#I have a few more questions to answer but I'm working with half a brain rn so it may have to wait ;_;

[wombywoo]

Sorry if you already answered this- but I am DYING to know more about Quinns prophetic visions. What does it mean that he puts himself in ‘near-death’ situations to have one? Could you give an example? Also do they last long/ put him in a trance or is it quick. If they last long I could imagine the first time it happened around Vincent him being totally freaked out and trying to make sure he was ok (maybe he was worried Quinn was having a stroke/seizure)

sorry it's taken me so long to respond I'm sick today 😩😭

I do have a very long answer and it's under the cut! (tw for mentions of self-harm, injury, drugs, domestic violence, non con) this is so heavy I'm sorry please read at your own discretion.

So--the first time Quinn's visions appeared was in the aftermath of the bus accident that nearly took his life. He'd been impaled in the shoulder with a metal pole, lost a lot of blood, and ended up coding when he got to the hospital. While in recovery, he experienced an intense seizure-like episode, which the hospital staff assumed was a side effect of his fever spiking dangerously high. But no--turns out his 'vision' and the delirious ramblings he tried to warn everyone about came true a week later (it was a major catastrophic event; I will touch on this later at some point..)

Hereafter, a series of injuries and illnesses in his preteen years enabled him to grasp the basics: if he gets personally close to death, a vision is granted (and it's usually a portent of something supernatural and horrible).

There were several....attempts to test the limits of this, as well as a dangerous theory: did he only experience the visions because the events he'd seen were meant to happen, or did the events happen because he saw them?

Interesting, interesting....

When Quinn experiences a vision, the effects can vary. Usually, he does exhibit something similar to a seizure--there's violent thrashing, sometimes screaming, or other times he drops to the floor, seemingly paralyzed. An outsider might assume he was dead if they didn't know better.

The length of an episode also varies: they can be as little as a couple of seconds to up to thirty minutes (at least that's the longest he's had so far)

Another thing to note is--his visions always take place from the point of view of someone else. Whatever event he's witnessing is shown to him from behind the eyes of a person present at the scene. As such, if the POV dies, Quinn reacts accordingly (thrashing, screaming, etc)

He also has other clairvoyant qualities, in that he appears to have an uncanny sense of luck in the field. What makes vampires so notorious to combat is their enhanced speed (when aiming, it's less a matter of where they're standing now as opposed to where they will be in a flash of a second) Quinn has a keen ability to prejudge where the target will be, and is almost always successful in taking an accurate shot.

After certain...events in his teen years--Quinn swore to put his prophecies behind him, and for a long time, he did his best to suppress them. It was only serving in the military and thus being thrown into danger regularly that forced him to confront the benefits of his 'gift' once more. A harrowing field injury left him a vision on the eve of a big mission: one that would fail from the things he saw. Quinn attempted to relay this 'newly discovered intel' to a higher-up, but it was ignored, and the subsequent failure played out just as he'd seen it.

Despite knowing very little about whether he'd ever be able to drastically change the future, if at all, Quinn took it upon himself to try to use the visions as a guide for future endeavors. With that came a sense of personal responsibility: if he had a chance to see a glimpse into a probable future, this could potentially save the lives of his squadmates. But he couldn't very well be exposing himself to danger regularly in order to induce a vision, could he. So he developed...other methods.

Drugs became his 'easiest' option, and that was still a huge gamble. A hit strong enough to run the risk of OD usually was enough to give him a vision. And acquiring them was simple enough--his ex bf Marc was a willing supplier. But using them in the field was not really a choice Quinn was comfortable with, especially when his CO found out and was ready to discharge him on the spot (they...worked something out)

His other options were more...creative, but usually required a partner. When his best mate Danny was first asked to drown him in the bathtub of the safe house they were holed up in, it was met with, ah...a lot of resistance. Quinn had attempted this on his own once, and yeah....that was nearly fatal. It took a lot of convincing, but eventually Quinn did persuade his friend to hold his head under the water long enough for him to stop thrashing, and then resuscitate him only to watch him writhe on the floor in apparent agony. Not at all recommended!!! good friends do not do this to their bros ❌ Danny was extremely traumatized and fucked up over the whole thing, and Quinn swore he'd never ask him to do it again (spoiler: he did)

The dangerous self-harm options just seemed to escalate though. It didn't help that Quinn's (psychotic) boyfriend was the biggest enabler of all. Marc was a violent lover, both physically and mentally. Yet Quinn didn't mind in the beginning; his mental state is not the greatest (can you tell??) so he often used Marc as an outlet to punish himself :'D There was an...incident with choking that went a little too far, and after witnessing Quinn's episode first-hand, Marc eventually figured out the basics as well. And as a result...well. Let's just say Marc appreciated hearing details of future events (for investments and whatnot) and was not at all inclined to entreat his boyfriend's safety above all else. This led to....various incidents of forced suffocation (most of which were not consensual) god this is really horrible, I'm sorry... They do break up, finally, but there's still a sense that Marc isn't done with him yet...

Eventually, Quinn does reach a healthier mindset with the help of his therapist and his commanding officer (and Fig!). At current, he hasn't had an episode since his last field assignment and injury, and hasn't induced one in over a year.

His developing relationship with Vincent comes with the eventual explanation of...all that, as well as a new catch-22--now that Quinn has someone he cares about more than anyone else, the 'personal responsibility' starts to stir up once more. Especially with a recently learned development--taking Vincent's venom-neutralizing pills is enough to induce a vision.

This can definitely complicate things....

And in the back of his mind, that notion still remains: is he the one causing these things to happen, by witnessing them in the first place??

Interesting, indeed....

So there you have it! It's not everything, and I'm still brainstorming a few of the details...but this is most of what I've thought up thus far~

Sorry I rambled when all you asked was a simple question :'D

[bluecollarmcandtf]

Dads, Dads, and more Dads

I did something I shouldn't have! My buds all bailed on our night out, so I hit the bar and got hammered by myself. Somehow, I ended up blackout drunk in a fortune teller's shop. I remember crying about how much I wanted a fatherly figure in my life. She did this weird ritual to make me feel better. I thought it was a joke at the time, but I know now it wasn't...

"Buddy, get out of bed! Breakfast is ready!"

A pang of guilt empties my stomach. For a moment, I stare at the ceiling with absolutely no urge to eat. It's been two days since that fortune teller put a curse on me, and I have no idea how to live with myself. I obviously can't pretend her little ritual wasn't real anymore.

"Hey, Josh," I nervously answer, stepping into the kitchen to look at my roommate.

"Can't sleep all day, buddy. Eat up!" Josh gives me an endearing smile that sends shivers down my spine.

A few days ago, Josh was a lazy, rude asshole who was only good for paying his part of the rent. We were chill enough roommates, but he only ever talked to me when he wanted a second opinion on girls he saw at the gym. The guy was easily the biggest douchebag in our friend group, always showing off and making someone else the butt of his joke.

Looking at him now, I'd laugh! If only I didn't feel so guilty for his personality's erasure.

"Look at the time! I better get moving. That yard won't maintain itself!" Josh flashes the brand new watch on his wrist. The thing is clunky and old: the kind of wristwatch you'd expect a dad to wear.

"You know we're only renting this place for the semester, right?" I search his expression for any trace of the slimy old Josh, "The landlord is supposed to take care of the yard!"

Josh just chuckles and mutters something about wanting to impress the neighbors. He even has the audacity to reach out and tussle my hair. My face gets hot as a guy, only a month older than myself, treats me like a child.

That curse really screwed up his brain. When Josh found me the morning after, something just broke in him. He immediately jumped to my side and promised to help me nurse my hangover, and it didn't stop there. After he tucked me in for a nap, he drove straight to the mall, buying a whole new wardrobe of cargo shorts and polos. I thought he was just hitting the gym like usual, so when he came back dressed up like the suburban father he hates, I barely even recognized him.

"Have a good day, buddy!"

Josh ignores my protests and plants a big smooch on the back of my head before marching out of the kitchen. It was bad enough my roommate was calling me buddy! Does he really have to kiss me like that too? It makes me uncomfortable to see my scummiest friend infused with such insane paternal instincts, but this is kind of what I asked for. Right?

I slam the back door shut and look at my rusty old bike. Today is already getting on my nerves and I'm not in the mood to peddle all the way to class. Maybe, that guy next door hasn't left for work yet...

"Oh, hey there, Kiddo!"

The deep voice of my neighbor makes me relax a little. I see all six and a half feet of him climb out of the car and stare at me with the same look Josh had on earlier. He's a father of four, but ever since my night out, he looks at me like I'm him his only real son.

"Hey, Mr. Jones," I mumble back.

"Glad I caught you, Kiddo. I was just about to pull out of the driveway," he explains, placing a reassuring hand on my shoulder, "You want a me to drive you to class today?"

I push aside my feelings of guilt and manage a smile, "That'd be great."

Mr. Jones beams back brilliantly. He claps me on the back, which knocks me a bit off balance. Before I know it, he's guiding me into his passenger seat and asking me to hold his briefcase.

"Just let me text work to let them know I'm coming in later than normal," he adds while texting on his flip phone, "How are classes going, kiddo?"

I shrug off the question with a one-word answer. Now that everyone's forced to act like my dad, I get asked about my classes like twenty times a day. My thoughts drift, but Mr. Jones keeps up the conversation, lecturing me about good grades or something. I don't know how a guy who barely knows me can have so many opinions about my academics!

"You know what!" I cut him off just before he starts reminiscing on his own college years, "Just drop me off at this cafe."

Worry lines form on his forehead, "Are you sure you don't want me to drive you the whole way?

"No. Just give me some cash."

Mr. Jones gives me a look of disappointment before shimmying his wallet out of his khakis. He counts off forty dollars and hands it over.

"Can I have a little more?" I press quietly.

Look, I know it's wrong to abuse this bizarre new dynamic between us, but I'm a poor college kid! If he doesn't want to give me his money, he can just say no. It's not like I'm holding a gun to his head!

"Sure thing, kiddo," he gives me a dry smile and pulls out a couple more twenties, "Don't spend it all in one place!"

"Ok, bye," I awkwardly announce and hop out.

"Wait!" his husky baritone calls from the car window, "You want a ride home after class?"

"Nope! Just go back to your own life," I yell stiffly. Even though I don't turn to watch him drive off, I hear his car pull away. It's just a car, but it somehow sounds disappointed in me too. I try to swallow the growing lump in my throat and step into the cafe for some much needed coffee...

"Morning, young man. What can I get you?"

The lump in my throat seems to get bigger when I see the waiter. He's a lot hotter of a man than I expected to find in this little cafe.

Already, the way he looks at me is shifting. That curse is transforming whatever thoughts he'd just had in his head. He's feeling more and more protective and responsible for me with every second he looks at me. At this point, I've grown accustomed to the mysterious effect I have on older guys. It's only been a few days, but I've seen so many random dudes go through this psychological transition. It's like they're discovering a new purpose in life: me.

"Uh yeah, I guess a cappuccino would be nice," I mutter with a dry mouth.

"You got it, young man!" he gives me a friendly wink, "Anything else I can get you?"

I know I shouldn't push my luck, but I can't help myself with this guy, "A hug would be nice! I've been feeling a bit isolated lately..."

The waiter instantly puts his pen and paper down and holds out his arms. His welcoming smile is gone, and a look of genuine concern waits for me, "Come here."

I practically leap into his arms, and he eagerly accepts me, pulling me into his chest like it's where I belong. It feels amazing to be held by this man, even if I don't know him at all. I could stay here all day if he'd let me.

"Seems like you're enjoying the hug," the waiter eventually chuckles into my ear.

For a second, I'm confused, but then I realize I'm fully erect and the waiter can definitely feel it poking into his waist.

"Sorry!" I jump back, searching for any other witnesses.

"Hey, don't be!" he assures me, "It's a completely normal part of life, ok?"

"You're not mad?" my voice comes out more timid than I expected, but I can't help myself. I just accidentally boned up someone who was trying to be nice. What makes it worse, is that he's probably only trying to be nice because of my ridiculous curse.

"Of course not," he affirms, "I can help you take care of it, if that's ok, young man?"

"What do you mean?" My face burns red hot.

"Oh, let me show you," he grabs me by the hand and leads me away from the table, "There's no need to be ashamed of any part of your body! In fact, this part can be a lot of fun."

I'm left speechless as the waiter gives me another fatherly wink, but I can't linger on what he's said. I'm being pulled into the men's restroom. I hear the click of the door locking behind us as he pulls me in front of the mirror, sliding up behind me. I can feel his chest on my back and his thighs against my ass.

If I was hard before, I'm practically bursting now!

"It's time you had the talk, young man," he calmly speaks in my ear like this is a completely normal thing for a waiter to do.

He starts droning on about men, women, sex, and where babies come from, but I'm not listening. I obviously know what sex is, and I think I'm having it right now. His hands slip under my arms and wrap around my waist to unzip my pants. My rock-hard cock bursts out of my jeans the second they're open, and a moan of surprised ecstasy fumbles over my lips just when the waiter gets to his point on male anatomy.

Does the waiter really believe a dad should do this for their sons?

He starts talking me through how to jack off. He must think I've never masturbated before, and I'm sure as hell not telling him that I have! Hearing him narrate every wrist movement, every ball tug, every nipple pinch is just too much fun! Before long, the waiter has me violently shooting on our reflections in the mirror.

"And there you go," he pats me on the back while I stand there stunned. The waiter steps back and looks at me like he's proud of the great life lesson he'd just taught me, "Now you know how to get rid of those boners of yours. Let me go get your coffee started."

I stand in the bathroom, collecting myself, as the waiter finally tends to my coffee order. This dad-curse the fortune teller gave me might be more fun than I originally thought. If I can get one daddy to randomly jack me off, then who knows what else I can do! Rushing out of the bathroom, I already have so many ideas flooding through my head...

"Excuse me, sir!"

"Sorry!" I shout.

In my excitement, I almost crash into the cafe's porter. A little less graceful, and I would have sent every single dish crashing to the floor. Glancing at the face of my would-be victim, I almost moan when I see get a good look at him. I can tell his head is already filling up with the same artificial need to be my father.

"No damage done," he assures me, lingering back to stare at me like I'm some lost puppy.

"Don't you...um...have to bus some tables or something," I breath nervously.

"Oh yeah," he frowns, "Sorry to get in your way."

He shakes his head like he's trying to lose the strange new thoughts in his brain. I stand there frozen like a deer in headlights as he walks away. He glances back at me before turning his attention to a cluttered table.

"Wait!" I yell, "Come back!"

The busboy drops the tub of dirty dishes and rushes back over like his life depends on it. The sight of this worried hunk running back to me makes me hard all over again.

I grab him and pull him into a hug, but his arms quickly take over and support me. Once again, my boner is rock hard and poking into the body of some random guy I just met!

"You have a car?" I ask.

"Yeah."

"You want to drive me around?"

"Of course!" he yanks off his apron and puts a hand on my back.

The waiter comes back around and hands me my coffee, looking at his coworker in utter confusion.

"Cover his shift," I demand, "He's driving me to school."

The waiter nods with an open mouth. He does look completely confused, but there's also a hint of jealousy in his stare. I think he's mad the busser gets to chauffeur me around: poor guy.

The porter doesn't seem bothered to be walking out of his job. He's busy smiling at me like I'm his whole world. I slide into his humble car and tell him where my class is. Before long, he's pulling out of the parking lot and driving me to school. I use our time to get to know him. I'm honestly not all that interested in learning about his life, but I do enjoy watching him talk. It doesn't take a while for us to get to campus, but before I get out I grab his hand and put on my best puppy dog eyes.

"I don't know when you get off work, but I'd love it if you came by my apartment. My roommate is trying to clean it up, but he could really use the help of someone more experienced."

"I love housework!" he just answers, "I'll be there!"

I snicker and slam the car door shut. I might be an hour late, but I'm finally here for class. It's time to give my professor a visit...

"Yeah, I can unbutton my shirt!"

My professor fell under my spell just as fast as the others. He had a look of anger when I walked in; probably from me skipping his class, but that expression quickly warped as he looked at me. Within seconds he was rounding his desk to give me a big old hug. Apparently, he "forgave" me for being so late.

"You like what you see?" he asks, gesturing to his hairy chest, "Trying to check out your old man?"

"You're my old man?" I ask, kind of surprised by the goofy smile on his face.

"Well, no," he bumbles, "But I am a strong male influence in your life! I'm like your dad!"

I nod my head like he's just made a really good point, "Oh. Then you probably want to treat me like your son. Right?"

"Yeah!" he holds his arms out to animate his enthusiasm.

Professor Reid has a reputation for being stiff and demanding in the classroom, so his new personality completely contradicts his true character. The man I know would never smile at a student, let alone bare his chest to them.

"So, I'm off the hook for missing today's class right?"

"Well," he pauses, "Sure."

"Can I skip the rest of the semester?"

"What, no. I want you to have a good education, my boy!"

I creep up to him and place my hands on his hairy torso, feeling the fur and the weight of his body. Professor Reid sure has a lot to hide under all those dress shirts he always wears.

"I'm just so lucky to have a daddy like you," I purr, "A daddy who's willing to do everything he can for me."

My professor grabs my arm and stares into my eyes. With a serious tone, "I am willing to do everything for you, my boy."

"Alright," I smile, "You should give me private lessons then..."

"What a great idea," he's back to grinning like an idiot.

"...and you should always do it in your underwear!"

"I can do that. From now on, I'll be stripped and ready before you come in!" He smiles at me like this is the best decision he's ever made in his life.

"Alright, now pull the rest of your clothes off," I command, "I want to see what the rest of my daddy looks like."

Mr. Reid doesn't hesitate to start stripping in front of his favorite student. I could probably get this guy to do anything now. I can already imagine our private lessons; me lounging in his leather armchair and him on his knees with his mouth full. Maybe that curse isn't a curse at all. Maybe it's actually a gift...

"Hey, buddy! How was class today?"

Josh looks tired from a long day of yardwork, but he still seems excited for me to come home. The lawn looks immaculate compared to our neighbors', and I have my roommate to thank for that.

"The grass looks great, dad."

