're going to take on more responsibility from now on, and your going to like it," I say firmly.

"Shut up, bro," he rolls his eyes at me.

"No, you shut it! I'm tired of paying for our house, our food, our lives while you refuse to appreciate any of it! It's my turn to be lazy!"

"Your nuts, bro," David groans, but he shifts in his seat, suddenly growing uncomfortable in his own skin.

"Maybe I am, but you can feel it happening, right?"

"What's happening, bro?" my little brother laughs, but his smile lines deepen as the skin on his face becomes more tired and loose.

The kid's shoulders broaden beneath his t-shirt and his legs lengthen as he fidgets awkwardly on the couch. Then his skin roughens before it looks like it's almost inflating. A small layer of pudge fills out his cheeks and then his neck. His entire torso thickens as his metabolism weakens. David's previously flat stomach grows into a paunchy belly that his now heavy pecs can finally rest on.

"What's happening?" David cries, but his voice cracks and the second word is said several octaves lower than normal.

"It's your turn to play dad," is all I say.

"What?" the deep voice in his throat whimpers, as a thick patch of wiry hair bud around his jaw and neck.

"And I'm tired of our lack of finances" I add, ignoring the desperate look on my brother's rapidly aging face, "You work at the bank. Don't you, dad?"

"I'm not dad!" he says firmly, but between his deeply commanding voice and matured body, it was hard to see him as anything else.

His t-shirt eventually transforms into a collared button up as a wide tie rolls down from his thick neck. A heavy brown belt appears beneath his gut, tightly tucking his slacks into his soft body.

David holds a hand to his creased forehead and groans, "Bro, what's going on?"

"Bro?" I laugh emphatically, "Why are you calling me bro, dad?"

David pauses and then let's out an amused chuckle, "I don't know, son. It was a long day at the bank."

"You're such a weirdo, old man," I add, taking on the bratty tone David had previously been using with me.

My new dad let's out an exaggerated groan as he pulls himself off the couch, "Why are you dressed like a grease monkey, son? You finally get a job?"

I glance down at the worn blue clothes that make up my mechanic uniform. I won't be needing these anymore.

"Nah, dad," I laugh, "I thrifted these. They're vintage."

David let's out a chuckle, "You kids are something else. I'll start on dinner. Chicken sound good for tonight?"

"Whatever," I answer heading for the gaming console in David's old room, "I'm gonna play some videogames. Just let me know when the food's ready."

"Sure thing, pal," my new dad feighns a smile as he steps into the kitchen.

I spent the rest of the night relaxing in David's old room while my father cooked dinner before going straight to bed. He had to be up early to shower and shave before heading to the bank.

Meanwhile, I called the garage and quit. David would be taking care of us for a while. It was his turn to bring in the income, and it was my turn to coast off of his long hours.

[charliehoennam]

beyond the badge pt. 2

a/n: special thanks to @strangergraphics-archive for the cute divider <3

pairing: david loki x f!reader

summary: his fianceé is abducted and a distraught david realizes some rules must be broken in order to save the one he loves.

warnings: 18+, dark themes such as language, violence, eventual smut, suicide, death, physical injuries, threats, blood and abuse of law enforcement

SHARING IS CARING, SO REBLOG IF YOU LIKE IT

one | three | four | five

David's entire demeanor hardens like stone. His thick brows furrow and his pupils dilate with a controlled madness glooming beyond them.

His posture straightens as his eyes grow dark and determined, instilling fear in his captain, complete with a fleeting chill that runs up his spine. He wonders if this is the final drop that will send David into spiraling chaos.

Taking the bag of newly found evidence along and completely forgetting that he shouldn't, David turns quickly to march back to his car.

A rage-induced adrenaline surges through his veins. He's more than hellbent to continue his own personal investigation, now that he knows where to start.

“Loki, don’t do anything stupid. You gotta be smart here," O'Malley tries to reason, although he's sure David's anger nulls out all the noise around. "Loki, where're you going? Loki!"

He ignores his captain’s orders as he slams his car door shut. The wheels skid loudly as he backs up out of the parking lot and onto the freeway, leaving behind black tire marks on the cold asphalt. O'Malley knows he's up to no good.

He suspects David knows something they don't, which means he's withholding information. So, he calls Loki's phone, but the calls just keep going to voicemail.

As much as David hates to admit it and bend to the will of a criminal, he knows only a deal with the devil can bring you home.

“Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!” he curses pounding his bandaged fist against the steering wheel.

The car swerves, causing passing cars to honk impatiently, but he’s able to shift it back onto the lane.

At this point, he can barely feel his hand anymore and he’s almost certain it might end up in nerve damage. The bandages he had wrapped over his knuckles dampen, intensifying the red marks as they bleed through the material.

David might be a cop, but he is never afraid of getting his hands dirty to get what he needs and he knows just where to start.

“Hi, honey! I’m sorry, I know you’re busy, but I just wanted to call and thank you for the flowers” you beam through the cellphone.

He can almost hear your smiling. On his end of the line, he frowns to himself wondering what flowers you could be referring to.

“They’re so beautiful, Dave! I can’t wait to get them in the kitchen. They’ll look so pretty on the island.”

“What? Babe, I-I don’t – I didn’t get you any flowers” he frowns standing confused in the precinct’s breakroom.

“Of course you did, baby” you laugh softly lifting the card to read. “It's gotta be you. Who else would it be?”

“No, sweetheart. I’m sorry. I didn’t get you flowers. I wish I had, but it’s not from me.”

“What? Dave, i-it has to be. The delivery guy confirmed my full name and work address. H-he confirmed the delivery. And-and there’s a card too. “You know what I want. See you soon. Love, D”.”

“Baby, they’re not from me.”

“David… This is getting too weird. First, the phone call. Now, the flowers? This can’t just be a coincidence.”

"Maybe it’s-it's just a mistake. It could be for someone else in the building or-"

"You mean there's someone else that works at the same place I do with the same name as me?"

"Maybe they got the address wrong or something."

"David, this doesn't feel right. Something feels wrong about this. It's really starting to freak me out."

“Hey,” he pauses as he steps over to close the breakroom door. “If this really is Donovan, he can’t do shit, alright? He’s in upstate in federal prison. He can’t get to us.”

“He doesn’t have to be free, David. People like him have contacts. They always have someone in their pocket.”

He can hear the worry in your voice. He understands you're scared, but, in his defense, he's seen plenty of these psychological mind tricks and empty threats from criminals before.

“No one is coming after us, alright? It’s just mind games, baby. They’ll get tired soon and they’ll stop, ok?”

“You need to tell someone, David. You need to tell O’Malley about this. This is not normal and I’m starting to get fucking scared.”

“Baby, it’s gonna be ok. I promise. I won’t let anyone hurt you or me.”

“I don’t wanna keep looking over my shoulder, David.”

“You won’t. Ok? It’ll blow over soon. I promise. I’ve seen this before.”

“You have?”

“Yes. They’re all bark and no bite. Just scare tactics to try and get what they want, but that’s all it is.”

“You promise?”

“I promise, alright?" A moment of silence lingers on the call. He knows he hasn't convinced you that everything is fine, but he's got mountains of paperwork on his desk to finish up." Listen, I gotta get back to work, sweetheart.”

“Yeah…” you nod to yourself, still disturbed by the situation. “Yeah, alright. Go, baby. I’ll see you at night. I love you, Dave.”

“I love you too, beautiful.”

His hand pulses with pain. The migraine throbbing in his skull reminds him of his lack of hydration and nourishment.

He’s been solely running on coffee and short 30-minute naps he’s taken on his late-night drives, searching for you, torturing questioning suspects that may be involved.

He’s given the department plenty of time to do their job but now, he needs to do his since he has now has the only piece of the puzzle that his fellow brothers-in-blue don’t.

He knows what he's about to do is far from correct procedure. Yet, in moments like these, he knows guidelines can only help him so much. This could be his only chance at getting you back.

Reaching his injured hand into his pocket, he takes his phone out. Ignoring the calls from O'Malley, he dials Michael Kemp’s number.

David had met the chubby and bubbly fellow years ago. Many of the fellow cadets would try to discourage Mike from accomplishing his dream of entering law enforcement. They would call him hurtful names and make fun of his size all the time, until David put an end to their bullying and befriended him.

They graduated together and have been friends since then, meeting up occasionally to catch up over a few beers.

Kemp encouraged David to become a detective meanwhile he, himself, preferred the calm desk duty working with evidence instead of criminals.

“Hey, Loki. What’s up?”

“Mike, are you still on evidence lock-up?” David doesn’t have time to bother with formalities.

“Yeah, man. Why?”

“I need the 500K we processed in the Donovan case.”

"What? T-that's evidence though. It's supposed to be collected by the bank. I can't just pull that much money without anyone noticing."

"I-I know, Mike. I realize this is a lot to ask for, but I need this, man. Please, just tell me if you can do it" David stutters desperately pleading.

“Do you realize I could lose my job and face time for that?” Mike lowers his voice to ensure no one can hear him.

“Yes, I know that, Mike. But this is some fucking serious shit, man. C'mon, I-I'm fucking desperate here! You gotta fucking help me out! Donovan's got my fianceé! I need to fucking get her back alive!”

He sighs taking a moment to try and calm himself down, remembering Kemp’s passive nature. Mike's one of the good guys; the kind of person that reminds him of the people he wants to protect.

“L-Look, Mike. Listen to me. I know this is off the record and you're risking your ass for me here, but I-I got a plan, alright? I can bring the money back into evidence. I just need Donovan to think he’s getting his fucking money back for this work, so can you do it or not?”

Kemp stays silent on the line, fueling David’s despair. Although this violates all the rules that Mike is sworn to follow, he knows David would do the same for him if the tables were turned.

“Mike!”

