#Mobile Hair Removal

[herespaaa]

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[zincfingermotif]

happy birthday to the star of the la vie en rose

[aleisters]

okay so how do i learn to MAKE a mod, because i want options for black hair raph and also … salt and pepper raphael

[bachissidehoe]

in which you're Reo's princess, and Nagi's his treasure. (w.c. 1049)

At first, you found it strange the way Nagi Seishiro would so casually throw his arm around your shoulder and hold you close to his chest. You were Reo’s girlfriend, after all. The girlfriend of his best friend.

“What are you playing?”

He sighed. “It would be a hassle to explain. You can watch though.”

And you did. You sat next to him on the couch, forcing your gaze past his toned muscles and shaggy, tangled hair to watch his little mobile game.

“Come here. It’s hard to play when you’re leaning on my arm.”

And he wrapped his arm around you, pulling you into his side so he could access his screen better. Apparently, this position made him more mobile.

You were flushed. You didn’t think something like this would be allowed. You were nestled into the gorgeous, soft body of your boyfriend’s best friend.

“Oh cute! My princess and my treasure.”

That’s all Reo had said when he saw you. It surprised you, to say the least.

But it’s not like you were complaining. Where lying on Reo’s chest was warm, Nagi’s was cool. Where Reo was obvious with his praise, Nagi was nonchalant. You found yourself wanting the affection of both of them, in a weird way.

And it started to be less surprising when Nagi asked to hold you. In fact, you started to hope he would.

“Your thighs are soft, like pillows. I need a nap.”

And Nagi collapsed, right there on your thighs, letting his eyes flutter shut. So calm.

“Aren’t they?” Reo agreed from the opposite couch, encouraging the physicality.

What the two didn’t notice was how you shifted in your seat, affected by the warm breaths that dusted your inner thighs. It wouldn’t be comfortable for the snowy haired boy to sleep in a puddle, so you held on for dear life, your hands clenched around the fabric of the couch rather than tangled in his messy hair.

You hadn’t realized the effect Nagi Seishiro really had on you. How his subtle, casual affection had trained you to become a secret mess for him. For your boyfriend’s best friend.

But Reo- your smart, charismatic, beautiful boyfriend- he had realized. In fact, he’d been encouraging this for a reason.

“You’re bothered, aren’t you princess?”

For a moment you thought you may be in trouble. It’s wrong to get turned on by your boyfriend’s best friend. But the look on Reo’s face, the devious smirk, said otherwise.

So you nodded.

“How cute.” He moved to hover over you, Nagi still restful on your thighs. “My princess and my treasure get along so well.”

It became pretty obvious what your boyfriend wanted after that. You just didn't realize how you didn't notice it before. The way he looked at Nagi. The way he encouraged you two. He wanted Nagi just as badly as you did.

The burning growing between your thighs wasn't enough for just Reo to satisfy anymore. And he knew that.

"Princess, hm? That what you want me to call her too, Reo?" Nagi mumbled, his groggy eyes opening just enough to look up at your flushed face.

"You should." Reo pulled Nagi upward by his shirt, removing him from the comfortable spot he created on your thighs.

Nagi complained the whole way up, of course, he was never one to enjoy being forced out of a cozy position.

"You should also let her ride you." Reo smirked, bringing Nagi's face close to his, nearly touching his lips.

You gulped.

But Nagi Seishiro was less than nervous, the nonchalant type of person he was. He only glanced back at you, not struggling at all under your boyfriend's tight hold on his shirt.

"Yeah fine." Nagi agreed.

It was hard for you to tell whether Nagi really wanted to fuck you, whether he was interested in you at all or if he wanted to shut Reo up. But as it turned out, Nagi Seishiro was stubborn and ruthless. He wanted you just as badly, his cock constantly straining against his shorts whenever you were close to him, wanting any excuse to stuff his face into your pretty thighs. But he'd never admit it.

Not until you were bouncing on his thick cock, mouth hung open and hands relentlessly tugging on his hair. Right there on that couch. With your wet cunt soaking him, your movements squeezing juices into a messy coating for Nagi's bare thighs.

That's when Nagi Seishiro decided to be honest. "Fuck, I needed you. Fuck~ yes I need~ ah-"

And Reo couldn't have been happier about the beautiful scene he created. "You don't mind, hm? Can't expect me to just watch." He lined up behind you, letting his familiar, flushed tip plunge into the depths of your unused hole, forcing you to lean forward onto Nagi's chest.

"I'll get ya both off. Fuck~" Reo spat, his thrusts creating the friction both you and Nagi so desperately craved, your heavy breaths mixing into each other in the small space between you.

And you kissed him, because you couldn't help it. Your sloppy, drooly lips pressed to Nagi's in a desperate display of hunger.

As it turned out, Reo had been thinking about this for a long time. Longer than you had. Longer than the stubborn Nagi Seishiro had.

He rocked his hips in perfect rhythm, your cunt sliding and squeezing around Nagi's perfect cock while your ass was lubed and stuffed by your pretty boyfriend.

Reo was right about getting you both off, too. It took him practically no time, with your clit rubbing against Nagi's skin and the friction forcing Nagi's tip into your g-spot over and over again, it wasn't difficult. But that didn't matter to Reo, he never specified how many times he expected to get you two off. And it became clear very quickly that once wasn't enough for him.

He'd been holding back his desires for too long, he deserved to see you shaking, tears streaming down your face, cum dripping from all your holes. He deserved to see Nagi fucked out, hair sticking to his forehead, arms wrapped around you and lips attached to your bruised neck.

Your boyfriend deserved that much. After how long you made him wait to fuck his princess and his treasure.

[tokay-blog]

For sg Starscream, the image of a butler was sought after, as this character is much more calm and collected. The slouch and heels have been removed, as the character is not trying to appear taller. The original, for all his character was a slippery type. The mirror version is doomed to move only on his feet, as he has lost his t-cog without the ability to regain it. As a result, this Starscream is far less mobile.

In general, he should be a gray-haired grandfather who mentors and helps Megatron as much as he can x)

Optimus has decided to make him an example for the others. So he organized a public execution with crucifixion and subsequent burning. But the autobots will gain almost nothing from his death. No information, no fear, no screams of pain, no pleas for mercy.

[fangdokja]

♡ TW. Dead Dove // Read at Your Own Risk ; ♡ WC. 369

The classroom is quiet, save for the professor’s dull voice droning on about something you can’t focus on. Not when his hand is already buried between your thighs, fingers digging into your skin.

"Quit fucking squirming." His voice is low, sharp, deadly. You freeze. His other hand grips your nape, forcing you down until your cheek presses against his thigh.

"Be a good girl and open your mouth." You shake your head, panic twisting in your stomach. His fingers tighten in your hair—pain lancing through your scalp. "Did I ask?" His tone is mocking, like he’s amused by the very idea of you refusing him.

You glance up, heart hammering. The professor is still talking, the other students engrossed in their notes. No one is paying attention to you. Except him.

"Mouth. Now." Tears sting your eyes, but you part your lips anyway. He chuckles, pulling himself out—hot, heavy, pulsing against your tongue. "That’s it. Knew you’d listen." Your cheeks burn, the taste of salt and musk invading your senses. "Suck." Your hands fist against his thigh, helpless. His hips jerk, forcing himself deeper—making you choke.

"Tsk. What’s wrong, baby? Too big for you?" You dig your nails into his leg, desperate to push away. But he doesn’t let you. "Come on, don’t be fucking useless." His grip tightens, forcing your head down until your nose presses against his skin. Your throat convulses, eyes watering. Above you, he groans, fingers tightening.

"Fuck—look at you, drooling already. Such a filthy little slut." Your vision blurs, the sound of the professor’s voice warping in and out. Someone laughs a few seats away. A pen scratches against paper. The world keeps moving—and you’re stuck here, gagging on your boyfriend’s cock. His breath hitches.