"Dad! Woah!" Josh yells ecstatically, "Buddy, I can't tell you how much it means to hear you say that."

Josh sweeps me up in his arms. Apparently, it doesn't bother him to be the father figure of a guy only a few months younger than himself. It doesn't bother me anymore either. I kind of like that he smells like aftershave and bacon now instead of weed and sweat.

"Let's go inside, buddy. I'll cook something up for dinner," Josh says with a hand on my back. I'm already growing so accustomed to being guided around everywhere.

"Actually, I invited a guy to come over," I admit, "He can cook. You should relax. You got a lot of work done today, dad."

"I did, didn't I?" he smiles proudly, "Let me grab a beer, then. We can watch TV."

"Actually, I thought there might be something else you'd enjoy."

"You know me so well, buddy. What are you thinking?"

"You could bend over the couch..."

Josh cringes and shakes his head. Once again, it's like he's fighting the foreign thoughts entering his head.

"...I know how much you like to make me happy, and I really want to pound ass right now."

For a second, a look of horror flashes over his face, but it's gone in an instant. A bright fatherly smile spreads between his cheeks.

"That sounds perfect, buddy. Enjoy yourself."

Josh doesn't look away as he unbuttons his cargo shorts, smiling at me with love and devotion the entire time. He seems completely relaxed as he bends over the couch, and he only seems to become more comfortable as he spreads his cheeks apart.

Once again, I'm rock hard as I stare at one of my dads. This curse might have made me feel guilty before, but Josh said it himself.

I think I will enjoy myself.

Thanks for the ASK, Vebrendos

[woso-dreamzzz]

Firsts IV

Hardersson x Preteen!Reader

Part of The Big Adventures Universe

Summary: Your first period

You've just come home from school when you ask about it.

It was one of the rare days you went in, an English test that you couldn't miss but Magda knew you would ace. You'd only been in for half a day and one of your friend's mothers had driven you back instead of making you take the bus.

Magda's typing away at her laptop when you come in, toeing off your shoes and moving your portable phone charger from your school bag into the training bag waiting by the door.

You dip into the kitchen to grab a snack.

"Morsa?" You call.

"Hmm, yeah?" Magda doesn't take her eye off her screen.

"Where are the sanitary pads?"

"Er..." Magda has to think for a moment. She hasn't used one in a while. "Cabinet in the downstairs bathroom, I think? Why?"

You give her an odd look as you pass on your way there. "I started my period at school today."

"Oh, okay." She nods and goes back to typing.

It's only when you disappear into the bathroom, that her brain catches up with what you've said.

"What do you mean you've started your period?! Princesse? Princesse!"

You return a few minutes later. "I started my period."

"You're twelve!"

You give her another odd look, little crinkle between your brows. "I know, Morsa. I'm old enough to have one now."

Magda looks around wildly, looking for any support she can get but Pernille's still at work and it's just her with you.

"Okay," She says, more to herself than anyone else," Okay. Right, your period." Her throat bobs. "Alright, so...Periods are when-"

"Morsa, are you trying to give me the talk?"

"Listen," Magda says," I know this is going to be awkward but stay with me here. We're going to work through this together. Periods are when-"

"Morsa...I've already been given the talk."

Magda's world comes crashing down. "What do you mean you've already been given the talk?!"

"We went over it in biology," You say with a shrug," And I've already taken some painkillers." You frown. "Am I still okay to go to practice tonight?"

Magda's not keeping up at all as her mouth hangs open and she tries to equate your age with the fact that you've started your period. It didn't make sense at all.

You still slept with your plushies. You couldn't be nearly old enough to start your period, let alone rummaging around the period products without a care in the world. Magda doesn't think she's overreacting but you're being strangely calm about this all, your only worry being about if you would still be able to go to training.

"Okay," Magda says even though none of this is even remotely okay," So...You started your period at school?"

"Yeah but some of my friends had pads that I can use so it's not a big deal."

You're being so nonchalant about this that Magda is really worrying she's ended up in some alternate universe where she's being outrageously hysterical about this whole thing.

"And you've already taken some painkillers?"

"Yes."

"And you're wondering if you're allowed to go to practice today?"

"Morsa? Are you okay? You've been acting a little weird..."

"I'm not acting weird!" Magda's voice goes embarrassingly high pitched. "This is all completely fine! Better than fine! Amazing!"

The look you're giving her is clearly one of worry and you cautiously reach the back of your hand up to measure her temperature.

"What's going on?" Pernille comes in just as you place your hand on Magda's forehead.

"Morsa's acting weird," You declare," And she's not answering my questions."

"I'll answer your questions," Pernille says as she hangs up her coat and unlaces her shoes," What do you want to know?"

"Can I still go to practice even though I've started my period?"

"You've started your period? Well done, princesse. If you still want to go to practice then go. Just make sure to snack a little bit during breaks and keep drinking. Have you taken painkillers?"

You nod.

"Take some with you, just in case. Now, what's wrong with your Morsa?"

You shrug. "I don't know. She's been acting weird ever since I got back."

"Magda? Is something wrong?"

Mutely, Magda shakes her head. Pernille's being calm too. Maybe she is blowing this out of proportion.

"Just...Work stuff is a little stressful," She lies, not wanting to admit that the idea of you having started your period is stressing her out.

Thankfully, both you and Pernille seem to take that as fact.

"Well," Pernille says, turning back to you," I'll log it in my calendar and we'll start tracking them. The first few are going to be a little bit irregular so we'll see how it goes. Once they're more consistent, we'll talk about moving you onto tampons, if you want. They're a bit easier to play with."

Magda stays rooted to the sofa. She's going to have to come to terms with you starting your periods but the idea of you using tampons is a bit too big for her to cope with at the moment.

[sweetestcaptainhughes]

May I request ☁️ “You haven’t even touched your food. What’s going on?” With Jack Hughes?

I love the Drabble idea by the way!

I'm truly sorry it took me so long to answer this, I'm still trying to get my inbox caught up.

Drabble Challenge. Drabble Masterlist.

"You haven't even touched your food. What's going on?"

Today had been one of those days that you just felt like shit after. Nothing that was particularly bad happened, it's just that for whatever reason today your body checked out and you felt this overwhelming need to go to sleep. Maybe you were getting sick? Or maybe you working long hours and then staying up even later to watch all of Jack's away games was finally catching up to you. Either way by the time you were on the coach with a plate of food that Jack made all you could do was zone out starring at the t.v.

Not knowing how much time had passed but you heard Jack next to you call your name, it took a few tries but finally your brain registered the sound and you turned your head to him giving a sound of acknowledgement.

"baby are you okay?" he asks his own plate abounded on the coffee table in front of you both.

"yeah why?" you softly answer the exhaustion from the day clear in your voice. Jack softly removes the plate from your lap and puts it next to his.

"Well, to start I don't think you've said more than a three-word response to me since you got home. Second, you haven't even touched your food, and I made your favorite tonight. So I'll ask again, whats going on Y/N?" he softly asks he grabs your hand and squeezes it three times a silent I love you.

"I'll sound crazy." you whisper.

"You can never be more crazy than Cole and his obsession with Taylor Swift." he smiles to you.

"I don't know what's wrong." you can hear your voice crack, feel tears threatening to spill out of your eyes. "I just feel off, and I'm not hungry. Maybe I'm just tired from working too much or maybe it's me just overthinking. But I just feel off today." you admit looking down at where your hands are joined suddenly too embarrassed to look up.

"Okay, have you eaten at all today hun?" he asks gently, his voice filled with concern and nonjudgemental. Shaking your head yes he asks a differnet question, "A real meal baby, not a random gronola bar while your at work?" His voice a little more stern, letting you know how serious he is.

"yeah." you mumble.

"okay well do you wanna go to bed?" he asks gently.

"It's too early for you to sleep." you mumble. "and I don't wanna be by myself."

"bullshit. I am literally known in the league for taking naps. Come on baby let's go." he says as he gently helps you up and into the bedroom. He leaves just to put your untouched dinner away so it doesn't spoil. By the time Jack comes back, your under the covers half asleep he slides in next to you and before he knows it he's asleep.

[cordeliawhohung]

js discovered ur blog recently and i am FED. im gobbling up the writings ur brain has created god bless🙏🏻

what do you think of mafia!price reacting to his wife being insecure about her stretch marks from her pregnancy/postpartum?

ive been so worked up over my stretch marks cause ive been gaining weight recently😭😭 btw, its totally cool if u dont wanna do this...

remember to take care of urself ya :3👍❗️❗️🔥🔥🔥

thank you so much!! and oh my god i have THOUGHTS about this. i gained 40ish pounds in the span of a few months and my stretch marks are so deep i can run my fingers over them and FEEL them and it took me a while to learn that it's natural and to accept them as a part of myself, but god is it freeing. anyway. story.

mafia!141 masterlist

warnings: body image issues, slight postpartum depression, hurt/comfort, fem!reader

You don't look in mirrors anymore.

Before you had your beautiful bundle of joy, your reflection had never bothered you. Really, there wasn't really anything you felt at all when you looked into one. All a mirror had been was just a tool. Something to guide your hands when styling your hair or to ensure you had cleansed the makeup from your face.

So quickly had that tool become a weapon.

Wretched and cruel, all the mirror seemed to reflect those days was everything you tried to ignore. The stretch of your skin, those atrocious lines that plagued your stomach and thighs; your eyes were magnetized to them every time you looked at yourself. Most of all, it reminded you that the day you gave birth to your daughter, you had become more than just a mother. You became a spectacle.

It's why you started wearing baggy clothes around the house because if you could muddle the shape of your body, maybe you could blur the crevices that shredded your skin. So when your darling husband snuck up behind you while you worked on folding laundry in the bedroom, your immediate instinct was to push him away. Despite how warm his arms felt around you with large, thick hands smoothing over your stomach, you were terrified he'd feel the parts of you that were broken.

"Everything alright, love?" John asked softly at your rejection. His fingertips slowly slipped off of your body but lingered as if he regretted the movement, and they seared as if he had dug claws into you, refusing to let go.

"Yeah," you answered, but you hated how broken you sounded, even to your own ears.

Your lie was obvious, not just in the tone of your voice but in the posture of your body. How sweaty hands held a half folded shirt against your stomach as if you could hide away the shame that ate away at you. Stepping to the side, John slowly lowered your hands away from you body and turned you to face him where you were met with the watery hue of his eyes.

"What's wrong?" he questioned, all but ripping the answer from your mouth.

You hated the way your lip trembled, how your shame crashed against you with such overwhelming force you nearly suffocated. There were countless times when you had been bare in front of him, laid out perfectly in bed or on top of him with a sweaty body and quickened breath. So why did you feel more stripped in that moment than any other?

"Do you... still think I'm pretty?" you choked out.

John's expression didn't change much after those words left your mouth. It was as if he already knew what ailed you. In a way, he always seemed to know you better than you knew yourself.

"Do you think you are?" he countered.

"Not anymore."

He had expected that answer too, and yet still couldn't hide the way he nearly winced. You braced yourself for his rebuttal, for the string of words telling you that you were beautiful, that you were crazy to think otherwise. Your whole life, self deprecation was always met with stern correction, because god forbid you ever felt a little insecure.

But it wasn't that way with John.

Instead, he sunk to the ground until he was on his knees, and when he took your hands into his it felt as if he was proposing all over again. The love in his eyes, the way his thumbs ran over your knuckles, it was all so intimate, so raw, and your throat grew tight at the sight.

"You brought a beautiful, perfect girl into our lives," he said softly. His eyes didn't stray from you for even a moment. "Carried her for months. Nourished her; still nourishing her. I think it's a little unfair to expect yourself to stay unchanged. Doesn't make you any less beautiful. You're still my wife. My girl. The mother of my child."

It was impossible to stop the tears from spilling, and they only fell harder the moment John leaned forward and placed a soft kiss against your stomach. So tender, as if embracing an open wound and healing it all in the same motion. It was so kind, too kind, and it forced all of your thoughts and held back words to dissipate in the back of your throat.

"Darling, you're the love of my life," he said in a near whisper, "don't ever forget that."

[1d1195]

Most VI

Read Most here | ~4.3k words

From me: I think you guys don't give me enough credit for NOT putting cliffhangers in some of these (jk, I'm the worst lol) This part is a little shorter than the most recent parts --I was going to combine it with the last part, but decided to keep it self-contained because it seemed better that way. One more part to go! :)

Warnings: Lauren, angst, and a house fire. Please suspend your belief.

Summary: Harry finally figures out why she left. He just hopes it's not too late.

Harry was buzzing. His shift went by so fast knowing she was at the end of it.

Harry stopped to get her coffee. It was two in the afternoon when he finally left work, went home to shower, then make his way back toward her place. There were a lot of things that changed, but he hoped some hadn’t. Such that she would be getting up from her nap and would want a coffee.

“Hey, Lo,” Harry said as he entered the shop with a wave. Lauren was waiting on others in front of him, so he stood in line analyzing the menu wondering if she liked something different now. He couldn’t stop smiling, he could feel his cheeks nearly bursting. “What do y’think the chances are that she likes the same drink?” Harry asked as he approached the register.

It took a minute for Harry to notice that Lauren didn’t answer. He looked down from the menu and was totally confused by the expression on Lauren’s face. “You really love her? After she broke your heart?”

He stared at her. Unsure of where the question came from. Especially from her. Harry still didn’t know Lauren extensively, but it was an odd question to ask anyone and even odder for her to broach it.

But Harry would answer it any day. “Of course I do, Lauren. Why wouldn’t I?”

She shook her head. “You deserve so much more than her,” Lauren’s eyes filled with tears and her voice cracked.

Harry’s brain worked slowly. Those words were familiar. Too familiar. The way she said them. The emphasis. His breathing felt erratic, and he realized too late that he was in flight-or-fight mode. The way his body started to shake. None of the puzzle pieces were fitting together but at the same time they were. All of them. Like he knew what happened the day she left as if they were said to him himself. “What... Lo... what did y’say?” It sounded like something she had said to him no less than eighteen hours ago. Her reasoning for that day.

Lauren covered her mouth, squeezed her eyes shut. Then, when she spoke, her words were caught on a choked sob. “She wasn’t supposed to come back! You weren’t supposed to wait for her!”

Harry took a step back. The coffee shop was too small suddenly and he was way too close to her. “Lauren,” his voice was low. His heart was aching; like it already knew what happened but unable to fully believe it. “What did y’do?” He whispered. But now, in the few seconds he had to reminisce where it went wrong. Harry thought back on it, he thought about the way Lauren’s grip had felt around his neck when he helped carry her to bed.

All that time...

It’s not fair.

Harry shook his head of the memory trying to focus on how he felt now. “Lauren,” he repeated. “What did y’say t’her?”

“I just thought that if she was gone you would see there was more than her for you.”

He backed up again, like she had slapped him. He bumped into the display behind him knocking a few bags of coffee grinds to the floor. “How could you?” He shook his head, it felt like someone had punched him in the stomach. There wasn’t enough air. All that time just gone because of someone’s rotten jealousy. “You’re supposed to be her friend!”

“I–I… I don’t know… I just thought–”

“Did y’even message her all that time? Did y’even try?” He shouted. There was only a half dozen people in the coffee shop, but they all stared at Harry’s outburst.

“Oh... oh, my goodness,” someone whispered. Someone who very clearly knew what happened between her and Harry three years ago and how Lauren, if she was anyone’s friend, would have done anything to help them. But she didn’t. She let Harry suffer and watched him order countless coffees and asked if she had heard anything from her.

“Harry—”

“How could you?!” He shouted. It was pure silence this time. Lauren covered her mouth again and sobbed. “Three years, Lauren! Three years I have been half alive without her. How could y’do that t’her? How?”

“I-I—”

“Eleven hundred days, Lauren! Eleven. Hundred. One thousand, one hundred, twenty-seven days. Six birthdays, three Christmases, three anniversaries, that we’ll never get back because of you.”

Harry might have felt bad had Lauren tried to get him to leave all those years ago instead of her. Because if Harry had left, he would have been the stupidest person alive and he would have deserved to feel broken and terrible for three years. But it wasn’t her fault. She didn’t know why Lauren said it. She didn’t know how Lauren’s hand had felt on the back of his neck. Lauren preyed upon the sweet girl’s insecurities and extorted the kindness she possessed.

Lauren betrayed her friend. She broke both their hearts because she was jealous. So, Harry didn’t feel bad. Not even a little.

He shook his head, his anger and frustration reaching a boiling point and he needed to get out of there and punch a tree before he did something stupid. Without another word, without another thought of Lauren and what she did, he started for the exit quickly.

However, when his hand touched the door there was one last thing he needed to say. Hopefully, it was going to be the last thing he ever said to her. “Don’t ever speak t’her again, Lauren. She’s too kind t‘say it and I don’t want her t’know. So, I’ll say it on her behalf: Don’t. Ever. Speak to her. Again.”

*

Harry sped much too fast in his car the entire way to her apartment building. His mind was racing. Trying to figure out what happened in the three years and how it could have gotten so far away from him… away from her.

Why didn’t he press more that night? Why didn’t he go visit her after a year—no, a week? An hour. Why didn’t he try?

Harry was so wrapped up in his thoughts he didn’t even realize there were sirens in the distant background. He didn’t realize people were pointing in the direction he was headed. For the first time since he decided he wanted to help his community and he was going to be a firefighter, Harry didn’t see the smoke.

When he parked off to the side because he knew the trucks would be coming, he searched for the car he saw in the middle of traffic just a couple short weeks ago. He prayed it wouldn’t be there. But it was. “Fuck,” he whispered to himself. He saw a new storage pod outside, but it was locked shut—she wasn’t outside. He dialed her phone number. Praying he was unblocked. He hadn’t texted or called her in the time she had been back. He had deleted her contact info but and her messages fell to the bottom of the list with disuse—it was far easier to type her number than scroll looking for it. The idea he was going to scare her away again far outweighed his desire to have communication with her—seeing her in person was more than sufficient. It was, in a way, slow and old-fashioned, he had bargained to see her by accident.

But now that seemed like the stupidest idea he had ever had.

