#I know this wasn't what you were expecting.

[milkteabinniechan]

♡Sweet Like Honey - Chan

MINORS DNI 18+ ONLY MEMBERSHIP//M.LIST

pairing: husband! Chan x fem! reader

summary: As if meeting your husband for the first time at the altar wasn't nerve-wracking enough, now you two are on your tropical island honeymoon and you still haven't told him you're a virgin!

warnings: fluff, virgin reader, heavy kissing, cunnilingus, beach sex, insecure reader, soft Chan

Chan sleeps peacefully for a while longer before finally stirring, his eyelids fluttering open. As he sits up, he rubs his eyes, trying to shake off the remnants of his nap. His gaze falls upon his new wife, sitting nervously in a beach chair. “Hmm, you're still here.”

You turn your attention from the ocean waves to Chan’s face, giving him a curious look. “Did you think I'd run away?”

“I was half expecting you to.” He chuckles, his voice gruff from sleep. “Considering we barely know each other, and the fact that this was all arranged.” He shrugs. “But I’m glad you didn’t.”

You let out a long sigh of relief. “That's good.” You whisper as you turn your attention back to the sand, mindlessly drawing different shapes and patterns with your finger.

Chan watches you for a moment, studying your profile. He finds himself intrigued by your quiet demeanor and the way your fingers move absently in the sand. After a while, he speaks up again, his voice softer this time. “You know, we should probably talk about some things.”

Your shoulders tense as he speaks but you keep your face turned away from him. “Like what?”

“Like the fact that I’m a bit of a workaholic.” He grimaces. “And I snore when I sleep on my back.” He ticks off his fingers as he lists his quirks. “And I’m a bit of a clean freak.”

You chuckle softly, your shoulders already falling a bit as you begin to relax more and more by the second. “Well, I can be a tad messy at times,” you confess, “and I don't eat very well.”

Chan smiles at your response. “Okay, fair enough.” He pauses for a moment before broaching the subject he’s most nervous about. “And how about...physical matters?” He swallows thickly, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “Have you ever...?” his voice trails off but his honest eyes tell you what he's thinking without saying it. 

You shake your head slowly. Something squeezing your heart as you try to get the words out. “I've never had sex.”

His eyes widen slightly at your confession, a flicker of surprise and something else - perhaps understanding or even a touch of nervousness - crossing his face. He takes a deep breath before responding. “I see. Well, that's...okay. It's nothing to be ashamed of.”

“I'm not ashamed.” You respond quickly. And that was true. You had never been ashamed of waiting until your wedding day. But now that the day has finally arrived… “I'm just nervous.”

He nods, his expression gentle. “I understand. It's natural to be nervous about something so...intimate.” He sits up a bit straighter, his arms wrapping around his knees as he looks out at the ocean. “We can take things slow, okay? There’s no rush.”

You turn your body towards Chan. You were desperate to look into his eyes and search for any hint of malice or deception. “You mean that?” You whispered.

He turns to look at you again, his dark brown eyes meeting yours with sincerity. “I absolutely mean that.” He reaches out to gently take one of your hands in his. “This marriage may be arranged, but that doesn't mean we can't build something real together.”

Your heart swells at Chan's words. The honesty within them coats you like a warmth you had never felt before. Before you could catch yourself, you start to move towards him, your mouths just inches from one another. His breath hitches as you lean in, his heart pounding in his chest. The air between the two of you seems to still, the only sound is the distant rhythm of the ocean waves. Gently, he closes the distance, your lips meeting in a soft, exploratory kiss.

The first kiss you shared was at the altar when you said “I do.” It was so formal and uniform. But this kiss was different, more intimate. Like it was leading somewhere new. Chan deepens the kiss slowly, his hands coming up to cradle your face. His touch is gentle yet firm, coaxing you to open up to him. As the kiss becomes more passionate, he pulls you closer, so that you're sitting on his lap, your arms wrapped around his neck. Soon your hands move from his neck to his hair, letting your fingers tangle and comb through the dark locks. Your hips start to grind and move involuntarily against his lap. He breaks the kiss to bury his face in the crook of your neck, his breath hot against your skin. His arms tighten around your waist, stilling your hips with a low chuckle. "Easy there, sweetheart," he murmurs, nuzzling your neck. He nips gently at your neck, soothing the sting with another soft kiss. His hands roam up your back, tracing the curve of your spine through the light fabric of your nightgown. His voice is low and gruff as he speaks against your skin. “We should…”

“Yeah…?” You mumble against his neck.

“Go inside...” He trails off as your hips move against him once more, his body instinctively reacting to the innocent gesture. He groans, his forehead dropping to rest against your shoulder. “Before this goes too far on the beach.” He pulls back to look at you, his pupils dilated with desire.

You turn your head to either side, scanning the now deserted beach. The moon is now the only source of light for miles around. “Well, there isn't anyone else here.” You smirk. Your eyes were full and hopeful that Chan would get the hint. The sight of your king sized bed in that luxury suite was almost too much to bear. The thought of “performing” for the first time in a bed felt like too much pressure. But the beach…

He lets out a low laugh, his body shaking slightly beneath yours. He captures your lips in another deep kiss, his hands slipping down to your backside, squeezing gently. As the kiss deepens, he lays you back against the sand, covering your body with his own. You let out a soft whimper as your still shaking hands move across Chan’s broad chest. He captures your wandering hands in one of his own, bringing them up to his lips to place a soft kiss on your knuckles. His other hand trails down your side, fingertips grazing the edge of your nightgown. "We can stop at any time," he murmurs, his eyes searching yours.

You take a deep breath. Your eyes flicker from his lips to his eyes as the two of you breathe in unison for a moment. “I trust you.” You murmur.

Chan smiles softly at your words, a genuine warmth in his eyes. Slowly, he tugs at the hem of your nightgown, pulling it up and over your head. He takes a moment to admire your form in the moonlight, his hands skimming reverently over your dips and curves. “Beautiful.”

Your face turns a deep shade of red as Chan’s eyes roam over your naked form. Your hands move to cover your face almost reflexively.

"Don't," he says softly, gently pulling your hands away from your face. “Don’t hide from me, my love. You’re absolutely beautiful.” He leans down to capture one of your rosy peaks in his mouth, swirling his tongue around the bud. Your back lifts up and off the sand at the new sensation. Your legs already begin to spread apart from the heat that is growing. He lavishes attention on your breasts, alternating between soft suckles and gentle nips. His hand trails down your stomach, fingers splaying across your lower abdomen. He kisses a path down your body, his destination clear as he settles between your thighs. "I want to taste you,”

You bite your lip and nod your head softly. “No one has ever…”

Chan looks up at you, his eyes dark with desire and tenderness. "Then let me be the first, and the last." He dips his head, his tongue parting your folds in a slow, deliberate lick. He groans at your taste, the sound vibrating against your most sensitive flesh. He takes his time exploring you with his mouth, learning every inch of you, committing your responses to memory. He focuses on your clit, circling the bud with the tip of his tongue before suckling gently. His hands grip your hips, holding you steady as he pleasures you.

Your head falls back and presses into the sand beneath you. Your moans mix and mingle with the sounds of the waves crashing. He continues his sensual assault, alternating between long, slow licks and quick flicks of his tongue. He can feel you tensing, your thighs beginning to quake around his head. He doubles his efforts, determined to bring you to your peak. “That's it, my love…”

Your hips move in a new and unexplored rhythm against Chan's face as you work to ride out your orgasm. He holds you steady as you ride out your high, his tongue lapping up your release. He gentles his touch as you come down, placing soft kisses on your inner thighs. He crawls up your body, capturing your lips in a deep, passionate kiss, letting you taste yourself on his tongue.

He lets out a low groan as your heat presses against the hard ridge of his arousal still confined in his pants. He reaches between your bodies to unfasten his pants, shoving them down his hips. He lifts your hips, positioning himself at your entrance. He captures your gaze, his eyes seeking yours.

Everything stopped for a moment. Even the waves seemed to silence. Like the entire world was waiting to see what you would do next. The sand still felt warm beneath your head and the towel brushed against your skin as you opened your legs wider. An open invitation for Chan to take you to that new place. For him to be your first and your last. With a gentle yet firm thrust, he buries himself inside you, stretching you in ways you never thought possible. He pauses for a moment, savoring the feeling of being completely inside you. Then he begins to move, his hips rocking against yours in a slow, deliberate rhythm. “Mine.”

You lie still at first, your entire body unsure of what was going to happen next. But the familiar sensation of pleasure washed over you again. The waves crashed against the sand again. Chan kisses you tenderly, his touch becoming slow and languid. He takes his time, his hands caressing your body as he moves inside of you with slow, deep thrusts. Two souls once separate we're becoming one. The cool air danced around you as the two of you, bathed in moonlight, found a new home within each other.

taglist: @simply-trash5 @sugawhaaa @trixiekaulitz @chrizzztopherbang @cassidymb121 @roanns-posts @staysinbloom @yaorzu-blog @bubblebisk @cotton-candycloudz @beautyinhypnosis @domicaru @strawberry31 @slxtmeri @newhope8 @tinyelfperson @dandelions-143 @stayyyyyyyyyyyy21 @msauthor @fun-fanfics @ell0thebell @stephanieeeyang @juskz @kimahreummm @readr1221 @kayleefriedchicken @ovulatingrn @hwnglixho @darthmaddie25 @queen-in-the-shadows @itgirlalisaa @miinhoo @greyaia @chanchansgirly @skzleeknowcore @skz-smut-reader @thatisrankharry @hearts4yawnzzn @jchotch726 @cherricola-star @minh0scat

[dedalvs]

With all due respect sir, and I know you've been through a hell of a lot of elections, the politics of this country have been shifting more right wing for a couple of years now and I doubt .4% of people voting for a third party would have made a fucking difference when no one in this country even listens to the popular vote

I expected that many would miss the point of the post I made—even though I literally said in the post "The point wasn't to get votes for a third party candidate"—screenshot in case you missed it:

It is voter suppression. It is always voter suppression. That was the point. It is to keep people home. The third party candidates, the fantasy candidates ("How can you vote for x candidate when theoretical y candidate who isn't in this election is so much more liberal?!"), that's the distraction. It is always about getting voters to stay home and not cast a vote. I don't know how I can make that any clearer.

Even in cases where a specific third party candidate's vote total might have made the difference (in 2000 Bush won Florida by 537 votes while Ralph Nader, many of whose voters were more allied with Gore than Bush, received 97,421 votes), the answer is never "Why did you vote for a third party candidate?", it's "Why didn't more Floridians come out to vote?" After all, with many of those third party voters, IF they were forced to choose between two candidates only, maybe they wouldn't have voted at all, so it wouldn't have made a difference. In this year's election, most third party votes went to candidates that leaned conservative, so if they weren't there, maybe Trump gets more votes in those states, not fewer.

No, listen, I don't know how to make this clearer: THE PROPAGANDA IS TO GET VOTERS NOT TO VOTE. It is ALWAYS to get voters not to vote. How they do it changes with the election, but the goal is always to get voters to stay home.

Also, in case you think I'm blaming Gen-Z, I was hoping referring to the history would set the concern aside (they weren't there in 2000). It's not a generation's fault. It is simply failing to recognize propaganda and what it is ultimately trying to get you to do. In this case, it's the same thing every time: to not vote. The liberals vs. ultra-liberals thing is a fiction to drive down liberal turnout.

I know it's been said many times, but if voting weren't important, Republicans wouldn't care about it. Truly, when they don't care about voting, that's the time to truly be frightened, because it means at that point voting is no longer relevant to the process.

(Btw I tried to tag this post and the last one with enough tags to let those who don't want to see it filter it out. I hope I've done enough of them.)

[dwarf-vader-of-middle-earth]

Woah. Holy shit. Thank you for translating this, sincerely, and I just... wow.

Especially in terms of education and health, these are incredible conditions in literally every single aspect.

In the USA, if your child is struggling in school and needs to have a teacher's aide, or if they need to be in SPED (special education) courses to accommodate their disability, or if they just need any educational accommodation whatsoever, the child cannot request these. The parents need to approve it for them, to the school, and that is final. That is law. The child can't do anything but grovel and beg for help with the decision of adults taken into account and the child's being entirely meaningless.

You know what happens then?

"Oh, my child doesn't need this help!! Wait, why is my child failing every course? They're stupid and need to do better. Oh, now my child claims they're depressed because I keep calling them stupid, but they just have to try harder. Crap now my child is dead by their own hand and they blamed it on me before they died."

I've seen this shit happen constantly.

My own friends were put on suicide watch lists because of these sorts of issues.

I myself endured this shit growing up. I wanted to be in SPED math courses because it was far too difficult to manage the regular math without any help at all. My parents refused to admit I needed any help, but neither understood the math I was doing and therefore couldn't help me, and you know what happened? I failed years of math, my parents kept telling me I wasn't trying hard enough, and every day until I graduated I legitimately just wanted to die because by law I was not allowed to stop attending school, and I wasn't receiving the help I needed in order to succeed. My teachers taught classes of over 20 students each, and one teacher to 20 students who spends the entire hour and a half lecturing us can't spend the whole day with me alone trying to teach me concepts I can't grasp.