"You like this, don’t you? Nasty fucking bitch—sucking me off in the middle of class like a desperate whore." You shake your head, whimpering. He laughs. "Yeah? Then why’s your throat squeezing me like that?" You flinch, choking as he thrusts again—deeper, harder.

"Mm, fuck—gonna keep you like this all fucking period. Make you swallow before the bell rings." You cry out, but the sound is muffled, broken. No one notices. No one ever will. And he loves that.

♡ List of Fandoms and Characters.

♡ Note. Due to Tumblr policy, all characters are all of age.

Ace Attorney: N/A

Arcane: N/A

Blue Lock: Michael Kaiser, Rin Itoshi, Shidou Ryusei, Yoichi Isagi

Boku no Hero Academia: Dabi, Katsuki Bakugo, Villain! Midoriya Izuku

Brutal: Satsujin Kansatsukan no Kokuhaku: N/A

Death Note: N/A

Demon Slayer: Doma, Tengen Uzui

Dishonored Series: N/A

Genshin Impact: Childe, Itto, Kaeya, Scaramouche, Rex Lapis

Haikyuu!!: Atsumu Miya, Hajime Iwaizumi, Keishin Ukai, Kentarou Kyotani, Lev Haiba, Suna Rintarou, Tendō Satori, Tetsurou Kuroo, Yūji Terushima

Honkai Star Rail: Aventurine, Blade, Boothill, Mr. Reca, Mydei

How to Live as an Illegal Healer: N/A

Hunter x Hunter: Hisoka Morow, Leorio Paradinight, Nobunaga Hazama, Phinks, Uvogin

I'm Not That Kind of Talent: Demon Aru, Duke Illuster Starbe

Jujutsu Kaisen: Kenjaku, Megumi Fushiguro, Naoya Zen'in, Ryōmen Sukuna, Satoru Gojo, Suguru Geto

Kill The Hero: Kim Woo-Jin, Park Yong-Wan, Se Jun-Lee

Love and Deepspace: Caleb

Mobile Legends: Bang Bang: Aamon, Gusion, Granger, Ling, Xavier

MONSTER: N/A

Naruto Shippuden: Deidara, Hashirama Senju, Hidan, Kabuto Yakushi, Kisame Hoshigaki, Madara Uchiha, Zabuza Momochi

One Punch Man: Boros, Suiryu

Reverend Insanity: Fang Yuan

TOUCHSTARVED: Vere

Undertale Multiverse (Human AU): Bill! Sans, Dust! Sans, Error! Sans, Fresh! Sans, Ink! Sans, Horror! Sans, Killer! Sans, Nightmare! Sans, Shattered Dream! Sans, Underfell Papyrus, Underfell Sans, Undertale Chara, Undertale Frisk

Wuthering Waves: Geshu Lin, Scar

Your Throne: Eros Orna Vasilios

If you want to be added or removed from the tag list, just comment on the MASTERLIST of The Red Ledger (TRL): Stained in Lust, Written in Blood. Thank you.

Official TAG LIST of “The Red Ledger”: @save4h , @rofkshinee , @songbirdgardensworld

❤︎ Fang Dokja's Books.

♡ For Reader-Inserts. I only write Male Yandere x Female (Fem.) Reader (heterosexual couple). No LGBTQ+:

♡ Book 1. A Heart Devoured (AHD): A Dark Yandere Anthology

♡ Book 2. Forbidden Fruits (FF): Intimate Obsessions, Unhinged Desires.

♡ Book 3. World Ablaze (WA) : For You, I'd Burn the World.

♡ Book 4. Whispers in the Dark (WITD): Subtle Devotion, Lingering Shadows.

♡ Book 5. Ink & Insight (I&I): From Dead Dove to Daydreams.

♡ Library MASTERPOST 1. The Librarian’s Ledger: A Map to The Library of Forbidden Texts.

♡ Notice #1. Not all stories are included in the masterpost due to Tumblr’s link limitations. However, most long-form stories can be found here. If you're searching for a specific yandere or theme, this guide will help you navigate The Library of Forbidden Texts. Proceed with caution

♡ Book 6 [you are here]. The Red Ledger (TRL): Stained in Lust, Written in Blood.

♡ Notice #2. This masterlist is strictly for non-con smut and serves as an exercise in refining erotic horror writing. Comments that reduce my work to mere sexual gratification, thirst, or casual simping will not be tolerated. If your response is primarily thirst-driven, keep it to yourself—repeated violations may result in blocking. Read the RULES before engaging. The tag list is reserved for followers I trust to respect my boundaries; being included is a privilege, not a right. You may request to be added, but I will decide based on trust and adherence to my guidelines. I also reserve the right to remove anyone at any time if their engagement becomes inappropriate.

Test-Phase TAG LIST of “The Red Ledger”: @yanderedrabbles

[lostintransist]

Broken Beyond Bearing | Part 3

-.-. …. .. .-.. -.. .-. . -. / -.— —- ..- -. —. / .- … / - . -.

Part 1 found here | AO3

CW: A/B/O sexism I guess is what we should call this? Trauma reactions to doctors, awful in world politics.

Keeping his eyes on you Kyle’s concern rises with each shallow breath you suck between your teeth.

The nurse had been watching and held the door open as he directed Kyle to the first room on the right. Settling your body flat on the table he steps back, trying to give the nurse room to move. With two chairs, a small counter and a sink, and a ‘calming’ green on the walls the room looks exactly like he expects it to.

“How long ago was the exposure?” The nurse is taking your vitals and you stiffen as if your body hit rigor. “Ma’am if you don’t relax this is going to take longer.”

“Less than thirty minutes,” Kyle answers coolly.

The whine, primal and terrified, that comes from your throat as the blood pressure cuff is tightening has Kyle moving to where your head lays. Running the back of his knuckles down your cheeks he whispers to you. The scent of your fear, clear and uncontaminated with whatever afflicted you normally, flooded the room.

“Hey, hey. I’m here. You’re not alone. Everything will be okay.”

The nurse, an alpha by scent, makes a noise that pulls Kyle to look at him. The nurse, Johnson by the glance to his name tag, keeps his eyes on the monitor taking your blood pressure and pulse. Kyle focuses back on you. Your body regains mobility as the cuff is removed, eyes rolling like a horse looking for a place to run.

“Her vitals are all looking normal, the doctor will be in shortly,” Johnson shuts the door behind him. He must not be far enough away from the door when he starts talking to someone else. “Beta bitch in room one has track marks up both arms. I knew betas died from drugs more than any other gender but it’s wild to see that out here.”

Kyle would have stormed out the door to rip into the man if your hands hadn’t slapped into his, holding them tight. Pulling yourself upright from the reclined position you tuck your knees to your chest and rest your chin atop them. Letting go of his hands you curl them around your legs.

Sitting on a chair positioned next to the bed Kyle looks up at you, trying to catch your eyes.

Even when he could see the streaks of color through your irises no recognition lit your features. Concerned, Kyle stays sitting on the bed with you watching each breath and twitch. Nothing changes until the door opens with a faint knock.

“My name is Doctor Chen. Can you tell me what happened today?”

Like an automaton, you uncurl from your crunched position. Legs folded you straighten your back and rest your forearms on your knees palms aimed at the ceiling. Kyle had seen poses similar in meditation videos he would watch sometimes to give his mind a moment to relax. There is no peace in your pose. The width of your open eyes and the shallowness of your breath all remind him of victims he has saved from torture.

Memories that left their marks on his bones should not be reflected in your posture, he faced evil abroad and in the mirror to keep people like you safe.

He glanced at the man, dark hair, light blue scrubs, thick-rimmed glasses, and a white overcoat Kyle mostly associated with lab work. A quick draw of breath and Kyle marked him as an alpha. Dr. Chen did not look at you once, eyes staying firmly on him.

“We had an exposure to an allergen.”

Dr. Chen nodded once and sat on the small, wheeled stool that Kyle only ever saw in doctor’s offices. He wondered if they had to special order them or if they appeared in the building like fairies to offers of milk and bread. The man logged into his computer with a swipe of his name tag to an RFID reader and tapped a few buttons before turning to look at Kyle again.