“Y-yeah, yeah. Hope you know what you’re doing, man.”

“Fuck… T-thanks, man.”

Arriving at a low-rate neighborhood widely known for drug-related activities, David comes to a rough stop in front of a house. The owner of it is two of Donovan’s slimy lackeys and brothers known as Ray and Vinny Becker.

The brothers used to sling drugs for him when Donovan was still free. David had cut a deal with Ray when his younger brother Vinny got jailed up on a drug bust: information on the big fish in exchange for his little brother's freedom.

Now that Donovan had been pinched, most of his 'loyal' buddies had all scattered, but Ray and Vinny remained, hoping that false loyalty could make him believe they didn't have anything to do with his imprisonment. So, if anyone could reach him without leaving tracks, it’d be them.

Gun in hand, David knocks on the door and turns away to hide his face out of concern they might not answer if they know who he is. He waits until the door creaks open to the limit of the door chain lock.

“The fuck do y-“

Before Vinny can finish his question, David quickly pushes the door in with his shoulder and slams the young man’s head against the wall, breaking his nose before shoving it into the mucky carpet on the floor.

He presses his gun to Vinny’s head as the older brother stands from the couch, lifting his hand to reach for the .9 millimeter on the coffee table, which is laden with cocaine, half-full ashtrays and thick rolls of money, tied together by rubber bands.

With no time with small-talk or warnings, kneeling on Vinny’s neck, he aims at the older brother and shoots a bullet into his leg, forcing Ray to fall back on the couch and grip at his thigh.

Shoving his gun back against Vinny’s head, the heat of the recently fired weapon burns his scalp. He groans and withers at the pain, kicking and screaming as the scent of burning flesh and hair fills the air.

“You know why I’m here,” David states with an eerily steady voice as Ray eyes the gun on the table. “Try it. Go ahead. I’ll shoot your brother too, I swear to fucking God.”  

The smart detective knows their background too well to know Ray would do anything to protect his younger brother at all costs. Although Ray is in his late twenties, Vinny is still a kid just barely over the ripe young age of 18.

Distress pervades the stern detective, who stares down the older criminal with dark, empty eyes.

Ray refuses to take that risk well aware that David isn’t one to fuck around. He makes the smart decision to keep his brother alive and leans back on the couch sweating bullets as his hands put pressure to the wound on his leg.

“You’re gonna call your boss, tell em I got his fucking money.”

“C’mon, man. You know we don’t got that kinda power” Ray sneers.

“Yeah, you do. And you’re gonna do it, or I’ll tell Don who put his ass in prison.”

Ray pants heavily as he looks down his panicked brother and back at David. Everyone knows that snitches end up in ditches. If word gets out about their betrayal and false fidelity, Donovan won’t stop until they’re dead.

“The old mill on Oakland Falls, tonight.”

As Vinny grunts against your fianceé, Ray silently agrees with unspoken words.

David storms out of the house, tucking his gun back in his holster and quickly climbs into his car to race back downtown. As he drives, he checks his phone and sees Mike’s message.

“Good to go. Come by at 7.”

Having no other option, he drives to the station to finally come clean about everything to his captain. He doesn’t care about the backlash; he doesn’t care about possibly losing his shield. He cares only about getting you back alive.

O’Malley doesn’t take the news so lightly and gives David one hell of an earful for not having told him about the threats, no matter how small they might have seemed. Although reluctant, the captain decides to give him a chance to get you back.

They’ve got nothing else to lead them on except for the evidence found and being processed at the motel and David’s confession.

He knows this can go terribly wrong, but it’s their only hope of not ending up with another dead body floating in the river like Donovan’s previous victims. He orders Chemelinski to continue as first-in-command on the case, but allows Loki’s participation.

While the detectives and a team of uniformed officers plot in the briefing room, David’s phone rings with an unknown number. He excuses himself and steps out of the room to talk in private.

Even though there is no number on the screen, he suspects it’s from a burner. He lifts his hand while his body tenses with apprehension. It can only be one of two people and he wishes it’s you.

 “About time I got your attention, detective,” Donovan’s grizzly voice chuckles. “You’re one stubborn son of a bitch. I gotta admit, I thought cops were better at protecting family. I been told she’s quite the fighter. You like ‘em feisty huh?”

David’s rage seethes within him as his fist balls, stretching the wounds on his white and numb knuckles.

“Are we doing this or not?”

“Don’t get your panties in a bunch, detective. I got your little message, so I’ll tell you what. No fucking guests. I want you and you alone with my fucking money. If my guys see anyone that’s not you, she’s dead. You hear me? Fucking dead.”

“Midnight then. You know where.”

The call clicks and ends.

David walks toward his desk while the team of offices and agents huddle in the conference room. He sits at his desk and takes the smiling photo of you and him stood together in front of your Christmas tree last year.

His thumb caresses your cheek on the glass as if it were your real skin. He misses you so much. He just wants to make sure you’re ok and all he can do is pray this one shot he has works out.

“I’m sorry, baby,” he whispers. “Should’ve listened to you.”

He closes his eyes as he mentally repeats the words. The guilt and regret bubble inside him again like a pressure cooker on fire.

Another explosion of rage erupts from him as he pushes everything off his desk in one swift movement. The meeting halts as all the eyes in the briefing room move toward him and watch his outburst through the window.

“Should’ve! Fucking! Listened!” he shouts to himself, slamming his keyboard against the desk, keys flying everywhere as he throws it to the floor.

While he slams the portrait onto the hard surface on his desk, O'Malley rushes out of the room to contain him as the uniformed officers follow him out, bracing themselves to do their jobs as if David is any other desperate citizen.

"I know, Captain" David affirms as he stands and holds his bloodied hand up to stop them.

He shakes the broken glass from the picture and tucks the treasured image into his pocket. Storming out of the station, he makes a quick stop at the nearest convenience store to pick up a carton of red Marlboro and a light, returning to his bad habit that he'd left in the past.

Sheltered by the store's awning, he sits quietly on the sidewalk with his back to the exterior, smoking one cigarette after the next in his bandaged hand.

Taking the crumpled photo from his pocket, he holds back his threatening tears as he admires the photo of you both together. He stares at your smile wondering if he'll ever get to see it again.

He would never forgive himself if he didn't.

[firstprincehornyramblings]

Hello and happy Sunday morning. <3 I was absentee Wednesday but I am glad to be back and in the writing swing. Thank you to @onthewaytosomewhere for the tag

Let's jump right into it, I have three WIPs I'm working on at the moment, in various states of completion, so I'll give you a little taste of each, under the cut so it's not SO obnoxiously long.

-

Hairstylist Henry and his least Favorite Client

“That’s what you’re focusing on right now, making it to the employee section?” Henry asked, tugging Alex’s shirt over his head and tossing it on the table alongside the jacket. “Well, that depends,” the brunette began in a coy tone, his fingertips gently untucking Henry’s dress shirt, “Am I allowed to undress you too?” “Well, you can’t very well fuck me with my clothes on, can you?” “Oooh, I’m getting laid in the employees only room. I bet you bring all your boys back here,” Alex hummed, tugging Henry’s shirt off and draping it over the clearly assigned clothing table. “You’re making me regret it and we haven’t even started yet,” Henry tutted, obviously playful. His hand slipping between them as he ran his fingers over the growing hardness under Alex’s dress pants. “Christ, I missed having your cock in my mouth,” he panted, already dropping to his knees.

A Halloween Costume Assignment Misunderstanding

The sight of Alex stepping out of the bathroom made Henry’s eyes widen as he stared on in awe. Alex was clad in perhaps the tightest outfit Henry had ever seen. It was a fireman costume, complete with suspenders, a shirt that hugged Alex’s skin so much so that his abs we’re visible through it, and pants so tight they had to be illegal. Perhaps it was because Henry knew the dimensions better than he knew the route to the grocery store, but he swore he could map out exactly where Alex’s cock begun and ended in those trousers. There certainly wasn’t the remotest chance that Alex had on any underwear. His dark curls were tousled messy, a week-old stubble on his face, and he’d smeared what looked like a bit of black eye shadow on his high cheeks and forehead to replicate ash. Henry was salivating. “Are you… David Bowie as a be- Oh! You’re David!” Alex laughed as soon as he connected the dots, “That’s really cute, baby,” he added still chuckling. “Oh my- fuck me, Christ alive, look at you, you look like a firefighter in a porno,” Henry sounded both exasperated and completely enamored, it was a feat. “And I’m… in a beagle onesie, oh that…” he stopped speaking words then, opting to audibly grumble.

Sugarbaby Alex <3

Alex watched the man stand up, he was tall, maybe a few inches taller than Alex, but there was no reason to admit that out loud. Blond hair that was cut neatly save a few stray pieces had fallen onto his forehead as he stood up. There were flecks of silver strands lining his temples, but he’d aged gracefully from what Alex could see. He looked mature, not old, or perhaps Alex just had the wrong idea of what thirty-eight looked like. Either way, he was confident it didn’t normally look like this, high cheekbones and full lips, a broad frame and thighs that looked thick even in dress pants. The closer this man got, Alex could see a tiny mole at the corner of his mouth, an identical one on his chin. Briefly Alex caught himself wondering if there might be any more perfectly placed moles somewhere else on this man’s body. Or maybe even a dusting of light freckles like Alex saw along the blond’s nose, maybe on his chest or shoulders. Alex couldn’t see much else, due to the dress shirt the blond had on, buttoned and tucked in neatly; covered by a sweater vest. Was the outfit what was considered casual in England? Maybe just in this house? Or was it simply because Alex was coming? Questionable attire aside, Alex could feel his heart in his throat. His hands felt sweaty, and it wasn’t the fireplace. His cheeks were warm, and he knew he must be blushing. See, the thing was, Alex had noticed men before, he’d even fooled around with them. But he wasn’t entirely sure that he was actually into them. Standing here though, in this room, locking his eyes on bright lighter ones, Alex knew one thing: he was instantly sexually attracted to this man. “Henry is more than fine, you can call me Henry,” the blond offered, interrupting the racing thoughts Alex had. Henry extended a hand to shake, somewhat awkwardly, like he didn’t think it fit the situation, “I hope your flight was well, I’m glad to see you made it.” “Ah, right, Henry, nice to meet you,” Alex managed smiling, even if it was certainly a bit nervous, “Uh, yeah, the flight was great. First class was really nice, thank you. I uhm- I’m glad to be here,” he nodded before reaching out to shake the other man’s hand. It was soft, warm, and slightly smaller than Alex’s hand. He fought a shudder, convincing himself that he didn’t feel electricity run up through his arm as their palms met.