With health it's just as bad.

I've met kids who go to black market sources to get their medications and medical care because their parents won't allow it for religious reasons. 16 year olds who told me that because they are Jehovas Witness they can't take anything or get vaccines, and so they buy their prescriptions from overseas and have them discreetly sent to them, then they hide the medications.

I've had friends who the moment their parents found said medications, they dumped them into the toilet and disposed of them so their child couldn't take them, claiming those meds aren't necessary when they absolutely are.

Heart medications, muscle medicine, mental health meds, steroids for organ transplants.

And the child can't request refills because by law you must be 18 or older to advocate for medical things, or anything at all.

There is a reason the USA sets us up for failure, and this is it. When you're a kid you grow up powerless in legitimately every conceivable way, and the moment you're 18 you're told to just advocate for yourself suddenly.

No one tells you how. They just say to do it. Make your own phone calls for things, go get this accommodation, ask for that thing on your own.

They don't teach you what to say, how to ask for that, how to handle... any advocacy. Nobody is aware of the resources they have or how to find them. You're legitimately thrust into the world of adulthood with the knowledge that everything is suddenly your responsibility and good fucking luck with the rest!

That is why USA adulthood is so stressful because we did not have a voice as children and we did not have help as children, and now we are adults expected to take the full brunt of everything all at once without any practice, assistance, help, or preparation.

And that is unacceptable.

I wish the USA had Rights of the Child. In every regard I wish we would fucking implement this.

Because no child deserves to suffer in total silence with their issues ignored by the parents who are the end all be all of their advocacy.

I cant believe this tweet is how I find out

[codnasties]

cod characters fucking fleshlights

this post includes: soap, ghost, gaz, price, graves, konig & alejandro

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soap 🧼- the one that takes his time

now, this ain't soap's first time using a fleshlight. he started with a tenga egg or something like that, just for the sake of trying something that wasn't his hand. and i just know that troughout the years he has created a decently sized collection with a lot of varietiy: fleshlights imitating pussies, asses, mouths,... even if a man like him could easily pull a pretty lass to fuck, with the job he has and what it requires of him, it isn't always ideal.

but there is one thing that soap does, no matter weather he's fucking one of his partners or a plastic replica: he takes his time. stroking himself tentatively before lubing his dick up and loweing the fleshlight onto his hard on until he's balls deep. and when i say he fucks it as if it were a real person i mean it. he's fucking int in diferent positions, jerking himself with it but also fucking into it, both slow and fast until cums all over himself

· · ────── ꒰ঌ·✦·໒꒱ ────── · ·

ghost 👻- the stretcher

ghost sometimes has to ask himself if he's really that big and thick or if it's just that the one or two fleslights he owns are way too fucking small. he doesn't know, but he very much loves it. there is something about the size difference, the way the plastic stretches to fit him and how he can perfecly see it expanding as he pushes his dick deeper into it that makes him go feral.

now, other than his size kink goin brrr, he finds himself swiping his cock against the flesglight's pussy-like entrance, as if he were teasing a real cunt, before fucking himself slowly into it. he's mersmerized by the plastic doll completely swallowing up his aching hard dick until he's balls deep. he also intends to pull out - just to save himself some clean up - but he finds himself so overwhelmed by the feeling and visuals that he just fill the fleshlight up with his potent cum - more than once, at that -.

· · ────── ꒰ঌ·✦·໒꒱ ────── · ·

gaz 🧢- mess making perpetrator

this may be my most repeated gaz headcanon but he's a mess maker and there is no deniying. when he get's home from a mission or something like that and he doesn't feel like trying to find a partner to fuck, he always has a trusty fleshlight. the thing is, he doesn't even make it to the bedroom most of the time, deciding to just fuck it in his livingroom.

he just plunged deeply into the plastic pussy, stretching the plastic over his limit because his dick is too long for the small fleshlight, almos breking it. the pent up hornyness and the feeling of something other than his hand wrapped around his dick sending him into an orgasm faster than he expected. he pulls out to first his impossibly hard cock when he feels himself about to cum. and he stains the sofa with it as the mess perpetrator that he is - and let me tell you, it ain't the first time he's had to clean his seed out of that sofa.

· · ────── ꒰ঌ·✦·໒꒱ ────── · ·

price 🚬- the first timer

price is an older and more traditional man, he would rather fuck another person than some piece of plastic. but he keps hearing his men talk about fleshlights, how good they feel,.. and all that combined with the fact that he ain't getting younger, he's extra tired and trying to find a partner with a job like his is tedious, he decides to get himself a fleshlight just to try it out of curiotisty.

what he did not expect was that god forsaken piece of plastic would feel that fucking good. all it took was some slow deep strokes into it before he found himself cumming. and at that moment his lust filled brain took over and he started fucking himself into the fleshlight again, trying to extend the pleasure of the orgasm. let's say he now fully understands why his men praise them plastic holes.

· · ────── ꒰ঌ·✦·໒꒱ ────── · ·

konig 🗡- the nasty fucker

lets be real, konig is fleshlight collector number 2. anxiety gets the best of him so he would rather to make do with some plastic pussy or ass than having to deal with the hassle of interacting with people. his not that experiended ass is fucking enamoured by the feeling of and ass or pussy, even if it isn't a real one.

now, konig allways finds himself doing two thing every time he uses one of his fleshlight. a. he moans. like a bitch in heat. he can't help it, it just feels overwhelingly good to have something wrapping tightly around his unexperienced cock. and the fact of finally getting some release. b. he makes messes - yup, mess making perpetrator no. 2 -. spit, precum, lube and cum mixing all together, covering his dick, hands and fleshlight as he fucks himself dumb and slaps his dick all over yhe plastic ass.

· · ────── ꒰ঌ·✦·໒꒱ ────── · ·

graves 🪦 - the stressed

now, these military men always find themselves stressed out, it's a part of the job. but for graves, said job and the tension that it generates have kept him away for some time now from a real pussy or ass. so a fleshlight is a good alternative, giving him all that he needs to reach some much needed release.

the few occasions he has had enough time to indulge in some pleasure, he's going to make the most of it. alternating slow, sensual deep strokes and fast shallow ones. hands making sure that the fleshlight stays in place as he plunges into it chasing an orgasm and moanig at the sweet feeling of release. he for sure cums deep inside of the plastic masturbator, because it may be plastic, but he loves creampie-ing it the same way he would creampie a real person.

· · ────── ꒰ঌ·✦·໒꒱ ────── · ·

alejandro 🤠 - the tip teaser

alejandro doesn't strike me as the type of person that would have a proper fleshlight, you know? instead of a piece of plastic that fully engulfs his dick he has one of those quickshot ones. a transparent one at that. it gives him a lot of options, from fully jerking his cock with it to just teasing his tip.

and oh does he love to tease his tip! using that comact masturbator to play with his angry red bulbous tip. pushing just the head in and out, sometimes tilting it to make his dick pop out of the fleshlihgwith a wet noise. and seeing his cock breach into the plastic, dick twitching at the feeling, his stomach spasming from the sensation... he always inevitably cums all over himself, staining his hard shaft, lower hairy stomach, thights and even the quilt.

[marzipanandminutiae]

Why I fucking hate "The Handmaid's Tale" comparisons to real life (ie "this means THT is going to come true!!!")

that was not an elected government in the story. it was a fringe group that slaughtered the entire US government and took control by force. which makes little sense if you think about it, but that's because it doesn't matter HOW the dystopia happened; it just had to be there for the fiction to make a comment upon the author's present.

Dystopia is never a future prediction. see above: it's always a comment on the present in which it's written

That is massively fucking insulting to women who have actually lived with systemic oppression. They don't have to take away your name or your ability to read and write or put you in a color-coded costume. That's not what violent systemic misogyny looks like, because we KNOW what it looks like.

Sarah Emerson (1762-1784) could absolutely read. Based on what was expected of wealthy girls in her era, she probably spoke at least two languages- English and some French -as well as having knowledge of household accounting, basic first aid, history, literature, drawing, music, etc. She was still married to a man in his twenties when she was fourteen, because he wanted the inheritance her parents had left her (property she owned because, yes, women COULD own property back then). His family disapproved- they called her "the child bride" -but it still happened.

Women in the 19th century who couldn't vote, were discouraged strongly from public speaking (as in, speeches, not conversation), who sometimes had no control over that property they could in fact own, if they married, did normal things. They laughed and cried and petted cute animals. They spoke their minds. They wore what they wanted, albeit with societal constraints. They had names and voices and they still had so few rights under the law.

Women who died from backalley abortions as late as the 1960s could read and write. They had jobs. They dressed in ways we wouldn't consider remarkable today. They voted. They had access to the fucking pill, for gods' sakes. And yet that still happened to them. And yet they still died because the government didn't care about their lives as much as clumps of cells inside them.

Shirley Jackson (1916-1965) was a popular author with a rapier wit that she wasn't above using freely, living once again in a time we'd recognize many features of today. she married a Jewish man over the objections of...well, most of society back then, really. the nurse still wrote "housewife" for her career when she said "writer," during hospital admission to deliver her daughter Sarah

and that's all without getting into the double-damnations of women who aren't white, who aren't Christian, who aren't straight or cisgender. women in non-western countries where some of those things- like clothing laws or movement restrictions -have come to pass, but still not all and not in that way precisely

It doesn't have to be The Handmaid's Tale. In fact, it usually isn't, historically speaking. It's Call the Midwife. It's Harlots. It's Hidden Figures. it's Carol. It's astonishingly normal, among normal women living relatively normal- even happy lives, many of them.

Don't insult their memories by implying that it has to be speculative fiction to be real.

[itsonlyjoseph]

Make Me Hurt || Eddie Munson x Reader

synopsis: Y/N lives her life coping torment from Eddie Munson day in and day out, but after a certain encounter, everything changes

warnings: Bully!Eddie, angst,

word count: 4.5k

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The fluorescent over head lights bounced off the white linoleum and burned into your eyeballs. It was currently 8:30 am and the morning rush of Hawkins High School had already began.

People gathered in their cliques around the parking lot and in the halls. Cheerleaders, jocks, band geeks, honour roll student, slackers, stoner, all of them.

You were by yourself, obviously, as you trudged your way down the hall towards your locker. You hated this school for many reasons. The food, the facilities, the people. Actually, mainly just one person. Eddie Munson.

Eddie Munson... were to begin...

He was a tall, dark, metalhead who hated everyone and everything and he made it known. Eddie wasn't popular by any means. He too was an outcast. Him and his friends dubbed satanists and cultists by everyone around them, and even though you too were an outcast, you were an even bigger loser than him. He made it known that you were dirt beneath his dirty white sneakers. Sure, he'd felt that way about everyone but for some unknown reason, it was personal with you. He made your entire high school career a living, breathing hellscape.

You didn't even know what you did to him to make him target you personally. You had barely ever spoken to him, aside from when you had to. Eddie wasn't the most approachable guy so people rarely went up to him unless they were looking to end the day with less teeth. He was happy get into his fair share of school yard fights.

You felt the atmosphere change as your ears perked up at the familiar sound of sneakers slapping the floor. You sighed out an already exhausted breath, just knowing that today would be no different than any other day.

Just as the footsteps got closer, you felt a large, rough hand grip your shoulder and swing you around. You came face to face with Eddie's broad chest, making you look up timidly to his his sneering face staring you down. He had a look of hatred that always sent a wave of anxiety and sadness through you.

What did I ever do to you?

"Hi." You squeaked out, meekly.

"I told you to keep your shit out of the Hellfire room." He seethed.

Ah, yes. The Hellfire room. An empty class room down in the west wing that Eddie and his friends occupied every day. No one knew what actually happened in there. Many people said they did their devil stuff in there. Once, someone even said they sacrificed a baby lamb in there. You didn't believe that one. Much.

"But I haven't been down there." You tried to defend yourself. Eddie didn't care. His fist came up and collided with the locker behind your head before he walked away.

You didn't know what stuff Eddie was talking about. You really hadn't been down there. At least not with any item to leave behind. Maybe he just wanted a reason to torment you.

Eddie wasn't the only person that tormented you. You also had to cop it from the jocks and cheerleaders. They called you names, kicked your bag across the room, tripped you, the usual nasty high school stuff.

It was different with Eddie. It didn't feel like the typically high school bullying. It felt worse. Angrier. Meaner.

The school day felt like it was dragging on, they way it did every day for you. Every day was the same. School. Eddie. Work. Repeat. It was draining. Your parents expected the most out of you and wouldn't settle for anything less.

Lunch was your favourite period because you could disappear for a while and be by yourself. You could take a breath. Typically, you sat in the library or behind the gym but considering the heavy rainfall today, you sat in the library.