“Do you know what the allergy was in reaction to?” He adjusts his glasses further up his nose.

“We don’t and would like to get some testing. Does this clinic do testing?” Kyle asked; all of his medical care happened on base.

Dr. Chen’s eyes glanced at you for the first time with a flare of his nose as he took in the fear salting the room with your uniquely beta scent. Kyle knew deeper than his marrow that you could turn off his brain and any explosive rage that he dealt with being an alpha. You didn’t use that now, but by the gods, he wished you would. The flash of disgust that whipped across Dr. Chen’s face ignited the soul-deep rage that existed with being an alpha.

“Dr. Chen,” the darkness, power, in Kyle’s voice brought the doctor’s face to him. “You will treat my wife with respect or I will ensure you don’t live to regret it.”

The cloying, nose-coating scent of Dr. Chen’s alpha rising to meet the challenge filled Kyle’s nose. He let the monster rise in his eyes, keeping his scent muted. Military training had to be good for something beyond the battlefield.

Kyle stands, placing his body between the doctor and the bed where you sit. Arms crossed and shoulders spread wide he used the mass of his bulk to show the barrier he could be. He didn’t know you, but Kate had seen something that prompted her to give them the care over you. You would not feel any harm if he could prevent it. You started to rock softly, eyes still unseeing. Then you begin to hum Edelweiss, effectively breaking the tension. Chen lost the staring match when he glanced at you.

“Do your job doctor, so I don’t have to.”

“That is out of line Mr—”

“Sergeant, special forces.”

Dr. Chen’s eyes narrowed but accepted the correction.

“Sergeant, your wife is doing fine by her visual inspection and her vitals agree. This clinic does not offer allergy testing but there are a few private practices here that you can call.” He turned back to his computer, typing in what Kyle assumed to be a summary of the visit today. “Most of what we do here for allergies is to stop the reaction and watch for any adverse effects.”

“I will need a copy of that report for our records,” Kyle stated it like a command he would give a private or a trainee. A firm ‘this is the course of action you will be taking’ that did not leave any room for questions or disobedience.

If Dr. Chen thought of arguing with Kyle, he kept it to himself. He left shortly after with a comment that Johnson would be in soon with the paperwork he requested. That is how Johnny found them, Kyle’s arms crossed and holding back his rage and you the juxtaposition of a peaceful body and an absent mind.

“You are more than you appear, wife,” Johnny took your hand, curling fingers around palms.

They wait in the cadence of your voice for nearly five minutes before Johnson appears, papers in hand. Kyle snaps a vice grip around the man’s wrist, pulling him close.

“Johnson. If I hear you telling tales about betas, and more specifically about my wife I will paint the walls of your room with colors not even crime techs will unsee.”

The man under his eyes paled quite impressively. Plucking the papers from his hand Kyle dropped Johnson’s hand and turned to his pack mate and partner in crime. Johnny’s thumb traced a track along the back of your hand as he watched the interaction play out before him.

“Can you carry her to the truck?”

Johnny’s eyes flicked as he watched the nurse flee from the room.

“Yeah. Up you pop bonnie,” he settled one arm over his shoulder and then the other before lifting you under the thighs to settle around his waist.

Still, you hummed, no life in your form. Kyle had a glare and a harsh, nose-blistering scent of rage for anyone who looked too long. Johnny settled in the back seat with you, buckling you into the middle so he could keep a hand on you and Kyle could check on you in the review mirror.

The drive home is tense, filled only with Kyle’s quiet mutterings about inexperienced winter drivers. When he turns onto the path home Johnny asks a question.

“What the hell happened in the clinic when I was on the phone with John?”

The steering wheel creaks under the pressure of Kyle’s hands.

“Nurse and doctor had some awful things to say about our wife, called her a drug addict, and couldn’t keep professional.”

“The hell? Why did they do that?” Johnny’s face in the rearview is tight with angry concern.

“It’s due to the beta laws that went into place ten…eleven? Yeah maybe eleven years ago.” Your voice is an unexpected addition to the conversation.

Kyle slows to a stop in the snow, throwing the truck in park and turning to look at you.

“What beta laws?”

He knows his gaze is harsh when you flinch back. Johnny wraps an arm around you and you settle a bit.

“There were laws on the books for a long time that weren’t really enforced,” you swallow and look from man to man before staring at your knees and continuing. “About how betas weren’t allowed the same personhood rights as alphas and omegas due to the lack of either consistent rut or heat. Apparently, the ability to do both is scary to the government. Several years back a group successfully passed a new law that said basically that betas should be treated like children, unable to sign paperwork without an approving authority, have bank accounts alone, apply for a credit card, or passport, you name it without the approval of an alpha or omega. In some places it went beyond that, stripping beta’s of all rights.”

Johnny muttered under his breath something that sounded like ‘What the fuck’ but Kyle kept his eyes on you.

“What happened to you?” His whisper hardens on your skin like ice.

There is no weak, scared beta woman here, only a beast that would peel him apart if he pushed. He didn’t scare her, but doctors did.

“No.”

Nodding once and accepting the answer Kyle turned back to driving. He would discuss this all with the guys after they had settled into bed. The interactions with the clinic staff were nothing like he had ever experienced before. Though as he thought of it he couldn’t remember the last time he had worked with a beta.

Simon and John step onto the porch as Kyle parks, as if they had been keeping watch for them.

The four men set about their tasks, hauling everything inside. You follow when Johnny reaches into the back seat and helps you out, hand tucked in his as he carries in a few bags. Simon sets about setting up the bed they picked for your room. Johnny settles you at the table, laughing and joking at you as he prepares a plate of food. Kyle and John set to work on creating the dresser. They don’t hear you laugh at any of Johnny’s stories but John points to you once and Kyle catches a glimpse of a smile. The sun slips away into the trees as each of the men finishes their task. Once the bed is made and the mattress settled on the frame John and Kyle lift the dresser into place.

The three men who had built things collapsed onto the couch facing the back wall of windows into the woods. Simon is settled between John and Kyle an arm dropped around each of them. You are standing on the back porch, head tilted back as you look at the ink-dark sky. The coat and boots you wear are those picked up today. Kyle didn’t think to wonder where Johnny had gone until he bounced down the steps with a bright bundle of fabric over one shoulder as he shoved a beanie on his head.

“Where ya going, Johnny?” Simon pitches his voice to carry but not to shout.

“Gonna give our wife a gift,” he winks at his lovers and pops out the back door.

Simon tightens the arm around Kyle.

“He loves you. That won’t change if he chooses to love someone new as well,” John murmured.

Kyle looked over at John who lay his head fully on Simon, nose buried in the scent gland at his neck. John licks the length of the gland causing Simon to let out a short whine.

Glancing back out to the back porch Kyle watches Johnny settle a shawl across your shoulders and sees in your profile confusion, hesitance. When you look down and clutch the shawl tight to your chest Kyle could only call the look on your face concerned acceptance. Johnny grinned at you like the sun had risen.

“To bed Simon, I can feel you grumble. Your rut starts soon. Let Johnny get our wife settled and let Kyle and I get you into bed.” John pushes up from the couch pulling Simon with him.

Kyle stands as well, eyes drifting to you and Johnny one last time. Standing side by side the two stare at the stars. John calls him from his observations and Kyle starts up the stairs after his lovers. His other lover will arrive with time.

Broken Masterlist | Masterlist

@lucienofthelakes @gg-trini @talia-the-gemini @thriving-n-jiving @z-wantstowrite @asialovesyou09 @literallegendicon @canthavetoomuchchaos @reinekoya @jsptmoche @demothers-empty-blog @hbaasaad

[13atoms]

Handsome and a Genius (Spencer Reid x F!Bau!Reader)

Inspired by that one scene in x files where mulder stands like a himbo looking handsome and being the future of beauty. you know the one I mean

Summary: Spencer’s overactive brain draws more attention than it ought to on a case, and you see him in a new light. 3k words.