-

okay that was super long, if you made it this far, thank you i love you, kissing you <3 YAY TAGS (no pressure tags darlings)

@taste-thewaste @eusuntgratie @henrysfox @mikibwrites

@softboynick @catdadacd @sheepywritesfics @henryspearl

@basil-bird @caressthosecheekbones @henfox @anti-homophobia-cheese @redlipstickandglitter

@thesleepyskipper @tailsbeth-writes @thighzp + literally anyone else I'm sleepy and forgot, or anyone who sees this and wants to tag me, I love reading yall's stuff. <3

[jhutchh19992]

"Whispers of a Midnight Reunion"

Plot: you and david are a couple. you have been, for a long time. but he has been away for a couple of months due to work. he comes home, and you prepared a little surprise for him.

tags: fluff, maybe a little smut (reader receiving, no explicit explanation) , home coming, pre-established relationship

The house was quiet, save for the occasional creak of the floorboards beneath my restless feet. I glanced at the clock again, its slow, steady ticking adding to the weight of the evening. He was supposed to be here any minute now, and with every passing second, the anticipation tightened in my chest.

I had spent all day preparing, trying to keep myself busy so I wouldn’t focus on how much I’d missed him. Months apart—longer than either of us had expected—had left a hollow ache inside me that only he could fill. David, my David, had been halfway across the world, wrapped up in the kind of work that kept me awake at night, worrying, hoping, waiting.

The living room was softly lit, candles casting warm, flickering shadows against the walls. A bottle of his favorite wine stood on the coffee table, two glasses beside it, untouched. The smell of dinner still lingered faintly in the air—something simple, but something I knew he’d appreciate after so long away. I had gone over everything in my mind a hundred times, wanting it to be perfect, wanting it to feel like home the moment he walked through that door.

And then I heard it—a car pulling into the driveway. My breath caught in my throat as I rushed to the window, peeking out just in time to see him stepping out of the car. Even from a distance, I could tell how tired he was. His shoulders were slightly hunched, the weight of months spent away etched into the lines of his face, but there was something else too—a kind of quiet relief that washed over him as he paused, looking up at the house.

Before I could stop myself, I flung the door open and stepped outside, the cool night air wrapping around me like a blanket. David looked up, and the moment our eyes met, everything else seemed to fade away. He dropped his bag to the ground and took a step forward, then another, and then suddenly he was in front of me, his arms pulling me into him in one swift, powerful motion.

“God, I missed you,” he whispered into my hair, his voice thick with emotion.

I melted into his embrace, burying my face into his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against mine. His hands slid up my back, pulling me tighter, as if he couldn’t bear to let go.

“I missed you too,” I breathed, my voice barely above a whisper.

We stood like that for a long moment, wrapped in each other, the world outside forgotten. He smelled like the wind, like the distant places he had been, but underneath it all was that familiar scent of him, the one I had clung to in the quiet moments of his absence. I pressed myself closer, feeling the hard planes of his body beneath his jacket, the warmth of him seeping into me, chasing away the cold that had lingered in his absence.

When he finally pulled back, just enough to look down at me, there was something in his eyes—something soft, something I hadn’t seen in a long time. He brought a hand to my face, his thumb brushing lightly over my cheek.

“You’re here,” I whispered, my voice trembling slightly as I reached up to hold his hand against my skin. “You’re really here.”

“I’m here,” he murmured, leaning down to press his lips softly against mine.

The kiss was gentle at first, like we were rediscovering each other after all this time. But then something shifted. His hand slid to the back of my neck, pulling me closer as the kiss deepened, the longing we had both felt during his time away pouring out in that single moment. I felt his breath hitch as I opened my mouth to him, our tongues brushing softly, the taste of him familiar and intoxicating.

He pulled back slightly, his forehead resting against mine, his breathing heavy. “I need you,” he whispered, his voice rough and low.

I nodded, unable to form words as I tugged him inside, the door shutting quietly behind us. The room was warm, inviting, but all I could focus on was him—how his hands moved so urgently, yet so tenderly, as he slid my jacket off my shoulders and let it fall to the floor. He pressed soft kisses along my jawline, down the side of my neck, making me shiver as I wrapped my arms around his broad shoulders, pulling him even closer.

His hands roamed over my body, slow and reverent, like he was memorizing every inch of me all over again. “You’re perfect,” he whispered against my skin, his voice thick with awe.

I closed my eyes, letting myself get lost in the sensation of his touch. His hands slid under my shirt, tracing soft circles over my skin, before he gently tugged the fabric over my head, tossing it aside. He paused for a moment, his eyes raking over my body, as if he couldn’t quite believe I was here in front of him.

“David,” I whispered, my voice trembling slightly.

He looked up, meeting my eyes with such intensity it made my knees weak. “You’re beautiful,” he said softly, his hands moving to cup my face. He kissed me again, slower this time, savoring the moment as his hands slid down my body, lingering on every curve, every inch of skin.

I felt my breath catch in my throat as his hands slipped lower, undoing the button of my jeans with practiced ease. He knelt before me, pressing soft kisses to my stomach, my hips, as he slowly pulled the fabric down my legs. Every touch, every kiss, was filled with quiet worship, like he was grateful for every second he had with me.

When he looked up at me, still on his knees, his eyes were filled with a kind of reverence I hadn’t seen in months. “Let me take care of you,” he whispered, his hands running gently up my thighs.

David’s hands gripped my thighs with a gentleness that belied the strength behind them, his thumbs brushing my skin like he was tracing some secret pattern only he knew. The warmth of his breath against my hips sent shivers down my spine, making me feel more alive than I had in months.

He took his time, as if the world had slowed down just for us. His fingers hooked under the waistband of my underwear, and I felt the fabric slide down, leaving me bare before him. I bit my lip, heat rising in my cheeks, but there was no room for self-consciousness here—only the way his eyes darkened with need as he looked up at me, as if I were the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.

"You have no idea how much I've thought about this," he murmured, his voice low and rough. His hands ran up my legs again, pulling me gently closer. "How much I've missed you."

I swallowed hard, my body responding to his words, to the heat in his gaze. My hands found their way to his hair, threading through the soft strands as he pressed a kiss to my inner thigh, then another, slow and deliberate. Every touch, every kiss, sent sparks through my body, igniting something deep within me that had been lying dormant all those lonely nights.

He was worshipping me, like he'd said he would, taking his time as if he wanted to savor every moment, every inch of me. His lips hovered just above where I ached for him most, teasing, until I couldn't help the soft gasp that escaped me, my fingers tightening in his hair.

"David..." His name left my lips in a whisper, a plea I couldn't hold back.

And then, finally, he gave me what I needed. His mouth was warm and soft against me, the first touch making me tremble. My knees threatened to give out, and his strong hands gripped my hips, holding me steady as he worked me with an expertise that left me breathless. His tongue moved in slow, deliberate strokes, each one sending waves of pleasure through me until I was gasping for air, lost in the sensation of him.

He knew my body so well, knew exactly how to draw every soft moan from my lips, how to make my legs shake with the need building inside me. I tugged at his hair, overwhelmed by the pleasure, my hips bucking involuntarily against his mouth. He groaned softly in response, his grip on my thighs tightening, pulling me even closer.

"Just like that," I whispered, my voice shaky, my body already teetering on the edge. "Please… don't stop."

He didn't. His tongue moved faster now, more insistent, as if he couldn’t wait to see me fall apart. My hands clutched at his hair, my breath coming in short, uneven gasps as the pleasure built, higher and higher, until I couldn’t hold it back anymore. With a final cry, my body shuddered, the release washing over me in waves as I trembled in his arms.

He held me through it, never once breaking his rhythm, until the last of the tremors had faded and I was left breathless, my legs barely able to support me. Only then did he pull back, his lips glistening, his eyes dark and full of something primal as he looked up at me, his hands still holding me steady.

I could barely form a coherent thought, much less words, but I managed to whisper, “Come here.”

He stood slowly, his hands sliding up my body as he rose, pulling me into another kiss. This one was deeper, more desperate, his need for me clear in the way his lips moved against mine, in the way his body pressed against me, hard and wanting. I could taste myself on his lips, a reminder of what he’d just done for me, and it only fueled the fire between us.

My hands fumbled with the buttons of his shirt, desperate to feel him, to have him as close as possible. He shrugged off the fabric, letting it fall to the floor before I ran my hands over his chest, feeling the hard muscle beneath his warm skin. I could feel his heart beating fast, matching the rhythm of my own as our bodies pressed together.

“God, I missed you,” I whispered against his lips, my hands sliding down to his waistband, undoing the buckle with trembling fingers.

David groaned softly, his hands finding their way to my waist, pulling me flush against him as I worked to free him from the last of his clothing. The moment I did, he pressed his hips against mine, and I could feel just how much he wanted me, the heat of him against my bare skin.

“I missed you more than you’ll ever know,” he breathed, his voice rough with need.