The library was only ever littered with dorks and the quiet kids. They never spoke to you but you felt safe with them. It was almost impossible to find one of the popular kids in the library. Even less of a chance of seeing Eddie in here.

The rain pelted heavy against the windows as you found your usual spot under the staircase. You sat on an old beanbag and were surrounded my bookcases. You were pretty undetectable here. Opening your sack lunch and the book you were currently reading, you settled in. You were calm and happy, not a care in the world for the next 45 minutes. Or so you thought.

The library doors squeaked open after a few minutes but you paid no mind. Until you heard that all too familiar voice.

Your eyes widened, half in fear and half in exhaustion. You had never encounter Eddie in here but now this little slice of solitude was tainted.

From your place under the staircase, you had a perfectly hidden view of where Eddie was standing. He was being looked down at by Principal Higgins and it seemed like he was being reprimanded for something. For the first time in your whole life, Eddie looked almost… Scared? Beaten down? Nervous? Sad?

You couldn’t quite tell.

“Listen, Munson. I want you out of my school more than anyone but I have half a mind to keep you back again. Teach you a lesson on respect. You think people like you go far in life? You think your dad got very far?” You listened to Principle Higgins berate Eddie whilst he stood there and took it. If you didn’t know any better, you’d almost feel bad for him.

“Keep in line or I’ll ruin what little chance you have at a future.” Principal Higgins threatened before taking a breath and stepping forward. “And don’t think I won’t enjoy it.”

He finally left after that last comment and Eddie stood still, a completely unreadable look on his hard face. Your place under the stairs hid you just enough to keep looking at him and analysing him.

You saw Eddie take a deep breath and rub his forehead with the back of his hand. Suddenly, your hiding spot was sorely revealed when the little foam balls in your bean bag shifted, making a rather loud sound.

Eddie turned his head slowly to the source of the noise, his face turning from unreadable to angry the moment he spotted you.

With wide eyes, you whipped your head back round to completely hide your body from view. You took a few deep breaths to calm your racing nerves.

In a few seconds, Eddie would most likely round the corner of the staircase and rip your book from your hands, screaming at you until you cried.

But he didn’t. Eddie didn’t round the corner to yell at you. Nothing.

You braved another look the where Eddie was standing and saw that he was gone. That was definitely odd. You’d accidentally heard Eddie getting in trouble and he didn’t do anything about it. He just left.

Maybe he was taking Principle Higgins words seriously and actually keeping himself in line. Maybe that meant no more bullying.

After a short while, the bell rang, signalling the end of lunch. You’d packed up your items and stuffed them back into your bag, distracted. For once, your mind was elsewhere. You weren’t scared of walking around the school like you normally were.

Placing your Walkman over your ears and turning it on, the sound of Fleetwood Mac flowing through your ears, you walked out of the library humming along. Your mind of occupied with thoughts of what you’d do after work tonight, what pyjamas you’d wear to bed, what movie you’d watch along tonight.

You were blissfully unaware of the looming presence behind you.

Eddie had waiting for you outside the library to give you a piece of his mind for eavesdropping on him like that.

Just before you could turn down an empty hallway, you felt a rough hand come down harshly on the shoulder, yanking you back against a wall with a yelp.

Eddie ripped the Walkman from around your ears and out of your pocket and smashed it on the ground. You watched the little pieces of plastic spread out on the floor around your feet.

“Why are you always lurking somewhere, huh?” Eddie yelled in your face. “That was my business!”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to!” You pleading, Eddie’s hands pressing your shoulders roughly into the wall and tears welling up in your eyes.

Eddie was pressing you into the wall so hard, your feet just barely scraped the ground.

“You shouldn’t have heard that!” He continued. The anger intensifying.

“I’m sorry!” You sobbed. You had tears streaming down your face as you looked up at Eddie with wide, unblinking eyes and for a moment all Eddie could see was his mother, terrified and pleading for his father not to hurt her. “Please don’t hurt me Eddie.”

Eddie’s hands loosened for just a moment. “I’m not my dad!” He shouted and stepped back, stomping off down the hall and leaving you all alone.

You fell to the floor in a crying heap and tried to catch your breath.

Sure, Eddie had been tormenting you for years. Saying all kinds of nasty things but never once had he gotten physical. Eddie pushing you against the wall didn’t necessarily hurt but you were scared that he wanted to hit you.

You also weren’t sure what he meant when he said he wasn’t his dad. You’d heard Principal Higgins talk about Eddie’s dad just before but you didn’t know the extent of it.

After you’d wiped your tears and calmed down, you gathered up the pieces of your smashed Walkman and shoved it back into the front of your bag.

You’d cycled to school that day and decided for the first time ever, you’d skip. Beat the rush and go home for a few hours before work tonight. You might even call in sick.

At home, your dad was sitting in the armchair in front of the TV when you’d walked through the door.

“Hey Button, what are you doing home so early?” Your dad wondered. He was a gentle man with a pot belly and kind eyes.

“Oh, I just wasn’t feeling too hot. I think I might be approaching my ladies days. I just wanted to relax a bit before work.” You lied. You never lied to your dad.

“Okay, baby. You feel better soon.”

“Thanks dad.”

In your room, you placed the pieces of Walkman on your desk, along with the equally broken tape. It was your favourite.

You’d spent 65 dollars of your hard earned money on that thing and another 8 dollars on the Fleetwood Mac tape.

Lying down on your bed, you snuggled into yourself and just stared at the wall. For some reason, you felt bad for Eddie Munson. Sure, you didn’t deserve the things he said to you but you didn’t have to be genius to see that he was troubled. He probably had a bad home life and was taking his anger out on others.

You shouldn’t feel bad but you did. It was your best and worst quality. You felt things too deeply. No matter how terrible someone seems to be, you can’t help but feel sorry for them and want to help them and protect them from whatever’s hurting them. You wished whatever pain was inside Eddie’s head, you could transfer over to you so he didn’t have to feel that way.

Your eyes began to get heavier and heavier and soon enough the next thing you know, it’s pitch black outside and a patch of drool coats your cheek. You’d fallen asleep. You felt a little better but considering the sky was dark, you’d missed work today.

You rolled over and looked at the bright red numbers on your alarm clock.

3:19 am.

You definitely missed work tonight. Oh well, you decided you’d just give them a call tomorrow and explain that you were sick. Surely, they’d understand. You were a good enough worker that they wouldn’t think you just bailed.

The next morning, your opens opened to the sound of your dad gently tapping on your door. Looking over at the clock, you saw that it was now 8:30 am.

“Hey sweetie. How are you feeling?” Your dad asked as he opened the door.

For a moment, you forgot. You forgot that Eddie wanted to hurt you. You forgot your broken Walkman and you forgot the look of hatred in his face.

“Uh.. I’m not sure. My stomach hurts still.” You wheezed out. You added a fake little cough for good measure.

“Alright, you rest up and I’ll call Principal Higgins. I might even stop by Scoops and get you a sundae.” Your dad smiled down at you. You smiled back up at him. He was so kind and he was such a good dad. It made your mind go back to Eddie’s dad. You wondered what he was like.

“Thanks dad.”

Your dad closed your bedroom door and you rolled back over to face the wall again.

You couldn’t feel Eddie’s hands on your shoulders anymore but you remember exactly what it was like.

“God, why does he hate me so much?” You mumbled quietly to yourself.

A day later, it was Saturday. You had never been more thankful for the weekend. You were working at the diner tonight, thankfully, and you had a few hours before your shift started.

Standing in front of your vanity, you brushed out your hair and applied your favourite blue eyeshadow lightly across your lids. Your typical shift went from 5pm up until 12:30am.

It was a long and tiresome shift but you appreciated the money and liked having something to do on your free days. You also had your fair share of loyal customers that you enjoyed seeing and speaking to.

Riding your bike to the diner probably wasn’t the safest considering you left after midnight, but you didn’t have another option. You didn’t own a car and you didn’t want to ask your dad to stay awake for you.

Pulling your uniform out of your wardrobe, you placed the pale yellow dress over your body and tided the frilly white apron around your waist.

Downstairs, your dad was already snoozing in the armchair as the 4 o’clock news played quietly in the background. Placing your keys and lipgloss into your purse, you made your way outside to your bike.

The diner was quiet, as usual. Only a few older guys here and there. Putting your belongings down in the back, you made your way out start your shift.

You noticed your favourite regular sat at the diner bar sipping his coffee quietly and reading the paper.

“Afternoon, Wayne.” You smiled at him.

He looked up and smiled brightly behind his moustache. “Hey there, sweet thing.”

Wayne was a regular for a long time and even though you’d only been working at the diner for a few months, the two of you chatted like old pals every time you saw each other. You talked about movies and music and occasionally talked about work and school but not often.

“Overnight, tonight?” You asked as you topped up his coffee.

“Same as every night. How’s school.”

“Schools whatever.” You mumbled.

“That still giving you a hard time?”

“Is the sky blue?”

Wayne mused.

“You know, if I’ve learnt anything in my time here on earth, boys pick on girls they like.”

You huffed outa breath as if to laugh.

“Nah, I doubt it.”

“Never know.”

“I guess but, this feels different. Just the way he looks at me.”

“Well, maybe there’s something else going on. Maybe he’s troubled or scared of his feelings.”

You looked up at Wayne and noticed he had a sympathetic look on his face.

“Okay love guru.” You laughed. “You hungry yet?”

Wayne smiled and looked over the menu once more before speaking.

“No, just the coffee tonight. I gotta pick up my nephew before I head to work. Lost his license again.” Wayne said as he finished off his coffee and stood.

“Uh, of course.” You replied. You’d heard vaguely about this mystery relative of his. I’ll you knew was that he got himself into trouble and they were each others only family.

Wayne dropped a five dollar bill on the counter and smiled before walking out. It was 4 dollars and 30 cents too much but Wayne had already left by the time you realised.

The rest of the shift was boring and uneventful, as usual and by the time 12:30am rolled around, you smelled like burnt coffee and bacon grease. No wonder you had little blackheads on your chin.

“Okay bye Al!” You called out to the line cook as you mounted your bike.

The weather was cooling off as the summer was coming to an end but it was still nice enough weather to not need a jacket after midnight. It was times this like when you wished you had friends to hang out with and go to parties with.

You took your usual route home but considering it was past midnight on a Saturday, the few dive bars around town were crowded with people. The bar that was on your way home was called The Hideout. It was a sketchy biker bar that housed the towns drunks and heavy metal enthusiasts.

Cycling past, you peered over and felt your stomach drop when you saw who was standing around a group of scary looking guys, all smoking.

It Eddie.

The very same Eddie that you had seen since he pushed you up against the wall.

Coming to a stop on your bike, you needed to catch your breath. You were on the other side of the street and it was dark so you figured it wouldn’t see you but he did. He looked right at you.

His face soften as if he was recognising you. He held an unreadable expression as he stubbed out his cigarette.

The exchange only lasted a moment before you turned back to the road and peddled on down the road and towards home.

For the next several days at school, you’d managed to avoid Eddie at all costs. You saw glimpses of the back of his head or his shoulder but managed to sneak away completely unseen by him.

Normally you hated it when he was mean to you because it hurt your feelings but now you were scared of him. You didn’t really know if he was capable of hurting you physically but you didn’t like to think about it.

You hid in the library or down in the lower levels and raced home afterwards.

You had another late shift on Wednesday after school so instead of going home you decided to take your uniform to school with you and just get your homework done during the quiet periods.

Wayne hadn’t arrived yet when you got there so you decided to brew a fresh pot of coffee for him.

The doorbell chimed just as the pot was finishing brewing. You turned around to greet who you assumed would be Wayne but your blood ran cold when you were met with Wayne… and Eddie.

What is he doing here, and why is he with Wayne? You thought to yourself

Before you realised, you let go of the coffee pot in your hand and it smashed on the floor, coffee spilling around your feet and staining your old white Keds.

“Oh, Y/N. You okay?” Wayne asked concerned.

“Oh, uh, yeah.” You stuttered out, quickly dropping to the ground to clean the mess you’d made. “It slipped.”

“Here, I’ll help clean it up.” Wayne said as he walked to you.

“No!” You exclaimed. “It’s okay, I got it.” You forced a smile.

It was obvious you were incredibly anxious right now, anyone could see it.

“Uh, okay. Well, Y/N, this is my nephew, Eddie.”

You slowly stood back up, still nervous to meet Eddie’s gaze. You didn’t want Wayne to suspect anything so you finally looked up.

Eddie held that same unreadable look on his face that he did on Saturday at the hideout. It was one you hadn’t seen before then. He usually looked so angry and full of hate but now he just looked… like nothing.

“Hi, there.” You mumbled.

Eddie didn’t say anything. He simply turned his lip up to give you an awkward smile.

“Two coffees to start?” You said to no one in particular.

“Yes please, thank you darlin’” Wayne mused back.