It had been ages since he dialed her number, but the ten digits were imprinted on his mind like the melody of his favorite song or a tattoo on his arm. He tapped his screen as quickly as he could. Paced in front of the burning door, watching the flames float up curtains and walls swiftly.

He listened to it ring. Which was a miracle.

But there was no answer.

His stomach churned.

He dialed again.

No answer.

Harry started to sweat. He ran a hand through his hair. “Everyone is out,” someone shouted.

But Harry didn’t believe that. Pressed his thumb on her number again.

No answer.

Harry stared at the building. It was supposed to be a saving grace, this building. She was home. But right then, he hated it. With intense passion. Hated it more than anything.

“C’mon,” he murmured to himself.

There was a pause in the ringing. “Mmm… Hi Harry,” she whispered sleepily. For the briefest second Harry forgot the reason for his call. “Is your shift over? Are you coming to me or do you want me to come to your place?” She murmured. God, Harry loved her so much. Even in a dangerous situation, he was so happy to hear his name on her lips. Right when she woke up. It was only seconds between her answer and his sentence but after she had been gone all of time felt slower, he had to fill it with more. He thought of all the mornings he lost with her. All the weekends he would have spent in her dorm waking up on a mattress that was too small for two people, but it wouldn’t have mattered because he could never be close enough to her. He didn’t get to hear her say Hi Harry in a sleepy voice and relish it.

He couldn’t do that now.

“Baby, please tell me you’re not home,” he begged, but he was already pulling his jacket from his car. He would have put his whole suit on if he had it with him, but obviously he didn’t. The jacket wasn’t station-issued but it was flame resistant and it would have to do. It seemed so counterintuitive to cover up more when he was already sweating with anxiety and from the hot summer sun. Next came gloves that he had from helping Gemma cut down trees in her yard. Again, not fire station approved, but they would have to work. 

His eyes stayed glued to the building watching her balcony. This was a nightmare. Worse than any one that Harry ever had of her. He would take another three years apart over this.

“I just... woke up from a nap,” she yawned, stretched. God, he would have paid thousands of dollars just to see it. One brain cell was happy her nap time hadn’t changed.

But this wasn’t the time to worry about her nap. “At... Eleanor’s?” He hoped, squeezing his eyes shut.

She coughed, unaware. “No,” she coughed again. “I’m at my apartment, why?”

He opened his eyes and saw the smoke and fire crawling up to the third floor. The slew of people around him crying and watching as the building went up in flames. Memories lost and trinkets gone. He closed his eyes tight. “Kitten,” he whispered. “I need you t’listen very carefully t’me. Y’need t’stay calm. Can y’do that?”

“Harry, what’s wrong?” He heard her shuffle.

“Baby, m’here. I promise. M’not gonna let anything happen t’you,” he assured her.

“What are you talking about? What’s—it’s,” she coughed again. “Ugh,” she sighed. “It’s super hot in here and the AC isn’t working—I think I have to have the super look at—”

“Kitten,” he rubbed his forehead, terrified of her reaction. “M’outside your building. It’s on fire and you need to get out.”

There was a pause. “No...” she shook her head. Coughed. “No, the smoke detectors didn’t go off.”

It was his worst fear. Her sleeping like the dead terrified him. He always worried something horrible like this would happen. Thank God he called her. But if the detectors didn’t even go off... she didn’t have a chance.

She squeezed her eyes shut. “Baby, y’need t’go,” he could see the fourth floor, right below hers—the windows began seeping with thick smoke. She gasped and shuffled back.

“Oh... oh no,” she whispered. “Harry, the hallway...” her voice cracked. “Harry, what do I do?”

Harry squeezed his eyes shut and held the phone tighter in his hand. He wished he could teleport up there. He heard water running. Probably a towel or blanket she was soaking while she still could. Good girl. “Baby, y’need t’come to the balcony.”

It was the reason an astronaut wasn’t feasible after all their training that one week. It was why she would never have a kiss on a Ferris Wheel or why she would never reach the top of a mountain hike. Anything higher than two stories was too tall and too scary.

Now more than ever.

She shook her head, Harry couldn’t see her, but he knew it. “I can’t do that... I... I...”

“I know, baby, I know it’s high. But you have to,” he wanted to scream but he had to be calm for her.

She couldn’t even bring herself to the window to look down. Harry was so scared as he thought of how much smoke she was inhaling whether there was a wet blanket around her head or not. “I can’t,” she croaked. “It’s too high.”

“Kitten, I know,” he agreed. “I know,” he squeezed his eyes shut. “But I need you to get out,” he clutched the phone tighter. “Like right now.”

The sound of firetruck doors slammed from behind him. “Styles! What are you doing here?”

“Someone’s in there,” he shouted back.

“We’ve been told everyone’s been accounted for!”

He turned and glared toward the voice that said it. “Where’s the fucking ladder truck!?”

But Harry already knew that the building was taller than any of the ones in town. Even if it was here, it would only reach the third floor. 

“They’re coming from the town over… Who’s still in there—”

She coughed. It was muffled by her shirt, the wet towel she surely had over her head. “I can’t, Harry. I’m sorry,” she sniffled. “I’m too scared and it’s,” she was broken up by a cough again.

“S’not an option, baby,” he shook his head. She wasn’t giving up. He wasn’t allowing her to give up. He was stepping closer to the house prepared to run up the stairs from the first floor, through the flames, and five flights of stairs. Where the fuck was the ladder truck?!

“Styles, it’s unstable. You’re not to enter—that’s an order. It’s not safe!” The voice of the fire chief shouted from behind him.

He was going to get fired—but a chance of reaching her? It was well worth it. He would take third degree burns over every inch of his body in trade for her safety. It didn't matter what he needed to do. “Baby, you still with me?”

“I’m here,” she whispered. “I’m really scared, Harry.”

He winced, feeling so much agony over her fear. His brain wasn’t moving fast enough. “Where’s the goddamn truck!?” He shouted behind him, his voice quieting on the phone. The rest of the squad was hooking up hoses to fire hydrants and looking for a point of entry to determine the safety of the building. Talking with the manager of the building. 

Then his voice softened, even though he was desperate and broken. “I know, baby. I know. S’okay. M’gonna get you out,” he promised.

“Harry,” she sniffled. It felt worse than third degree burns. It felt worse than not knowing if she ate breakfast or got a good night’s sleep. Nothing felt as bad as her sniffling; sad and scared. Harry wanted to hold her and assure her it would be okay; but he was too far away.

“M’here, baby. M’here,” he promised.

“Harry—”

“Kitten, I just need t’think for one second and I’ll get y’out—”

“Harry, baby—”

“—I promise. I would never—”

“Harry, I really, really love you,” she croaked. Silencing any thought Harry had. “I always have. I didn’t stop loving you. Not even for a second. I think I love you more if that’s even possible.”

It felt like the last three years never existed. She was never gone. The hole in his heart was filled. His lungs didn’t feel short of breath, and his muscles stopped aching. She loved him. He thought of Gemma saying she would never do something that would hurt both of them.

But Harry was sick of her goodbyes. He didn’t like that they came without warning. They never said goodbye or goodnight. It was always implied she would see him tomorrow.

Harry dropped his phone without responding. He didn’t think; didn’t think logically at all. His training was gone. He relied on his instinct and the strength training he had thrown himself into at the gym. 

He marched up to the first first-floor patio railing and stood on it as the rest of his coworkers shouted. He had seen moments of incredible strength and determination from every day people choosing to be heroes. Harry would never tout himself as such, but he was going to be heroic for her.

The distinct voice of his chief started to shout after him as well, but it was too late. He had to be quick for a hundred reasons, but if they stopped him, something bad would happen to her. Then he would die--that he was sure of. The railing was a good jumping point. Heat poured from the building. People shouted at him. Shouted into the walkies to get the ladder truck there ASAP. He was so fired. But it didn’t matter. 

He jumped up from the railing and grabbed for the balusters the second floor balcony. He yanked himself up in a chin-up that his friends and coworkers would be proud of if they had a moment to admire it. Once on the second balcony, he remained perched for a moment. Gathering his nerve, and resetting his muscles before he launched up to the next floor in the same way as the second. Then he did it for the fourth and fifth balconies as well. He didn’t think about how high up he was. How a free fall would definitely break his spine or very much something worse. He wasn’t the one afraid of heights after all.

She was more important. Always. He was not going to let her say I love you on the phone to him after three years of nothing, make him whole again, and then just leave permanently.

Once on her balcony, his muscles screamed. He pulled on the slider but it was locked. He pressed his face to the glass and searched for her but couldn’t see her through the smoke.

“Goddammit!” He shouted, slamming his fist on the slider. But she probably couldn’t hear it over the sound of the room separating her, the sirens, and probably the sound of her own coughing. Harry pressed his gloved hands to his face and pressed his hands to his pockets searching for anything that could be useful.

Then his saving grace was a planter in the corner of the balcony. Time seemed to be moving so slowly, he could have cried. He yanked the stand surely straining a muscle in his back but that didn't matter either. The plant tumbled to her patio floor and in the same motion, he smashed the heavy holder it into the slider. He turned his head away to avoid the glass and the heat bloomed from inside.

“Kitten, if y’can hear me. I need you t'come t’my voice,” he shouted. The floor creaked under the weight of his foot. It made his training kick in, he couldn’t keep going. It was useless if he fell through the floor and couldn’t keep her safe. 

It killed a piece of him, but he stayed where he was. Through the smoke, he searched for her. “Kitten, please,” he begged.

Holding onto the frame of the door he stepped into the room, shirt over his mouth, his foot feeling for a support beam that hadn’t been broken by the flames or something.

“Goddammit,” he croaked. “Where are you?” His eyes burned from the smoke and heat but he tried anyway because he had to find her.

“I’m here,” she called weakly.

He closed his eyes, his heart aching as he breathed out inside his shirt. “Good. Good, baby. Come here,” his eyes were watering from the smoke or heat. He thought. Or maybe it was just pure relief flooding his vision. In actuality, they were just tears. “Baby, you have t’come here now.” He ordered.

The floor creaked and he didn’t know where she was and it killed him. He couldn’t see through the smoke. 

He prayed none of her possessions were lost. Her phone probably had pictures on it that she loved, or words jotted into her notes app that never made it to a notebook. Who bought her notebooks and pens now? Was there anyone that knew her like he did? He was going to get her a notebook and pen right after he got her out of here. There was the distinct sound of the ladder setting up behind him.

“Harry,” she croaked. “I didn’t—”

“Kitten, just come here,” he begged. “I don’t care. Just…” 

“I thought you…” God he needed to see her. Needed to hold her. Her voice sounded like she didn’t know he was coming for her—like he would ever let her die in a fire and let I love you be the last thing she ever said to him. 

“Carefully, baby,” he reminded her, wishing more than anything he could run across the room and grab her as fast as he could. Praying that she knew he would never let anything happen to her.

“Harry, it’s cracking,” she whimpered.

“Kitten,” his heart was racing worse than any other time in his life. “You have to,” he was telling her, but it sounded like he was begging. “Please,” he wasn’t against begging—not if it would get her out. “If I come t’you, I’ll fall through, I don’t think you’ll want that,” he didn’t want to sound self-important he, just wanted her out. He was so stressed by this predicament, he worried he was going to have a heart attack at the ripe age of twenty-three right in front of her. He took another cautious step toward where he thought her voice came from. The wood groaned under the pressure. “Kitten, please,” he pleaded.

Her cough was closer. The creaking was nearer. 

Then through the plume of smoke, he saw her--just barely. The collar of her T-shirt over her mouth, a wet towel around her head. The muscles of his back released ever so slightly. “Good girl,” he encouraged. “Nice and slow,” he crouched to the same level as she crawled below the smoke. He brushed the floor in front of him with his gloves. “Just a little more, baby,” he whispered. “M’here,” he promised. “There’s a lot of glass—please be careful,” he begged. But he would pluck out every piece himself if it meant she was alive for him to do it.

Once she was within grabbing range--near enough to the balcony that he wouldn't need to step on the crumbling floor, he yanked her to him. Pulling her to stand and clutching her to him as if their lives were dependent on it. For a moment, he held her, kissed the side of her face as she coughed and he felt along her ribs as if she wasn't real and holding her was all in his head.

It was no longer than three seconds, but it could have been hours or days that he held her. The sound of everything falling apart below them didn’t matter. The creaking, the wood breaking, the integrity of the building melting. All of it didn’t matter. “C’mon,” he ushered her further out on the balcony. The ladder was greeting him. Finally.

He sighed with relief. “Kitten,” his voice was soft, a bit hoarse with anxiety and smoke coating his esophagus. “Close your eyes and don’t open ‘em until I say so, yeah?”

“Please don’t fall,” she mumbled and tucked her face against his jacket. He knew it was a protective layer, but he wished with everything in him it was softer for her delicate face.

“Never, baby,” he promised, dragging a gloved hand across her cheek wishing it was also his hand and not the rough material.

“I was talking to myself,” the smallest of smiles graced her pretty lips.

Harry buried his nose in her hair. The skin between his eyebrows pinched together. Without full control of his emotions, he released a quiet chuckle and his eyes continued to water from the smoke (they was definitely just tears). His laugh was barely loud enough for her to hear. “I won’t let that happen, kitten,” he promised anyway. He hauled himself over the railing and onto the ladder. He held his hand out. “C’mere, kitten. M’here.” She tentatively stepped forward. “Hold your hand out,” he whispered. As she did, he grabbed it immediately. “Good girl,” he encouraged. “I’m going to lift you now, okay?”

“Harry,” she whispered, her voice full of worry. “It’s–”

“Baby, s’not an option,” he repeated.

“But—”

He yanked her closer, watching the smoke billow out of her slider door. The flames crept closer and the only thing that kept him from losing his grip on reality was that she was holding his hand and not victim to the flames behind them. Without hearing her protest, he lifted her. As if she weighed nothing but a bag of groceries. He cradled her as he had been taught in the academy and practiced regularly with his coworkers. But he thought of the wedding he always had dreamed about. How he would be cheesy, and he wanted nothing more than to carry her over the threshold of wherever they resided.

It wasn’t soft or pretty that way, but holding her then...

Well, it was better than any threshold he could have dreamed of.

--

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[djarinova]

candles and cuddles

spencer reid x gn reader

Spencer comes home from a day out in the city and finds you feeling overwhelmed and tired, so he helps you get the rest you need to recharge yourself. content - fluff, comfort, cuddles words - 2.2k

The keyrings rattling outside in the hallway stir you from your thoughts and you smile briefly, knowing that this means Spencer will be walking through the door any second now. You can hear him struggle to get the key separate from all the keyrings, and you can’t help but feel giddy. Despite the fact that you know he likes to keep his keys fairly free and accessible, he still uses all the keyrings that you’ve gotten him from the various trips you have taken, both with and without him.

“I bought this really cool book. Come and read it with me?” Spencer asks, his voice alerting you to his presence, now inside your shared apartment.

You look up from your spot on the sofa, tilting your head to indicate your question. 

“Would you like me to explain what the book is about?” His voice is gentle; in the same way a hot bath can soothe achy muscles, his voice soothes the aches in your soul.

You nod your head in response, straightening your back and stretching your legs out in front of you. You had been sitting in the same spot for the last few hours, waiting for Spencer to get back from town. He had been out shopping and had stopped for lunch somewhere with Derek, leaving you to fend for yourself at home for the afternoon. You’d managed to get a couple of the chores done from the long list you’d given yourself, but for some reason once the dusting in the lounge was completed you had found yourself almost completely devoid of motivation.

“Are you sure?” He pauses before adding, “are you okay?”

He puts his bag down without looking at the floor, and steps towards you. His eyebrows knit in worry and confusion, your lack of words seemingly causing him to be concerned for you. 

You clear your throat before speaking. 

“Yes I'm sure. I'm okay, I promise.” You give a small half smile to try and back up your words, and to try and convince Spencer, but by the look on his face you know he doesn't believe you. Goddamn profilers. 

“Did you have a good afternoon?”

You hope that asking him a couple questions will help to ease you back into talking, but your voice is very small when you first speak, and you assume it's because you haven't spoken out loud since he left. 

“Yes, we did, thank you. Derek was unhappy about being dragged around to all the small, dingy bookstores, his words not mine, but I think he forgave me after I bought him lunch.”

You can't help but let out a small laugh at that, it does sound a lot like Derek, he loves to tease Spencer. Even more so when they’re both out shopping and Spencer is trying to buy new books, he’s said to you before that Derek finds his need for over checking and going back and forth a million times between stores a little excessive sometimes, all to ensure the perfect book is bought, but you know Derek only means it lovingly. He'd never say or do anything hurtful towards Spencer intentionally. 

“That sounds about right.” You answer with a laugh. 

Spencer is right in front of you now, having removed his scarf and coat, leaving them untidily thrown about on the nearest chair. 

You feel the sofa dip under Spencer’s weight, and you can tell by his short sigh that he wants to ask you if you're okay again, but you speak before he's able to. 

“It's okay Spence, I really am okay. Just tired I think.”

Spencer nods, willing himself not to keep prying. He knows if something was really wrong you would tell him, he just needs to give you some time first. He has come to know your ticks and quirks quite well now, the two of you had decided to move in together almost a year ago now, and you had been friends long before your romantic relationship started, so he is familiar with how your brain works. 

He watches you as you shut your laptop and place it on the table, his eyes following your hands as he shuffles back into the sofa to get comfortable. As you lean back Spencer puts his arm around you, bringing you closer to his side. You let out an audible breath of relief at the contact, something that doesn't go unnoticed by Spencer. 

“Do you want to take a nap with me?” Spencer asks, squeezing your shoulder with his hand. 

“Spence, you know I'm not good with na—”

“I know, but resting can help with feelings of exhaustion, even if you don't actually fall asleep. It's important to let yourself rest in order to help boost your mood, and resting can also help reduce stress and improve your creativity and motivation.” He pauses, tilting his head to look at you, before adding, “I don't want you to burn yourself out.”

Spencer punctuates the end of his sentence with a smile, and you can't help but smile back. The ways in which he wants to help and look after you never fail to make you happy. 

“Okay,” you agree, “let's go to bed for a bit.”