Contains: hostile witnesses, spencer being clueless (but an absolute babe), friends to lovers. (No offence to Florida im sure it’s very nice, reader is having a bad day, and I am far too British for that kind of heat)

The sticky Florida air had long since plastered your clothes to your skin, leaving you short of breath and with the unpleasant feeling of damp hair against your scalp. The whole team had groaned at the revelation their next case would be in the outskirts of Miami, and as soon as the plane door opened you understood why.

You were hot, and grumpy. The salty, swampy air made you feel disgusting as you approached witness after witness. There was a serial killer operating in and around mobile home parks in the area, with the two most recent murders taking place in Royal Biscayne Trailer Park, both over a week ago. While the rest the team spread out across the other crime scenes, you and your partner had been dispatched to this one.

It was a world away from Quantico: sun-bleached, dense, full of plastic and palms instead of concrete and maples. Nonetheless, the principles remained the same no matter where you were. Take everything in, speak to everyone, suspect everyone. Stepping in and out of trailers gave you very little relief from the heat, although respite from the sun pounding down on you was a welcome break.

Dr Spencer Reid stood a short distance away, shielding his eyes with his hand as he contemplated the sea of trailers around him. He’d stared around as you drove into the park, something faraway in his eyes as he memorised every detail from the safety of the SUV.

Now he stood close to you, heads inches apart as he whispered so that only you could hear. He faced one way, you the other, and you could focus on his words knowing that Spencer was watching your back.

“These things all come equipped with the same locks, at least each model does. If you recognise the trailer home, you know how to pick it. It’s fairly trivial, for someone with some basic industry knowledge.”

You hummed through pursed lips, surveying the small crowd who had gathered to gawk at a pair of FBI officers on their turf.

“And that would be true of all of the trailer parks… we know he’s got a common MO.”

“Exactly.”

“You reckon someone in the industry, then? A salesman? Maintenance guy?”

Spencer rolled his neck, stared up at the sky for a moment. His curls were long at the moment, damp at the name of his neck, a little frizzy in the humidity.

“Not necessarily.”

“It’s quite specific,” you agreed, “anyone operating as a common thief around here would have the knowledge too. We could be talking about a classic escalation – burglar to home invader to murderer?”

His eyes snapped from you to his phone.

“I’ve asked Garcia to check out any patterns in robberies, home invasions… the locks are hardly scratched. We know he wears gloves, cleans his tools. This guy knows what he’s doing.”

You nodded, surveying the street again. The sun was glinting off of white plastic, making you squint. You worried for Spencer, the heat and the light wouldn’t be doing his headaches any good.

“You want me to take that?” Spencer was saying, and you snapped your attention in the direction he was gestured.

There was middle-aged man a little way forward of the crowd, shoulders hunched, hands entwined. Nervous. He had the tan of someone who lived here year-round, not a big believer in suncream, with tanlines when he removed his hat and glasses to speak to you.

“I’ve got it,” you murmured, and Spencer nodded.

It was an unspoken part of your partnership, that Spencer liked when you started conversations with witnesses. You liked that he trusted you, trusted your skills, never questioned whether you’d done the right thing when you spoke to people.

Instead he remained a short distance away, climbing up the front steps of someone’s home for a higher vantage point to survey the place.

“Hello, sir. Can I help you?”

“Yes, ma’am. Thank you. You said you’re with the FBI?”

The man had a tip, and it was an interesting one. A rumour spread throughout the HOA about someone trying the locks at night, the sound of metal against the doorways, silhouettes against frosted glass. A few people even had security camera footage, though nothing identifiable. It was great. You gave him your card, told him to get the footage to you asap.

It must be terrifying, you realised, to hear that kind of noise in the night. To be so close to danger, after a neighbour had been killed. The local sheriff’s department seemed frustrated by the interest the case was garnering – frankly you were amazed the story wasn’t bigger. There was no small amount of comforting involved in the conversation you had with the witness, and soon enough a few more people stepped forwards from the crowd. All seemed middle-aged, likely transplants to the sunshine state, and equally shaken.

When everyone’s stories had finished, they stood in silence for a moment. You frowned, noticing their gazes slightly misaligned.

Spencer.

He was stood at your shoulder, sharp gaze flickering across each face of the gathered residents.

“This is my colleague, Dr Reid. A few of you have already met, I believe.”

“You know,” he began, “the socio-economic factors influencing the way we think about crime in mobile home communities are fascinating. Often trailer parks are stereotyped negatively in the media, and because they are generally cheaper to live in than traditional housing estates, and that can foster a sense of shame or isolation for residents. Transient populations can also make community policing and security difficult, and anomalies in the patterns of everyday life become more difficult for people to subconsciously spot.”

You held your breath, and tried not to look worried at the reaction of the small crowd. Instead, you focused on Spencer. He was speaking with his hands a lot today.

“But I think the assumptions we tend to make about trailer parks completely overlook the very nature of living so close to your neighbours. There is a sense of community in living so closely, as evidenced by the conversations we’ve been having today. I’m not sure whether the killer understands that, or is exploiting the former theory that places like this allow for more deviations from the way we implement traditional security in communities. An unsub might hold some sort of resentment towards trailer parks, or some specific resident in his past, or perhaps he’s simply exploiting how incredibly easy it is to simply walk up to a mobile home and slip the lock open with a humble mass-produced lock pick.”

He was greeted with a sea of blank faces, littered with the occasional frown. Finally he looked to you. You caught the furrow of his brow, the way his shoulders hunched into himself, the clutching of his elbows to his body.

Oh, Spencer.

“That’s really interesting!” you tried to say, but Spencer was already backing away.

“Anyway, I’ll, um, leave you to it.”

“Thank you, Dr Reid,” you called after him, as he fled, disappearing into the shade of a nearby trailer.

 Your heart ached for him a bit, but you pushed that aside. Instead, you had a sea of potentially offended retirees to keep on side.

“God, what I’d give for a brain like that,” your witness laughed, his linen shirt straining under the movement.

You couldn’t help smiling, a little relieved the tension had broken.

“It’s not often someone has a face like that and a good head on their shoulders,” one of the older ladies piped up.

You found yourself looking over your shoulder at Spencer, his profile sharp as he looked down the road, deep in thought.

“He’s certainly a rare breed,” you agreed fondly.

A number of the crowd were following your gaze, and someone in you wanted to snap them out of it. Stop them from staring.

“He actually has an eidetic memory. Once he’s seen or heard something, he remembers it perfectly, forever. It’s incredible.”

“Oh, my goodness! I can hardly remember my own email password!”

“I wouldn’t mind if he hung around me and talked like that all day, even if I didn’t understand a word of it. Though perhaps he could use a haircut…”

There was a chorus of agreement and various coo-ing which seemed to occupy the entire scale from grandmotherly to entirely inappropriate. You couldn’t help staring at Spencer a moment longer, wondering if he was truly oblivious, or simply pretending to be.

A rare breed.

You were certain you’d never met anyone else like him. Certain you felt like a better version of yourself in his company. That you’d trust him with your life, that you searched every room you entered until you saw him. Watched the elevator doors each time they opened, all morning, until Spencer walked in.

You were certain you’d felt giddy the first time Spencer insisted the two of you would work together, alone.

 “Imagine knowing that he’d remember everything, forever…” one of the women was saying, her eyebrows raised in a way you didn’t particularly enjoy.

You cleared your throat, and hooked one hand over the badge at your waist.

“Unless anyone has any further leads, we’d better be on our way…”

The group silenced, and watched you dutifully. You passed out a few more cards, reiterated how dedicated the team was to stopping this killer, and gave out a few promises that there would be a police presence after dark throughout the trailer park.

When the request for any further questions was met with more glances towards Spencer, you thanked your witness, and made a beeline for the car. After only a few seconds Spencer was beside you, jogging to catch up.