The two men sat down at the counter as you turned your back to brew a new fresh pot of coffee. Even though your back was turned, you could feel Eddie's eyes burning holes into the back of your head.

You placed the two cups of coffee down in front of Wayne and Eddie without looking up. You had never felt this on edge in his presence before.

Eddie watched you float around the diner from the corner of his eye, not listening to Wayne speaking, for most of the time he was there. He noticed that you seemed more carefree and happier here then you were at school but he could tell his presence made you anxious.

He hated it.

He didn't really know why he hated you so much. He couldn't place why he tormented you to the extent he did. Sure, he was an asshole to everyone he encountered at school, students and teachers alike, but there was something about you he didn't understand. Something that burned inside him so hot that he saw red every time he saw you. He just wanted to hurt you the way he hurt.

"Alright boy, let's go. I got work soon." You heard Wayne mumble, finishing off his coffee and standing.

You turned and faced the two men for the first time since placing Waynes eggs in front of him.

Eddie was already looking at you.

His usually hard face still held that unreadable expression on it.

"Goodnight, Y/N." Wayne smiled after dropping his money on the counter.

Normally, you would have smiled and waved and said goodbye but tonight you simply raised your hand as the two left. Your eyes lingered on Eddie for a moment longer and then he also left.

When the doorbell chimed, signalling that they were gone, you let out a deep breath you didn't realise you had been holding. Now that Eddie and Wayne were gone, no one else was in the diner. Normally this was the perfect opportunity to finish off some homework but your mind was completely busy elsewhere. Tonight was a lot to take in. First, you'd finally met Wayne nephew and it turned out to be Eddie. You didn't understand how Wayne and Eddie could be related. Wayne was so kind and Eddie was... Eddie.

Secondly, you had no idea what the neutral, unreadable look on Eddie's face meant. Would he continue to terrorise you at school, maybe worse this time? He now knew where you worked too, which wasn't ideal.

You biked home once again after your shift and collapsed on your bed, falling asleep in your uniform.

It had been an eventful few days to say the least.

It didn't help your fatigue that you were working another shift tomorrow night. Your worries for tomorrow washed away however. You knew it was Wayne's night off, meaning he didn't come in for dinner beforehand. You'd be able to relax without seeing either of them.

Waking up the next morning, you quickly showered and dressed yourself before shoving your uniform into your bag again.

You noticed Eddie wasn't around in the morning. You thought he was probably out doing a drug deal or just late but you noticed that he wasn't in the cafeteria at lunch other. Perhaps another detention. But he also wasn't in the library, which was odd.

Even though Eddie hated school and everyone in it, it wasn't typical for him to skip. Whatever the reason may be, you were thankful for the day of peace and calm.

By the time the day come to an end, you had almost completely forgotten about the whole situation. Almost.

Walking into the diner, tightening the apron around your waist, your stopped in your tracks, blood turning cold once again.

Eddie was back. He was alone this time. He sat stoically by himself at the counter with his arms folded close to his chest, head looking down.

You shuddered out a breath. You figured he was here to confront you and yell at you for playing nice with his uncle. If this was any other diner or restaurant, you'd make a co-worker go and serve him but you couldn't do that. The was no one else here. It was just you.

You took a deep breath and slowly walked over, bracing yourself for hell.

"Hi.' You muttered, but he didn't look up. "W-would you like another coffee, Eddie?"

Eddie took a moment before he looked up at you. He had a soft, calm expression on his face. You hadn't really noticed it before but when he wasn't seething with hatred, Eddie was handsome. Large brown eyes, round like a baby cow and a long eyelashes with a dusting of freckles across his nose.

You shook away the thought, waiting for him to respond.

"I'm sorry I hurt you at school last week." He deadpanned.

"I-wh- Sorry?" It caught you off guard.

"And I'm sorry I hurt you when you did nothing wrong."

You didn't say anything, just looked at Eddie like a deer in headlights. You never once expected to ever speak to him in a normal setting, let alone have him apologise to you.

"I don't expect you to forgive me, so I'll leave you alone." Eddie said as he stood up to leave but before he could turn around, he pulled something out of his pocket and placed it on the counter.

"This was mine, but, you know," He mumbled.

It was a Sony Walkman. Not the same model as the one you had but one just as good.

"I also got you this." He said quieter this time. "I don't know if this is your kind of music but,"

I also placed down an Iron Maiden tape next to it. You still hadn't moved. Your were still too in shock too.

Eddie spared on last look you before he walked out. Your eyes slowly dropped down to the counter and softly reached out to take the Walkman and tape into your hands. In theory, it was an incredible gift. Eddie gave you his Walkman and apologised for hurting you.

You were conflicted and you had no idea what to think.

All you knew was that you wanted to say thank you. You just had to find out were Eddie lived. You couldn't confront him at school. That could go badly.

You needed to hatch a plan and speak to Eddie. All you wanted was to know why he hated you so much. Or didn't?

You had no idea.

[valenteal]

Alright I see what you’re saying about the headcanons (which are not head canons so much a inferences from the information we have) BUT I have to clarify that multiple psychologists have explained that yes Anakin Skywalker has bpd. He has enough prominently visible symptoms to be clinically diagnosed if he were a real person. This is a fact.

Yes, some Jedi get glimpses of the future, or the past, but that is in no way the same thing as fully experiencing time in a non linear fashion.

I didn’t say that Jedi had ready access to that 4th dimensional view of reality, I said that the Force gives them a glimpse of what it could be like. we literally used the same word to describe it. I’m getting this from Yoda’s lines about how Jedi are luminous beings. But I'm also not just using the movies. (I'll get into my view on Clone wars in canon shortly.) It can be inferred also from everything we know about the Cosmic Force. Basically the Cosmic Force is that fourth time dimensional view of the universe while the Living Force is the fourth SPACE dimensional view of the universe. Sorry I’ve been being a physics nerd for the past few days all this is fresh in my head right now. Point is, the Jedi truly don’t see time as a linear thing even if they are for the most part confined to the present. They see something having existed in the past as never disappearing because the past is fixed and nothing can change that. The past still exists and thus everything that existed in the past will always exist and that is how they justify not feeling grief over loss.

And I want to be clear on something: I do consider the majority of Clone Wars to be canon and I do take quite a bit from Legends as well so not everything I say comes from the movies. But as a writer I do not see Clone Wars Anakin’s characterization as faithful due to stupid things like pandering to the audience who didn’t want to confront things like the complexity an nuance of mental health and toxic environments and relationships. Everything else, the characterization of others like Obi-Wan, Yoda, and Windu? The characters who didn’t get a ton of hate after the prequels were released? That’s all fine. It’s just Padmé and Anakin who suffered from deliberately butchering their character.

So all the Mortis arc, Yoda’s season 6 adventure to become one with the cosmic force and all the implications that go with it? Canon. The Jedi Council’s treatment of Anakin? Canon.

Exactly one Jedi made a big deal about Anakin being the Chosen One: Qui-Gon. That's it. The Jedi don't treat Anakin any different than any other member of their order.

This is patently false. His admission into the order was debated by the full council in front of him. That is extremely irregular. and even once he was admitted into the order he was at the level of Palawan at a young age and skipping the initiate phase. He grew up knowing that most of the council didn't want him there. Mace in particular made it pretty damn clear he didn't like Anakin.

We also know that Anakin was powerful beyond anything the Jedi had ever seen. it can be inferred that they would react more strongly to his emotional volatility than they do with other Jedi who aren't already seen as dangerous.

...I'm not sure what you expect the Jedi to do about that? Qui-Gon died, and Padme was a Queen who had to go back to her own planet.

Well they certainly could have handled it better than they did! Maybe it wasn't their fault but it was their responsibility to help him learn to properly cope. And it wasn't just that Padmé had to return to Naboo, Anakin literally wasn't allowed to be in communication with her, which I'm pretty sure was explicitly stated in Queen's Shadow.

That was a choice that Anakin made. Sidious didn't force his hand. Anakin made the decision that the chance of saving Padme - from a fate he didn't know for sure she'd experience! - was worth betraying the Jedi, worth murdering younglings, worth overthrowing the Republic and turning it into an Empire.

Now this. This is complicated. Because on a certain level you are correct. But he also wasn't in his right mind. He'd been fighting a war for months, hadn't slept in days, was being heavily manipulated, his entire support system was absent, and he was splitting all at the same time. and if you pay attention you'll notice that he resisted very very well. it was not easy for Palpatine to manipulate him into that situation. to even get Anakin to the point where he was mentally unstable enough to turn to the dark side took over TEN YEARS of manipulation. And after that it was actually the Jedi who played the ground work for him to continue making those choices after he became Vader. because the Jedi teach that once you fall theirs no going back, which is provably false but Anakin didn't know that. you may also notice that it didn't actually take much for Vader to return to the light side. Simply having one person believe in him was enough.

Addressing the bit about him not knowing for sure Padmé would die, I have to point out that even from Phantom Menace Anakin shows extreme reliability when predicting the near future. and he touted the dreams about his mother and as a result she died. If he'd responded to this vision just a few days, heck even hours, earlier Shmi could have survived.

That's why I call Anakin selfish and possessive. Because ultimately, he didn't care about Padme's feelings or opinions.

And this is where we come back to the BPD, which again is NOT a head canon but the opinion of multiple psychologists and people with BPD.

Anakin greatly values Padmé's feelings and opinions most of the time. to an unhealthy degree. to the point where his self-image is reliant on her opinion of him.

He was in the midst of a splitting episode. Here's a definition:

Splitting is a symptom of BPD. It occurs when a person sees everything as black or white, good or bad, or best or worst. Splitting is a defense mechanism people living with BPD use to deal with emotions (such as the fear of abandonment) that they cannot handle.

That's what was going on. He was unable to reconcile Padmé being against the side he'd chosen and thus could only see it as a betrayal. I also have to point out that he didn't actually choke her that hard or for that long. Her struggles weren't nearly as frantic as the could've been and later the medical droid made it clear that the was nothing physically wrong with her. There didn't even seem to be any bruising. Padmé shouldn't have died. And Anakin shouldn't have survived. And the Force can be used to drain life energy and transfer it to another person. Palpatine wanted Anakin alive and isolated, so killing Padmé to keep him alive would have been the perfect strategy. Anyway that's getting into theory territory so I digress. The Point is Anakin didn't choose to disregard Padmé or her beliefs, I don't even know if he was cognizant at all of Sidious's plans or what they meant. All he could really see was a black and white view of his side vs. the Jedi.

As for the unconditional love you say he needed? Padme did love him unconditionally.

Which is exactly why he was so desperate to protect her. Even beyond the fact that he loved her she was literally the only person who gave him what he needed. She was his entire support system. If the Jedi had supported him the way he needed things might have turned out differently. If he'd felt safe actually asking for help and being open about the details of the situation the Jedi might actually have been able to do something about it. But when he did go and ask for help he was chastised for caring and wanting to save someone from a possibly preventable death. Which is so messed up. Yoda didn't even press for details about the nature of the death to determine the risk of doing something. just claimed that sometimes the harder you fight the future the more likely it becomes or something. I don't see how Padmé potentially seeing a Jedi healer could have made things worse.

In conclusion the Jedi Order and its Council made a Buch of huge screw up when it came to raising Anakin and it ended up killing them and literally driving him insane. His mental health was their responsibility and they didn't just drop the ball, they threw it.

"no attachments" in SW literally just means "don't be selfish and possessive". that's it. that's all there is. doesn't mean jedi can't have friends and loved ones. they can. just. don't be possessive and selfish about it. don't murder thousands of people in an effort to save one.

[the-raindeer-king]

"I want to go home."

Your boyfriend sighs in response, not bothering to hide his annoyance. You can't blame him. You were the one who wanted to go to the flea market. He had wanted to stay at home, to sleep in on his rare day off.

"It hasn't even been an hour, love," he replies, his eyes roaming over the throwing knives at the stall you're standing in front of.

When you don't respond, Simon finally turns his attention onto you. He sees the frown tugging at your lips, the anxious expression in your eyes. You'd been so excited to come here, so why are you frowning now?

He takes you hand, leading you through the stalls and the crowd, trying to find somewhere a little less crowded. Thankfully, there's some picnic tables that you can sit down at, shaded and void of people.

"What happened?"

You stare down at your shoes, quiet for a moment. Then you explain, voice soft and anxious, "I saw some girls looking at me, and when I looked over at them, they started laughing."

Simon grits his teeth, staring at you. He knows about your struggle with your self confidence, and he hates that you don't see yourself the way he sees you. Simon thinks you're absolutely gorgeous, the most beautiful thing he's ever seen.

Far more gentle than you'd expect from someone like Simon, he takes ahold of your face in his hands. His words are a little less gentle.

"Who fuckin' cares what some noisy birds think? You look beautiful, love. You are beautiful."

It's easier to hear than to believe. But this is Simon, and he may be a lot of things but he's not a liar. So you let his words warm you from the inside out, and when you smile at him, he smiles in return.