You can tell Spencer is happy you said yes by the way he jumps up almost immediately, extending his hand toward you and practically pulling you to your feet. You let out a laugh as he drags you to your shared bedroom, watching as he struggles to hold your hand and get the room organised enough for you both to relax on the bed comfortably at the same time. 

“Spence, it's okay, I'll sit.” 

He looks at you as if he'd forgotten you were still attached to his hand, almost as though he'd become so used to your presence beside him that he hadn't even thought to let your hand go, even if it meant he'd be able to organise the room better. 

Spencer had long considered you a part of him, almost since the very first moment he had met you. The way you seemed to light up the room as soon as you entered, your smile was warm and inviting, and your voice… He had never heard anything like it. He hadn't turned around upon your entrance on that first day, he knew that Emily had invited a friend to the bar, but he was focused on watching Derek play pool against Rossi. Although, more accurately, he was focused on telling Derek the precise ways in which he was bound to lose the game; the way his stance was wrong, the way his hold on the cue was wrong and how he was breathing at all the wrong times in order to make the perfect shot. But as soon as he heard you introduce yourself to JJ and Penelope his head had whipped around, his eyes falling on you immediately. There was no mistaking his feeling in that moment, he needed to know you. 

And he hasn't lost that feeling in all the years he'd known you, it had grown and changed as the two of you had become more and more familiar. What once was needing to know you, had then changed to needing to hear you, needing to see you, and now, needing to be near you.

Even as he gently let go of your hand and watched you quickly sit on the edge of your bed he wished he was nearer to you. He wished he could feel your soft skin against his, and feel your chest rise and fall with your breathing.

His longing made his organisation an entertaining thing to watch. His steps were hurried, his feet tumbling over each other and you were surprised he hadn't fallen head over heels yet. You placed your hands on the bed behind you, leaning back onto them slightly as your eyes followed Spencer around the room. He was caught in his own world and luckily didn’t notice your staring, although you could feel your face heat up at the thought of him catching you. He was focused on clearing the bed at first, he had moved the scattered papers and books left there from your morning in bed, and had moved them onto the chair beside you. Next he had ensured all the curtains were closed, only left open the tiniest crack to allow some of the air to flow in from the open window. He had then flicked off the main overhead light, choosing to turn on the warm bedside lamp on his side of the bed instead. And finally, he fluffed up your pillow, turning to you when he was done and extending his hand towards you, stretching it as far as you could in a bid to get closer to you.

Smiling, you accepted his hand, allowing him to pull you to your feet and lead you towards your side of the bed. He had left your favourite green fleece blanket at the end of the bed, and as soon as you laid down he wasted no time before placing it over your body. You smiled, wiggling a little to get comfy. Spencer checked the room one last time, as though he needed everything to be perfect for you, and paused. You weren't sure what he was doing. At first all you could see was his back as he rummaged through a draw, but it didn't take long for you to realise his idea once he turned to face you. He was holding a matchbook.

“Which scent?” He asks simply.

“Hmmmm,” you tilt your head and purse your lips while you think. “I don’t know, there’s so many— Oh! How about the white jasmine and sandalwood candle you got me last week? I haven't had a chance to use it yet.”

Spencer nods, and wordlessly walks to your bedside to light the candle. He smiles as he watches you slowly close your eyes, happy that you’ve given yourself some time to rest.

“Spence? Are you going to continue watching me, or are you going to come and join me under this blanket?” 

His smile widens to a grin at your words.

“Sorry, sorry, I’m coming.”

And, true to his word, after barely a minute he is next to you. 

You curl your body towards his, lifting your neck so he can slot his arm underneath it. You can feel Spencer bouncing his foot ever so slightly underneath the blanket, and you smile, leaning further into his chest. You hadn't realised how tired you had been, but you feel it now. You take a deep breath, wanting to relax yourself even more. You can smell the outside on Spencer’s shirt, a fact that, although is not unsurprising, does make you a tad disappointed. Until you met Spencer you never realised how addicting it can be to be enveloped in a partner’s smell, you never realised that a smell could make you feel so relaxed and so calm. Draping your leg across Spencer’s body you take another not so subtle sniff, trying to smell that familiar mix of vanilla, coconut and coffee.

“Are you smelling me?”

You bury your face in his chest before answering, and you feel Spencer squeeze your arm.

“Yes.” You whisper.

“You like how I smell?” His question is genuine, but his voice is small—almost as though he was afraid of the answer.

You crane your neck upwards to look at Spencer.

“Yes.” You whisper again, with a smile on your lips.

You feel your cheeks warm as Spencer looks at you, you think he must be looking for a sign of teasing on your face. 

When he doesn't find one he pulls you even tighter against his chest.

“Thank you.” He breaths, the words barely perceptible. 

You smile, wrapping your arms around him as best as you can from this angle, and you feel his other arm lay on your side. His touch completely surrounds you, and you can hear his heart beating in his chest. The rhythm relaxes you, and coupled with the candle and the dim lit room, you find your eyes beginning to feel heavy. You know sleep is not far away now. 

“I love you Spence.” You whisper. “Thank you for looking after me.”

Spencer watches you as you finish speaking, he loves that he was able to help you this afternoon. And, despite your regular insistence that you can't nap, he feels your head go heavy and he can hear your breathing change. He knows you must be practically asleep now, but he doesn’t mind, he always has his thoughts to keep him company, and luckily when you’re in his arms he knows it will always be the good thoughts, and never the bad ones.

“I love you too, baby.” 

Spencer’s voice is quiet so as to not disturb your peaceful rest, but he hopes you hear him. He hopes you are able to hear what his actions say to you.

I love you, I love you, I love you

You mean everything to me

[dira333]

Behind the scenes of a Tumblr Writer - Tag Game

Hey there, I love behind the scenes and since this is something that's rarely talked about, let me start the chain... if you feel uncomfortable with a question, just skip it. You can add some if you want as well.

Started writing: I wrote my first Harry Potter fanfic at age 10. Started posting around 15,16 years old. I'm now 31, so...

Started blogging: I started on a German fanfiction site around 2010/11 I think. Might have been earlier too, but back then I was mostly reading, no posting. I really started when I got into One Direction (very late, tbh)

Followers: Currently at 961, which is wild to me. I don't even know that many people IRL. I convince myself that half of them are bots tbh, so I don't freak out all the time.

Communication: The people I talk to regularly are: a few writers who answered after I constantly reblogged and commented on their works and a few people who commented and reblogged my work. Writing and blogging on here can be pretty lonely, depending on your personality and the time you're active (I'm from Europe and a lot of my followers seem to be living in Northern America, so there's the Timezone thing) ... And I found that the best way to strike a conversation is to reblog, comment, and to not be shy. I do wish I got more asks, though....

Likes: I actually filter them out. I have 793 original posts up at the moment. It doesn't give me anything to know how many likes a fic has other than to tell me which characters are liked more than others or maybe that one fic does especially well. My activity only shows me comments, asks, reblogs with tags, and answers to my own asks. I live for the tags and the comments.

Requests: I love talking to people about ideas. That's how I started the plotbunny game because I have so many ideas and so little time. And sometimes an idea just doesn't want to be written out fully. Requests are fun because YAY, I get some mail... but then I freak out because I don't really know how to write this NOW and then I freak out because it's been a week already, two weeks, wait, two months? I'd rather have suggestions where people tell me vague things like "I'd love to read something about this side character" or "Have you ever considered this character with a soulmate trope"? because then I don't have the feeling of failing the request when I write it a little bit differently.

Writing: I am a fast writer. I know that's one of my talents. I can churn out a oneshot of 1k words in less than an hour. People read slower than I write. That can suck sometimes because you've just posted this and you want to know what people are thinking but they're not as fast as you are. I do have a lot of ideas. I want to write constantly but my brain doesn't always want to. I am trying to respect that.

There are also certain things that I just feel wrong writing. I cannot write anything suggestive (I also don't like reading it) and everything past that gives me panic attacks. I can hardly write mean characters and jealousy feels so wrong to me that I cannot write it. I've also overdone it with the soulmark trope and now I feel like everything I write about it feels lifeless.

I write best in the mornings before going to work, but I don't have much time there. I don't need special music (but it helps), but I need to have at least some energy left and at best, no distractions. But I have been writing for over 20 years, so I will say experience helps a lot.

Tagging: @revasserium @shoulmate @lemurzsquad @screamin-abt-haikyuu @toomanygoldfish @satorisoup @emmyrosee @reverie-starlight @alienaiver and @writingsofanomnivore and everyone else who wants to join

[as-is-above-so-below]

Cardigan - John Price x F!Teacher!Reader

Part 2: Midnight Rain

summary: you get yourself in a pickle a/n: hi! I return again! I'm sorry it's short, but I'm trying a new method of posting. Instead of aiming for a specific word count (which leads to me getting writer's block and not posting ANYTHING), I write until I'm satisfied with what I'm trying to achieve. Hopefully, I've achieved that goal, and y'all like it :) Blessed be! << Previous | Next >>

You drummed your fingers against the notebook in your lap and gnawed on the top of your pen. It was late, even by your standards; the sun had long since set, and dinner eaten hours ago. But you were up, sitting in the dark in your living room, heavy rain pelting your old windows. You were trying to pull together a new lesson plan for the following day. A few curious students had started asking questions about the modern military. Like, key differences between military strategies used in the time they were studying and today. And, of course, yet again, you made promises that you were struggling to keep. And you always keep your promises to your students.

Fuck.

The internet wasn’t helping at all. You didn’t study military strategy in any of your courses. Was that even a thing?

The last thing you wanted to do was call him. You were so confident that you could solve your problem yourself, at nine o’clock. Now, it was past midnight, and you were absolutely desperate.

Fuck.

Before your tired brain can flood with guilt and change its mind, you grab your phone from your nightstand and tap into your recent calls log. Your stomach churned, anxiety bubbling up with every trill. God, it’s so fucking late to be calling. It felt like you were split in two. One half of you was praying that his phone was on silent (you know it’s not) or he’ll sleep through the ringing (he won’t), while the other–the miserable, exhausted half–needed him to pick up.

The latter won out.

“Y/N? Are you alright?”

John’s deep, sleepy voice made you feel guilty and incredibly happy that you’d woken him up. Soft and grumbly, rolling in his chest; it made you feel soft and warm inside…

Not the point of the call.

“Hi, John. I’m completely fine, I just…” You took a deep breath, the heel of your free hand pressed into one of your dry, worn-out eyes. “I know you’re this big important captain, and you have work in the morning, but I’m in a bit of a pickle and need a massive favor.”

There was a slight rustling on the other end like he had turned slightly to check the nearby time. “It’s one o’clock in the morning, love,” he mumbled.

You felt even worse. “I know, I’m sorry. Please don’t hate me,” you begged, running a hand over the top of your head. “One of my kids asked about the military. It sparked a whole discussion in class, and I may have overstated my knowledge. I barely know anything about it, and my brain is turning to mush. I’m so tired I wanna cry, and-”

He quickly cut off your rambling. “Woah, hey. Slow down there. What’s going on?” he asked, suddenly sounding much more awake. 

That brought you pause. You honestly hadn’t thought what you would ask if John actually answered the phone through. It was one o’clock in the morning, which John had correctly pointed out, and your brain wasn’t operating at full capacity. 

“I was…wondering if you could give me a lesson. Because I’m super tired, and I like to hear you talk.”

“…You do?”

“Yeah. I’ve learned a lot from you just…talking to me? But I’m a history teacher. I’m an expert on wars, not war.”

There was some shuffling on the phone. On the other line, John was leaning over the edge of his bed, searching blindly for his little pocket planner in the pile of clothes on the floor. The rustling stopped when he placed the device on his pillow, rifling through the calendar. He sniffed and was quiet for a moment, while you nibbled anxiously at your pen. Again.

The silence finally broke with a tired sniffle from John. “I can do you better. Why don’t I come to your classes tomorrow?” he asked.

You froze, pen still between your teeth. John? Coming to your school? Spending the day with your students? That would be the equivalent of introducing your boyfriend to your children. 

“…Really?”

“Sure.”

Could you even call him your boyfriend? You’d been on a few dates, sure, over the last…two months? No, it was closer to three. Had it been that long already? You did some quick math in your head. You’d gone on about one date a week, with a few canceled due to last-minute commitments. Still, about one date a week, over three months…

Holy shit.

“John, I’m sure you’re busy. I couldn’t-”

“Not at all,” he hummed, cutting you off. “Besides, it would take me ‘til class tomorrow to give you a good enough rundown, and the boss loves shite like this.”

“I thought you were the boss?”

You could practically hear a small smile tugging at John’s lips. The expression was a familiar one. The corner of his mouth quirked up, shifting his beard and creating happy wrinkles near his eyes. His nose would scrunch up a bit, too, especially if you were out in cold weather. 

“Everybody has a boss, sweetness. Myself included.”

Christ. Not the pet names. And especially not in the tired, gravelly tone his voice was currently in. John Price was going to be the death of you, even in his unfocused state.

You unfolded your legs from underneath you and moved your notebook onto the coffee table. Your resolve was fading, and you couldn’t be bothered to argue. While you did feel bad about dragging John to your school to fix the problem you created, you weren’t sure you had any other option. Accept defeat? To a group of teenagers? Absolutely not. You’d never live it down. You sighed, rubbing tiredly at your eyes. “If you’re sure…”

“I am.”

A soft smile crossed your face. “Is this just a ploy to meet my kids?”

“Maybe.”

Your sleepy giggles were like music to John’s ears. The sound alone was worth the favor. As if he wouldn’t have done it anyway, just to ease your stress. He would take any and every opportunity to make your day easier or make you happy. What he wouldn’t give to hear that laugh in person, laying beside you in your bed–

No. John’s a good man. A gentleman, he would say. A man who was perfectly capable of not acting on his urges and thoughts. At least, not in person. However, in the privacy of his own home? That was a different story.

“Thank you so much, John.”

Right. You’re still on the phone. He heard a soft click on your end of the call.

“That’d better be you closing your laptop, I’m hearing.”

“It is.”

“Good girl.” You blushed furiously. Fuck. “Get some sleep. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Goodnight.”

taglist: @novausstuff, @cutiecusp, @ittosbigfatmantitties, @helpimhyperfixating, @hihhasotherfixations, @dugiioh, @glitterypirateduck, @cringeycookies, @lethalchiralium

Copyright © 2023 as-is-above-so-below. All rights reserved.

[enchantedflameandflower]

Gavin (Karl Urban) x reader!

Fireside confessions, cuddling and you finally get in those big, strong, muscly, hot arms!

Summary: When you started working at the lumber mill, you couldn't help but instantly fall in lust with the strong, quiet younger brother. But you're determined to keep it professional, until one work trip suddenly changes it all.

co-written with CheshireCatSmile

@kus-babygirl @shirley-girly @jynx15 @everchar-of-the-shire @scraftsku35

@deathlesun @billybutcherxyou @butchers-girl @hippo2211

karl urban masterlist

direct link to part 1

Part 4

Gavin chuckles affectionately at your ask about dinner and searches through his bag, pulling out some packets with the name of some new hightech backpacking adventure company. "Been wanting to try these for awhile...let's see...would you like the gourmet beef stew or the um...old fashioned chicken and dumplings? Or there's beef lo mein if you're feeling like Chinese...or...turkey chili?" He hands you a couple of the pouches to look at, his strong fingers brushing against yours.

You can’t help grinning. “Actually they all sound good. I’ll do the chicken and dumplings tonight.” He nods and grabs the beef stew for himself, then props them on the fire in a particular way to heat. He sits right next to you and you shift a little so your leg is just pressing against his.

He seems to notice. "The temperature is dropping a lot quicker than I would have figured for this early in the season. Are you gonna be warm enough tonight?" He presses his thigh a little more firmly against yours but when you glance over he’s concentrating on the fire.

But you can feel the heat radiating from him and it’s wonderful. He’s right, though, it is getting cold. “I brought a thermal and an extra sweatshirt, so…I hope so. I mean, I’m sure I’ll be okay. I’ve slept in worse places,” you smile at him.

Gavin turns to look at you, dark eyes swirling with emotions and unanswered questions at your admission. "I'll try to make things as comfy-cozy as I can out here for you,” he gives you a warm look. “After all...you're doin’ me a big favor comin’ with me. Jack and I really need things to fall in line with this for the business and...I really need Jack to know he can count on me." His voice trails off.  "I'm sorry....I didn't mean to...you're just easy to talk to."

“It’s okay.” You want him to be able to talk to you about anything. “I’m really happy to be here, for you and the business. I want you guys to be successful. I believe in what you’re doing, trying to cut responsibly.

“But I think Jack already does know he can count on you,” you add, watching while he takes the pouches out of the fire and sets them to cool in front of you. 

"I hope so. I have a lot to make up for," he says so softly you can barely hear him. He hands you some utensils and opens your packet for you then does the same with his own. He smiles and taps his packet against yours like a toast. "Moment of truth," he chuckles.

After a few bites, what he said niggles in the back of your mind, and you glance over at him. You hope the question isn’t too much, but you truly want to get to know him better. “What really did happen last year? I’ve heard murmurs here and there but everyone is pretty quiet about it. Was there…really a dragon? Why are people upset with you?”

"There was really a dragon,” he answers, meeting your gaze then looking away. “I....well I had some hair-brained get rich quick idea and I went off half-cocked without takin’ anyone's feelings into account. I wouldn't listen to anyone, I was so full of myself... Almost lost the people I care about most in the world and turned something amazing into a nightmare for everyone. I've had a long time to think about it since then. I can't believe how blind I was to everything that really mattered." He shakes his head and pokes the fire with a stick sending a small plume of sparks into the air.

You can feel his mood has plummeted and now you feel guilty for bringing it up. You chew your bottom lip for a minute thinking. You know he can be impatient sometimes, and gets caught up in excitement when he has an idea. Clearly he’s always hoping to prove himself to his older brother, so you can see how he could’ve made a mistake like that. “I’m sorry,” you murmur. “I shouldn’t have said anything. But I think your brother sees how much thought you’ve put into your work since then. He knows how much you care for him.”