“All done?” he asked, and you smiled at the question.

“I think so.”

You started the engine and both waited with the doors open for the car to cool down. The department’s penchant for black SUVs was not helpful when the sun was so vicious. Feeling the heat themselves, the group of residents had dispersed into a few groups, wandering into one another’s homes to continue gossiping.

“God, I’m disgusting,” you lamented, “sorry for the sweat-smell. I might actually take a cold shower when we get to the hotel.”

Spencer was already waving you off, leaning into the car to mess with the AC. Through the open door you saw him groan at the heat, swiping a curl from his face.

“I’m afraid to raise my arms. It’s so humid, I’m not sure why anyone would retire here. High humidity aggravates a number of chronic conditions, especially respiratory ones, which are common in older people. Not to mention the skin cancer…”

“And it ruins your hair,” you teased.

Spencer faked a gasp, and reached for a damp, limp section of his hair.

“I mean, look at it!”

You laughed, and rolled your eyes at him, nothing but fondness settling warm and tight in your chest.

Surveying the road in front of you for one final time you saw a few curtain-twitchers, but no new faces. You climbed into the car, wincing at the heat. The seatbelt buckle was burning hot, and you swore as it burned your fingers.

“I always forget about that,” you grumbled, slamming the car door closed.

“You know, if you fasten your seatbelt after you get out, it stops the metal getting hot and burning you,” Reid offered, and you rolled your eyes at him again.

“Gosh, doesn’t it get exhausting being right about everything?”

Spencer went quiet, and all you heard was the click of his own belt. After a few moments the car was cool and bearable, and your lungs felt like they could finally move again. The sat-nav happily talked away, and you started stealing worried looks at your partner once you’d returned to properly-maintained roads.

“What you said out there was really good, do you mind if we go over it again once we get to the station? I think it’s worth exploring.”

“I shouldn’t have said it in front of them.”

He was right, but you didn’t have to heart to say anything. That was the thing which made your heart twinge about Spencer – he was so insecure, and yet so self-aware, it was the worst of both worlds. Being an expert in body language was a double-edged sword.

“I don’t think they minded. Did you hear those old ladies talking about your big brain?”

Spencer didn’t laugh. He turned himself towards the window, curled up with his hand beneath his jaw.

“They were very impressed. So was I, for what it’s worth. I think we’ll make some really good progress on this profile tonight.”

He hummed agreement. Watched a vista of blurred blue and green and white going past the window. The radio was turned down to a low hum, you could hardly hear it. Silence pierced its way through and sound of mumbled songs and road noise.

“Are you okay?” you asked finally.

“I’m okay.”

You sighed. Tapped the steering wheel. Sped a little to get through an intersection on amber.

 “Spencer…”

“I’m sorry. I really didn’t mean to ruin that for you I just… sometimes I think of things and it’s like I have to tell you.

“Spencer I’m not mad at you! Not at all! I think we’re both just tired, and too warm…”

He didn’t say anything.

“Honestly, I was worried you’d heard what those ladies were saying about you and gotten upset. It was inappropriate of them…”

“I didn’t hear anything. What did they say?”

Your gaze was focused on the road, but you met Spencer’s eye in the rear-view mirror as he watched your face.

“Just that you were a handsome young man. And that they wanted you to get a haircut, which I firmly disagree with…” you teased.

Spencer touched his hair self-consciously. He was still quite curled up, leaning away from you despite his interest in the conversation.

“That’s nice of them, I suppose.”

“‘Nice’ is an interesting way of putting it, but I’m glad you’re not upset about it.”

“When I was a kid, I read a book at the library about how to tell if you’re attractive. It was for women, all about makeup and stuff, but there was a section about what made guys hot. I could never figure it out, I just always thought I looked like an alien.”

The sudden change made you sit up straight, heart in your mouth as you rolled to a stop behind a queue of traffic.

“I think everyone feels like that sometimes. Being a teenager is really hard.”

 “I… yeah. I suppose so.”

“I always felt so jealous of the people who walked around looking perfect every day, confident that they were not. It just never came naturally to me.”

“Really? I assumed you were one of those girls in school who I’d be too afraid to talk to.”

You scoffed, and for a moment were struck by how little you really knew about one another. The way Spencer looked at you, looked it everyone, it felt as though he had an x-ray into every tiny detail of your life. How could he know, though?

“Of course not,” you laughed nervously.

You weren’t sure if you’d prefer Spencer knew the truth, or kept believing whatever he’d made up ini his head. You weren’t sure what any of this conversation meant. Traffic was moving. The precinct was two turns away.

“I’m not sure I believe you.”

He was teasing you. Finally he leant back in his seat, shoulders square to it, legs stretched out in the passenger footwell.

“Either way, I’m glad you can talk to me now. I’d miss it if you didn’t.”

“You might be the only person on this planet with that opinion.”

You took a moment to glance across the car at him, and caught a flash of a smile. He was joking. You released tension from your shoulders you hadn’t realised you were holding.

“I’m sure that’s not true. You’re a handsome genius, just like Barbara said.”

“Her name was Barbara?” Reid laughed.

You shrugged, and took the final turn into the precinct parking lot.

“I’ve got no idea.”

Even with the SUV in park, the aircon no longer blasting away, neither of you moved. Not for a moment, at least. A moment of peace before the chaos all began again. Just the two of you. Wherever you were, with Spencer was your favourite place to be.

“You’re the same, you know. A genius. And handsome…”

You frowned.

“Pretty! Beautiful. You know what I mean.”

“Handsome?”

In truth, you didn’t care about the words. Not at all. Not when your heart was pounding at the realisation Spencer had his gaze fixed on your lips, his eyes soft and pupils blown wide.

“Beautiful,” Spencer repeated, “You know, in a lot of languages, handsome can be translated for men and women. The word itself doesn’t have a gender. Guapa, for example, in Spanish…”

You let him talk, on and on. You decided you wouldn’t kiss him yet, while your hair was matted in sweat and Spencer’s face was brushed with sunburn and embarrassment.

“Bella is more popular in South America, though, or bonita. My favourite is Japanese, though. Kirei. To be beautiful both inside and out…”

Only a few more moments passed before Morgan arrived and banged on the glass with a wide grin and a sweat-beaded brow, announcing a break in the case. You were sorry for the interruption.

[eleu22]

just some random task force 141 headcanons

tw: drugs, dead baby jokes?

gaz

- has been approached by model scouts on nights out with the 141 and is so gassed by it but pretends not to be

- got holding onto his tactical vest straps from price because he thought it looked cool

- popular as fuck in school

- side eye king (canon)

- used to do ket when he was younger and is now paranoid price will find out somehow and be disappointed in him

- highlights during briefings and soap calls him a neek

- deleted tiktok because he got addicted to those ingrown hair removal videos

- borderline illegible handwriting

- type to laugh when hes really mad (its lowkey scary)

- has once described himself as a “thought daughter”

- paces when hes stressed

- terrys chocolate orange enjoyer

- tried to grow out a beard but it was weird and kind of patchy

soap

- will be looking at a nice view and will always say how a huge explosion would make it look so much cooler

- does that thing where he tells you to straighten your legs and then kicks the back of your knee

- cannot stay still in his sleep and has once woken up with half is body off the bed horizontally

- has a comic book collection and if you touch it he will kick you out

- goes to life drawing classes sometimes in his free time

- all of his exam papers had doodles on them

- the type of guy to draw a penis in ur notebook

- all of his socks have holes in them but refuses to buy new ones, some are literally the concept of a sock at this point

- smells his armpits unabashedly to see if he smells or not

- will ask to tell you a secret and burp in your ear

- when someone drops like a plate or a cup is the type to scream “wheey!!” and clap and he did that at a pub once and got them kicked out

- will make a fart noise and loudly blame it on you (especially in packed elevators)

-booger flicker

ghost

- makes zero noise when sneezing but still acts it out and he looks like hes bugging

- nose bridge pincher

- doesn’t clip off his fingernails he literally just bites them off and spits it into the bin

- type to say “well done.” sarcastically

- casual dead baby joke enjoyer

“how many babies does it take to paint a wall?”