In that moment, nothing else mattered. Not the time apart, not the worries or fears that had haunted me while he was away. All that mattered was this—him, here with me, holding me like he never wanted to let go.

He scooped me up into his arms, carrying me to the couch in one smooth motion before laying me down gently, his body pressing over mine. His lips found mine again, hungry and desperate, as if he couldn’t get enough of me.

David’s weight pressed down on me, solid and grounding, his body fitting perfectly against mine. The warmth of his skin seeped into me as his lips traveled from my mouth, down my neck, leaving a trail of heat in their wake. Every kiss, every brush of his lips, sent sparks through my body, and I found myself arching into him, craving more of his touch.

His hands moved with a purpose now, sliding over my curves, exploring every inch of me as if he couldn’t get enough. It was like he was making up for lost time, for every moment we had spent apart, every night we had been separated by miles and oceans. And I felt it too—this overwhelming need to feel him close, to have him completely.

“You’re everything,” he whispered against my collarbone, his breath hot against my skin. “I don’t know how I survived without you.”

I couldn’t respond, not with words. Instead, I pulled him closer, my hands running over the hard muscles of his back, feeling every ridge and dip beneath my fingers. I wanted to memorize him all over again, to etch the feeling of his body into my mind, so that I could carry this moment with me forever.

David shifted slightly, his body settling between my legs, and I gasped at the sudden closeness, the heat that bloomed between us. His eyes met mine, dark and full of need, but there was something else there too—a tenderness that made my heart ache in the best possible way.

“I love you,” he murmured, his voice barely more than a breath, as if the words themselves carried all the weight of the world.

“I love you too,” I whispered back, my fingers tracing the lines of his jaw. “I always will.”

He kissed me again, slower this time, taking his time to savor every second. His hands roamed over my body, gentle but insistent, as if he was both worshipping and claiming me at the same time. The sensation of his touch, the way his body moved against mine, sent waves of pleasure through me, making it impossible to think of anything else but him.

His lips found my neck again, and I tilted my head back, giving him more access as his kisses grew more urgent, more desperate. I could feel the tension building between us, the heat rising as his hands gripped my hips, pulling me closer to him. Every touch, every brush of his skin against mine, was like a promise—a reminder that we were here, together, and nothing could pull us apart.

He pressed his forehead to mine, breathing heavily, his hands sliding up my sides before cupping my face. His eyes were dark and full of need, but there was a softness to them too, a quiet intensity that took my breath away.

“Are you okay?” he asked softly, his voice thick with emotion, his thumb brushing my cheek.

I nodded, my heart swelling at his gentleness. “I’m more than okay.”

With that, he kissed me again, this time deeper, more urgent, and I could feel the full weight of his desire in every movement. His body pressed more firmly against mine, the heat between us building until I could barely stand it. I wrapped my legs around him, pulling him closer, needing him in a way that was almost overwhelming.

David groaned softly at the contact, his hands gripping my hips as he shifted slightly, pressing himself against me in a way that made my breath catch in my throat. The anticipation hung heavy in the air between us, and for a moment, we just stayed like that, tangled together, our breathing ragged and uneven.

And then, finally, he moved, his body pressing into mine with a slow, deliberate motion that left me gasping. The feeling of him filling me, the way our bodies fit together so perfectly, sent a wave of pleasure through me that left me trembling beneath him. He groaned softly, his forehead pressing against mine as he began to move, his hips rolling in a slow, steady rhythm that had me melting into him.

I couldn’t think, couldn’t form coherent thoughts—all I could focus on was him, the way he moved, the way his hands gripped my hips as if he never wanted to let go. His breath was hot against my skin, his lips brushing my neck as he whispered my name, over and over again, like a prayer.

“David…” I gasped, my nails digging into his back as the pleasure built inside me, growing with every movement, every touch. “Don’t stop… please…”

He didn’t. His pace quickened, his movements more urgent as the tension between us spiraled higher and higher. I could feel the pressure building inside me, threatening to spill over, and I clung to him, lost in the overwhelming sensation of being with him, of being his.

“Come with me,” he whispered, his voice rough and desperate as his hands tightened on my hips, his body moving faster, harder. “I need you…”

And with one final thrust, the tension snapped, and I cried out, my body shuddering beneath him as the pleasure crashed over me in waves. David followed soon after, his own release tearing through him as he buried his face in my neck, groaning softly against my skin as we rode the waves of pleasure together.

For a long moment, we just stayed like that, our bodies tangled together, our breathing heavy and uneven as the aftershocks of pleasure slowly faded. David’s weight was comforting, grounding, and I held him close, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against mine.

“I missed you so much,” I whispered, my fingers brushing through his hair as he pressed a soft kiss to my collarbone.

“I missed you too,” he murmured, his voice soft and full of love. “More than I can ever say.”

We stayed like that for a while, wrapped up in each other, the quiet of the night settling around us like a blanket. And in that moment, with David’s arms around me, his body warm and solid against mine, I knew that no matter how far apart we were, no matter how many miles or months separated us, we would always find our way back to each other.

Because he was my home. And I was his.

[tens-girl]

i am BEGGING to read your dissertation on why the scene in utopia where ten and jack talk is a sex scene. that scene is everything 2 me...

So um… it’s a fully formed, beautifully constructed piece in my head, and every time I see any post about the scene I get this real itch to actually put it down in words! And I will, I will! But for now…

I mean, it just *is*… Jack literally takes his clothes off at the start - and they draw attention to it with Ten’s reaction. He whines, totally checks Jack out, those eyes are not on his face, and so we must imagine the rest of the scene with Jack naked (because that’s sure as hell what the Doc is doing.) (Also Jack explicitly states he does this for aesthetic rather than practical reasons! He wants to look hot for the Doc!)

But then, our two characters are not in the same room, separated by a door thick enough to prevent radiation seeping through. So every shot, every line, every look and gesture of the actors must convince us of what is really going on…

The task Jack is performing, the focus on his hands, and each time he’s completed the fiddling, straining, twisting manoeuvre another of the cylinders slides sweetly home with a satisfying thrust. Which they also draw attention to (close-ups, sounds, pauses in the dialogue.)

And that’s before we even begin looking at the delight that is David Tennant’s acting choices! After the initial high pitched whine when Jack undresses, DT uses his deepest sexy voice. He does that over-pronouncing thing he’s so very good at. The way he says Jack’s name should be illegal. His whole mouth around every word and every letter. But his eyes are the thing, and again we get that focus because his face is all we see. His eyes are so intense and he doesn’t look quite that way at anyone else. And that grin is dark and filthy. He just doesn’t hide the fact that Jack makes him think and feel things that nobody else does. The lighting even puts him in a darker place (and the lighting throughout is red, the colour of lust and love and danger.) It always feels like the Doctor is more honest in this scene than almost anywhere else.

And the content of the conversation. They’re talking about Jack’s deaths. There are many, but the only ones that are described with any kind of specificity are the ones where he is shot through the heart and impaled on a stray javelin. I mean, come on!

At some point I’ll actually write a proper long post about this and give the shots and the lines and unpack it all properly, but really I just watch it and every time I think, jeez this is doing everything it can to be both family friendly and a sex scene all at once. It’s the horniest scene in Dr Who in the horniest episode of Dr Who in the horniest series of Dr Who. Which makes it so damn annoying that they never follow through on this relationship, Jack is in 4 more episodes with Ten and they never get another chance to interact properly, distracted by the Master in the next 2, and then in S4 everyone the Doctor’s ever met is there so Jack doesn’t get to be anything more than comic relief. It’s infuriating! (Sorry, rant over!)

This scene lives in my head rent free and is the reason I write such smutty fanfic for this pair, they deserve it 😉

[i-didnt-do-1t]

Day 9 of @ailesswhumptober

Heatstroke/hypothermia - “you look pretty pale.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Oscar had already downed two black coffees by six am in an attempt to stave off some of the exhaustion. It hadn't worked. So he stood hunched over the distribution counter, a cigarette between his lips and tapping his finger once on each newspaper as he counted so he could get piles of ten.

The newsies were so fuckin' loud this time in the morning. And he didn't understand how they were so awake when it was still dark out and cold enough that Oscar could barely feel his hands. And that was with the thick jumper that used to belong to his da thrown on underneath his jacket.

"That was twelve, Os." Morris nudged him with his elbow. "Pay attention."

Oscar shoved him with his free hand. "You're twelve.” He snapped. “Shut fuck up."

But he tapped out two papers on the last pile with his thumb and pointer finger to make sure he was right, and seperated them, starting a new handful.

"Mornin' boys, miss seein' my face yesterday?"

Oscar didn't glance up at Kelly, despite the odd shakiness in his tone. It was weird when he hadn't shown up to distribution at all yesterday, but when Oscar really thought about it he realised he actually couldn't give less a shit.

"Thought you'd done us all a favor and fucked off," Morris intoned, "how many?"

Kelly opened his mouth, but was interrupted by a brutal, throat tearing cough. He threw his elbow up over his face to hack into.

"Shit. Forty-five." The answer sounded breathless, almost slurred like he was drunk and it was so fucking cold that Oscar couldn't fault him for it. He'd poured a shot of whiskey into his second cup of coffee this morning, just for the warmth of it.

But he rolled his eyes regardless and picked up four piles of ten, he let Morris count out the last five.

"You look real pale, Kelly." Oscar said, leaning his forearms on the counter in front of him and grabbing his cig from his lips between two fingers. He blew out smoke and then inhaled warmth again. Felt it filter through his chest.

Kelly did look pale. And shaky.

"Didn' know you paid attention to my looks, Delancey."

His shaking seemed to get worse as tried to snatch the papers that Morris slammed at his chest, hard enough to shove him back a couple of steps.

He glared but flicked though them, pupils jumping as he counted.

"I asked for fifty-"

Oscar glanced up from his next pile sharply. "Like fuck you did."