“I wonder if my nephew will ever really trust me?” he muses, still staring into the fire. “That little kid has more courage than most of the grown men I hang with." Gavin shakes his head and stares off into the distance for a moment. Then, coming back to himself, he looks at you. "Oh hey, I forgot. I brought some cornbread from the diner."

It’s an obvious shift away from the subject and attempt to lighten the mood, and you’re grateful. He rummages in his pack and pulls out a tin. "Should I warm it a tiny bit?"

“Sure, that sounds really good.” You know which diner he means and it’s the sweet kind of corn bread, almost like a dessert, and you actually love it. “That was the first place I ate when I got this job. A special treat.”

"Yeah, their food is the best." He opens the tin and sits it just so at the edge of the fire. "You know...I think I may have seen you there that evening," he says softly, glancing at you out of the corner of his eye, as though trying to gage your reaction. "It was still pretty warm out and you had that pretty yellow sundress on..."

“Yes that was me,” you blush a little again, but smile. “How embarrassing to be caught taking myself on a date,” you laugh. “Going out all alone.” You take a bite from your chicken dinner then reach for a corner of corn bread, popping it in your mouth.

"Not embarrassing at all,” he grins. “But a sweet, smart, pretty girl like you should never have to go to dinner alone if ya don’t want to. We...um...we may need to fix that." He reaches to break off a little piece of cornbread himself. 

His leg feels warm where it presses against yours. His heat is addicting and you can’t stop yourself from wondering what it would feel like to be wrapped up tight in his arms. Your heart flutters at his compliments. They’re hard to believe but nice to hear. “How would we fix that?” you ask him even though your heart is racing with anxiousness.

"Well...I was thinkin’...you might like to go out to dinner with me sometime. Well...that is...if you wouldn't feel uncomfortable going out with your boss to dinner and...maybe a movie? I mean...I'll understand if you have reservations about… About mixing your work and private life but..."

Your heart flutters wildly again and your smile grows wider. You can’t believe this is actually happening. Even though the entire thing makes you nervous, you can’t help but want it. “I’d really like that a lot, Gavin. If you don’t think Jack would mind.” You finish the last bite and just then a breeze comes through the trees, making them rustle then making you shiver.

He sees you shiver and tosses a little more wood on the fire then scoots over and puts his strong arm around you pulling you into his side. "Definitely going to be cold tonight but I think I have the tent set up nice and cozy so we should be okay."

You almost give a soft little moan when he pulls you close but you manage to stop it. “Th-thank you,” you murmur. It feels so good for him to even care like this, and he feels good against you, but your heart is really racing now. “My um…my last relationship didn’t go well, and it ended really badly so if I seem anxious, that’s why. But I like you, Gavin. I just wanted you to know.”

"I like you too. I want to really spend time getting to know you. We can take it slow...no pressure. I've always rushed headlong into things in the past and...that hasn't really served me well." He pokes at the fire some more with his free hand but keeps his arm firmly around you as the chill settles in a little more a the first stars wink on above the treetops.

The crackling of the fire is soothing and his hand starts to rub your arm idly as he holds you. It’s more comfort than you’ve felt in a really long time. Without you realizing you start to drift off.

What feels like only a moment later, your eyes flutter open and you feel movement and strong arms holding you against a warm solid chest. Is someone carrying you? Then it comes back to you in a flash...you had started to drift off near the fire. Oh my! Was Gavin carrying you ...you startle and a soothing, low male voice is telling you to hush...that everything is okay. Then you feel the fat raindrops on your face...

You blink for a moment then open your eyes all the way and you can just barely see Gavin’s eyes in the darkness as it starts to rain. He crouches down right next to the small tent and carefully sets you slowly on your feet when he sees you’re awake. “Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry Gavin! I didn’t mean to fall asleep like that. You didn’t have to carry me...”

Gavin’s answering smile is so warmly affectionate, you feel like you might just throw yourself at him here and now. "No worries Sleeping Beauty,” he murmurs, his voice husky. “I really didn't mind. I just need to close up the big pack and put it up a tree. I'll be right back. Go ahead and make yourself comfortable and I'll be back in a few minutes. He brushes your hair back from your face gently and looks into your eyes for a moment then turns to take care of the pack.

Next up: A shirt and some jeans are coming off and makin’ out tent style! Let me know if you want a tag! Thank you so so much for reading and for your likes, comments and reblogs, they mean the whole world to me!

Part 5

karl urban masterlist

[141shousewife]

You like movies? You wanna make one?

Minors DNI I WILL eat you.

ill make this another part if it does well

cw: nsfw, price x female reader, TA reader x Professor! Price, slight jealousy/arguing, filming, price x plus size reader

Johns voice echos inside of the linoleum lecture hall. You quietly listen to the scribbles of a red pen and the sound of his voice. Normally the sound from his auditorium during lectures is moderate, but today he is particularly chipper as his voice bleeds into the shared office you currently revise essays in.

"-Excellent! and what do you think the director is trying to convey with this wide frame shot?"

Your eyes continue to graze over the same words again and again: "Director" "Shot" "Film" "Cinematography" "Intention" "Audience"

You love your job, but reading first years' dull writing for over an hour and a half has your eyes and brain hurting.

Being John's TA had a lot of quirks; good pay, free snacks, and lots of academic validation that you will not expand on in front of your friends when questioned, and lastly the sharply dressed professor that lounges around and insists on your everlasting 'genius', and is admittedly fun to run your eyes over and imagine him slowl-

"ALRIGHT- that is going to wrap up our time for today, it's Friday so I don't want to keep you all. Remember to make good choices and turn in your makeups by 11:59 on Sunday. Okay, get outta here."

You rest your eyes and listen to the symphony of zipping backpacks, chairs being pushed in, and the different conversations of "i gotta turn in-" or "what are you doing this weekend-" quickly zip by the door of the closed office. You take a moment to settle into your rolling chair as you hear Price sending off students warmly. His brown suede dress shoes quietly grow louder as they hit the tile close and closer to the office door.

Price's office is cushy and expansive. There is enough room for more than the desk, rug, couch, and mini-fridge fill the space a subpar amount. The two desks that occupy the warmly lit, carpeted room are positioned across the room from each other. John's desk is littered with a desk lamp, books stacked on top of each other, a desk of pens and a closed cigar case.

As you hear the him begin to answer the last few questions from students while slowly opening the office door, you gather your materials and move to the couch and sit beneath the warm throw that adorns it.

The couch dips in on itself significantly and creaks under your wide bottom as you curse it for its announcement.

"Of course- and if you have any more questions feel free to email me."

The girl that you see him talking to- the sliver of her that you can see is smaller than you and blonde, she catches her hair in between two of her fingers and leans into his personal space.

"Could I come to your office for help on my essay, this Saturday, around say 6?

Not fully understanding what she is asking, he straightens out his back in concern and responds to her in a hushed tone.

"Do you not have a device in order to submit an email? If not the library is open from 9 am to 9 pm during the weekend."

She provides even less space for him and looks up with a smile.

"No Professor, I do, I just meant if I needed some... special help"

He maintains a warm demeanor but shuts her down

" I'm afraid not- My office hours are for working and if you make a comment like that again I am at liberty to report you to the dean, so I would suggest you leave now. Have a nice weekend."

He opens the door fully to enter and shuts it behind him and the blonde pads away quietly with less of her dignity than before. He rolls his eyes as he greets you.

"You can't make this stuff up. Flirting when she hasn't even turned in her essay on time. Bold."

You speak without fully thinking; wondering why Price is acting so insulted by a conventionally good looking girl shmoozing him. As he sets his laptop and other things on his desk you speak.

"She was a pretty girl John. It's not like its such a low blow."

John turns quickly quirks his head "You can't seriously be implying I would date some...kid? one of my students? She's not my type. "

You immediately jump to defend yourself with in hindsight- a bit too much gusto.

You say while sarcastically chuckling "I wasn't saying that! and come on it's just us, she- girls like her, are everyone's type."

John steps closer to where you are sat on the couch and looks down at you with his eyes furrowed and his hands in his pockets.

"Well she's not mine."

He reaches over on top of his desk a grabs a cigar, he quietly throws a "You mind?" over his shoulder and upon you responding "You're all good." he clips his cigar and lights it.

He turns around and steps closer as puffs it and he eyes you over.

His gaze is- uncomfortably intense, in a way that makes you wanna say sorry- or maybe start stripping...

He seems to catch wind of you being in thought.

"What do you care anyway?"

You look at him to respond but nothing comes out of your mouth as he sits the cigar down and steps closer to you until he's standing over you. His legs stand interlinked with yours and brushes them.

You feel something other worldly pull your body up to stand in front of him. You stare at him breathlessly and try to ignore the cinnamon, sandalwood and cigar smoke that's making you want to rub your-

John's voice pulls you out of another depraved thought

"I can't believe you think a girl like that is my type. I date women. Grown women. "

Your voice barely sounds like your own. You barely get the words out.

" I swear that wasn't what I meant. I just thought-"

John cuts you off "I know what you thought, you thought I was going to let you have a self deprecation fest, but I'm telling you that the women I want.. don't look, talk, or think like her. I don't want girls."

"I like women. Women who look, talk, and think like you." He toys with the bottom of your skirt in a way that makes your face grow warm, his hand brushing against your thick thigh.

You start to protest immediately, " You don't need to flatter me John, I'm sorry."

John starts speaking over you in frustration, "Why is it unbelievable that I would prefer you? I'm not flattering you. I'm not a liar or someone who compliments out of pity, you know what- here"

He huffs and grabs your wrist and places your hand directly over his khaki covered hard-on and whispers

"Does that feel like pity to you?"

As you stare at him dumbfounded, John's hand reaches up and holds the base of your skull with his large hand.

All of your breath re-enters your lungs like he just jump-started your entire system.

John looks at you with mischief you cannot quite place.

"How about I help you see how good you look?"

You track his gaze towards his Nikon and immediately look at him in horror.

"You wanna record me? No. Absolutely not. I look horrible on camera and you want to film my O-face and chubbiness from a side profile? You've lost it!"

"Honey, if you don't want to film because you're uncomfortable we can forget it right now, but if this is about the way your 'chubbiness' looks then I'm telling you that I wanna see this body. On me. On video."

[aayakashii]

Hiii I was thinking a first kiss scenario (❤️21) with Lyca would be fun! Either fluff or smut works :)

21❤️ First kiss

Did I project myself into this? Yes, heavily. So I'm very sorry if some parts of it are too specific skdjdksjs 😭 but here it is!! Very fluffy btw!

You looked to your side and pursed your lips into a thin line so you wouldn’t break into a loud laugh.

Lyca was right by your side, legs crossed while he snuggled one of your pillows, with a bright and furious shade of red on his cheeks, neck and ears.

The poor boy was struggling, but powering through the grueling task he had forced upon himself.

All of that just because he asked you if you two could try to watch a romcom together.

“Why would you ever want to watch a movie like that, Lyca?” you had asked him, befuddled.

He growled, an angry pout plastered on his face.

“The blonde gigolo said I am not strong just because I can barely interact with girls! And he even said I would probably die if I ever watched a romance movie, so I have to prove him wrong!” he clenched his fists, absolutely mad with indignation.

You rolled your eyes. You had to have a serious conversation with Rui about him picking on poor Lyca, because you always ended up mixed into their mess.

“You’re walking right into his trap, Lyca. This will prove absolutely nothing and you will definitely hate it.” you tried putting a little bit of sense into his brain, but he was stubborn.

“But what if he really thinks that?! What if it's not a trap?! I have to prove it to him!”

You let out a loud sigh. There was no convincing him otherwise. He was willingly walking towards his own torture and all you could do was stand beside that dumb werewolf.

And it turns out Rui was almost right. Lyca did look like he was about to spontaneously combust while he watched those romantic scenes. You kept one eye on the movie and one on his reactions, eager to know how he would feel once the kissing scene popped up.

You didn't expect to feel disappointed though.

As the two main characters kissed passionately on the screen, Lyca began staring at the scene with what looked like curiosity. The furious blush was still there, on his cheeks, but more than anything, it looked like the gears in his mind were working overtime.

And then, he turned to you.

“Have you… have you ever kissed someone before?” he asks in a mumble, glaring at you from under his long lashes, like he was ready to fight and not talk.

The question took you by surprise. It wasn't really something you liked talking about, but you also had a weak spot for Lyca. If he was curious about it, then you wouldn't mind answering.

“Just a few times, I guess” you shrugged. You decided not to mention you regretted it mostly every single time. That was the type of talk you didn't really want to have with him, of all people.

Lyca growled and angrily pouted beside you, crossing his arms. Your hand went straight to his hair, scritching his scalp soothingly.

“Why are you mad?”

He grabbed your wrist, withdrawing it from his head. You gave him the sad puppy eyes – trying to use his own weapon against him – but he turned his head away and was adamant in not looking at you.

“Hey, tell me why you're mad. Did I upset you?” you asked, genuinely concerned.

He pouted even more.

“You already had all these experiences.”

You blinked, confused.

“And…?”

“It makes me mad!” he huffed.

You paused to think about his words. A little part of you tried to entertain the thought that he was jealous, but you quickly snuffed that little flame out. Maybe he was upset that you both had similar ages and he hadn't done the same things. That was more likely. But it’s not like his circumstances allowed him to have said experiences, though. Lyca's life was anything but mundane like yours used to be.

You put your hand back on his head again despite his warning growl.

“You don't have to be mad about that. I only did it because people were pressuring me. I have never actually kissed anyone I liked.”

It was a half-truth. Intimacy was actually a very sensitive topic for you. You always watched in horror as colleagues and friends around you had such an easy time mindlessly locking lips with each other. 

For you, it was almost physically impossible even thinking about doing that without caring about the person you'd kiss and consequently, you ended up not kissing anyone for a long, long time. 

Embarrassingly long. 

Eventually, you had forced yourself to get your first experiences out of the way just so you'd stop thinking there was something wrong with you. Obviously, they were all with people who didn't care much about you.

And you didn't exactly regret it. It made you realize that things like that aren't that big of a deal and, honestly,  sometimes it could be a sensory nightmare. So it's not like you'd be missing that much.

But deep, deep inside, you kind of wished you had them with someone you liked and who liked you back.

“Why would you do something you don't like just because of other people?” Lyca had now turned towards you, ears perked up and one eyebrow raised.

You sighed. Sometimes you think that if the world was as simple as Lyca thought it could be, everything would be a lot better.

“I'm sure you've noticed humans are very weird and stupid sometimes. That's another proof of that.” you didn't feel like explaining too much.

He hummed, deep in thought.

Suddenly, as you searched for whatever else he was thinking in his golden irises, you felt anxiety bubbling up in your stomach. Your mind was plagued by the thought of him being kissed by some random and uncaring person and you definitely didn't want him to make the same mistake as you.

“Listen. I don't want you to feel pressured when it comes to these things though.” you blurted out.

He looked at you quizzically, and then scoffed.

“I'm not feeling pressured.” he puffed his chest, as if the thought was unimaginable.

“No, I'm serious.” you tugged his hoodie's sleeve to keep his attention on you. “Even if it's not a big deal, I don't want you to kiss someone you don't like.”

He stared at you.

“Why?”

You felt your cheeks get warmer under his gaze.

“... Because I want you to have good memories. I want you to be able to remember most of your experiences fondly. I don't want you to regret anything nor feel hurt.”

Lyca stared at you, thinking. He had no problem with making eye contact even when he wasn't speaking and it served to make you even more embarrassed. Were you crossing a line? You were extremely protective of him, but he never asked any of that from you. What if you were just meddling in his business and annoying him? What if you were being a hurdle he had to cross over in order to feel more like a human? What if–

“Can you do it then?” Lyca suddenly said, snapping you out of your thoughts

You looked at him, eyes wide. Maybe you heard him wrong.

“What?”

“I wouldn't mind if you were the one who kissed me for the first time. I don't think I would regret it.” he said, scratching his head and, finally, breaking eye contact. 

He was embarrassed.

You blinked fast a few times, trying to gather your thoughts.

“A-are… are you sure?”

He dropped his arm to his side and nodded, serious as ever.

“Uhum. I am sure.”

“Don't you want to save it and do it with someone you like?”

“I like you.”

Oh god. Oh GOD.

“N-no, Lyca, I mean-”

“You don't want to kiss me?”

You rubbed your face with your hands, feeling how hot your skin was, and groaned.

“It's not that! I do want to- to kiss you! It's just-”

“Then do it.” he said, as matter-of-factly as he could possibly say.

You sighed and shifted in your seat.

“Are you sure?” you asked again. He rolled his eyes.

“I already said I am.”

“But are you REALLY sure?”

Lyca began growling, his wolf ears going flat against his head.

“I am sure!”

“Okay, then” you gulped, straightening your back and gathering all the courage you had inside “I'll have to come closer, okay?”

“Okay.” he nodded, also sitting up straight and watching your every movement.

You tentatively reached your hands towards Lyca's cheeks. He flinched as you touched him and you mouthed an apology before cupping them gently. You could feel how warm his skin was getting as you got closer and closer to his face.

His eyes were wide, and his shaky breath fanned your skin as your lips were barely apart.

When you locked your lips against his, it felt like he was melting under your touch – you felt his shoulders sagging and he unconsciously placed his hands on your waist.

It didn't feel like any kiss you had before. He was clearly clumsy and didn't know what to do (and, honestly, neither did you), but the warmth of his body embraced you gently and, when you glided your hands to his neck, you could feel the fast and loud drum of his heart under your fingertips – it was so endearing, it made you dizzy.

As you softly sucked on his bottom lip, you wondered why it all felt so sweet – were you falling for him? –, but right as you began thinking too much about it, he let out a little gasp that scrambled every coherent thought.

You brought him closer to you and pressed your lips flush against his, squeezing his shoulders with your hands before letting go and finally pushing him away. You didn't want to cross any boundaries by deepening the kiss without his consent, after all. Just touching him without having him bite your hand off was a huge achievement, so the kiss felt like a trophy.

Once you opened your eyes, Lyca was already watching you with pupils blown wide; his golden iris was barely visible and he stared at you, wide-eyed and breathless.

“Lyca! You're supposed to close your eyes when you kiss.” you playfully tapped the top of his head.

His face was scarlet red and he hid it behind the sleeve of his hoodie.