“depends on how hard you throw them.”

(silence)

- really enjoys solitaire mobile is on level 177

- he once made a recruit run laps for microwaving tea

- off duty he has terrible posture

- chapped lips 24/7

- favourite takeout is chinese food and always get the vegetable spring rolls - he will buy takeout in bulk and then live off of leftovers instead of actually buying groceries

- has 3 forks one knife and one spoon

- has literally no sense of rhythm what so ever , cannot dance to save his life

- loves making social situations awkward in purpose but would never admit that so he just comes off as slightly off putting a lot of the time

price

- sneezes and coughs ridiculously loudly

- weirdly territorial about his hat (i find it so funny he has a waterproof version of it)

- has a weird mole on his back he refuses to get checked out - his reasoning is if he dies via mole it was natural selection

- has extensive knowledge on art history and hates conceptual art (has a tate membership card)

- licks his finger before turning a page

- casual moomin enjoyer

- cuts his cuticles - likes his maintenance has a beard grooming kit

- says he doesnt watch tiktoks but he watches tiktok dog video complications in youtube and they have the most npc ass audios

- is on the “cigar society” on facebook and gives reviews for them

- does the head tilt of disappointment (if its thrown at gaz he literally will not get over it for days)

- slaps his knee when laughing really hard

- also nose bridge pincher

- is the type of make those hiking comments to people who walk by

- really enjoyed the lego batman movie

- unabashedly itches himself

- takes fish oil supplements

- always puts his hand up to say thank you when cars stop for him

- flirts with baristas

- had a brief midlife crisis where he wanted to become a mystery novelist (still has the drafts hidden somewhere but you couldn’t waterboard that information out of him)

thank you

[jinkiezzsstuff]

Wing Grooming

lucifer x gn reader

warnings: i’ve written before but i don’t do it often so be aware, written on mobile, no mention of skin colour/bodytype/gender/hair type, no use of Y/N, slightly sexual but no real smut, cursing.

i love lucifer and i love the wings shtick <3 also i’ve worked with birds so im applying my knowledge of them here teehee

lemme know whatcha think this is only the second time homegirls written an xreader. also writing on tumblr sucks it deleted my shii so many times and i had to keep rewriting paragraphs

𝔓𝔞𝔯𝔱 𝔗𝔴𝔬 :)

—

Lucifer anxiously paced around his room in the hotel, unable to relax due to his wings, they were itchy. Normally he used various different objects to break the casting of new feathers, and remove those pesty pin feathers. He’s been so busy at the hotel recently, he completely neglected his feathers causing some unfortunate issues with his malt. After all he didn’t have only two he had a whole six, and it wasn’t easy to take care of all at once. In all honesty, Lucifer would rather cut them off before asking for assistance with preening them. Tossing his hat to the side his wings popped out unwillingly loose feathers flying around him. Curling the first set in front of him, he picked through to find the cause of the itch and discomfort. Chills ran up his back as his fingers gently searched through, they were sensitive from lack of care not to mention preening never failed to give him goose bumps. A knock sounded from his door making him jump, his wings puffing out around him. “Uh, ah, one moment.” He shouted in a sing songy voice, jumping to his feet from where he sat he hurried over eager to get back to preening.

Swining the door open you stood on the other side smiling with papers in your grasp. Keeping his wings hidden slightly behind him and the door he greeted you with a charming smile. "Hi luce, Charlie said these belonged to you something to do with the different rings?" Quirking your head to the side you observed the king with curiosity. He was visibly uncomfortable, fidgeting and shifting from side to side. "Are you alright?" He blew air out in a pft sound at you and stood a little straighter. "Just a little feather issues, you know how it can be..." Lucifer trailed looking off to the side trying hard to ignore the stinging itch that shot through one wing.

“Oh can I help in any way, if that’s not strange?” You ask innocently but Lucifer’s mind went immediately to the gutter with the thought of you tracing your hands down his back and his combing through feathers, it made him shiver with delight. Although his blush was evident and his demeanour dropped to a slightly more shy one, you remained waiting patiently for his answer. “It’s- uh, normally, i don’t let anybody touch them. Um, but you can! Of course..” He trailed switching between stretching himself up with confidence and shrinking down again with doubt, regardless of his apprehension he still stood aside opening the door wider for you to enter. “It’s just the preening process is all. Difficult to reach.” Lucifer muttered as you welcome yourself into his room. With a bright smile you reassured him that you would do as he asked and you’d rather help than have him be stuck with that icky discomfort.

Setting the paperwork down on a table, Lucifer closed the door and lingered next to a bench sofa whistling as his wings flapped him at random behind him. Turning to him he looked a little shy still not fully meeting your gaze. Unsure of what exactly to do but you gave him an assuring smile. “I don’t have to do this, I can get Charlie to?”

Lucifer laughed quickly shaking his head. “Ha ha, no that would make things worse actually, you’re much preferred! Just y’know it’s a lot to work on.” Plopping down on the bench he outstretched his wings behind him on full display for you, his heart pounding against his ribs. You felt a zap of emotion shoot through you at the admission that you were wanted by him for this job.

It wasn't a secret Charlie's dad woo'd you the moment he waltzed in the door, but your loyalty was with Charlie and you didn't want to disrespect her by eye fucking her divorced father while he's here to help. Although Charlie seemed pretty enthralled that her father was making an effort to spend time with her friends, even elbowing you and whispering that he seemed to particularly enjoy conversation with you.

After that it was harder to ignore the way you felt for the King, Charlie would constantly drop not so subtle hints that her dad took a liking to you and that caused your mind to wander and fantasize. From there on you got more confidence putting yourself in situations to catch him alone in conversation or help him with different tasks he had to complete. Beginning your work on his wings, you hummed quietly to yourself easily spotting several pin feathers coming in that needed to have the keratin shell taken off. Carefully you split the feathers away and massaged off the shells one by one listening to Lucifers pleasant hms, groans and sighs. He visibly slumped, and his body rested just barely against your thigh as you worked on the very top wing. “These look pretty cluttered hun, have you been struggling to care for them?” You didn’t even notice the pet name slip as you called everyone off handed pet names, but Lucifer did notice and it brought him a warmth he hadn’t felt in a very long time. Sweetly talking to him about his wings without judgement, combing them comfortingly, humming like an angel just to him. It felt as good as when his ex wife was still around caring for his wings. It’d been so long since someone was by his side caring for him like this.

Lucifer never responded properly to your question about upkeep only humming in a trance like state as you worked your way through the top set of wings "You're so good at this, sheesh, I wish you'd do this all the time." You blushed faltering slightly which Lucifer panicked about, tensing and opening his eyes. "Of course i'm only spit balling, heh, it's just so relaxing like a sauna!" Shaking your head you moved down to the last set of feathers not missing the way he shuddered with your touch. "It's alright i don't mind that you say that. It feels nice actually, to help you." Lucifer didn't say anything feeling suddenly heated as ever as if hell wasn't hot enough. The feathers closest to his hips were unsurprisingly the most sensitive and the touches although innocent felt suggestive to him. The King felt dirty for feeling a euphoric sense of pleasure ripple through his bodv and straight to his junk while you unknowly worked through his feathers. “You okay? Did I hurt you?" You asked noticing his breath picking up and his body stiffening. Lucifer grinned and turned to look at you you meeting his gaze and seeing just how dazed he truly was. "I'm just... well,"

It was like his throat closed as he looked back at you crouched down to get at the last row of feathers that were draped along the floor. The king swallowed snapping his head forward again. “Ahem, I’m sensitive, good, sensitive.” He had hoped you understood his insinuations. Which you had. Breathing in deeply you flattened your hand out spreading your fingers and combing through the feathers more methodically from the base of his wings and outward. That cause him to jump up standing straight, you followed in persuit, panicking that you crossed a big line. His wings twitched but he stayed staring forward rigid, you quickly walked around the bench calling to him softly. “Lucifer i am so sorry if i crossed the line, that, that was unacceptable i’m so sorry.” To which Lucifer spun to you, face red, grabbing your shoulders he smiled a somewhat embarrassed smile. “No no, that was completely fine, i just,” Lucifer pulled away tucking his hands away from you, again which was kind of upset you.