"What's more likely, I order wrong or- or Oscar fucks up the countin'."

"Know what I'd put money on." Racetrack said from where he leant against the wall next to the gate, thumbing through a paper and Oscar would've went at him if it weren't for the desk seperating them and the knowledge that race was usually a lone seller and if Oscar wanted he could go beat the shit outta him later.

"You asked for fuckin' forty-five Kelly, we ain't stupid."

"Good way of provin' it. Just gimme the five an' I'll fuck off."

"Jack." It was Jacob's voice. Oscar had barely even realised he was there.

"Not givin' you shit you ain't paid for, cowboy."

"I paid-"

Morris slammed the coin back on the counter. "Owe me another couple pennies, if you want five more papes."

And then Jack looked at the change. Murmured the number out loud as he counted.

"No I- Shit I swear." He dug his hands into his pockets. And Oscar was close to just jumping over the counter after all. It was bullshit.

And he was holdin' up the line.

"Fuckin' scram Kelly."

Oscar didn't care about David Jacobs, but he was thankful when the asshole, seemed to step round the corner from where he'd been watching and prompted Jack forward.

"C'mon Jack. You said forty-five. Let's just- let's go."

He barely glanced at Oscar or Morris as he latched a hand around Kelly's upper arm and all but dragged him along.

As another newsies stepped up to the window, Oscar shot a glance at Morris, and ground out his cigarette.

"Freak."

……………….

Maybe it was petty. Morris had called him petty more than once since they left the distribution yard, but he seemed to follow Oscar now anyway, cigarette loosely held between his fingers and a casual stroll behind Oscar, and scuffing his shoes haplessly on the cobblestones.

"Don't reckon we're gonna find him Os. An' if we do he's gonna be glued to Jacob's."

"You're sayin' that like it's gonna put me off."

Morris went quiet, considering.

"Yeah okay. I wanna break Jacobs jaw.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. Asshole.” He paused. “I didn’t read somethin’ right other day and Weisel wouldn't let me do it then when he laughed."

"Two birds one stone then." Oscar said, as he reached behind him without turning, Morris wordlessly passed the cigarette to him, and then kicked him in the back of the knee.

"Fuckin' dickhead-"

……………

Oscar knew a lot of Jack's regular selling points, and the alley's he escaped to when he was trying to avoid crowds or any angry customer who realised he spouting bullshits like it wasn't something all the boys did.

They'd be wondering maybe half an hour, with the odd argument and at least 4 cigarettes when they eventually ventured down the right side street.

He wasn't expecting to find Jack's body slumped against a wall, the Mouth hunkered down next to him, desperately pressing the back of his hand to his forehead. He was repeating his name like Jack seemed in any kind of position to answer with the way his eyes were flickering and his hands- shut his whole body was shaking, breaths shallow and slow and weak.

For a moment Oscar was pissed that someone else had got to him first. And then he took in the ashen sheen to his skin again, the way his pupils seemed to be moving under his eyelids. He looked cold to the touch, bag left haphazardly to his side like he'd dropped it when he went down, papers spilling out.

"The hell's wrong with him?" Morris asked, a puff of cold air clouding in front of him, he'd dropped his cigarette and ground it under his foot on the journey over.

David looked over to them like he hadn't noticed them before, eyes wide. Then his borrows furrowed and his attention turned back to Jack.

Oscar had never liked being ignored.

"Nothing you can help with. He already ain't well alright? Just. Just leave it alone."

Oscar's jaw hardened, and he found himself casually leaning against the alley wall next to him, arms folded across his chest, left hand tensing into a fist on and off.

"Looks fine to me."

"He's sick-"

"Seemed fine earlier when he was bein' an asshole at distribution this morning, right Mo?"

Morris had fished another smoke from his pocket and let the question hang in the air for a moment while he lit the end of it, holding his hand around the match flame to feel some of the warmth.

"I'd say so."

Oscar almost barked a laugh when at the answer Jacobs moved from Kelly's side to in front of him, like he was protecting him, while Jack weakly and unsuccessfully tried to push himself up to sitting.

"S' fine, dave." His voice was fragile, small. Oscar had only ever heard it like this in the refuge. Those nights Kelly got sick with cold, or after a few days in solitary.

"Yeah Dave," he said, mocking "He's fine." He scoffed. "Hell, if I don't kill him the hypothermia will."

Something like realisation dawned on Jacob's eyes.

"He slept out on the fire escape last night.’

"Yeah that'll fuck you over. He's an idiot. Fuckin’ deserves it if he’s doin’ that shit.”

Oscar felt like Kelly deserved it anyway, anything to fucking humble him.

"What's hypotherm- what is that?”

"Like heatstroke Mo, like you got back on the farm. But cause of the cold."

"Ah shit. Poor fuck." The words were sympathetic, almost, but Morris's tone wasn't. He took another drag of his cigarette and passed it over to Oscar again.

Morris was well acquainted with heatstroke, days spent out with the heat of the sun on his back on the farm. Oscar was familiar with it too. But hyperthermia had been what got him when he was young. It was a vague memory, confused and muddled but if he thought about it hard enough he could still vaguely feel his ma's hand carding through his hair, and the mountains of quilts on top of him so heavy he almost couldn't move. He remembered being surprised she had bothered at all to do anything to help, it had been her that had kicked him out that night, a devil child.

A bastard.

He remembered shivering as he walked barefoot to the barn out back. It was mid December, near Mo's birthday, too goddamn cold.

He didn't remember waking up or going inside the next morning, could only assume da carried him if the gentle sway of movement and the memory of his da's large warm hands were anything to go by.

Sometimes when he couldn't sleep he thought about it, the aching painful cold, and then da's hand, ma gently humming low Irish songs she remembered while gently pulling his hair back from his face, checking the temperature of his brow.

Anger stirred again in Oscar's stomach, but it was the type he wanted to drown with the half full bottle of whiskey hidden on the top of his cupboard.

The memory was foggy at best but he wanted it gone.

He pushed himself straight from where he'd leant against the wall, lip twitching at how Jacob's tensed, and tossed the smouldering cigarette butt at Davey's feet.

"When he ain't so fuckin' out of it tell him I'm gonna beat the shit outta him."

Jacobs look relieved and Oscar considering punching him just to prove a point. He could feel Morris rolling his eyes.

"Ain't wanna kill the poor bastard."

Oscar knew Jack Kelly, cowboy, as much as he hated to admit it. Knew that pity would piss him off more than anything.

That was the only thought that gave him any kind of satisfaction as he slapped a hand on Morris's shoulder and turned away.

[literary-illuminati]

Book Review 40 – Giovanni’s Room by James Baldwin

Okay, 40th book of the year! And yes I’m going to be smug about that, no matter how pathetically it pales in comparison to some of the rest of you. To commemorate the occasion I decided to acquire some actual Culture of the kind I can talk about reading to older relatives and have them nod approvingly. I’d say I wish this had been assigned in some English class I took, but honestly I’d have just ended up skimming and using sparknotes and generally ruined it for myself.

Baldwin, as it turns out, really does live up to the hype. This book was absolutely sublime. I feel like it’s going to be impossible to be fair to whatever I read next.

The book follows David, an American expat in late ‘50s Paris. Specifically, a queer man with truly apocalyptic levels of internalized homophobia and lack of self-awareness spending his late 20s valiantly pretending not to be gay while contriving every possible excuse not to go back to his father and the rest of his life in America. The book takes place while his girlfriend is taking an extended vacation in Spain deciding whether she wants to marry him, and he meets Giovanni, a gorgeous Italian man who’d left his village and ended up in Paris under unclear circumstance, while he’s working at a gay bar David views with visceral contempt even as he visits it. They have a passionate romance, and unsurprisingly it all falls apart in a mess of a tragedy that ruins just about everyone involved (Giovanni most of all).

This was the most beautiful thing I’ve read all year. I’m not even sure it’s particularly close. Every single page had a line or two of incidental narration or dialogue that struck me enough to want to save it – I’d given up trying to note them all by the end of the first chapter. The narration has the sort of elevated, literary quality where everyone is two or three times more eloquent and articulate than they really should be, but when the things they say are so lovely it’s hard to mind that minor offence against verisimilitude – the constant peppering of French into everyone’s dialogue is honestly much more of an annoyance, if only because it keeps making me wonder what language all the other dialogue among these French Parisians is supposed to be in. The exact details of their speech (and tendency to monologue about the details of their psychology) aside, just about every character felt really, achingly real, all broken by the world in one way or another and dealing with it with whatever self-destructive coping mechanisms they have to call their own. Insert your favourite Richard Silken quote here.

Tangentially to the actual content of the book; I of course know Baldwin was one of the canonical Great Authors of the 20th century (I knew this before I knew literally any other fact about him), but my god does the edition I have of the book lay it on thick. There’s a 17-page forward that seemed to be an incredibly dryly written English essay talking about his influences and the role of Paris in American literature and etc (I skimmed the first few pages and skipped the rest, as is my habit with forwards by people who had nothing to do with actually creating the book and whose name I don’t recognize), followed by several more pages of a timeline of the authors life. I swear it’s like they’re trying to make reading this seem as much like homework as possible.

Even more tangentially; I was aware that Baldwin was gay, before reading this, and more vaguely aware that some of his work explored this. But I was expecting more, like, Great Gatsby-plus levels of subtext, not just explicit and unsanitized portrayals being the focus of the entire book. That came out in ‘59! Not exactly an obscure or reviled one either. I feel like I could go back and retroactively give myself permission to sneer and roll my eyes at a lot of ‘grounbreaking queer representation’ now. (This is a sign I have spent altogether too much of my life reading discourse on tumblr and tiwtter).