“We-well, you have to tell me that first!”

You sighed, smiling at his embarrassment, but you were sure you didn't look much different.

As you tried to calm your own racing heart, a loud thump-thump-thump caught your attention, and you peeked behind Lyca.

You gasped, trying to suppress a giggle.

His tail was wagging wildly, hitting the couch in a steady rhythm.

“I guess I don't really need to ask if you liked the kiss, do I?” You teased him, hiding how big your smile was with your hands.

“ARGH” he pushed his tail down, trying to immobilize it. “Shut up!”

You didn't know if he was talking to you or to his own tail. You let your arms fall to your sides.

“Hey, it's okay, I really liked the kiss, you know? Don’t be embarrassed.” you said, between chuckles.

He stared at you wide-eyed, searching your face for any hint of a lie or of a joke. When he couldn't find any of that, his tail began wagging once again, much to his dismay.

“T-thank you.” he grumbled, again avoiding your eyes.

Right then, as you watched him blush and fidget on his seat, you thought that maybe you could say that was your very own first kiss as well.

[treasure444]

Title: I'm so in love with you. Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Fem!Reader WC: ~3.7K Content Warnings: SMUT (Unprotected, Simon is a biiiit of a bottom, Simon likes being bit) MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, feels, Reader gets injured, angst but it does have a good/happy ending. I know I just posted a Simon Riley fic, but the brain rot DO be brain rotting. My current hyperfixation. I have lots of other stories half-written or fleshed out for all the characters I write for, and I am getting to them, I promise!!

Wonderfully beta'd by the ever amazing @universitypenguin - if you have not read anything Alice has posted, please do so! The Princess and The Lawyer is AMAZING!!

Requests are open, feel free to submit, and to those who already have, I promise I am working on them!!

It was moments like these that you genuinely dreaded, sometimes wishing that you had chosen something different. Everyone, even now, always questioned why this was the career chosen. You had never been able to fully answer, always giving a vague, ‘I’m in it for the same reasons everyone else is.’ Never truly knew why, what pulled you here. 

The satisfaction when you had won was unlike any other, but so were the nightmares. The constant replay of the field, the battles, the close calls that could have ended up much worse. It was never about you, no, rather your teammates. The close calls they faced, that were your fault. If you had been a few seconds quicker, or had just slowed down and aimed properly, you could’ve avoided these moments.

That’s where you currently found yourself, in a meeting with Captain Price, and Lieutenant Riley. Both very terrifying men. At least, Price was trying to make it easier on you, giving soft smiles, and ‘Ghost, relax. Everyone makes mistakes.’ 

A bite of ‘doesn’t matter, they should be able to conduct themselves properly.’ Was fired back. It was no secret the Lieutenant had a distaste for you. Maybe because you were ‘reckless’ as he had described you multiple times. Perhaps it was because at the end of the day he ended up having to save you more than once. Soap had attempted to calm your nerves one day, explaining ‘he gets like this with everyone. ‘S not just you.’ 

You saw the way he acted upon passing. With other soldiers, it was a very slight almost imperceptible nod of his head, but for you the ever-present scowl on his face seemed to deepen. No matter what you had tried, you could never get that recognition that you so desperately wanted. 

“Captain,” you said, gaining his attention, “W-While I appreciate the help, he’s not wrong. I-I don’t agree with the way he’s making his points, but I should’ve been paying more attention. Gaz could’ve been seriously hurt i—“ 

“He could’ve been killed! Because of you!” Ghost’s voice boomed across the Captain’s office. You jumped in your seat.

“You’re absolutely right,” you said looking at Ghost, “and I am sorry.” 

He grunted in response, before stalking out of the room.

“Ignore him, he’s stressed out over the next mission.”

You shook your head, “He’s right. Gaz could’ve died because of my mistake.” The guilt sat stationary in your chest. 

Price offered a sympathetic smile, “Ghost’s has also had some close calls. That is very similar to the potential today. We all have had some pretty close calls. Don’t let him get in your head.” 

You nodded, and rose from the chair on a shaky breath, “thank you.” 

Price nodded, “You’re welcome. There’s a debriefing in an hour.” He reminded. 

You nodded and walked out to get ready for the meeting. 

Three hours later you had found yourself in the middle of the battlefield. According to Price, it should’ve been an ‘easy’ mission. Gather the intel and get out, you hadn’t planned for the ambush. You had been almost positive you were safe, hidden behind a barrel, Ghost beside you. That was until you caught sight of the enemy behind you. 

You caught them raising their gun, aiming for the lieutenant. Soap screamed for him, you pushed him clean out of the way before hearing two gunshots ring out. One of which had pierced the enemy, knocking him down instantly. The other lodged itself into your thigh. You didn’t quite register the shot at first. Not until Soap was by your side. 

“Just go. Scan the perimeter, make sure there’s no more, make sure Gaz has the intel.” You spoke before he even had a chance to say anything to you. Soap ran off, you sat yourself down, still hiding behind the barrel. Your hand weakly pressing against the wound in your thigh. 

You leaned your head back against the barrel, closing your eyes as your hand was replaced by Ghost’s gloved appendage. You whined as he put more pressure than you had been. “I know, I know. Stay with me.” 

You giggled softly, “ironic, isn’t it?” Your head rolled to the side. “This time it wasn’t you saving me.” 

You watched Ghost’s eyes pass between your face and your leg repeatedly. His voice became distorted as he spoke into the walkie on his shoulder, more than likely explaining the situation to Price, and Gaz. Your eyelids grew heavy, so you opted to keep them closed. 

You could hear the concern in Ghost’s voice, but you could no longer hear the words. Could still feel the gloved hand pushing at your skin, but no longer the pain. You slowly allowed yourself to fall into the unconsciousness pulling at you. 

You came to, to the sounds of beeping and hushed voices. Confused, you opened your eyes, “Jesus.” You squinted, looking around. You found Price, and Ghost by your bedside. 

“Hey. How do you feel?” Price spoke, keeping his voice soft. 

“What happened?” Your voice came out weak. Ghost handed you a small paper cup with a straw. Noting he didn’t have the gloves on anymore. 

“Drink this. Small Sips. ” He spoke. You took it, taking a small sip as he instructed.

“You were shot.” Price spoke up again, and everything came back to you, “You were lucky. The bullet missed the femoral artery. Small fracture, you’re off for the next 8 to 12 weeks.” 

“8 to 12 weeks?” Your eyes widened, “No, Price there has to be a mistake! Surely it won’t take that long!” You handed the cup back to Ghost.

“That’s what the doctor has said, and that’s what we’re going by.” Price told you before his phone went off, and he walked out to take the call. 

You groaned, throwing your head back into the pillows. Ghost chuckled before handing you the cup again, “I bet you’re really regretting taking that bullet for me now huh?” 

You looked over at him, “not at all,” you smiled, “but I have to ask, where’d the gloves go?” 

You heard, more than saw, the audible gulp he took. “Had to take them off.” 

You nodded like you understood the implication of what he was saying. Which you did. You remembered him pressing his hands down against the wound trying to get the blood to clot. Saw how your blood stained the white part of the skeleton fabric. 

When you looked back up at him, you could see the fear. For once you saw your strong-willed, cold-hearted lieutenant, genuinely scared. For you. Like he was reliving what happened. Like he couldn’t believe you were still here. 

The word lucky rattled around in your brain. Echoing Price’s infliction. You were incredibly lucky, though you weren’t sure you’d admit it out loud. Something had shifted. You weren’t able to pinpoint exactly what, but something in the air of your hospital room felt different.

The aftermath of a mission always did funky things to you. Things you could never fully understand. Adding to that, the fact that you had been out of commission for the last 10 weeks. You had been a little rusty. Which was how you found yourself being dragged out to Ghost’s office. You were sure that he was mad, that he was going to berate you when he called you to his office. However, he led you past his office, and into his personal quarters. “You’re always such a problem.” He said as he closed the door behind you. 

“I didn’t see it!” You watched him. 

“I’m not saying anything.” He defended. 

“You are! You’re saying that I’m a problem.” 

“Because you are. I consistently am having to step in and save your ass because you’re so reckless.” 

“You can’t seriously sit there and get caught up in the few times you’ve saved me! Are you serious?! This is a fucking joke. You’re a fucking joke.” Your voice raised, anger shooting through your body. 

Ghost glared at you. “I’M the joke?! You must really think highly of yourself!” 

“Highl— What?! This is. No. No! I’m leaving. I will not allow you to sit here and treat me like this.” You stomped towards the door. You didn’t make it very far, before Ghost’s hand wrapped around your upper arm. 

“Do you care so little for your own life?” He spun you around to face him.

”What?” 

“Honestly, you’re reckless on the field, you almost stepped on a damn landmine today!! You took a bullet for me!” 

“I told you, I didn’t see it! I’m not reckless, and who knows what would have happened if I had let the bullet hit you! You could’ve died! I wasn’t willing to watch anything happen to you, when I could’ve helped!” 

“Why?!” 

“Because I care about you! Because the thought of you not being here hurts me more than I want to admit! Because the thought of not hearing your fucking voice every day, scares me!” You shouted, feeling the tears come to the surface of your eyes, but you refused to cry in front of him. 

The shock of your words had Ghost releasing his grip on you, if only slightly. You shook your head. “Forget it.” you sniffled and opened the door walking further down the hallway. Ghost snapped to his senses, and called you, but you were out of his sight. 

You had asked Price for some extra time. “A few more weeks, I want to make sure that I’m ready to be on the field again.” Was what you had told him, when in reality, you wanted to prolong your solitude. You hadn’t spoken to Ghost since your outburst, but he seemed content in letting it happen. Leaving you alone. 

Sure, you had run into each other a few times, damn near impossible not to, but never spoken to each other. In the time that you hadn’t been on missions, you spent it in your room reading, or in the gym trying to strengthen yourself. 

The boys had come back from another successful mission, elated but bruised. You smiled and hugged each of them with the exception of Ghost. You merely nodded at him, he stood stoic as ever. 

Soap threw his arm around you before leading you inside, with everyone following, “You’ll have to come with us on the next one. It’ll be just like old times!” He sang. 

You giggled, “yeah, maybe. We’ll see how I’m feeling.” 

“Well, at least come out to drink with us tonight! We’re heading to Bar Code.” Soap shook your shoulders lightly. He was always in a good mood after a successful mission. 

You nodded, “Sure.” 

That was how you found yourself in civilian clothing, sitting across from Price. Just shooting the shit with the boys reminded you of old times, better times. Price called your name, “you’ve been training. A lot harder than we’ve seen you before.” 

You smiled, knowing it was a compliment of the highest form, “Thank you, sir. I just want to make sure that I’m ready to be back in the field.” 

“So, I can count on you for the next one then?” 

Your smile widened, as you nodded, and Soap and Gaz whooped and cheered. “Well!” Gaz was the one to throw his arm around you this time, “I say that’s cause for celebrations! I’ll go get more drinks.” 

He moved to stand, but you put your hand on top of his on your shoulder, “let me.” You giggled as he withdrew and stood, walking over to the bar. 

Ordering what you knew everyone liked, you leant against the bar as you waited for the drinks. A slimy looking man slid next to you, “what’s a pretty little thing like you doing here all by yourself?” He clicked his tongue on the roof of his mouth. 

“Oh,” you said quietly, moving away slightly, “I’m not alone. Here with some friends.” Of course Ghost had caught sight of him before he got close to you. 

The man followed you, before a hand reached out to grip your waist, pulling you closer. You leaned away. “C’mon. Don’t be like that. I bet they won’t even notice if you’re gone.” You could smell the alcohol on him before he even opened his mouth. 

You kept pushing at his chest, getting more alarmed by the moment, “I-I’m flattered, but not interested,” you looked around for someone, anyone to help you, but found no one. “I really should get back to my friends.” 

In an instant, Ghost was by your side. Unwrapping the stranger's hand from you before pulling you behind him. “You okay?” He looked over his shoulder at you. 

You nodded, and walked to the table silently. From what you saw the unknown man backed down pretty quickly, given Ghost was still in his tac gear, minus the vest. 

Ghost had come back with the drinks and set them down. Not another word was said between you and him for the rest of the night. 

Getting back to the base, everyone went their separate ways. Everyone except Ghost who pulled you with him into an empty barracks room. It was a standard room, with a bed in the back corner, small desk and lamp on the right side, and an armoire on the left.   “Ghost.. What do–” 

“Simon.” He cut you off. 

You tilted your head, confused. “Call me Simon. Please.” 

“Okay… Simon. Is there something you need?” 

His eyes fluttered shut as you said his name. “I think a conversation is needed.” 

“Conversation about what?” You crossed your arms over your chest. 

“What did you mean?” His eyes opened, solely focusing on your face, your reaction to him. “You said you care about me. But there’s so many things that could mean.” 

You took a deep breath in, and dropped your arms. “I’m exhausted. We can talk about this later.” You turned for the door. 

Simon muttered your name, “You and I both know if you walk out of here, this conversation won’t ever happen.” His voice stopped you from moving any further. “Please.” His voice softened to a whisper. 

“You’re a big boy, Simon. I’m sure you can figure it out. Given the context.” 

“I want to hear you say it.” 

“Why? So you can embarrass me some more? To make me relive that specific part of the conversation for days? I already have. I shouldn’t have said anything, it was vastly inappropriate.” 

Simon shook his head, stepping closer to you. “Tell me. Please.” 

A shiver flew down your spine. “You make it sound so easy. It won’t fix anything.” 

Simon stayed quiet behind you. He was close enough at this point to feel the body heat he gave off. You sighed, defeated. “I care about you.” You whisper. 

“And what does that mean?” Simon whispered back. 

You closed your eyes, staying quiet. This time when he said your name, he coated it in adoration, in awe. Pressing his body even closer, you caved. 

“I’m into you.” You felt his forehead come to rest on your shoulder. 

“Again.” He commanded, softly as his arm wrapped around your waist. 

You smiled, biting your lip, “I like you.” 

Simon pulled you back so you were fully flush against him. “Again.” 

“I have feelings for you.” 

His grip tightened, hand moving to your hip as he spun you to face him. “Once more.” He watched you. 

You wrapped your arms around his neck, “I am so in love with you it hurts sometimes.” 

“Yeah?” He breathed, and you nodded as his face drew closer. 

“Yeah” you whispered moments before he pushed his mask up just past his nose, and kissed you. 

Fuck, he was good. He knew how to hook you in, one hand resting on the hinge of your jaw, and the other on your waist. Pulling you in, while simultaneously keeping you where he wanted you.

You couldn’t resist kissing back, placing your hands firmly on his chest. You could feel the low rumble he let out. Pulling away for a second, Simon dragged his thumb down the center of your lips. Your breathing was rapid, your mind felt like it was in the clouds. 

Without thinking, you leaned back in to capture his lips this time. His hands drifted down your body, before tapping the backs of your thighs. You shook your head only slightly to still keep your lips attached to his. 

He grunted into your mouth, before crouching slightly, and lifting you into his arms. You gasped before breaking apart, “Simon, put me down.” 

You saw his lips pull up into a smirk, “gladly” you watched his mouth form the word. He walked over, tightening his grip only moments before dropping you against the mattress. 

You squealed softly, before this mountain of a man was sprawled out on top of you, reattaching his lips to any skin he could find. Kissing down your face, to your neck. Hands pawing at your body, lifting your shirt to caress your skin. You whined, before sitting up only enough to pull your shirt off. 

“Atta girl.” Simon praised before reattaching his mouth to yours. His hands roaming your body, gently groping along his way as he finds the buttons on your jeans and slides them along with your panties off in one motion. 

You truly don’t know what came over you, the need to have Simon under you, succumbing to whatever you wanted, was overwhelming. 

So that was exactly what you decided to do, as you heaved your body so you had him pinned beneath you. The surprise of it alone had him pulling away from you. Hands coming to rest on your thighs. 

You made a show of removing your bra, the accompanying groan from him as you removed the last article of clothing was satisfying. You carefully slid down his body, removing articles of clothing as you went, until he was completely naked, and completely at your mercy. You looked down at him, your lip between your teeth. 

“Not so big and bad now are you?” You spoke softly, lining Simon’s leaking cock with your entrance, not able to stand another moment of the teasing.

“Don’t be a fucking tease, baby.” Simon gritted out. 

“Me? Never” You spoke, sliding him inside until you were flush with his hips. Gasping, as he gently bucked up into you. 

The grunt Simon let out had you clenching around him. His hands clasped around your hips, expletives being whispered into the air around you two. 

You brought yourself up just enough for him to slide out enough, before dropping yourself back down. “Fuck, yes. Just like that.” Simon whined. 

The sound alone had you falling forward, hands coming up to catch yourself on his chest. You let out a moan, as his hands roamed your body. “C’mon. Need me to take the lead?” He teased. 

You bit your lip as you straightened yourself out, and started bouncing on his cock. Simon’s head rolled back further into the pillow. Small chants of yes left his mouth. You glanced down at him, completely at your mercy, and you let out a borderline pornographic moan. 

Simon’s neck had been on full display, the veins distended, almost inviting. He was clenching his teeth, so as to keep all those little sounds in. Eventually, the intrusive thought won and you leant forward. Lips and teeth sucking a bright red hickey into his neck. “Oh, Fuck.” Simon mewled. 

Laving your tongue over the new mark, you felt a swell of pride. “Can’t take it?” You whispered into his ear, gently biting down on his earlobe. Simon let out a high pitched whine. “Who knew Simon Riley liked being bitten huh?” 

His hands settled back on your hips, “please” he grunted. 

You cooed, straightening and planting your hands on his chest once again, as you worked yourself against his cock. “Awwww. D’you wanna cum?” 

Increasing your speed, you could feel the stutter in his breath under your hands. One of his hands running up your back, to cup the back of your neck, pulling you down. 

Capturing your lips, he kissed any and all smart comments, and thoughts out of your head. Simon pulled away from you enough to let out a long, drawn out moan, as your hips stuttered, and you felt the warmth of his cum flooding you. 

You gasped, not expecting it so quickly. The pure, unadulterated power you felt in this moment was enormous. You just made big, bad, cold-hearted Simon Riley cum before you. 