“I think if we continue that, type of grooming, I won’t be able to control myself.” Although still shy about his admission his eyes were half lidded and his smile sly. You felt fire explode in your stomach all innocence out the window as your mind settled on one thought. You were gonna bang your friends divorced dad.

[kwilquib]

Naori

Rei (🐥) X Male reader (📖)

word count: 3.2k

T.W.: This story contains themes of terminal illness, talks about death, and emotional distress.

A/N: Played around with the formatting, formatted for mobile reading.

"I'm home," you call out into the dark room, eerily quiet, starved of light. The dark was unusual, unexpected—unnatural.

Few steps forward, each footfall weighed unease. You found yourself in the living room

"Darling?" Again your voice is swallowed by the empty living room.

Then—suddenly—light floods the space, blinding you. Before your eyes adjust, sharp pop cracks through the silence.

"Surprise!!"

A familiar voice rings out. You turn, heart pounding, only to see her peeking out from behind the kitchen counter—apron still on, gloves half-removed, hair loosely tied back. Her laughter, that unmistakable laugh, spills into the air, filling the once-eerie silence with warmth.

"For what?" The tension in your chest eases, you smile, bewildered, as you continue toward the couch.

She pulls off her gloves, untying the apron with practiced ease before rounding the counter to meet you. "For the birthday, of course."

"Birthday? That's tomorrow?" Bewildered but exhausted, you drop onto the couch.

Rei follows, sinking beside you before resting her head on your lap. "Yeah, I wanted to surprise you."

You blink down at her, still trying to piece together her logic. "Yeah, you did... but it's your birthday."

She grins smugly, eyes oozing with pride—like she'd ‘got’ you.

“So, what did you cook?” You play along.

“Surprise me.”

She hands you her phone, screen already open to a delivery app, order page waiting.

You glance back at her, raising an eyebrow. "Really?"

She shrugs. "I used up all my energy deciding what to cook."

You exhale a small laugh, shaking your head. dialing your orders, "We've been married for how many years?"—a rhetorical question—"and I still haven’t figured out how your mind works."

"You’re just not reading hard enough."

Before you can protest, she reaches up, fingers threading through your hair, and pulls you down.

Her lips meet yours—soft, familiar, and laced with quiet laughter.

Excitedly, you blindly reach for the paper bag beside you, pulling out a stuffed toy, small, but enough to cover her face. “It’s a bit early, but…” You present it to her, holding it up beside her face. "Here. Doesn't it look like you?"

A yellow duck, its tiny fabric twintails mirroring hers.

She squints at it, then at you. The resemblance is uncanny—even she can’t deny it. Instead, she pouts.

You chuckle, gently patting her hair. She naturally leans into your palm, settling there like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

"So, what do you want to do for tomorrow?"

She blinks, off guarded by the question.

"I requested a day off, of course. Simple picnic by the river?"

She scrunches her nose. "No… too many people exist these days.”

“Then… fancy dinner, just you and me?”

She snorts, eyes half-lidded with amusement. "You can only say that if you actually have money to spend."

"Ouch." You clutch your chest in mock offense. "Dinner at home it is then, let's—no, I'll cook for you this time."

She smirks. "Is that a mating display? Because it's working."

“Is that so?” You lean down, internding a gentle peck, but she surges forward, her lip’s hunger devouring any softness you’d planned. The kiss deepens, urgent and consuming, until you both pull apart, breathless and flushed.

She smiles—a triumphant, knowing curve of her lips. This time she really got you. “You think I was joking?”

Rising from your lap, she holds your gaze, her eyes sly, alluring. With fluid grace, she settled back into you, stradling your thighs. Her arms are already working your belt. 

“You’re tired. Relax” She kisses you again, just as drawing as before— a pull you can’t resist. When she finally breaks away, her breath touches your face as she whispers, “My gift to you. I need to remind you why you need to pay the bills.”

Her hands are already done with your pants, pulling down your briefs, releasing your cock. Now her hands stroke your length. 

“Rei…” your body surrenders.

Fully erect in her grasp. Rei shifts, lifting her hips, her fingers setting aside panties beneath her skirt. She guides your tip pressing in into her slick folds, teasing just at her entrance—coating you with her arousal, warm and wet.

“Fuck… Rei…”

Satisfied with her teasing, she lowers herself, hips sinking down to yours. Her walls clench around you, tight and welcoming, enveloping your cock in heat. She pauses, letting the moment to settle, her breath hitch faintly. Then, with a slow roll of her hips, she begins to grind, drawing you deeper. 

Small whimpers from her lips are enough to fill the room. Her hands cradle your face, drawing you closer to her lips, muting her moan as you kiss. ”Give it to me darling.” her voice full of need. Her forehead pressed against yours, her breaths hot and ragged. “Fill me up….”

Her pace quickens, hips grinding with desperate need, her walls tightening around you. “Rei…” The pressure builds fast, the nearing you limit faster than you expect. She nods, breathless—”Do it.” One final thrust shatters you both: she cries out, trembling as she clenches around you, and you release inside her, a sharp, dizzying rush.

Panting, she slumps against you, her body pressed close, the air heavy with your mingled breaths. Then, a soft laugh rumbles in her chest. She lifts her head, meeting your puzzled look with a mischievous smile. “Sorry, I just didn’t expect us both to be in such a rush.”

Her point draws a grin from you, and you lean in toward her lips.

“You missed,” she teases, tilting her head just out of reach. “Try again.”

Rei. Your wife. The love of your life.

As eccentric as she was, she was the sunshine in your every day.

Life wasn’t perfect. But with her, every day was.

Almost a year has passed since then.

You swore to do your best, to stay with her for the rest of her life, to stay with her until the end, to stay with her until her final year. 

Timed by her Ill fate.

—-

You walk—dragging your steps from work to the hospital, pausing just before the door. You take a deep breath, forcing a half-smile onto your face. A routine you've practiced in a year’s time.

You slide the door open.

Rei sits on the bed, pillows stacked behind her back—an effort to ease the pain with comfort. Her gaze is distant, locked onto something far beyond the window. Her frame looks even smaller against the sterile white sheets, the IV lines hanging high trailing down to her arm like threads tethering her to this world. A headset covers her ears, a barrier between her and reality.

The hospital room now is the usual yet unexpected—unnatural.

"Rei…" you call, waving just at the edge of her vision.

"Shit!" A muttered curse, barely audible but meant to be heard. She doesn’t turn to you. Instead, she pulls out her phone, avoiding your face. "Didn’t I tell you to knock?!"

"Ah, sorry! I—" You hold onto your smile. "Have you eaten yet?"

She clicks her tongue, impatient, clearly letting you know she’s annoyed. With a sigh, she pulls her headphones down to her neck.

"The laundry is over there. Take it and leave." She gestures toward the foot of the bed.

You step forward to grab the basket—only for a cloth to be thrown over your head.

It doesn’t hurt. It shouldn’t. Yet—.

You peel the fabric off and toss it into the basket, looking up to meet her glare. Her eyes are sharp, dark, as if warning that she would throw harder if not for her condition.

She quickly turns away after meeting your eyes.

The best you can offer is a smile.

What you feel is insignificant compared to what she’s going through.

"Then I’ll get going so you can rest," your smile widening—perhaps to cover the pain swelling in your eyes. "Keep fighting, okay?  Your schedule for your next treatment is soon."

She turns away, curling into her blankets.

"You don’t have to tell me," she mutters. "That’s all I can do. Fight… only to die later."