Trying to talk about the themes of Giovanni’s Room is probably just wasted effort – spend five minutes and I’m sure you can find an extensively researched essay by someone whose devoted years of their life to the subject. But it did really strike me how, like, fundamentally inegalitarian the book’s vision of romance is? Aside from David and Giovanni themselves I mean (and even then, David’s internalized homophobia expressed itself in large part through a terror and resentment of being made the woman (domestic homemaker) to Giovanni’s man (breadwinner)). David and Hella’s relationship is just drowning in ‘50s patriarchy, of course, with the future they sketch out for themselves both baldly hierarchical and just incredibly bleak, and David’s parents and upbringing aren’t exactly inspirational reading either. But Paris’ gay underground isn’t exactly portrayed as a liberated and welcoming space – it’s disgusting older men blatantly exploiting and being exploited by desperate younger ones, everyone involved pretending they don’t know what they’re doing and hating themselves and each other for it. All just incredibly unsentimental and anti-romantic.

David as a character and as a narrator really was fascinating, too. In that he’s such a fucking mess with zero awareness of his emotions who keeps making everything worse and seems to almost cause as much heartache for everyone around him as he possibly could. If he wasn’t the protagonist he’d be the most loathsome character in the book, or at least close to it. Was great.

Though one thing that really does drive home how historical the setting is is just how coincidental so many social meetings are. The cast is largely a bunch of bohemians and vagabonds and expatriates without real fixed addresses, and so much of their interaction revolves around just happening to run into each other as they frequent some of the same locales. Which, like, yes, that is just how socializing worked for most people until a historical ten minutes ago, but still very alien to me, someone with an electronic correspondence planning and scheduling ~90% of social things I’ve done since I left school.

Anyway yes, this isn’t an easy read – most emotional and heartwrenching thing I’ve read all year by far, and the only thing last year I can really think of that might beat it is the final chapters of The Making of the Atomic Bomb – but it really is a beautiful one. Five stars.

[ghostlynachopanda]

The Talk

a/n: I hate school, all my classes have me up a wall. sleep-deprived and overworked. Tengoku is from Japanese folklore btw. I can't name shit to save my life. anyway, here's the next part pals