Simon’s hands fell to your thighs, gently running his fingers over where the bullet had entered, “shit.” breathing labored, unable to think. 

You looked down at him, breathing picking up, eyes wide. “One more.” You surprised even yourself. “Give me one more. Si, just one more.” You spoke, grinding your hips against his. 

He grunted your name, “I can’t.” 

“Yes, yes you can. Gimme one more. You’re such a good boy, Si. You can gimme one more, yeah?” You whined, resuming bouncing on his cock once more. 

Simon whimpered, “Please.” 

“Yeah, there it is. Look at you. Letting me use you like this. Fuck. So good for me, yeah?” 

You watched Simon’s eyes roll back in his head, mouth open just slightly, allowing all the little noises loose. The little moans, hiccups, and half whines. You’d be lying if you said it wasn’t getting to you. 

“You’re so hot like this. Can’t shut you up, can I?” You spoke, hips faltering. 

Soft chants of please left Simon’s pretty pink lips, head rolling from side to side. He was a sight. “Gonna cum again for me, Si?” You taunted him. 

Simon hiccuped, and nodded furiously. His entire body tensed, letting out an absolute wrecked moan, you once again felt the warmth of his seed, which only triggered your own orgasm this time. 

Head thrown back, grinding your hips before slowing to a complete stop. Slowly you lifted yourself on your knees and climbed off him. Simon chuckled as you collapsed beside him. 

“That definitely was not expected.” You wheezed out, attempting to catch your breath. 

“What part?” Simon smirked, pulling his mask back down. 

“All of it.” You yawned, and curled into his side. 

“We can dissect it in the morning, get some rest.” Simon ran his hand along your back gently, and you fell asleep in no time.

[fandomfluffandfuck]

S, I'm beginning you please write something about the new videos of Sebastian in the Gym. I need some smutty M/F action because I'm going ferral for those images 😩

related to all the content coming from Don's social media about Seb's return to the gym mafia

I already have a ton of requests to get to--which I do love, it's wild to have people want my writing so much, like, what the hell--and normally I get to them based on who's been waiting the longest but... the Seb content is so recent, I just have to get down with this 👀

(And I promise if you're not into x reader content, we'll get back to regularly scheduled programming soon! It just so happens that I got two x reader requests so soon after opening my ask box fully again.)

gif made by @/unearthlydust

Between the few moments it takes for the sound of keys jingling to register in your brain, hitting your ears muffled from outside, and the short time it takes for you to walk from your miniature modestly sized NYC apartment living room to the entryway, Sebastian has managed to unlocked the door, slide into your home, and... sit himself on the floor, apparently.

His head is reclined back, resting on the wall. Conversely, his legs are folded up, knees bent, his arms resting on them. He has yet to attempt to start to take his shoes off. Clearly, he walked in--or maybe he crawled, you muse to yourself, smirking--and immediately put himself down on his ass.

A chuckle leaves you at the sight of him. But, there's more breath contained in the amusement-colored sound than you'd like to admit. As you tilt your head down to take him in, you excuse your stare with a question, "Don work you over good, baby?"

You stare more while he thinks about his answer, processing, clearly frazzled from whatever mild torture Don put him through this time, not just working out but working out on film, meaning they stopped and started and stopped and started and had to refilm sets and probably ended up doing double the work planned. He took a long time today.

You saw him when he left, but the sight of Sebastian is much different now when his shirt is soaked through with sweat, the thin, breathable fabric clinging obscenely to the hard, lean shape of his body. His collar, err, the collar of his shirt is more stretched than you remember, exposing just a taste of his collarbones. Something in you whispers salaciously to pull it down more until you hear the seams start to give way so you can drag your teeth against the sharp lines of his collarbones, leave him gasping, so you can smooth your lips down the defined line between his pecs and feel his heart start to pound as if he's back on the treadmill. He must've been pulling at his shirt collar, dying to get out of his clothes, too hot. He probably even stripped himself out of it at some point. The thought makes you shift your weight where you stand from one foot to the other, cocking your hip, barely resisting the urge to cross your legs and squeeze your thighs together, thinking of, picturing really, all his tanned, smoothed skin, his muscles seemingly more defined after each session with Don. More and more firm under your teasing fingertips.

From your place a few feet away, looming, you watch him swallow. The rolling, contracting motion of his throat unfolding in slow motion, sending a shiver down your spine.

"Seb?" You have half the mind to prompt him again, your lips curling into a wider smirk despite yourself, preoccupied.

You're beginning to feel like a cat toying with a mouse...

"Yeah, yeah," he murmurs, swallowing again, thunking his head back against the wall slightly as if to wake himself up. His hair is damp and wavy from the session, the texture fighting against his cut and style, frizzing up as if it wants to play, too.

He's so fucking cute.

Unbearably attractive and cute.

Sitting down there, his chest isn't exactly heaving, but he's not casually breathing either; still sweaty and flushed, his body is clearly begging for oxygen, leaving him at its mercy to completely fill and empty his lungs. As his chest expands, your eyes can help but wander down to the outline of his nipples through his clinging, painted-on, almost transparent shirt; they're hard and pointed, right there high on his pecs, so exposed.

Drawn in, you take a step closer to him, dragging your teeth over your bottom lip. Your boyfriend, spontaneously becoming a puddle on your floor... oh, no, whatever will you do?

"Don's gonna kill me someday," Sebastian finally manages, adding on, "I'm so tired," and host-to-god pouting up at you. Then, as if that isn't enough, he blinks at you. Those big eyes. If you didn't know better, you'd suspect he was batting those eyelashes at you. You do know better. You know he is.

Even when he's turned to liquid, too hot, too melted and tired, he's a tease. Brat, maybe, is a better word...

At least you don't mind soaking him up. Mopping him up? Either way, between the two of you, there's something there, something ironic about the way he melts, turns to molten liquid, anyone else would expect it'd be you, getting wet, and... yeah. A wider grin splits your mouth. You don't care if you look a little predatory, perhaps unhinged with desire. It's Sebastian's fault. Coming home. Sitting there. Looking like that. He's a sitting, slouching duck.

Realistically, he needs a shower. He's sweaty, and he smells like more than deodorant and laundry, how he did when he left, but you don't give a shit. You know what you need.

"I don't wanna get up," he huffs, hiding his hopeful smile by licking his too pink lips as you prowl another step closer.

Goddamn.

Again, you step closer, coming to stand in front of him. Standing over him.

"Then don't," one of your eyebrows creeps up, a challenge and raising an expression that makes you look imposing. You know it does simply by the way Sebastian reacts to you--his muscles relaxing even more, slouching into the wall a little more, his breathing getting just a touch heavier. He's so statifyingly easy.

A sigh slips out of his statically parted lips--the cherry on top.

"Too tired to get up?" You ask, "poor guy, stuck on the floor, hmm? Your muscles all sore, helpless andd--" your teasing words trail off as you move, gracefully moving into action, tapping his left wrist where it's balanced on his left knee with the pads of your fingers, patiently waiting not long at all for him to allow his sneaker-covered feet to slide odediently across the wooden floor. It leaves his legs straight, spread into an easy v.

Perfect.

You step neatly over him with one foot, positioning yourself to get into his lap without fret. Settling in easy as anything. You've had plenty of practice here. Still, he gasps when the back of your thighs and ass make contact with his body, separated by your own clothes and his soft, blue shorts. He's already hard. You can feel the heated line of him, pressing insistently against you. A deeper curl of heat hooks into you, pulling you toward him, letting your hands rest on his broad shoulders.

"--what ever are we gonna do about your delicate condition?" You pick up where you left off, cocking you head to the side at the same time that you lift a deft hand to cup his jaw, petting along it's sharp cut, "what ever am I gonna do about it?" You think out loud, correcting yourself.

Sebastian let's out a shuddering exhale.

"No thoughts?" You tease, gripping his cleft chin insistently. Not tightly, but firm.

"N-no," he concludes, even though you can feel him squirming underneath you, hardly reining himself in from grinding up against you. He wants something. But he's not going to ask for it, he likes it better when you decide what to do with him anyway.

"Hmm," you take a moment to really think, still struck by how attractive he is. Even gym-sweaty and a little gross--especially gym-sweaty. It's a good fucking look.

Inspiration strikes.

You let your hands fall from his face, relishing inside at the soft sound he makes, so weak for your touch, and instead blaze a path down his throat to his collarbones that wing out into his shoulders, down his arms, then back up.

"I ever tell you how handsome you are?" You look up from where your fingertips catch on his shirt sleeves.

Immediately, the bridge of Seb's nose is red, back to that post-gym glow and then some. Underneath you, his strong thighs tense, reacting viscerally to the praise. Enjoying.

You huff something of a laugh. He's just so precious. "Is that a no?" Your hands keep moving in parallel with your lips, exploring him all over again; he's spread out just for you, so you might as well. Jesus. You can't resist squeezing his arms as you scoot higher on his lap, really pressing your hips together as you feel him up, his muscles still pumped and hard after use. "'Cause you are, you're gorgeous," the words come out rougher around the edges than you mean, something snapping, arousal igniting from sparks to a smolder.

As red as he already was, his color flushes darker, eyes darting away. Shy.

"You're so fucking handsome, so pretty," you bring your squeezing hands up, pressing into his muscle enough to make the ache in them resurface as you take ahold of his shoulders.

Another noise bubbles up from Sebastian's chest, both a reaction to the words and to the sensation. He's always enjoyed pleasure with an edge--if not a soft, throbbing ache than outright pain. Sharp and overwhelming, stealing his breath, leaving him without the ability to focus on anything but how good it feels. How much it hurts. How hot and irresistible it is. Between lapping waves, pulses, of heat low inside you, you feel Sebastian getting hotter, too. Parallel. His dick twitches beneath you.

You feel wicked.

You haven't even done anything yet! Just told him the truth. And it makes you dangerous, knowing so much truth and being unafraid to say it to him. To pull each reaction, so sensitive, out of him without mercy.

"I can't believe it sometimes, y'know, honey?" You slip your hands down his back, hot between the wall and his shapely trapezius muscles, his well-sculpted shoulder blades, the line of his spine, and farther. The smoothed muscles of his back, sides, and chest m strain as his lungs expand, sucking in air, feeding the fiery combustion you know is thriving in his gut.

You reach the small of his back and push into the curve of his spine until he arches with you, falling against your chest. His lips brush your chest just below your collarbone, high above your breasts, but you feel your nipples tighten anyway.

"Yeahh," you sigh, letting your head fall back with the weight of your skull, "'s unbelievable."

His humid breath soaks through your clothes, nuzzling into you. God, you wish you fucking took your clothes off before you got into his lap because, Jesus Christ, how are you going to leave now? Your hips buck down against the line of his erection, and your hands dig into his sore muscles harder.

"Oh!" He exclaims in a sharp exhale.

Just for that, heated, you roll your hips more intentionally against him. Just a few times. You know you both have the same thoughts crowding your minds, dirty--the last time you did something like this. Except, last time, his arms were spread, wrists tied back to the headboard, back to the sturdy frame, sitting up with you in his lap, bouncing, your tits in his face, in his mouth, his wet tongue and soft lips and sharp teeth, his sweet sounds muffled as you took pleasure from him. His cock deep inside you, curved and thick.

Now, easily, he curls forward to give you space to touch him. Eagerly wilting or blooming, you can't say, too distracted. Either way, he surrenders so beautifully.

"I look at you, and, mmhh," you clench your thighs around his waist, tight, when he kisses the hollow of your throat lushly, almost panting into what he can reach of your skin, "I-I'm pretty sure I'm losing my goddamn mind because nobody just looks like that."

Speaking of, you already miss his stupidly attractive face, and so, without hesitation, your fingers thread themselves into his thick, wavy hair and peel him off of you, your heat fuzing you together. He goes with a silent moan, mouth hanging open.

"Yeah, look at that face," you tell him, tipping your head down to stare openly, directly, hungrily, tugging at his hair. The way his eyelids droop heavily, shadowing his darkened eyes, is wildly attractive, lulled so effectively by the praise and light pain. Not even pain, just sting. Again, you've not done anything. Barely anything, yet...

Oof.

Here he is, drunk on it.

Yet another hit of electricity strikes you, leaving you rocking in his lap, grinding minutely against him, as slow as the ache inside you can take. The smoldering embers start to crackle. Fanned and growing.

"Fuck believing it," you purr at him, now dragging your nails against his scalp so he shivers with the tingling, teasing sensation, the sting much stronger now, "I can't take it," your other hand smooths down his chest, feeling the well-earning, hard muscles. "It's not good for me, Seb. You have too much pretty, baby." He makes a wanton sound that embarrasses him more, judging by the way he quivers and lets go of another helpless, punched-out gasp.

As a reward, you circle one of his nipples with your thumb. He shivers harder. Pleasured and teased. Then, worse, you grind harder, your insides knotting up. Tightening. You can feel the sticky wetness of your arousal really beginning to dampen your panties. You're both going to need a shower after this.

"I don't know how we get anything done," you sigh," letting go of his hair to massage his chest muscles, just this side of harsh, you want him to feel the tender ache.

A murmur of your name falls from his open lips after he licks them, leaving them shiny and too alluring. The desire to sit on his face rises inside you so intensely it's fucking violent. You want.

Fuck.

Flames crackle and dance through your body. Hot. Deep. Echoing and making you feel the heat again and again.

"Doesn't matter what you're wearing, what you're doing. But, ugh, God, when you're in pre-production mode," indulging yourself, you wriggle, restless with the erotic images flashing through your mind's eye, "working out and--" a sighing, hot noise falls out of you, letting the rest of your sentence fall away, distracted again. Reminded of how he looks right now. Today. Underneath you. "You look like a statue, you know that?"

He peeks up at you through his lashes, biting his bottom lip and, fuck, what're you supposed to do but go for blood? As much as you want him to believe every word, there's something about the shyness, too... that big-eyed, unsure, but oh-so trusting stare. It's like a dagger of erotism straight through the heart. A deadly weapon, you swear, those eyes, cutting you open and filling you with molten desire.

Fingers teasing his nipples, circling, rubbing, pinching you let his breathless sounds underscore more praise, "you look like you belong in a museum with a special plaque, just for you, begging people to mind their manners and not touch."

"I don't--" he half-chokes, half-wines.

"You do," you insistently flick one of his nipples, showing your teeth when he really, actually whines. "It's not their fault, though, Seb. Is it?"

Obediently, he shakes his head just once. Hard. Barely able to look away from you for a moment, even if it's just to answer you.

"One look at you, and they forget themselves, don't they?" You kiss his high, sharp cheekbone, relishing in his blushing, feverish heat. "They just want a piece of you. They'd touch and grope and eat you up if they could. I mean, fuck, just look at yourself, baby--"

He looks down. You know all he sees is your hands on him, you in his lap, you don't mind. Still, you coo at him, "good boy." If for nothing else than to feel his heart beat wildly against your palms feeling up, groping, massaging his chest. His heart working hard to surge lust-thick blood to his cock. He must be aching worse than you are. All you can think about is how wet you're getting, how tight your chest feels, how much you want to touch yourself and, goddamnit, you know what-?

Arching your back--growing hotter with his hoarse groan of desire, his gaze heavy on your tits--you manage to tear a hand off of Sebastian's body. Instead of him, you put it on yourself, sliding your fingers down, down, down from under your boobs to your stomach and lower. Caressing yourself.

Sebastian's breathing speeds up, his eyes locked onto your every move. Fervently watching despite the fact that you're fully clothed. The attention is heady.

Finally, arriving at your destination--slowly, teasingly, you slide your hand beneath the waistband of the fabric entrapping you, seperating your bodies so thinly and yet so devastatingly, too. So close. So far.

Under your shorts and panties, you can really fucking feel how hot you are for this. For him. So aroused it's humid. Sticky, wet heat. You feel it, and Sebastian hears it--the second you start to touch yourself, the lewd sounds announce it. Both the tempting noises of your fingers sliding down your pulsing, swollen slit, finding where you're soaked to bring the slickness up and rub tight circles around your clit, electric, lush, and the ripped-out noise of a moan.

Oh, God.

Your fingers tease yourself, touch yourself, and press against your clit, stealing your own breath from your lungs. Rather than clenching your thighs around his solid waist, you let your legs spread wide, easing a gratifying, punched-out moan from Seb.

Your breath catches as you think of what it'd be like if were naked right now, he'd see everything, the rhythm of your fingers as you pleasure yourself, the sight of your pussy, wet and hot and plump, aching for him, so ready. Without clothes, you could spread yourself wider, too. Show him more. Then, it'd be so easy for him to slide into you, too. It'd feel so good. Thick and, "mmmmguh," you moan, wordless. Pressing harder, grinding against your hand more than you grind down against him, pleasure ramping up.

Sebastian has started to pant harshly, interrupted by stuttered starts and stops of words. Probable begs to be allowed to touch you inside or choked-off wishes to fuck you. Feel you around him--his fingers, his cock, anything.

Anything.

Abruptly, too horny to stau put together, you think about his abs. Yeah. The way his abdomen goes taut and hard with the jerk of his hips, muscles flexing, and then your thoughts spiral further. Thinking. Thinking. Thinking about being wet and slipping and sliding, grinding against his stomach, above his cock, taking pleasure but giving nothing to him. Relishing in how he arches and pleads under you, pushing into you--folding against you. He doesn't get anything while you get everything. Controlling him. Gorgeous and strong and all. Leaving him so hard and engorged, the veins in his cock emboldened, the throb of his pulse when you finally take him inside of you, clenching, moaning through your gritted teeth, feeling it as he fucks you, pushing back, taking more of it, taking it--

Your eyes open, only now aware they were shut in the first place. Now could you? You just have to look at him.

You're so hungry you can't resist sliding your fingers down and pressing one, then two inside yourself. Quick. You're so wet. Soaked. Fingering yourself faster, you cry out, bucking against your own hand to catch the heel of it, needing pressure on your clit as the heat of your orgasm builds deep inside you. Tight. Hot. Pleasure knotting up deep inside you and making more wetness drip out of you. Your panties might as well be ruined. You don't care; you want it even while your thighs quiver.