"I love you," you whisper, and he grins, pulling you to your feet.

"Love you too, doll. Now, come on. I wasn't done with those knives."

[o3o-lapd-o3o]

people be wondering why there's no appearance from hades in any of the sagas, especially the underworld saga (even if he wasn't in the odyssey itself) i have a theory!

spoilers for vengeance saga and future ithaca saga!

do you not understand how busy that poor guy/god is during odysseus' terrible, horrible, no good, bad journey home™

first he has 7 freshly made pancakes men (14 if you count the club smash noises in survive, but we'll go with 7 for this) sent by chef polyphemus, appearing one after the other.

not long after that, you have 550 very soaked (drowned) men pop through in the blink of an eye, no thanks to his younger brother, mr ruthlessness himself, poseidon.

then while he's still counting/organising the paperwork for them, a young man appears, who happens to be very drunk (talking about pig men?)

not long after that, somehow a warship filled with mortal men breaks into the underworld, ALL ALIVE, and the (king? leader? captain? he's not too sure at this point) starts singing outside his front door about becoming a monster????? but before he can sic cerberus on them, they leave on their own

finally he thinks he has a break when 6 men holding torches (are some missing limbs?!?) have now joined the party down under (granted they're all in no mood to party, they weren't expecting to become snacks for a sea monster)

and just as quick as they'd arrived, in a flash (just like the snap of lightning that took them out) 36 crispy/fried men (gods damn it zeus) appear, weapons drawn like they were about to attack someone (how does that one guy at the front swing such a big sword?)

at this point hades is wondering what the fuck is happening upstairs, because ain't no way these 600 men are all from the same fleet/island under one guy's command (turns out the captain's name is odysseus)

he thinks his prayers are answered because he has had peace for 7 years, just the normal flow of souls into the underworld- (wait whats that chanting)

suddenly those previous 600 souls are flying their way outta the underworld (he didn't know they could do that) while singing "six hundred men! (six hundred)" on repeat

they return though (thank the gods, he didn't need to go soul hunting) and once again he thinks everything will be calm

(he also found out from zeus, that their brother got his godly-ass handed to him by that MORTAL odysseus! WHO USED HIS OWN WEAPON AGAINST HIM (something to help make him laugh over spring & summer and while he waits for his beautiful persephone to return home))

he finally thinks his time with odysseus and the souls that come from him/being around him is over. when in minutes of each other, the souls of 108 men appear, all killed in gruesome ways. then they tell him that they were killed by beggar who then revealed himself as king odysseus, from trying to marry his wife and take over his kingdom (ok very understandable murder then)

at this point hades doesn't know whether he's excited for, or dreading the day he actually meets odysseus in the distant future (yes distant, i don't care about/ don't accept the telegony. let the poor man enjoy the rest of his life with his son and wife!!!)

but yeah, understandable why you don't hear from him throughout the sagas

[reallyromealone]

Hi! Just sending in this ask before I forget my idea, dont answer this until your asks are open again I just want to write this down before I forget!! Boten x single father! male reader, reader works at a restaurant and Boten comes in one night and Mikey takes a liking to him, his daughter sits in the staff room and draws/plays because she’s too young to be home alone- 🦇 anon

Title: cute waiter

Fandom: Tokyo revengers

Characters: bonten

Fic type: fluff

Pairings: Mikey x reader

Warnings: male reader, reader insert, single dad reader, fluff, nameless daughter, Mikey has that weird ass rizz as the kids say

Notes:

Summary: bonten goes to a small restaurant while in town for business and Mikey falls for the cute waiter.

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(Name) Could never thank his boss enough for letting (daughters name) stay in the office, the elderly woman finding the toddlers company pleasant while she worked on scheduling and order's.

"(Name), could you cover booth three? I have to talk to (boss name) about the schedule" (name) looked to his co-worker who managed the hardest puppy eyes he could "fine, but you owe me"

"Thank you!"

(Name) Never knew what to expect at the small restaurant, typically it was the locals in the small town but sometimes some rich people came in and even foreigners which was a gamble on how the experience would go.

Usually they were nice though.

"Hello! Could I get you gentlemen started with water or perhaps the chef's choice of wine?" (Name) Said happily to the group who sized him up, the man in the middle just staring him down with cold blackened eyes but (name) just continued smiling and even making eye contact with them.

Blissfully unaware of who they were or what their tattoos meant.

"We will start with the finest wine you have" the white haired man with snake like eyes said simply, his rings shining under the warm lights "of course! I will be back momentarily with your wine, gentlemen" and with that (name) turned and left, bonten not missing Mikey's curious look and the lock on to the waiters ass. They all exchanged glances while their boss just ate his snacks, flipping to the dessert menu to see they had the good stuff.

(Name) Returned moments later and filled their glasses, Mikey freezing when the waiter got close to him and the white haired man could smell the others cologne faintly and nearly shoved his face into the poor man's neck if it wasn't for his self control "so tell us about yourself, Mr waiter ~" ran was going to do his boss a favor, knowing Mikey had the romantic abilities of a snail. "Ah, what would you like to know?" (Name) Was so easy going, care free "you in school?" "You single?" "You know how to bake?"

(Name) Was a bit startled by the questions but didn't see the harm "I'm not, I graduated last year, I am single and I do know how to bake, yes" (name) laughed a bit at the questions "now, what can I get you gentlemen?" Changing the topic to get to business and not have these attractive men ask every detail of his life.

Of course they ordered the nicest things on the menu, it was going to be a pricy bill no doubt but (name) wasted no time getting their order before his coworker took over his table for his break and hang out with his tot. (Name) Brought in dinner for the two, free food from the restaurant and (daughters name) got cute rice balls shaped like hearts and for dessert she got taiyaki shaped like stars and filled with custard.

"Wow you drew this?" (Name) Cheered on his kid who beamed, the owner who became their grandmother of sorts always splurged on the good coloring supplies for the little girl and finding some cute toys for the office so she's never bored.

"Why don't we show the team, yeah?" (Name) Asked the little one who bounced a little, clearly happy at the idea "let's go!" Holding his little girls hand, the restaurant was nearly dead save for the group of eight who were furious that (name) was changed out for another person but Mikeys anger quickly melted when he saw the tiny version of (name) waddle towards the elderly owner who was rolling cutlery.

"My!" She cooed and lifted the little girl up "you're so talented!"

Mikey and (name) locked eyes, the waiter offering a sweet smile and Mikey's face dusted red, (name) didn't miss the stares and the blushes on the pale man, knowing damn well the awkward blond thought he was attractive "you enjoy your meal?" (Name) Asked him casually, the blond composing himself "yeah..." His words simply and short, never the one for small talk "that your kid?"

"Ah, yeah... She's too young to be alone and my boss practically helped raise me as a teen so she just hangs here"

Mikey nodded and looked over (name) who caught his stare "would you like to go out sometime?" (Name) Thought the blond was cute, even if he barely spoke and just stared ominously.

Mikey froze, usually it was him doing that "you don't know who we are, do you?"

"...models...?" (Name) Said confused, unsure of his answer and Mikey just stared back at the man "what? Used to people not recognizing you?"

"Something like that"

"Well I hope to get to know you better, I have to get my rugrat in for her nap but I'll be back soon yeah"

Mikey never felt so complacent, nodding and even letting (name) kiss his cheek gently before going to get his daughter.

[minaharkerdailymirror]

Mina stroked his face gently, "Yes Armand, I know you completely."

She wrestled with a few things in her mind, and it was time to tell him her story, "You already know the early times for me. You know about the anger I felt for what he did. No one is born into this world with an easy birth. And when I came into it, I was very angry."

A tear slipped out, she wiped it way, "You already know about the dark hunters who tortured the vampire to tell me the Great Laws just because they could. It was such a shriveled weak thing from the years they starved it, kept it filled with dead man's blood...chained down in a basement. You remember how I told you I killed the vampire and their leader? They tracked me down soon after, beat be bloody. I have....whip marks on my back still from one holding a belt. Called me a traitor to my kind. I faked being dead, never saw them again. I don't even know what happened to them. Probably died on some random hunt somewhere. Most hunters don't have a good shelf life."

"And you know about the kids, those two things took most of my sanity, I think. Or what was left of it. I've made a lot of bad decisions Armand. People died because of decisions I made, or didn't make."

It would just be easier to show him. She pulled off her shirt and left it beside her.

"I was a nurse during world war 1 and world war 2," she told him and took his hand, "Monsters were attacking to those sorts of feeding grounds, so I'd hunt at night." She pressed a scar on her hip, "That was from a grenade." Another on her shoulder, "This one from a nazi I killed. He thought he would surrender to America, he thought he had the knowledge that would get him a pardon. But as I looked at him in my company all I could think was 'how the hell could you do that to another human being and expect to get away with it?' So he didn't. She showed him the map of her body, explained each scar and where it came from. It wasn't the playful flirting that was last night. Her story was drenched in blood, so much death. While he'd tucked away from the world, Mina had been integrated in it, watched it change around her.

Not every story was as noble as killing the nazi. There were a lot of cases where it was no good decisions. She made the best one she could at the time only to find out it wasn't. Naiveté, anger, pride, arrogance, it all factored in.

Hell, sometimes she made the wrong decision because she was just so despondent and depressed that she just thought she was waiting to die.

The history she stood on the corners of; Getting the right to vote, and The Great War, and then World War 2 and Korea, and Vietnam....watching countries separate and form and dissolve. Watching her friends and loved ones born, grow, die, or were wiped out in epidemic such as the Spanish Flu and AIDS

SO many that wanted to be old taken away young....and she was still here. Maybe for him and it was fate. maybe she was just stupidly lucky.

"No one knows these stories," she told him, "No one, except you."

The men she was often with would ask, and they may know some. But she never told anyone every single scar.

"I'm so tired of fighting," she told him quietly, "I want to grow a garden with my husband and run a gallery by the water. And if that's all we do for an eternity, I would be so happy that it would be with you."

The guilt weighed in her gut as she processed what he told her. She hugged him tightly. A breakup after 77 years, Mina couldn't imagine 77 years.

When he told her she was his choice and he wanted to be her husband, Mina felt the tears well up again and she kissed him lovingly, "I want to be your wife more than anything. I love you. You deserve to be loved. Frankly by someone far better than me but I love you with everything. I want to be your comfort. I'm so sorry I pulled you back there to that place."

[swappermanent]

Life In Retrospect

It started, like most things in my life, with a bit of harmless indulgence. I’d been out on the beach, metal detector in hand, just doing my thing. Call it a classic old guy hobby if you want—I know it sounds like one—but there’s something oddly satisfying about it. You spend your whole life accumulating things, working toward something, and yet, in your later years, you find yourself searching for what’s been left behind.

That’s when I found it. The detector beeped, low and insistent, over something solid buried in the sand. Brushing it off, I uncovered a necklace—a little tarnished but still striking. The pendant was shaped like a bird, wings spread wide, with an intricate design that caught the light just so. It looked old. And valuable, maybe. Not the kind of thing you’d expect to find washed up on a beach in a sleepy town like mine.

Being the curious sort, I took it home and started looking into it. I’m no stranger to the internet, mind you. For an old guy, I know my way around a reverse image search. After a bit of digging, I finally found a match, buried in an obscure corner of the web. Turns out, this wasn’t just any necklace. According to the article, it had magical properties—something about granting the deepest, most hidden wishes. But there was a catch: the wishes had to be subconscious. Wear it, the story claimed, and the wish would find you.

remember chuckling at the idea. It sounded like something out of a fairy tale. But then I paused, looking at the necklace in my hand, and wondered what exactly my subconscious would want, if it had the chance. Money? I wasn’t exactly rich, but I got by just fine. Love? I’d missed that boat, never found someone to share my life with. Fame? Ha, the idea made me laugh—what would an old man like me even do with fame?

I didn’t expect much from it, but it was an interesting enough piece, and it looked good against a sweater or tucked under a jacket, so I wore it. Weeks went by, and honestly, I forgot about it.

---

One day, I found myself at the gym. It was a bit of a routine for me—not the way it used to be when I was younger, of course, but I kept at it, lifting lighter weights and trying to stay active. This wasn’t just any gym, either; it had a reputation around town. People called it the “gay gym”—not officially, of course, but you could tell. The men here were fit, stylish, and, well, meticulous about their bodies in a way I could only admire from a distance. They looked like they belonged in magazines, and I’ll admit, I liked to let my eyes wander now and then.

Still, I kept to myself. At my age, I wasn’t exactly in the social scene here, and I’d long since learned to stay on the sidelines. I came, did my exercises, enjoyed the view, and went home.

But that day, for the first time, someone came up to me. His name was Mikey, and I’d noticed him before, of course. Hard not to, really. He was exactly the kind of man I might've dreamed of being, if I ever let myself dream about that sort of thing. He was young, muscular, with a powerful, chiseled build that made his plain T-shirts look sculpted onto him. His dark hair was perfectly styled, a casual yet intentional wave falling over his forehead. And that mustache—thick, neatly trimmed, lending him a rugged, almost classic appeal, like he could’ve stepped out of a 1970s action movie. He even wore glasses, tortoiseshell frames that gave him an unexpected touch of charm and sophistication. I'd managed to snap a few photos of him before at the gym when he wasn't looking.