Pairing: Wednesday Addams x reader

words: 2.6k

~~~

There's still a couple of hours till curfew, making the deafening silence in Ophelia Hall odd. Wednesday's grip on your sleeve turned into a tight grip on your wrist. Her fury was almost palpable, making it impossible to not run away. You don't have a clue what will happen, or how it will end and that makes you anxious. The walk to her dorm feels too short but too long.

When she finally reaches the door she shoves it open, startling Enid and Thing. Neither of them turn around, thinking the conversation didn't end the way she wanted. "Wednesday, you can’t just throw the door open like that. You'll yank it off its hinges one day, really." Enid scolds lightly. Wednesday chose to ignore her, instead focusing back on you. "Sit down."

Enid and Thing turn around then, seeing you cowering behind Wednesday and having your wrist held in a tight grip gave them the impression you were in trouble. Looking much like a mother reprimanding her toddler after they did something bad in the store. It would have been an amusing sight for the two of them if you didn’t look close to tears. Enid springs into action, rushing over to you and pushing Wednesday out of the way, "Are you okay?! What happened? Wednesday what did you do!?"

"This is simply the consequence of her own actions, she's fine. Now, get out and take Thing with you." Wednesday answers for you. Enid looks to you, hoping you will answer for yourself. But you don't say anything, keeping your gaze on the floor. Enid deflates a little, she thought you two have reached the point where you felt you could talk to her. Enid thought of you as a friend, maybe that's where this wave of protectiveness came from. "Don't forget Wednesday, this kitty's got claws and I'm not afraid to use them." Enid looks at you one more time before sighing and going to grab a couple of items and Thing.

You can feel Enid's eyes glance over you occasionally, probably trying to extend time in the room. You can practically hear her thoughts from where you're standing, hear the gears working in her head trying to figure out what is going on. You glance up, catching her eyes. You don’t say anything, not wanting to. Giving her a small smile, hoping it will get the message across. Immediately noticing that it’s not enough, you form a fox with your hands.

"This is Tengoku, please don't freak out. I promise he's not going to hurt you. He'll accompany you wherever you decide to go, and he'll alert you if I get harmed in any way, okay?" with that a fox forms from your shadow. It's completely white with the star of David on its forehead and red lines on its cheeks, and its eyes slightly glow yellow. Tengoku stays standing, attention completely on you. He's a head and a half taller than you, taking up abundant space in the room, intimidating Enid and Thing.

"May I touch him?" Wednesday speaks first, not afraid. Erebus was nice, there's no reason this one would be any different.

"Of course," you respond while examining Enid and Thing's reaction. Watching as Enid slowly backs away and Thing hides under Enid's pile of blankets.

"You said his name was Tengoku, does he have the powers of a Tengoku?" Wednesday asks while inspecting the mark on his forehead. His fur is remarkably soft, not as thick as Erebus' but just as soft.

"Yeah, but there's only one, and uh - it's him," you said, surprising Wednesday. How had you managed to get the Tengoku under your control? Just how powerful are you? Enid pipes up next, "Okay, what the heck is going on right now?!"

Walking over to where Enid is and slowly guiding her to Tengoku and Wednesday. You look at Enid and see her wide fearful eyes and ask, "Enid, do you trust me?"  

She takes a breath, "Yes" it's a whisper. She's probably still scared of the giant fox that seemingly came out of nowhere. Taking her hand and lightly pushed it towards his forehead, feeling it tremble. Seeing Tengoku lower his head to accommodate the height difference, when her hand finally reaches his head you can virtually see a switch flip. Enid is no longer scared, petting his head, scratching behind his ears, and cooing at him.

Out of the corner of your eye you see Wednesday start getting impatient. Her attention is still on Tengoku, but her demeanor is slowly changing. "Enid, why don't you take Tengoku and Thing with you? It's been a while since Tengoku could stretch his legs."

Enid squeals excitedly, rushing to get dressed in warm clothes and grab Thing. She pauses, "How exactly will we get him out of here without being noticed?"

"Oh, don't worry about him. He can shrink so you can carry him out of here," you explained as he shrunk to the size of a normal house cat and jumped into Enid's arms, and snuggled up. Enid squeals some more before grabbing Thing and rushing out the door, saying, "See you guys later!" with the click of the door your alone with Wednesday.

There’s an odd tension that fills the room. The feeling of unease settles on your chest, the air feeling thick but electric. Keeping your eyes on the door silently wishing Enid would come back. You feel Wednesday's eyes on you, scrutinizing you. Again, you don’t know how to approach this. Obviously, you need to start by turning around, but her demeanor is cutthroat right now. It's frightening to have it completely directed at you.

"Sit down. We have a conversation to finish." Wednesday said, breaking the silence.

You didn't look at her, simply taking a seat on the floor a couple feet away from her desk chair. Pulling your knees to your chest and wrapping your arms around them, an act to close yourself off from whatever Wednesday was making you feel. If you really needed to, you could make a run for it. The shadow of her desk was only inches away. You’re not sure if you’re ready to face the consequences of running away and actually getting away from her.

"If you're thinking of trying to run away mid-conversation there will be a lot bigger issues than just this conversation. I'm not above breaking your legs or chaining you down to make sure you don't escape."

"Don't worry, I'm not going anywhere," you muttered, looking up at her. Watching her breath hitch makes something settle in your stomach. Whatever Wednesday is making you feel is heavy and foreign. You're not sure how to feel about it. She recovers quicker than you can,

"Why are you acting like this?" that question confuses you. Is this not how everyone else would react in a situation like this? Wednesday can see the confusion on your face, it's quite comical how you're emotions are so obvious. A small smile fighting to break its way onto her face. Walking to the chair and slightly shaking her head to clear her thoughts. You break the silence as she sits down, "Wednesday, what do you want from me?"

She pauses, not having an answer. Truthfully, she doesn't know what she wants. Were you asking for specifics? Are you asking this to find time to figure out your thoughts? Are you genuinely curious as to what she wants from you? Would you be bothered if she told you she has no idea? Would it be weird if she just wants you? If she told you that she wants you, in whatever way you'll give yourself to her, how would you react? She has a feeling you would run away, that's the last thing she wants. 

Wednesday is torn from her thoughts when she hears you stand, quickly focusing back on you. "If you're not going to answer then I'm taking that as 'nothing'. I'll be leaving then." your voice was loud in the silent room. Wednesday started to panic. You can't leave yet. This is not how this is supposed to end, not how she wants it to end. 

By the time Wednesday comes to her senses, you're already halfway to the door. She doesn't register what's happening until she feels your wrist in her hands. Her speed surprised you, you never knew she could move that fast. Wednesday's words get caught in her throat, she knows her face isn't displaying the pure desperation she feels. She hopes her actions are enough to get you to stay. They're not.

"I can't give you what you want if you don't tell me, Wednesday." you’re not looking at her. She wants you to look at her, wants to see your eyes. She can't tell what you're feeling if you don't look at her, especially since your voice was even. She can feel your wrist try to wiggle its way out of her grasp, and she tightens her grip in response. "Wednesday, you need to figure out what you want-"

"Right now I want you to talk to me, I want you to stay here." her voice wavered slightly, making you screw your eyes shut and your breath stagger. "I'll answer that question after we finish this conversation. You'll have to wait till then," she said evenly this time, regaining her composure. Her grip unconsciously tightened when you turned to meet her gaze, she didn't like the look you wore. Your face was neutral but your eyes looked tired. She knew that kind of tired. She's seen it on some of her classmates, it's the kind of tired that sleep can't fix. Is the same thing happening to you?

You nod, tenderly taking your hand away from hers. Waiting for her to tell you what to do, not exactly knowing how she wants to proceed. She takes your hand and guides you to her desk chair. You can see her hesitate to take her hand from yours, afraid you'll run away again. Sitting down and giving both of you a moment to gather your thoughts before moving forward. Wednesday clears her throat before breaking the quiet atmosphere.

"Warmth. Explain it to me." you take a breath to answer, but before you could get a sound out she says, "Not the dictionary definition, your definition."

"People give off warmth, as living things and certain things do. To me, it's dissimilar. Sure, they give off physical warmth but to me, everyone gives off a different kind of warmth or none at all. Some people are cold, some people give off gentle warmth, and very few people give off a warmth that almost hurts to be around." you softly explained, feeling rather exposed. Your eyes are trained on the floor.

"Where do I stand on that scale?" why did she have to ask that question. You could tell the truth, but you don’t know how she would react.

"It hurts to be around you," you whispered, voice slightly breaking. Wednesday was taken aback by how satisfied she was with that answer. You were making her soft, so much so that others were noticing. It was nice to know you were suffering the consequences - but it wasn't just that. That answer makes something crawl in her stomach and something bloom in her chest. It was a strange feeling, one she wasn't familiar with. She decided it was acceptable as long as it was you.

"Where do you stand on the scale?" her voice is demanding, the answer is simple though.

"Cold." that surprises her too. Going by your scale, she would rate you the same you did her. She doesn't understand, but making assumptions isn’t the best idea right now.

"Explain"

"I'm just an empty person. I have no warmth, I have nothing to offer to others." your voice is weak, pitiful. Wednesday finds still finds it beautiful. She is still desperate to change your mind, but you seem so deep into whatever hole this is. She's unsure if she can change your mind with this one conversation, no matter how many times she'll disagree with you. It angers her.

"You must be stupid to think you have no warmth, have nothing to offer. I've never heard something so unintelligent, you must be brainless. Say anything like that again and I'll cut your tongue out and feed it to Erebus." that causes your head to snap up, looking at her surprised. Her eyes show fury, hands clenched into tight fists, body slightly shaking. Was that supposed to be a backhanded compliment, a threat, or degradation?

"uh, Erebus actually doesn’t-" she cuts you off, "I'm unbelievably close to grabbing one of my knives and forcing you to shut up." That makes you snap your mouth shut. Scared Wednesday will follow through with her threat. She asks, "If you're so cold why does it hurt to be around me?"

"Wednesday, can we not-" she cuts you off again.

"Answer." you knew better than to test her.

"I'm worried about how I'll affect you. That’s why it hurts." That made no sense. Why are you so concerned about how you'll affect others? Just how idiotic could you get.

"Why are you concerned about me?" Wednesday isn’t sure what she's expecting. There are lots of possible answers to this question.

"I don’t want my lack of warmth to hurt you. I'm worried I'll take all your warmth and you'll be left with nothing. Hurting others hurts me too." it’s said so softly she almost didn't hear you. The explanation isn't exactly what she wanted, it's close though.

"And this is why you don't speak to anybody?"

"yes, I don’t want to hurt anybody" your voice seems to get weaker. If Wednesday wasn't straining her ears she might not have heard it.

"Use me then, I'll provide you the warmth you want." you stand suddenly, chair scraping against the wood. You look furious. It's the most evident emotion she's seen on you. It excites her to know she elicited such a reaction from you.

"Why would you suggest such a thing?!" you're voice is raised, almost to the point of yelling. "Don't ever say anything like that again, you sound psychotic Wednesday."

"You're right, the idea of anyone using me is out of the question. I do enjoy your presence though, I would also like to meet all of your animals. Stay with me, you'll get the warmth you want and I'll get what I want. There are no downsides." you look vexed. Is this not what you wanted? You want warmth, is this not you asking for permission? She is giving you a solution, a good one at that.

You laugh humorlessly, Wednesday really can't understand emotions. You ask, "And you're sure I won't end up hurting you?"

"I can protect myself. You won't need to worry about that," she said monotonously. Wednesday is content, she feels she got the point across. Silence fills the room. A couple minutes passed before you spoke.

"I don’t believe you," you said, walking over to the door. Wednesday is shocked, frozen in place, this is not how this was supposed to go. It's like a bucket of ice water was dumped on her, reality hitting her hard. You pause when you get to the door, not turning around to look at her. You don’t hear anything besides the beating of your own heart, you've never felt so cold in Wednesday's presence before.

"I'm really sorry, Wednesday."

And you're gone, just like that, leaving her alone in her dorm. This was not how it was supposed to go.

tag: @alexkolax

[ceruleanmusings]

Blood Diamond; Year Five

Year Four

@myloveforhergoeson @witchofinterest @raging-violets @partiallypearl

"What's that?" A blond boy—an upside-down blond boy—jabbed his finger in James' direction.

James looked down—or, rather, up, since the gold necklace now hung around his face. Adjusting his grip on the smooth metal of the jungle gym, his eyes crossed as he took in the piece of jewelry. "A necklace."

The boy shook his head and stepped closer this time, pointing at the symbol on the end of the necklace hanging by his nose. "What's that?" he repeated.

"A star."

"It doesn't look like a star."

"It's a star of David. My bubbe gave it to me."

"Oh." The boy tilted at his side, turning his head upside down. His long, blond hair lifted off his head, mimicking James' brown locks, revealing two thick, light eyebrows. "Well, it's nice to meetcha, David."

"My name's not David!" Letting go of the bars, James flipped over and landed on his feet. He held his hands out, waiting for the wooziness to pass, and turned to the boy who now stood straight again. "It's James." And he thrust out his hand like Brooke taught him to when he met someone new.

"Hi James! I'm Kendall!" Kendall grabbed his hand and gave it a few hearty shakes. And when he smiled, dimples popped into his cheeks.