"Seb!" You moan, squirming as he stares, eyes glued between your legs, watching you as if you are naked, so seduced by how you've put yourself on display, unable to stop the show now that you're so far in, so deeply effected by him, his pretty face and unreal body. Sebastian, Sebastian, Sebastian, your mind reels. "L-look at me," you gasp, as much of an order as you can manage when you're so close.

He does.

You moan.

"Th-that's it, sweetheart," he couldn't blush harder if he tried, "that's it, lemme see all that face, oh, oh God," your nails bite into his hip, needing something, anything to hold onto as it builds up, it builds, and builds, it's coming! Coming--breaking.

Breaking.

Tripping over his name and falling into more praise, "guh-god, you're so fucking pretty, I, mmmgh, I, fucking, fuck, I can't stand it. You're so hot. Jesus, Seb, do you know what you do to me? L-look at me and wh-what you do to, to me, oh, Seb!"

You orgasm wetly. Loudly. Wailing through gritted teeth. Body shuddering--shattering in clenching waves.

Ohh.

The look on Sebastian's face when you finally manage to rip your eyes open again--the overwhelming sensations slowly fading despite your chest still heaving from your release--is devastating. He looks drunk. Dumbfounded. Stupid in the best way.

All over again, you quiver. That expression, so thick with lust, dives down, hitting you straight between the legs--combining, deadly, with the sensitive last dregs of your orgasm, leaving your toes curling.

It's so goddamn arresting that all you can do is steal your hand from between your legs, fingers glistening, sticky wetness dripping down your palm toward your wrist, and hold it out toward him.

An offering.

One that he takes sweetly, mouth is hot and wet, velvety, around your fingers. Sucking. Licking. Groaning at your taste, swallowing, and taking it deep into him.

Breathy, you ask, "are you recovered enough to join me in the shower?"

As you tease with your words, you can't be bothered to be coy any other way, so you shove your fingers deeper into his lush mouth. He doesn't choke, but his eyes water regardless. And the sound that comes out of him, muffled and broken, might've been a sob.

Aw.

You can't resist when he cries, pleading and worked up so hard. Guh.

If you made it to the end, thanks for reading, lmao 😘

[joelswritingmistress]

You Scare Me, Professor: Chapter 1

Summary: The reader is taking graduate classes at a local university in the wooded upstate New York. She is drawn to her professor, Dr. Joel Miller, though she is also inherently aware that he has something dark about him that she can't quite put her finger on. As the reader's attraction grows deeper, she has to decide whether to endure the danger or run away as fast as possible.

Eventually Pairing: Professor Joel Miller x f!reader

Abnormal Psychology. It was among the final requirements to successfully complete the Master's Degree I had been working on for nearly two-and-half years.

Slow and steady wins the race. It was a common mantra that I continually used to motivate and justify the turtle-like pace of my educational progress. Working full time and refusing to take online courses were the two main factors contributing to the prolonged nature of my tenure at Woodbridge University. I had nothing against online learning. It just simply wasn't for me. Call me a geek but I genuinely enjoyed the classic classroom setting.

It was mid January. The younger generation of college students were loathing their frigid trek to whatever night classes they had been forced into signing up for the semester before. It was an assumption; though I had been there, done that. I knew what they were feeling on that first night of spring semester classes. As an adult, my feelings had transformed. I was eager.

The seventy-thirty class began right on time and I could still taste the dinner on my breath that I had hurried to inhale in the car on my ride in. The thought exited my mind as quickly as it had entered when the professor walked in, promptly shutting the oversized mahogany door behind him and locking it.

The click echoed off the walls of the stadium-style auditorium and everyone appeared to freeze where they sat. No professor in all of my graduate or undergraduate studies had ever locked the door.

What if there's a fire? That was my first, anxious thought. Again, it swiftly floated away when the finely-dressed stranger before us began to speak. His voice was deep; a bit scratchy. It felt like his vocal chords were made to narrate one of those Planet Earth shows.

"I'm sure you all know by now my name is Dr. Miller. If you didn't know at least that much by now.." He paused as he sat down on the edge of an oversized, wooden desk centered perfectly at the head of the room and removed a pair of glasses. ".. I'd have to wonder how the fuck you made it this far in your education."

My eyebrows lifted at his casual use of profanity in the first introductory sentence. I looked to my left and right, as most of the others in the class did, and amongst the silence there were a few stray chuckles that tested out the room's acoustics.

When I looked back, Dr. Miller was smirking. "Well that woke you up, didn't it?" He rose to his feet again and put his hands out to the sides. "Look.. I know you're all working. Maybe some of you have families. Maybe not. It's seven-thirty at night and you'd probably rather be getting ready to watch The Bachelor with a glass of wine."

There was more collective laughter now and his eyes scanned the room, both amused and almost as if they were searching to see who was smiling and who was still cautious. There was a genuine, curious nature to the way his eyes danced over the crowd.

"This class will be worth your while," he went on. "You're here for a reason and I intend to pump those big brains of yours with all the information I can." Dr. Miller smiled wider now, highlighting a pair of boyish dimples beneath a trim, salt and pepper beard, "Welcome to Abnormal Psychology."

He sure knew how to captivate an audience. The delivery of the first bout of information had me laughing, pondering answers to questions I never would have thought of and desperately scribbling notes down in my yellow, ninety-eight cent notebook as the class progressed.

I was so interested and so intrigued that I hadn't realized that class was on the verge of concluding until Dr. Miller uttered his words of departure. "I'll see you next class."

And just like that, the first Abnormal Psychology class had ended. I sat there for several seconds before rising to my feet, slinging my backpack over one shoulder and then gave a generous stretch toward the ceiling before beginning my slow climb down the wide, oversized steps.

Half of the class had piled out by the time I reached the ground level. I passed by Dr. Miller and, for some reason, didn't have the confidence to look in his direction.

"So, what'd you think? Hooked yet?" His voice cut through the air and more or less grabbed me and spun me around in his direction. I didn't even know if he was speaking to me until our eyes locked.

"Me?" I glanced over my shoulder - another habit that highlighted my inner insecurities. When I saw his smirk, an expression that I knew held all kinds of unspoken wit behind it, I decided to respond. "Yeah."

Say something else. I couldn't think. I never did well with being put on the spot. Still, I was eager to maintain a conversation.

"I'm really interested in Abnormal Psych. I've been looking forward to this class since I started my Master's."

"The delivery.." he went on, "What did you think? Too much?"

"Just right," I responded too coolly. I almost impressed myself. A red blush filtered into my cheeks and the nervous laugh I let out killed any type of confidence I appeared to have going for me.

Dr. Miller smiled and right then I decided that I thought he was handsome. Crimson filled my cheeks a little deeper and I glanced up toward the few stragglers who were still getting their things together halfway up into the seating area. It was my only means of a quick distraction before I turned back to face my new, slightly unorthodox professor.

He hadn't looked away, and I swallowed hard. "Thanks.." It was all I could manage and I gave a fleeting wave before heading out into the hallway.

It was as if I was reentering the world after being put in a trance for two hours.

On the drive home I wondered if anyone else had felt the same effects that I had. Were the other students in my class still thinking about the class like I was? Did they find Dr. Miller to be the perfect combination of intelligent and.. cool? Was cool even the right word?

Smooth, I corrected the description in my mind and then immediately shook my head. What was I even thinking about? I had known the man for two hours.. two.. and here I was passing judgment as if he we had been in each other's company for an appropriate amount of time to match my opinion.

In my final conscious, cognitive thoughts of the night I, again, reflected back on the fascinating opener of Abnormal Psychology and the riveting professor that taught it. No class I had ever taken was ever interesting enough to consume my final thoughts of the day.

Even less, they never made it into my nightly dreamscapes or nightmares. That night, the images that danced their way into the multiple cortexes of my brain where dreams were concocted were a troubling combination of both.

I heard Dr. Miller's indistinguishable voice narrating the ordeal as I was lost in a forest. A sea of fog swallowed me whole though somehow I knew I was visible to something that was out there. It was haunting. I could not pinpoint what my professor’s role actually entailed. Was he trying to guide me? Hurt me? Lead me away from whatever dangers lurked?

It felt all-too-real when his hands clamped down on my shoulders, finally revealing his presence. I couldn't see his face, though I knew the pair of hands belonged to Dr. Miller.

My overemphasized gasp bridged the realms of dream and reality, and I sat up in bed, a cold sweat coating my body as my mind struggled to recognize my immediate surroundings.

“What the fuck..” I whispered to myself, eyeing the red numbers on the digital clock on my nightstand.

3:37. I sighed and laid back down eying the ceiling fan that swirled in circles around me. Yes, I was one of those people who still needed a fan to sleep in the middle of winter.

I closed my eyes again and it was like coming down off a high. Adrenaline made the thud of my pulse pound in my ears, as if actual quarter-sized drums had been implanted there. In that early morning hour my heart palpitated. Half of it was what I could only interpret as misplaced desire. The other half was outright fear. I never fell back asleep.

CLICK HERE FOR THE NEXT CHAPTER

[lilwetto]

Save a horse, ride a cowboy (18+)

Scrim x Y/N

Warnings: SMUT. Also will be written in third person BUT it might change to first since it's easier for me idk yet. might change it.

A/N this is my first scrim smut, so GO EASY ON ME. I also cannot do small paragraphs. I'M SORRY. I'm learning okay lmao, this is new to me all over again- this will not be light work, ok? Also would appreciate requests n shit, I want to actually test how far I can go with these while writing my stories on wattpad. I'll update whenever I can here, there's no hate here, only love. All my smut that I post here will be on my wattpad under LTE since I want to make an imagines book based on requests. It's difficult writing stories and trying to come up with ideas for imagines so pls give me ideas.

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It's been a month since you've heard from Scott, the two of you had been fighting on and off for the last three years, being in a relationship with him had never been an easy one. You had been best friends from the start to failed lovers now, he had written a verse about you in their song Escape from Babylon- talking about how you had gone from saying "I hate you" to "I love you", you've been in love with Scott since before the fame, however he had never felt the same way about you until a few years ago. 

Your last falling out, you decided to pack all of your shit and move out of the home you two shared. He was entertaining the females on tour and that seemed to be the last of your strength to stay in that relationship, leaving hurt the most since you felt like he never fought for you. 

Unfortunately, you’d have to see him again, you were their stylist for onstage attire and helping with the style of any music video any of them would be in. You knew Scott had a music video coming up, he had been writing a new album for the last year and a half. some new genres for him to try. Autotune being his best friend of course. 

You were dreading that phone call from their manager, Kyle. He knew your relationship with Scott was in fact all over the place, everyone could see that the two of you would always fall out, it was no secret that you were slowly starting to hate the person he had become. 

The last few minutes were peaceful yet horrible as you were pulled from your thoughts by the harsh ringtone of your iPhone. You groan out loud as Kyle’s name flashed across the screen, knowing you couldn’t ignore it. He paid you to do your job. 

“What?” You mumbled after accepting the call. 

“Nice to hear you’re cheery, Y/N.” His chuckle rattled your brain, rolling your eyes in disgust. “We need you to style this next video, come out to Chihuahuan Desert.” The fucking desert? Great. You think to yourself.

“When?” You mumble. You already knew the answer to your question, now. 

“Now would be great.” You look at the time. 

“Why the fuck are you guys picking closer to 11pm?” You didn’t want to leave the comforts of your bed. You managed to find a small apartment in New Mexico since your house with Scott was located in the middle of New Mexico. 

“Y/N, we’re not doing this again, be here in the next hour.” Kyle hung up on you, making you more annoyed than ever as you climbed out of bed and threw on some clothes that’ll keep you warm for the night. 

You drive your car to Chihuahuan Desert, seeing parts of the crew already setting up the lighting for this music video. Scott hadn’t released any new music yet, he had so much in the vault and was too picky to choose what he wanted to do with them all. 

You weren’t happy that they wanted to do this music video at stupid o’clock, parking your car and climbing out. You walk towards the group of people, seeing Kyle getting hands on. “Where is he?” You ask. Clearly not wanting to see or talk to Scott. 

“He’s in that trailer.” He pointed towards the trailer park looking as home. You rolled your eyes and walked up to the doors, knocking loudly as you hear a grumble and the words “come in.” 

Scott was looking over a few pieces of clothing, keeping his eyes locked onto the table as you stepped into the trailer. A part of you wanted to hug him tightly, but the other part wanted to cuss him out and cry. You were the only two in the trailer, looking over at the thousands of clothing that he couldn’t pick from. 

You grab a white oversized shirt, orange sweatshirt and a pair of his baggy jeans, placing them to the side as you looked over at his accessories. “What were you thinking of wearing?” You break the silence first. 

“Was thinking maybe this chain and bracelet.” Your hand brushes against his as the two of you go to pick up the same item. “Sorry.” You mumble quickly. 

Scott shrugs it off and plays it cool as he picks up the white cowboy hat and places it onto his head, a different look for him. He was branching out, picking up new styles from what he does in Suicideboys. 

“I want to say I’m sorry.” He started, catching you by surprise. Scott never apologized; he was stubborn as fuck when it came to him being wrong. In Scott’s eyes he was always right, who was the female in your relationship, huh?

“Doesn’t matter, I’m over it.” You say before you can even stop your words from rolling off the tip of your tongue. Scott wouldn’t like that answer and it felt foreign coming from you as you turned your back to leave the trailer to let him get dressed. 

“What?” His hand enclosed around your right upper arm, making you mentally groan. This is the last thing you wanted to deal with right now. “You don’t give a fuck about us?” 

You let out the biggest laugh as you turn your head to look at him. “That’s rich coming from you. Scott, it’s you who doesn’t give a fuck about us. I have chased you and pleaded and what would you do?” You huffed in annoyance as he turned you to face him. 

“You know I ain’t mean it like that, shawty.” He was doing his little cheesy grin, the one that would get him what he wanted as he bit on his lip. 

“Get changed, you asshole.” You wanted to leave because this always happened, it was always a cycle with Scott, and you were too tired to keep going around like a merry-go-round. 

He pulled your hands towards his belt, lingering your fingers over the cold metal piece. “I think I need some help.” He mumbled that grin still sitting on his lips made you want to slap it off. 

You thought about leaving, but somehow you were in a trance, helping him out of his clothes to change into these new ones. He reached around you, locking the door from behind you before he pressed you up against it. 

His arm outstretched beside your head, resting his hand on the door. “Suck it.” He mumbled, his other hand now holding your chin as his thumb grazed against your lower lip. 

Being the good girl that you were, you slowly got to your knees and with the help of Scott had his pants around his thighs. He was semi-hard, almost waving at you. Your eyes doe-like, stared up at him as you slowly stuck your tongue out. 

You tapped the head of his length against your tongue, you were going to tease him. Scott didn’t deserve to get it how he wanted it, you slowly run the tip of your tongue from the head to the base then back again before spitting at the end. 

He was trying not to moan, watching your every move like a predator stalking its prey. His thumb caressed your cheek as you eased him between your lips, gently nipping your teeth against his sensitive skin. This earned you a small groan from him, this was new, you hardly ever took the upper hand when it came to sex. 

“Y/N, stop teasing.” He grumbled, getting flustered by the lack of contact that he wanted. You peered up to his eyes, seeing the sparkle glistening in his eyes from the lights outside. 

Scott didn’t care much for people hearing and sometimes he didn’t care if anyone saw the two of you fuck, you were his girl and only his. He grabbed your hair in an attempt to get you to do what he asked. The game you were playing with him? Dangerous as hell. 

You pulled your head away, gazing up at him like a deer in the headlights. The look he always loved seeing on you. “Stop fucking playin, Y/N…” He was becoming agitated. 

“Who said I was playing, Scotty?” A small smirk finally appeared on your lips as his hand moved from your face to your hair in seconds, forcing you to be face-to-face with his now hardened length. 

He was throbbing, you could see it with the way it moved like it had a pulse. Your tongue touched the tip, jumping in excitement over a little bit of contact. Your lips finally making the contact that he so longed for, wrapping around his length caused Scott to groan under his breath. 

“Fuck..” Those words weren’t meant to be heard especially by you. He didn’t want you knowing that he had been missing you, his stubbornness stopped him from calling and texting you, refusing to sleep with any girl that threw themselves at him. 

He gripped your hair and slowly began to thrust his hips as he forced you to bob your head against them, taking the upper hand like he always done. You gagged slightly, feeling him hit the back of your throat. It had been awhile, moaning against him before he pulled himself out. 

He forced you up, pinning your back against the door as he roughly pulled your pants and panties off, standing on them to keep them in place so you could take them off without falling over. Scott grabbed your hand as he fell back against the couch, pulling you on top of his lap as he then eased himself inside of you. 

A low groan fell from his lips as he held your hips tightly, allowing you to move when you wanted to. The feeling of him stretching you out caused a soft whimper to burst from your throat, you had missed this feeling of him inside of you. 

You began to slowly rock your hips back and forth, each time you’d build more confidence in each roll forward. Your hands rested on his shoulders as you began to spell ‘coconut’ with your hips. 

“Holy shit… Y/N, you been watching videos or some shit?” His eyes peered from under the hat, licking his lips as he thought about devouring you right there and then.

You laugh under your breath which turned into a moan as Scott began to thrust up inside of you. His hands holding your hips firmly still as his hip movements became faster. His groans were filling the empty spaces as you began to rub circular motions against your clit, you refused to let him be the only one to cum. 

“Fuck… I can’t hold it anymore.” He mumbled, you took the hat from off his head and placed it onto your own. 

Your hips began to move faster against his own movements. Your moans becoming louder as he quickly covered your mouth, grunting as he filled you with his thick, warm load. You whimper under your breath as you feel yourself tighten around him, releasing yourself all over him.  

“Shit…” He chuckled quietly under his breath before placing a couple of soft kisses to your lips. “That was good.” 

You hum in response and slowly slide him out. “What can I say? I missed it.” You placed the hat back on his head and pulled your panties n pants back on before heading outside again. 

Everyone was staring over as you exited the trailer. “What?” You mumbled as Kyle came over. 

“The entire team heard the two of you..” He laughed, acting as if he was embarrassed for us. 

“What can I say? I like to save the horses and ride me a cowboy instead.”