I’d seen him around for months, usually catching glimpses of him bench-pressing absurd weights or chatting with friends, his laughter deep and easy. He looked like the kind of guy who owned his confidence, who walked through life knowing that people admired him. And, hell, I was no exception. I'd spent enough stolen moments sneaking glances at those bulging arms, that thick neck, the way his shoulders seemed to strain the fabric of whatever he wore. Every time, I felt a little flutter inside—a mix of envy and something more primal, something I barely let myself think about.

So imagine my surprise when he came up to me. Even he seemed a little surprised, his brow creasing just slightly like he didn’t quite know what had prompted him to approach. And then, he asked me about my necklace.

“Hey, where’d you get that necklace?” he said, eyes flicking from my face to the pendant hanging over my chest. “It’s… different. Kind of cool.”

I felt a little jolt of something—excitement, nerves, maybe both—at the attention. He wanted to know about my necklace? Of all things? I opened my mouth to respond, and then something strange happened. The words just… flowed. I started telling him all about it—how it had been crafted in some long-ago time by hands that shaped it with care, about the artisan who’d worked on it and how they were renowned for imbuing special powers into their pieces. I talked about the mystical properties, the magic of wishes hidden deep in one’s subconscious, waiting to be drawn out by the wearer.

Thing is, I didn’t know any of that. Not consciously. But as I spoke, it felt like I was reading from some invisible script, like the knowledge was being given to me as I said it out loud.

Mikey listened, his gaze locked onto the pendant, almost entranced. Then, he looked back up at me, that curiosity still burning in his eyes.

“Would you mind if I tried it on?” he asked, his voice a little softer, like he was almost embarrassed by the question.

Without a second thought, I nodded, slipping the necklace off and handing it over to him. He took it carefully, his fingers brushing mine—warm, rough skin, the kind that spoke of hard work and hours in the gym. He put it on, and I swear, the thing looked like it was made for him. It hung perfectly against his chest, the bird pendant resting right in the middle of that strong, solid frame.

As I watched him, something stirred in me. I felt a warmth spreading through my body, a tingling that started low and radiated outward, like a current of energy. I caught myself glancing down, noticing with a bit of embarrassment that I was half-hard. But I couldn’t help it—the sight of him, my necklace gleaming against his chest, his broad shoulders framed by that perfectly fitted T-shirt, was… well, let’s just say it was doing things to me.

“Actually,” I said, clearing my throat and giving him an appreciative once-over, “it suits you. Why don’t you keep it?”

Mikey’s eyebrows lifted, surprised but clearly pleased. “Really? You sure?”

“Yeah,” I said, my voice a little unsteady, trying to hide the flush of heat that was working its way up my neck. “Consider it a gift.”

---

That night, I felt warmer than I had in years—almost feverish, but not quite. I thought maybe I was coming down with something; I’d spent enough winters nursing colds to recognize that slight ache, the subtle throbbing behind my eyes. I drank water, tried to stay hydrated, but there was something strange about the feeling. It wasn’t just heat; it was a tingling sensation that seemed to move through my limbs, settling into every muscle and joint.

I told myself it was just exhaustion. Maybe I’d pushed myself too hard at the gym, or maybe the excitement of talking to Mikey had rattled my old bones more than I wanted to admit. Either way, I decided to call it a night, pulling the covers up and letting myself drift off to sleep.

But somewhere in the dead of night, I woke up drenched in sweat, sheets tangled around my legs. My skin felt hot, almost burning, and my heart pounded like I’d just sprinted a mile. I lay there in the dark, trying to orient myself, but nothing felt right. My arms, stretched out beside me, felt heavier, thicker somehow. I pushed up to sit, but even that felt… different.

For a moment, I thought I might be having a stroke or some other senior moment, and the thought made my stomach twist. Taking a few deep breaths, I tried to shake off the dizziness, to piece together where I was and what was happening.

But as I sat up and tried to get my bearings, the space around me looked foreign. Strange shadows fell across walls I didn’t recognize. There was a faint streetlight glow filtering through blinds that weren’t mine, casting an odd light over an unfamiliar dresser, scattered clothes, and a large mirror across the room.

Where am I?

I swung my legs out of bed, almost stumbling under my own weight. The muscles in my legs tensed and shifted in a way that felt… powerful, but wrong. Instinctively, I reached for the light switch, my fingers brushing over the unfamiliar nightstand before finding it. The room flooded with light, revealing more alien surroundings. Posters on the wall. Dumbbells in the corner. This wasn’t my bedroom. I didn’t own posters. Or dumbbells.

Disoriented, I took a few steps, bare feet touching cool, unfamiliar carpet, as I wandered toward the bathroom. I had to steady myself on the doorframe—the sheer strength I felt in my grip, in the size of my hand, jolted through me. I flipped on the bathroom light and looked up, squinting against the sudden brightness.

And then I saw him. Mikey.

In the mirror was his face, his body—muscular and tanned, dark hair tousled and falling forward slightly. I could feel my heart hammering in his broad chest, watched his—my—eyes go wide as I touched my face, tracing over a jawline sharper than I’d ever had, rough stubble under my fingers.

“Oh… my god,” I whispered, hearing Mikey’s voice, deep and smooth, coming from my own mouth. The face in the mirror looked just as shocked as I felt, my hands gripping the edges of the sink to steady myself as I took in the sight of every inch of him—of me.

A thrill shot through me, warmth bubbling up from my stomach as I ran my hand over the expanse of his—my—shoulders, over the swell of the chest, down to the ridged abs, and finally feeling up his impressive package. I couldn’t stop the smirk creeping onto his—my—face, couldn’t stop the pulse of excitement thrumming through me. Holy hell. This was real. I was Mikey.

And then, with a jolt, I realized something was missing. My hand went up to my neck instinctively, searching for the familiar weight of the necklace, but my fingers brushed only bare skin. No chain. No pendant.

A part of me, somewhere deep down, was concerned—confused and alarmed, really—but right now, looking at the smirking, shirtless, muscular guy in the mirror, the overwhelming feeling was… arousal. I’d never looked like this. I’d never felt like this.

Stay Tuned For Part 2.  

[endearng]

Doomed

Pairing: Spencer Reid x single mom!reader Summary: If you and Spencer had a nickel every time someone teased you after witnessing your interactions, you'd have two nickels, which isn't much — but it's weird that it happened twice. WC: 4.4k Warnings: Mentions of abandonment and I think that's it. Let me know if I missed anything. A/N: HI!!! I'm so obsessed with them... in a normal amount of course. I'm thinking about writing casually for them, who knows... Also,,,, who am I if not a morcia truther….. I hope you enjoy it! Feedbacks are always appreciated <3 neighbor!au masterlist | main masterlist

You were doomed from the moment he bid you goodbye.

"So, who's he?" Victoria inquired, a sly smirk on her face and a bashful expression on yours.

"Who's who?" You asked, trying to feign nonchalance.

She groaned playfully, "You know what I mean."

"I'm afraid I don't." You winked, sitting on your couch again, between the two women. Sex and the City was playing on the TV across from the three of you.

"You're acting like us as freshmen when the seniors looked at us—" she retorted.

"I thought we didn't talk about that," Jude deadpanned.

"You're 'I don't know what you're talking about' me? I thought we were friends!" Victoria poked you in the rib.

"Ouch! He's just a friendly neighbor, that's it." You said, trying to cut the subject. Jude looked at you suspiciously. "White wine time."

From Spencer's apartment, he could hear the sound of chatter, joyful laughter and opening bottles for the rest of the night. He didn't know how to feel by your invitation, now that he had calmed down after looking you in the eye for a moment, technically, all by yourselves. He would definitely feel inappropriate at a kid's birthday where he barely knew the people who invited him, but he thought that Olivia's gesture was amazingly endearing. What could possibly be more childishly adorable than an infant trying to help and making a 'mistake'? And what could possibly be more devastatingly endearing than a mother taking advantage of said mistake to make it right?

Spencer studied the card for a moment. It fit the palm of his hand, tiny and delicate. It had a different address from yours and the time of the party, all of it lovely handwritten, just like the letters from calligraphy practice notebooks. It seemed like Olivia put a lot of effort in trying to perfect her handiwork. It read:

Hey, it's Oli!

I'm turning six and I want to celebrate it with you!

The contents of the slip of paper were adorned by dainty drawings related to birthdays: party hats, cake, gifts, some decoration and so on. It suddenly dawned on him that he was actually becoming closer to the people he always thought lived a perfect life. His mind had a tendency to wander and, for a fleeting moment, he thought about what it would be like to be part of that perfect life.

Olivia was a perfectionist child. He saw the expected behavior of the age in her manners, but the care with her work almost made him think someone else had done it for her. Something told him it wasn't the case, though.

Secured by two magnets, he placed Olivia's birthday party invitation on his fridge. You know, just so he wouldn't forget it — he tried to convince himself.

Everybody knew about his otherworldly memory, but he decided to forget it purposefully.

"Good morning, good ghost. I didn't see you anymore." Olivia greeted as she saw Spencer in front of the elevator. You were just locking your door closed, hyping yourself up for the week ahead of you when you heard it and a shiver ran down your spine. This, whatever it was, was getting out of hand.

"Good morning, Miss Olivia!" He said, a sweet tone of voice. You melted. "It's true. It's been a while. I was here on the weekend, but it seemed like you had other plans." He stuck his hand out for her to shake. She did it in a heartbeat.

"I was with my grandma and grandpa. They took me to the movies and grandpa made me lasagna." She explained as you approached them, adjusting your bag and Olivia's backpack in each of your arms. "Did'ya get my birthday party invitation?"

"Yes, I did! Thank you for inviting me. But, you know, your mother probably needed the rest of them for the other guests." He said as the elevator opened. He gestured for you to enter it first, so you did it with a grateful nod.

"Sorry, mommy. I didn't mean it." Olivia looked at you briefly, ashamed that you would call her out.

"I know, baby, 's okay. Everyone has one now." You assured her with a light tone. Breathe. "Hi, Spencer. Good morning." You said as he joined you in the elevator.

He breathed out, "Good morning. Hi." He had a big smile on his face, standing right next to you, you both facing the door and Olivia in front of you. Internally, he felt like a puppy who had his owners’ undivided attention.

Olivia pressed the button to the lobby. You noticed a book in his hands. Courage. "So, what are you reading, Spencer?"

He gulped. Were you talking to him? It took him a moment to get a grip and realize that he hadn't answered you. Struggling to find the words and suddenly unable to remember what he was actually reading. "Me? I'm just re-reading one of Dostoievski's books. Notes from Underground."

"Dosto-what?" Olivia chipped in.

You looked at her, ready to tell her to not interrupt someone, but couldn't stop yourself from giggling. Spencer watched it fondly. "It's Dostoievski, baby. D'you remember that one book with the 'ugly' cover that mommy was reading the other day?" You asked her, air quoting the word 'ugly'. “It wasn’t ugly. It just wasn’t pink.” You explained it, looking at Spencer. He grinned.

"Yeah. You didn't read to me because it was work." She said, getting distracted with one of her braids.

"Are you a teacher?" He asked, intrigued.

"No. I actually work for a publishing company. Sometimes I have interesting content to revise." You said, a tinge of irony in your voice. He smiled at you, feeling comfortable enough to joke around him without the awkwardness of that first encounter.

The elevator door opened. Olivia jumped out. "I bet it's interesting," was the best he could come up with. Tongue tied.

“Yeah. It’s a good book.”

Like a fucking teenager, he watched as you left with your daughter. Your mixed laughter echoing in the lobby as Olivia spinned around while you carried the weight all by yourself.

He scolded himself for not remembering to offer you help.

Two days later, a few states over, Spencer sat on a chair at the conference room of the precinct they were working with. The case was exhausting and he just wanted it to be over, but it wasn't that simple. He waited for Derek Morgan — he was his ride that night back to the hotel they were crashing on. He was in front of Derek as he and Penelope talked, her image on the computer screen. The man's nonchalant tone was a riddle for her to unsolve — everyone else was aware that there was definitely something between them (an unspoken dictionary worth of words), even if their interactions were deemed as jokes. Penelope, feeling very shy, tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and looked at her lap after a particular comment about her smile. As she did so, her eyes caught a glance of her watch. "Oh, shoot. I have to go," she murmured, relieved to have a way out of the exchange that had high chances of turning her into a nervous wreck. "I'm so sorry, handsome! Tomorrow is one of my friend's daughter's birthday."

A flash of disappointment crossed Derek's features. Not that she'd noticed. Instead of pressing her, he chose to say, "Need extra energy to keep up with the kids, babygirl?" Ah, there was it. The teasing tone. She was definitely imagining things.