James stared. "You have holes in your face," he stated.

Kendall shrugged. "Mommy says they're angel bites."

"Why would an angel wanna bite you?"

"I dunno. Maybe I smelled good?"

James took a step forward and sniffed at him. "You smell like oatmeal."

Kendall shrugged again. "My baby sister threw it at me." His arm jutted outwards, nearly clothes-lining a boy running past him. He didn't notice, or didn't care. "My mommy and my baby sister are over there."

James spotted a woman with red hair pulled back into a ponytail, wearing a large red flannel shirt with tattered ends placing a series of kisses on the round cheeks of a giggling baby. They looked happy.

"That's my mommy," James said, pointing. Brooke, by comparison, didn't look happy at all. Not with the way her dark eyes narrowed and her eyebrows furrowed; with crossed arms, she stood off to the side of the other mommies gathered under the decorated pavilion and barked at someone into her phone.

"She looks scary," Kendall said, nose wrinkling. "Is she a witch?"

"No. But I think that's what my daddy calls her so I don't know."

"Oh."

"What does you daddy call your mommy?"

"I don't have a daddy."

James blinked. "Everybody has a daddy."

"I don't."

"Well, where'd he go?"

"I don't know. All mommy said was he's gone and we have to take care of each other now."

"Oh." How would someone's daddy just disappear? James always knew where his dad was; in bed sleeping most of the time. And when he wasn't sleeping he was going on adventures, that's what Sterling said. And that's why James spent a lot of time with his mom. But he didn't mind, he loved being around his mom. Even if she was grouchy a lot. One day she'd want to play with him and he'd be ready. "Do you wanna go find him?"

"No. I'd rather have cake." Kendall's eyes trailed back to the pavilion where a table decorated in large 5s had a blue and white cake sitting in the middle of it. "Danny's cake is chocolate, I think."

"I love chocolate," James said with a sigh. Not that they had much in the house. Candy and sweets were scarce, even at Halloween. He could only get a piece of candy when he was quiet for a long time.

"Me too!" Kendall gushed, eyes lighting up. "I really like chocolate pudding."

James gasped, eyes widening. "Me too! But my mommy won't let me have it."

"Why not?"

"Because she says I'll get messy and she doesn't want me to get messy."

"Really? My mommy lets me paint with it."

"She does?" James' eyes nearly popped out his head. Playing with food was unheard of in his house. Every time he tried to make a game with his dino nuggets Brooke told him to be quiet and eat. And if he tried again, she'd cut the heads off the big ones, telling him they were extinct. She always jumped to the end of the story.

"Yeah! When we're at the beach. I get to eat it, too."

"Wow! Your mommy sounds fun!"

"She is! She's the best mommy ever! She's letting me play hockey too!"

"What's hockey?"

"It's so fun! You get sticks and you can whack things with them and you get to ice skate!"

"I love ice skating!" James gushed. "It feels like flying!" Well, the one time he went it did. It was one of the rare moments he and Sterling and Brooke spent a day out. The ice was slippery and he thought he'd fall but he held onto Brooke's and Sterling's hands and he was safe. And at one point Sterling carried him on his shoulders while he skated around. They flew so fast, James was reduced to exuberant giggles and chanting for his dad to take him flying again and again.

"Yeah, it's really fun! We're going tomorrow."

"Can I come too?"

"Let's ask my mommy!"

Kendall took James' hand and lead him over to his mom as she put the baby back in a faded stroller. She put a bright pink pacifier in the baby's mouth only for the baby to spit it out a second later. The two boys approached as she picked it up. "Mommy, this is James. He's my friend," Kendall said, lifting up their clasped hands as if for proof. "He likes ice skating too and wants to play hockey. Can he come with us?"

"Well hello James, it's nice to meet you," the redhead woman said with such a warm smile James felt like he'd been bathed in sunshine. "I'm Mrs. Knight"

"It's nice to meet you, too!" Stepping forward, James held out his hand. Mrs. Knight laughed as she shook it. Her hands were warm too. Brooke's were always cold. "Can I come skating with you?"

"We should probably ask your mom first," Mrs Knight said, lighting tapping a finger to James' nose.

"Okay, she's over there." James stared hard at Mrs. Knight as he declared, "Make her say yes."

Mrs. Knight laughed and stood. "I'll see what I can do. Wait here."

"This is my baby sister, Katie," Kendall said, pointing to the stroller.

"Hi Katie." James leaned his head into the stroller, waving at the little girl. She grinned a gummy smile, reached out, and tugged his hair. hard. "Ouch!" Jerking backwards, James rubbed at the aching spot on his head.

"Yeah, she does that sometimes," Kendall said with a small smile.

Head still stinging, James laughed. His new friends were fun.

[ladylooch]

What kind of undies do all the boys wear? 🤔

Am I sitting at my desk thinking about this question? Absolutely.

Nico: when he isn't in a suit, he is in boxers. When he has to dress fancy, he is wearing tight, boxer briefs. No lines, fam. Just like his brother in law 🤭

Timo: This one cracks me up. I see Timo as wearing like theeee shortest boxer briefs known to man. Like not a bikini situation per se but like an inch or two of a "leg" come off the main part. And of course, designer. The sight of his thick thighs in those would be sending me to my knees.

Kevin: Calvin Klein Boxer Briefs or a similar brand in Sweden. Wide waistband, longer legs, compression-ish to keep tight to his skin.

Miles: Boxers. I just... feel like that boy is still 18 at heart and he likes to free ball it.

Connor: boxer briefs with really fun and funky patters! Like two olives saying "Olive you." with hearts. or flames. or a bunch of different types of fish. Pretty much, Lucie grabs the funniest patters on MeUndies for him.

David: um... so David rarely wears underwear. Even going commando in jeans. SOMEHOW he says that is more comfortable, which makes no sense to me.

Luca: Black boxer briefs. No other color. Just black. Sinfully dark.

Lio: something with a designer label. Our bougie boy.

[htchnr]

★ nsfw alphabet ❥ D. O'DONNELL.

PAIRING ➻ David O'Donnell x Fem!reader.

AUTHORS NOTE ➻ the header has me screaming honestly, he's JUST SO 😩🤭 this was both fun and challenging to write, hope you guys enjoy it 😉😁

★ - © 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒 𝐇𝐓𝐂𝐇𝐍𝐑. 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐩𝐲, 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐦, 𝐨𝐫 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫! - ★

Aftercare (what they’re like after the act?)

❥ he's an absolute sweetheart. you need water? already on his way to get a glass. need a bath? already running and almost full. need a massage to relax your sore muscles? say less.

❥ if the sex was particularly rough, or maybe he said certain things that were a little on the edge, he'll be the sweetest man ever afterwards, holding you close, whispering sweet nothings into your ear as he combs his fingers through your hair.

Body part (favorite body part their own or their lovers?)

❥ he is most definitely a tits man. he just l o v e s your tits so much. doesn't matter how small or large, he loves them SO much.

❥ he's always been a tits man, but one day when you were wearing the most flattering shirt, he realised just how much he loves your tits. safe to say, he bought you a few extras of that shirt after he showed you just how much he liked it ;).

Cum (anything that has to do with it)

❥ L O V E S to cum all over your tits. we've established how he's a tits man, he absolutely looses it when he cums all over them.

❥ he also LOVES to cum inside you if you allow it, but nothing beats shooting his load a l l over your tits.

Dirty secret (Pretty self explanatory)

❥ secretly really enjoys being tied or cuffed to the bedframe as you either go down on him or ride him. throw in a blindfold as you tease the shit out of him with barely there touches or licks, oh boy he's in for a great time.

Experience (do they know what they’re doing?)

❥ definitely has plenty of experience. in the show people make a few comments on how he's had a lot of past lovers/flings, so we know he's got plenty of experience ;).

Favorite position

❥ in order — 1. cowgirl. he LOVES bouncing you up and down in his lap, his face in your tits. 2. missionary. loves watching your expressions closely as they morph into pure pleasure. also loves being able to burry his face into the crook of your neck. 3. doggy style. pretty self explanatory really, loves roughly pulling your ass flush against his front, watching himself disappear inside you. also loves to occasionally pull back your hair ;).

Goofy (how serious are they?)

❥ it really depends on the situation before hand — he can be really serious, yet he can also be light hearted and sweet. i think he can pretend to be really serious, but on a base line i think this man could never be 100% serious.

Hair (grooming habits)

❥ definitely clean shaven down there. light hair covers his chest and fades out to barely anything on his stomach. also has relatively thick happy trail starting at his belly button. light hair also covers his arms, slightly thicker hair covering his legs.

Intimacy (in the moment are they more romantic or more rough/dirty?)

❥ once again, it depends on the situation before hand — he can be super sweet, gentle and romantic — but he can also be really dirty and rough about it, man handling and mocking you until he gets what he wants — or guiding you with the gentlest touch and sweet words.

Jack off (do they masturbate and how often?)

❥ definitely jerks off a fair bit. especially while you two are together and he gets heated while you're away — he's definitely jerking off a lot. is also absolutely down for mutual masturbation ;).

Kink (kinky things they like doing/having done)

❥ k n i f e k i n k. he LOVES (only if you're okay with it.) fucking you with his switchblade against your throat. or dragging the blade down from your throat till your stomach, making you shiver under his touch..

❥ definitely also has a thing for formal clothes — seeing you all dressed up in a fancy dress and stockings sends him into an absolute f r e n z y.

❥ scratch. marks. he LOVES to have his back covered in scratch marks. loves the slight sting of them the next day, and loves being reminded of you in that way, in pure ecstasy, scratching at his back as he fucks you.

Location (where they like to get it on?)

❥ literally anywhere. against the counter, on the table, bent over the couch — anywhere. though he'll say that he doesn't have a preference, he definitely loves you on top of him on the couch.

Motivation (things that makes them tick/turn ons)

❥ so much honestly. teasing him about things, bending over to pick something up, wearing cute little dresses or skirts. also goes into a frenzy when you apply your lipstick in a certain way, he doesn't know why it gets him going, all he knows is that he either wants to fuck your lips are kiss them.

❥ also get unbelievably hot and bothered when you're having clever moment, say you work with him and you go on a rant pointing out a bunch of things he missed and it all suddenly clicks, he wants to pounce you right then and there.

No (turnoffs or absolutely won’t do)

❥ intentionally hurting you would be a definite no. he may have an absolute knife kink, but if he accidentally nicks you he would immediately stop and take care of the wound and relentlessly ask if you're okay.

❥ anal is also a definite no. not a finger, not a toy goes down there.

O= Oral (receiving or giving and how skillful they are)

❥ loves, loves, LOVES going down on you. cannot get enough of it, and if you allow him — he'll spend the whole day eating away between your thighs.

❥ i feel like he's more a giver than a receiver, but he absolutely would not turn you down if you went down on him. he loses his shit when you go down on him.

P= Pace (how fast they are and how long they last in bed)

❥ definitely prefers a relatively fast pace, but depending the mood is absolutely not opposed to slow and deep. he can definitely last a while before he cums — though if it's been a while since the last time you went at it, he will definitely not last as long as usual, merely happy to finally be in you again.

Q= Quickie (do they prefer quickies, or taking their sweet time?)

❥ definitely prefers taking his time, but also absolutely loves quickies — loves taking you up against the front door before he leaves for work, or in the bathroom at a bar before going back out to drink and join your friends, or fucking you up against your vanity just before the two of you go to work, as the way you applied your lipstick got him going.

R= Risk (do they like to try new things?)

❥ he loves to stick to what he knows, but if you come up to him and ask to try something knew, he could never say no to you. unless it's something he absolutely does not want to do.

❥ as for risks — he is absolutely up for risky semi/public sex. got all riled up while out at work? he has no problem taking care of it for you in a public bathroom, or tucked away in an alley.

Stamina (how many times they can go?)

❥ he can FUCK. for a hot minute. depending on how busy his day was he can last anywhere from 2 to 4 rounds — taking small breaks in between. though if the day was long or busy, he can last 1 to 2 at best. he definitely will try to make it more, but usually finds himself too exhausted by the end of the first round or halfway round two.

Toys (do they like using toys on themselves or lovers?)

❥ he's not the biggest fan of using them on you, he much prefers doing everything himself — but he's absolutely not opposed to you using them on yourself. and if you bat your eyes, he might not be opposed to you using them on him ;).

Unfair (do they tease or do they enjoy being teased?)

❥ loves LOVES L O V E S teasing. so damn much. he loves nothing more than to tease you till you're hot and bothered, be it in public, or at home. if he's away for work, and it's not too serious, he will definitely tease the fuck out of you till you're begging him to come home.

Volume (are they loud, what sounds, and do they talk during the act?)

❥ i don't think he's really loud, but he definitely pants fairly loud and whines.

❥ depending on the mood and the direction the moment is going he might be more vocal, moaning and groaning more loudly, or mostly just letting you hear his breath catch and his low whimpers in your ear..

❥ definitely talks you through it — praising or degrading you, letting you know how much he loves it, he's got the foulest mouth on him.

Wild card (random headcannon of any sort)

❥ loves it when he's wearing a tie and you tug him by it to kiss him — or alternatively, when you're pissed and you tug on it to get your point across. makes him go absolutely insane ;).

Yearning (sexdrive level)

❥ high. so high. anything gets him going honestly. i think once the two of you have properly settled down it'll lessen a little though, and if the two of you were to have kids it wouldn't necessarily lessen, but more be a lower priority than other feelings and needs.

Zzzz (do they sleep after if so how quickly after?)

❥ definitely not immediately, aftercare is important to him. he can't find it in him to think about falling asleep before making sure you're okay/cleaning up and taking care of you. if it was a long day and the sex really took it out of him he'll definitely fall asleep quicker. but if it's a relatively relaxed day, it'll take him a little longer.

taglist — @sheen4gh @toast8410