"Not as much as I need to keep up with you, tiger," she replied with a wink, the dynamic between them quickly shifting back to the usual playful banter. Both of them wanted more than playful and far more than banter, but none of them had the courage to admit it, to be straightforward about it. Spencer understood it, really. Speaking made things too real. "But, seriously. I totally forgot to pick up her gift. Olivia loves reading, so I'll go to the mall. I'm glad I already bought it, so I won't get home late."

If he was a dog, Spencer's ears would have definitely perked up from how quickly he associated one thing to another. Could it be the same Olivia? Your Olivia? "Okay, mama. Be safe." Derek said.

"I will," she smiled as she hung up.

Idiots.

Maybe Derek was too serious about the "no profiling each other" rule they set.

"Let’s go, pretty boy," The dark-skinned agent stated. Spencer got up, grabbed his bag and made his way to the elevator with her.

As they chatted about nothing in particular, walking out of the precinct, he desperately wanted to ask him if she truly didn't see past Penelope's sudden shyness. It wasn't in his nature to do that, of course, but as Derek and Penelope were two of the most important people in his life, he wondered why wouldn't they be a thing by now, since they enjoyed themselves so much and were so open about their affections towards one another.

He was quickly ripped away from his thoughts when the man suddenly spoke up, “So, what's your deal lately, Reid? What's she like?"

The doctor choked on his own saliva, which made him cough like crazy. Derek laughed, but tried to help his panicked friend. "What was that, man?" he asked worriedly, once he saw Spencer had finally inhaled a gulp of air.

Face as red as a tomato, cough dying in his throat, "what was what?" Derek returned to his normal self once he noticed his friend was able to finally form a coherent sentence.

"You're gonna act dumb now that you almost died when I talked about her?" Derek questioned, teasing tone, "it was just a lucky guess, but I see you, Reid. You're daydreaming far too often for what's acceptable for the boy genius who's as focused as a laser beam."

Spencer looked straight ahead as they got to the exit. He should have cornered Derek first. "Why would you think it has anything to do with a 'her'?" He chuckled, nervous to be caught red-handed — even if he wasn't doing anything wrong.

Was it wrong to want? He felt like it was. All his life, really. Had no chance to want anything because either was a far too distant reality, person, happiness for him to grasp it or it was ripped away from him too soon, before he could even acknowledge what was happening inside him. That's why want was almost a foreign sensation for Spencer. He had been deprived of it for as long as he could remember.

"Because people get a little dumb when they're in love. At least, ordinary people do. Apparently, so do geniuses," he snickered, his mind also set on teasing Spencer.

Maybe it was dumb to reveal his secret, jaw dropping crush on his cute neighbor, but he wanted some sort of relief to that mess of tangled thoughts inside his head and the strange, to say the least, feelings brewing on his chest whenever he saw you. You barely knew each other. But he supposed it was yet another part of the want he wasn’t familiar with: it didn't need much and it took all consciousness out the door. It wasn't uncommon for him to feel like his heart was being ripped out of his chest whenever he was on the field, especially since he was often facing danger. The way the events were unfolding were scarily similar to his cases: he noticed you, made up theories based on your behavior and routine, and slowly, oh, so slowly, started to approach you. Not to put you away, but for more personal reasons.

What was different was the feeling in his heart, instead of the sensation of being squeezed painfully inside his ribcage, often leading to ragged breathing, now felt like it was being held delicately by a pair of caring, dainty hands. Either way, his heart was fighting in the frontline and relied on the other part to be calmed and saved. The least he could do was try to be careful, finally opting not saying anything to Derek.

"Just a lot on my mind lately," he chose to say, instead. Derek dropped the subject, too tired to press it further.

Olivia's party had come to an end an hour ago. You got to see old friends and talked until they got every single ounce of information about your life lately and so did you about theirs. Your daughter had enjoyed her party greatly, and hugged every. single. person. who came to wish her happy birthday and thanked them for being there. She paid little attention to the gifts, too focused on spending time with her friends, playing with them until the sugar rush wore off — all of them had a massive candy intake that day. You didn't spend much time with her, but she promised you that she would unwrap her gifts the next morning with you, the most adorable toothless grin on her face.

Despite everything flowing accordingly, all day long, your stomach churned with anticipation. You wondered if Olivia's dad would show up, since the day she was born was, quote, the happiest of his life. His parents did, and when you looked at them anxiously, his mother shot you a neutral glance. Not a word from his end was its meaning. Your daughter never asked anything about him during the day, which made you even more jittery. You feared she would have a breakdown at any time, so you paid extra attention to her.

It never came.

You had missed the deadline of a book chapter that you had to revise, too caught up on trying to balance everything in your life, so your parents told you they'd stay with her so you could go home to work and take her in the morning. Normally, you wouldn't accept it, but your father had decided you were too tired to wake her to go home, so you complied. Right after the guests left, you did all the steps of her night routine, except for the bedtime story — she was that tired of all the running around in the backyard. You were sure she would sleep all night long.

Once she dozed off, you stood for a moment in her grand-bedroom (she had come up with that and it kind of stuck with you). Your parents had decorated it while you were still pregnant. She needs to feel at home, was what your mother said when you walked in on them assembling her crib. You almost cried, overwhelmed with joy. Your fiancé, then, had rolled up his sleeves to help out. Oh, the irony.

Her room was full of photographs that held many memories of her six years of life. You could never imagine that you could love this much, let alone dedicate yourself so entirely to someone like you did for her. Even though it was hard and you often didn't feel like you were enough to raise her on your own, Olivia was a wonderful child and her gestures and overall behavior assured you you were doing a good job. The reflection brought tears to your eyes. You drove home by yourself.

Currently, in your apartment, it felt a little too big without Olivia in there — too many books, too many chairs, too much space on your sofa, too many toys scattered around with nobody to play with them. You sighed, deciding on going to the kitchen to make you a cup of tea — you felt like your brain was hammering inside your skull and you still needed to spend time in front of a computer screen. Going back to your small office to wallow in self pity and second guess yourself even as you read whatever material it was, you heard a knock on the door.

You checked your watch. 9p.m. On a Saturday.

Weird.

Through the peephole, you saw someone you truly weren't expecting. "Spencer?" You asked as you opened the door, surprise filling your being. "I didn't think you'd come, I supposed you were at work. I mean, sometimes it feels like you barely have a routine, heh. But, um, thanks for dropping by." You said, a little unfiltered. Not even five seconds in his presence and you were already making a fool of yourself in front of him.

He held a small bouquet of flowers in one of his hands and a gift in the other. To a stranger's eye, it seemed like he had missed your birthday and was trying to apologize for it. You blushed at the thought. He shut his eyes, sorry crossing his features. "I know. I'm sorry I missed it, even though I really didn't want to. You were right, I was away on a case." You smiled, dismissing his apologies and soothing his worries once you did so.

"It's alright with me. She was totally expecting you, though. Kept asking where you were for the first hour. Then she got distracted with candy," you told him, "so she's the one you're gonna need to apologize to." You joked.

"T—that's why I'm here."

"I'm just not sure if Olivia is old enough to get flowers," you said, face serious. His eyes went wide and it took him a moment to understand, but once he looked at your serious expression cracking, his shoulders shook with laughter, with you. If you had more attention, you'd seen the moment his ears turned red.

Your laughter died down. A beat of silence. "These are actually for you." He revealed.

You were stunned. "Oh," you said, suddenly at a loss of words. "Thank you so much."

He gave you the flowers and you gracefully accepted. You were mesmerized by them; colors swimming in harmony before your eyes and the scent making you feel dizzy. Maybe not the scent, but the emotions you were feeling with the surprise. He went out of his way to get you those flowers — it's safe to say that it had been a while since you felt that way. "I—I have no words, Spencer. Really. Thank you so much," your voice choked.

You looked at each other for a brief moment. You tried to show how much you appreciated his gesture. You grinned, trying to get out of that haze, "Do you want to come in? Oli's with my parents, so you won't be able to apologize today," you quipped, making room for him to enter.

"Yeah, I'd love to."

"You can place the giftbox on the coffee table." He went inside, toeing off his shoes in the small space you had before the living room. Once he was there, he saw you enter the kitchen to find a vase. He could see you from where he stood. "Make yourself at home. Do you want some tea? I have Earl Gray."

Your voice was distant as he took in his surroundings. "Yeah, I'd like it." He murmured as he looked around. Your walls were a light gray, adorned with pictures of you and Olivia, some people he assumed were some of your friends. The wall behind the sofa was entirely covered by a big bookshelf that went from one end to the other, filled with books and souvenirs from basically everywhere. The dark wood of the furniture complemented the light walls in a cozy way, some toys and kids books scattered around the floor. The apartment smelled like fresh printed sheets of paper and earl gray tea. You had a few indoor plants that looked well taken care of. Spencer was admiring your degree from Stanford, which hung on the wall beside the TV, almost close to the door.

"One of my biggest achievements. Besides Olivia, of course," you approached him with his mug of tea. Turning to you, he noticed through his peripheral vision that you had placed the flowers inside a vase and in your coffee table.

"Thanks," he said.

"So... are you okay?"

The question caught him off guard. What?

You smiled a little. "You always look kinda tired when I see you," you said, not thinking about how your words might be interpreted. Your eyes widened, realizing it. "I mean, no! Sorry! You're still pretty, don't worry. It's just— I asked because you might be going through something. Forget I said anything about your looks."

He would definitely never forget.

Spencer laughed, flustered, eyes softly gazing at you while you rambled like a madman. "I'm fine, thanks for asking. Sometimes my job is a little demanding and I'm forced to see some things that usually people don't even think exist," he confessed.

You bit your lip. "I'm sorry."

"You don't need to be," he retorted, "I have a great team to work with."

"I'm glad to hear that. Sorry I brought it up, you probably don't want to talk about work right now." You said, sipping on your tea.

"Yeah, you're right, again," he chuckled. "How was Olivia's birthday?" He tried a change of subject.

"That was actually the reason I was moping when you got here," you said, trying to force a chuckle. "It was nice, I guess. I was just on edge all day trying to anticipate her emotions regarding her dad, but I guess they never came. At least, not today." You beckoned him to sit with you on the couch, now facing each other directly.

"May I ask why?" He asked, tentatively.

"Why what?"

More hesitance. "Why wasn't he there?"

"From what I know, he moved away." You said, tone unreadable.

He worried that he was overstepping and wasn't sure that he would like to hear more about it. He was scared to find out unpleasant news, such as you still had feelings for him. "I'm sorry." Was all he could muster.

"Don't be. I have a great team," you repeated his words from earlier and he smiled at you.

His brain and tongue didn't seem to be working together that night, he was so avid to know more. "Did you always have support?"

"My parents didn't like the idea of having a single mother when they first heard it. It hit me hard back then, but then I realized it was better to be alone than to stay in an unhappy relationship, especially since Olivia was already in the picture." You said, setting your own mug on the coffee table.

"What happened?" Stop it.

He couldn't help it, he was too curious. It was his first opportunity to truly know the novel sort of family that you had. Apparently, not so much.

"He was distant before leaving. Someone else, maybe?" You asked, rhetorically, a crease between your eyebrows. "I never found out, but I don't want or need to, either. His parents absolutely love Olivia and they were there today, 's all that matters."

"You’re a very strong person."

"I have to be," you said, softly. "You’re a very good listener."

A rush of courage running through his veins. Deciding on not taking the road of unsaid things, like his friends were earlier. Don’t dance around the subject, take the opportunity. Dare. "And you're just as pretty."

The world stopped. You looked at him in disbelief. It didn't last much. A knock on your door. Scratch that: someone banging on your door.

You pinched your eyebrows together. Spencer stood up, almost as if he was doing something wrong. You looked at him, apologizing, "I'm not expecting anyone."

You walked to the door and he stood behind you, telling you he was going to let you be. You didn't want to and you were already chastising yourself from not trying to talk to him and focusing on your problems instead. You opened the door and in the threshold stood Penelope Garcia, gift basket in hands. Before you could speak, both of your guests spoke at the same time.

A mortified "Garcia?" from Spencer.

A surprised "Spencer?" from Penelope.

Finally, a confused "Do you know each other?" from you.

"Yeah. We work together." Spencer replied. "What are you doing here, Penelope?"

"What are you doing here, boygenius?" Her tone now was teasing, a cheshire grin on her face. You were acting confused, but you were loving to see Spencer so out of place.

"I... I was..." He trailed off.

Poor thing. "He came to drop Olivia's gift. We're neighbors." You explained, trying to save him from further embarrassment.

She glanced between you two, eyes full of mirth behind her glasses. "I'm here to do the same." She said, smiling as she handed you the basket, which you took carefully and thanked her with a side hug. "There's her present, sweetcheeks. I'm so sorry I couldn't be there, you know how much I miss you and Olivia. But I'm sure our genius told you all about it." Her sentimental words truly held emotion, but she turned her attention to Spencer once again. The opportunity was too good to let go.

Spencer looked like a fish out of water. You opened your mouth to speak, but he beat you to it. "Garcia, can we talk?" He asked abruptly. "I'm sorry, I have to go." He murmured in a much more soft tone to you.

He could never resume whatever was going on in there because he felt like he had been caught with his pants down.

You were so surprised you didn't even process what was your answer, forgetting to ask if Penelope wanted to come in or anything. "I—Okay. I'll see you, then." With a small smile and slight disappointment in your voice. He all but dashed out of your apartment and took Garcia, who had a mischievous expression on her face, with him. You closed your door and looked at the mix of flowers. A sigh escaped you. Damn, Garcia.

Spencer was escorting Penelope back to her car, ready to bury himself alive because he knew she would run her mouth and knew precisely to whom she would tell about it. And, of course, the endless jokes he would hear during the next few days. "Sooooo..." She trailed off, suggestively.

"I—don't want to talk." She opened her mouth, but had no success in talking. "Not. A. Word."

She entered her car and started the engine as he waited for her to go. But before she started driving, she yelled, "I knew you had it in you, Reid."

From your balcony, work long forgotten, you watched Spencer hide his face in his hands in utter embarrassment.

You were doomed.

[calmcoldevening]

Hey hon, just read your Art x virgin HC. Although I kinda wanted to pick your brain on reader x confused inexperienced Virgin! Art…

Virgin!Art the clown x reader

Tw: smut, nsfw

Note: it's short but I tried. Show this guy real pleasure, babe

• Art got used to the fact that his human body was capable of feeling cold or in rare cases needing food, although his demonic abilities still made him immortal. But some other physiological issues remained incomprehensible to him.

• Art doesn't know how or why he left you alive and relatively unharmed, but your presence seemed almost bearable to him. He is used to the fact that you are often around, that you cook for him and from time to time blow his brains out with your discontent, like why he left traces of blood on the floor in your bathroom again.

• But it was okay, really okay. Art got used to it after a couple of weeks, accepting it as his new reality. At least you didn't scream once again and didn't try to turn him over to the police (he knew perfectly well that some boys in blue wouldn't stop him in any way, but he didn't want to shine once again before his next loud bloody "show")

• But sometimes he wondered why your body was different from his own. He's seen you change clothes or walk around the house in just a towel or underwear a hundred times, and he's seen women's bodies under his knife a million more times. And it really occupied his brain. The difference was obvious.

• Art saw some guys flirting with you in a bar a few times, and it pissed him off. You tried to laugh it off and try to get away from the guys, but they kept trying to touch you (of course, Art personally strangled them later). But he was interested in touching you as well. It looked strange, new to him.

• The first time he saw you naked, you never thought it would do anything to him. After all, you knew that Art wasn't really human, so you didn't expect any obvious reaction.

• But one day you came home pretty drunk and climbed up to Art with hugs. It was just awkward hugs on the couch and sloppy kisses. You sat on his lap with your arms around his neck and smeared his face paint with your grinning lips, whispering words like 'my handsome'. Art didn't expect any sensations. He had been in this situation before, and then he realized how stupid people can be under the influence of alcohol. But it felt different with you. He felt a strange burning sensation in his body, and his pants became uncomfortably tight under your warm thighs.

• Then he did not focus on it and the feeling quickly passed. But it came back later, when you weren't drunk anymore. He could just admire you for a long time or follow some female victim, unknowingly imagining you in her place. It made him very hard. His rapid breathing and heartbeat were driving him crazy, although he had long realized that his heart was almost dead in this body.

• But Art, surprisingly, liked the feeling. And the feeling of your weight in his arms was damn tempting.

• Although Art often thought about it, he did not know at all what it was called and why people felt it. That's why you were the one who initiated the whole thing.

• One dark evening, the two of you watched some kind of bloody horror movie that Art especially likes. Although he frowned and condemned the unreality of the bloody scenes with gestures. It is dark outside and heavy rain is dripping, pounding on the windows with force. Your hand gently took his gloved hand, tracing the rough cold knuckles. At first, he does not notice your touch, but gradually your hand moves higher and higher, gently wrapping around his neck. In one deft movement, you straddled his knees, pulling him closer to you by the neck. There's a sly smile on your face. Art's eyes widen in surprise, but he can't deny the anticipation growing in his chest, even though he didn't quite understand what you wanted from him.

• You gently move your hips back and forth, feeling the growing warmth under your body. Art didn't know that feeling. He seemed to be detached from his own body at the moment, but he was warm and pleasant. A strange tingling sensation in his body began to bother him a little. Your hands gently traced the fabric of his suit, your fingers gently glided over his makeup, sloppily smearing black lipstick. Art's hands instinctively rested on your hips, gently squeezing your flesh.

• His body was moving on its own. The strange tingling and growing heat were driving his brain crazy. The warmth of your soft thighs didn't help his frantic thoughts at all. The movie almost became background noise, all Art was focused on right now was you and the feelings you caused him.

• Art let out a soundless moan, feeling himself pressing against your body and feeling an almost painful pressure. But he frowned slightly, pressing your hips harder against his knees, and rolled his eyes for a moment. There was a momentary pleasant sensation through his body, which made his heart beat with renewed vigor, and his breathing quickened. God, you made him feel so good. He had never felt anything like this. His pants instantly got wet, pulling a satisfied chuckle out of you.

• "So fast sweet pie? Why don't we try again? 'm sure you'll like it more."

[flowergoddessblooms]

I will never forget that day. In the middle of the night, as the storm raged, wind bellowing, we were safe in our house. It wasn't huge, but we were quite well to do compared to others in our community. The wood burned and the fire crackled, providing warmth much craved. There was enough food to last a month. We all sat in the light of the burning embers. I remember thinking how unfortunate that the others weren't so lucky.

Oh how I hate myself for even having had that thought. For moments after, we heard the sound of glass breaking. Our eyes darted across the room, now staring at a man brushing glass pieces off his black cloak. You would recognise the emblem on his cloak anywhere.

The Black Raven guild.

Mercenaries.

Before my brain could process what had just occurred, the man rushed through the room, armed with a dagger. It was over in a split second.

I stood agape, watching the crimson flow.

My parents were dead.

Blood seeped through the carpet, under the floorboards. Time was at a standstill.

The man looked over at me.

"A scrawny brat, eh? Well you weren't in the request and I couldn't care less about a little shit like you."

And he was gone.

My tears wouldn't stop. For days and nights I sat there clutching the bodies of my parents, as the rain and thunder never stopped. The stench of decaying corpses is something you can never imagine. One whose face is filled with absolute fear and desperation. It was etched into my heart.

And so, after a long time spent crying, trying to fix the wounds, venturing out into the storm to ask for help only to return dejected, I swore. I swore to myself that I would make that man regret being born for taking away my happiness.

It's been 21 years. 21 years of hunting for this man whose face I didn't know. 21 years of traveling around the country, spending days at inns, flocking bars, approaching information guilds, anything and everything. And I finally found him.

I found out everything about him.

57 years old. Muscular. Tanned. Shaved head. A thick beard. Lived in a little village on the outskirts of the country. He would protect the villagers from bandits. He was quite loved by the community.

But I know who he truly is. Beneath all that facade of a good man and the protector of women and children, he is someone who would kill people for money.

It didn't take me long to find him. And boy oh boy, it was infuriating.

He was a changed man. He didn't talk like the way he did that night, in a rugged tone, without an ounce of humanity. He had a slow speech and spoke as though he was an enlightened monk.

How. Funny.

He didn't recognise me at first. It was only when i mentioned who my parents were, that he looked at me with a forlorn gaze and sighed.

Was this asshole pitying me? This person, who wasn't worth being called human, was showing sympathy?

I remember what he said, word for word.

" All those years ago, I was someone who only lived for money because I had to take care of myself and my family. My sisters were about to be sold off if I hadn't paid off my father's gambling debts. I didn't have much choice. I don't do that anymore. I've found my place with these people here. I take care of bandits for them, they feed me and my family in return. It's quite a peaceful transaction." He said gazing wistfully towards the village.

Not a single apology.

And was that story supposed to make me feel empathetic for him? Where was his empathy when he mercilessly murdered my parents in front of a 9 year old?

Did he expect me to droop my shoulders, cry and hug him?

He deserved to die and I would give him that.

I raided his home late that night. It was dark and stormy, quite fitting really. I broke the window and jumped in. He wasn't ready and it wasn't much of a fight for me, he was old and slow, barely able to dodge my attacks. It was soon over. I stood over him, as blood splurted out of his neck, staining the wooden floorboards with a rich crimson hue. I sat there, laughing, relishing my victory, when I heard little whimpers from close by.

It didn't matter anyway. I had fulfilled what I had sworn all those years ago. I was finally at peace.

No matter how much of my humanity it took from me.

I was finally at peace.

When you were a child, a mercenary made you watch as he killed your entire family in front of you. You swore revenge. Decades later, you've finally tracked them down- …only to find they're now a pacifistic geriatric who's beloved by his community.

[sweetshuga]

Lurking ✰ MS [Finale]

───~𓆩♡𓆪~───

stalker!matt! Waking up to find him in between your legs—eating you out. [Smut!]

You had fallen asleep in your bed after having a nice warm shower, just like any other day. You had worn your favourite pajamas; the one with the silky soft material, in all blue. The weird incidents from the previous week totally forgotten as you fell into a deeper slumber.

You squirmed slightly in your sleep, your body reacting to the feeling of cold hands running up and down your thighs. A hitch in your breath, and your body relaxed—going back to sleep.

𓆩♡𓆪

A few minutes or so passed by and you were still dead to the world, fast asleep. You were in such a deep sleep that you didn’t notice when he hooked his fingers into the waistband of your pj shorts, slowly inching them down your legs and off. The bed creaked softly as the man moved, spreading your thighs gently. His cold hands ran up your inner thighs, making you shiver, a soft sigh escaping your lips

His hands caressed your thighs, almost reverently. His fingers drew gentle idle patterns on your inner thighs, getting closer to your heat. A slight tap just beside your clothed cunt made your legs jolt, eliciting a low chuckle from the man. Your breath hitched and thighs closed subconsciously, but the man wasn't having any of that, a quiet groan escaping his lips.

He waited until your breathing evened out before slowly spreading your thighs again. This time his face inched closer, a smirk playing on his lips when he saw the small wet patch on your panties.

𓆩♡𓆪

Your eyes fluttered when you felt a warm wet sensation on your pussy. A soft sleepy moan exiting your lips as your hips jerked, only to be held down by a pair of hands. That made your eyes snap open, your gaze immediately darting down.

Your body tensed when you saw him – the same man that had followed you home two weeks ago – feasting on your pussy like a starved man. Your hands flew up to pull at his hair, unable to decide if you wanted to push him away or pull him closer—you decided on the latter.

He groaned approvingly at your flesh, causing a shock of pleasure to run through you. "Who... oh fuck," you moaned, unable to speak coherent sentences as he continued his assault on your pussy, "who are you—" the man’s chuckle cut you off, wiping his lips with the back of his hand as he sat back on his haunches, leaving you aching for more.

"The name’s Matt... But the real question is, why aren’t you pushing me away—better yet, why aren’t you screaming? Or did you expect someone, a stalker of yours perhaps–" he let out a small chuckle, "to eat you out like this?" He muttered, his hands caressing your inner thighs.

Your mind reeled at his words, had you really wanted something like this to happen? He was right, you didn’t push him away nor did you scream for help like any other person would’ve. A soft "I don’t know" is all you could whisper as you looked at him—at his intense gaze on you, his blue eyes almost piercing through you, making you gulp.

"So, what do you say, pretty?" You blinked at him, confused, yet willing, "want me to continue? Or are you gonna push me away and call the cops?" He smirked, taunting your morals, but you were far too gone to give a fuck about morals.

"Please—Please, Matt," you whispered, the tone making him shiver in excitement. "Please continue, I won’t call the police—hell, I won’t tell anyone, just please—" he cut you off by running his thumb over your bottom lip. "Shh— I get it, pretty... I know you won’t, just relax and feel," he cooed before lowering his head back down, his lips latching onto your sopping pussy.

Your head fell back against your pillow as moans of ecstasy and profanities left your lips, the feeling too good—good enough for you to moan his name, the same man you were scared of just a few days ago. How ironic.

Stage 4: Interference—physical or sexual attack.

He took what he wanted, and you let him.

𓆩♡𓆪

stage. 1 2 3

wc. 696

note. English is not my first language!

Isa's notes. Finally, I wrote the last part of it. I know it was short and all, but I think I'll stick to this "4 stages of stalking" thing just like roomie!chris where I made the parts based on rules. Let my fantasies write this one, yikes.

Ending the series with something suggestive like this just adds flavour 🎀

Taglist: @poolover123 @unknvhx @welovestromboli @stvrnslut @h3arts4nat

xoxo 𓆩♡𓆪

© sweetshuga