The words sting, finally cracking your false smile. But worse than the words themselves is the fact that you have no comfort to offer her. Nothing that would make a difference.

All you can do is walk away.

"Wait." Her voice stops you just as you reach the door. Still turned away, she adds, "Leave my allowance in the drawer."

You check your wallet, counting the bills. In the end, you leave most of the money, only keeping just enough for yourself.

Just before leaving, you hesitate.

"Hey, Rei—" But before you can finish, she’s already on the phone.

"Can you believe my husband?!" she complains, voice laced with frustration. "He’s the worst. Can’t he be a bit more considerate? Everytime, I have to explain to him… ugh, all men are the same."

You stand there for a second longer.

Then, quietly "Ah… sorry. I’m going home."

And you close the door behind you.

—-

“I’m ho—” The words die in your throat.

The dim home greets you in silence. The same home that once brimmed with warmth, with laughter, with the light of the person who made it all feel alive. 

Now, it stands hollow, as usual, as expected, yet it feels unnatural.

You drop onto the couch—the same couch where the two of you used to laze around on slow weekends, tangled in blankets and each other.

~~~~

“If I stare hard enough, you think the meaning of life will show up?”

Rei’s voice, soft and amused, drifts through your memory. She lies by the couch, absently staring at the ceiling, her expression caught between curiosity and boredom.

“What are you up to now?” you ask, approaching with two cups of coffee.

She straightened up with your voice, reaching for the mug with both hands. You sit beside her, your eyes drifting toward the morning view beyond the window.

She takes a careful sip, then pauses. “…Why are you staring?” A suspicious look crosses her face. “If this kills me, you’re paying for my funeral.”

She drinks anyway, watching you over the rim of her mug.

“Not bad.”

“That’s it? I paid extra for this,” you huff, taking a sip from her cup just to confirm. “My co-workers swore this was “‘the’” coffee.”

“Why are you pretending like there’s a difference?”

~~~~

And she's right, there wasn’t. As now, you sit in the same spot, sipping the same coffee, in the same silence, the only thing illuminating the room is the dim glow of a single lamp.

You don’t need a bright room. It’s just an extra expense.

You don’t need the internet, or cable, or dinner.

You finish your coffee muted in its taste, convincing yourself it’s enough.

You don’t need a meal.

You don’t need—

You close your eyes, gripping the empty mug in your hands.

…You don’t need to think about it.

You shift your focus to your phone, scrolling through your expenses. Your balance barely hovers above zero. A quiet sigh of relief escapes you—at least for now, you’ve made it through. Your abstinence hasn’t been for nothing.

Your eyes scan the list, searching for anything you can shave off.

Hospital bills? Out of the question.

Bus fare? Maybe you could walk some distance.

Groceries? You’ve been stretching meals thinner each week—maybe instant noodles again.

Allowance?

A significant amount. Rei would always ask for it during every visit. You gave it without question, but even now, you don’t understand—why would a patient need that much money anyway?

No. You quickly shake off the thought. Now isn't the time for that. You’re just exhausted. The constant headaches aren’t helping, making your mind wander into places it shouldn't go.

You close your eyes again, hoping sleep will clear your thoughts as easily as it dims your vision.

Sleep—it’s your only escape.

Clear from problems.

Clear from worries.

Clear from responsibilities.

Clear from exhaustion.

Clear from her—

R e i ,  W h e n  w i l l   y o u   d i e ?

The thought jolts you awake, scared.

Not because it was a nightmare to be afraid of.

But because you’re terrified it might have been a dream.

A fantasy that someday you fear you might say out loud.

—-

A buzz from the edge of your desk pulls you from work. Even from afar you recognize the sender instantly.

You press on your temples attempting to press back your splitting head. Skipping lunch to save money—bad idea. You regret it, but regrets won’t help. The afternoon is only halfway through, and you still have hours to go before you can rest.

 With a sigh as you tilt your head back, resting your eyes for a second. 

Rei.

~~~~

“I thought of you”

~~~~

You relive the time from before this ailing plight, when a single message from her was enough to push you through work. 

You open your phone, yearning for that illusion.

“Just bring me a cake later, I don't want to hear any of your superficial cheering.”

Your heart sinks deep with her demand, more disappointed to yourself, expecting something more. Regardless you move forward, you had no choice, even if you had you couldn't, wouldn't, shouldn't.

—-

You find yourself walking the same hospital corridor again.

As you near the nurses' station, their voices drift into earshot.

“…Have you seen Mrs. Naoi’s husband?”

 “He never fails to visit her. Tragic, she’s so young yet, constant treatment…”

 “She just did one, out of all days it has to be at her birthday—”

They stop when they notice you.

You offer a small, awkward smile. “For my wife… Is her treatment done? I’m a bit early today.”

One of the nurses brightens. “She just got transferred back to her room. I can let her know you’re here—”

“No,” you cut in gently. “Let her rest. I’ll wait outside.”

Your steps halt just before her door, mistakenly left slightly open.

Tying to close the door, your eyes naturally peered inside.

Rei lies on her side, facing the wall. Her breathing, slow, serene. Asleep, you assume. Sapped by the therapy, lost in some dream removed from her decaying sitch.

You start to pull the door shut, slowly so as to not make a sound.

“It hurts.”

Your hands freeze on the handle.

A voice, you easily could’ve missed if it was not from inside, if it was not from pain, if it was not from hers.

You should close the door. Let her rest. Pretend you didn’t hear.

But before you can step away, a quiet laugh follows. Careful. Restrained. Afraid.

“Ah… that's annoying, even laughing now feels painful”

You know she would want you to ignore it, to walk away like you heard nothing. But your body refuses to listen. Instead, you step inside.

“You know what's more annoying? My husband.”

Rei shifts slightly, sitting up, still unaware of your presence. Her gaze is fixed downward, her fingers curled around the small stuffed toy you gave her on her birthday.

“He looks so pathetic, it's so annoying.”

She exhales shakily, as if saying the words aloud solidifies the reality she's been trying to swallow.

“It makes me mad, I can't help but throw a tantrum because I know the reason why that is… Me. His ailing wife.”

Her thumb idly traces the plush toy’s fabric.

"I know I’ve been mean. Selfish. Asking for everything, even though I'll leave." She speaks to the toy, her voice trembling. "I’m a bad wife, aren’t I? Making him suffer with me."

You see her forced smile wavers, then fades completely.

"When I learned about my illness, I first thought of the future… Not mine… His." 

She tightens her grip on the toy. "And I decided. I’m going to be the absolute worst. So that when it’s over, he’ll think—" a breath, a pause, then—

"'Ah, I’m glad it’s finally over.'"

A grim joke, yet she laughs. Tears slipped down her cheeks, soaking into the plush fabric.

"I want him to enjoy the rest of his life. Not be a widower."

Her voice is barely above a whisper, cracking under the weight of her confession. "Pathetic, isn’t it? Even if I wanted to, I couldn’t look him in the eyes… otherwise, I’d break."

She buries her face into the toy, once again Rei obstructs her face from your sight, as she had always done all this time.

"But… It's working. Little by little, I can feel it—he’s losing his feelings for me."

She clutches the plush tighter, sobs muffled against the fabric.

"So please." Her voice is strained, desperate. "Please… keep this a secret between us."

Before she can say another word, you rush forward, as you try to snatch the toy away.

"Rei!!"

Your voice comes out sharp, raw with emotion. Are you angry? Hurt? Betrayed? You don’t know. You don’t care.

All you know is that your wife—the love of your life—is breaking right in front of you.

And you refuse to let her do it alone. Not after what you've heard. Not anymore.

She flinches as you step forward, quickly turning away.

“How many times do I have to tell you? Knock before you come in!”

She still won’t look at you. Even now, when you finally understand why.

“What you just said—”

"I don’t need the cake anymore." Her arms tighten around the stuffed animal. "Just leave. You’re disturbing my rest."

If she’s going to keep playing pretend, then so will you.

“If you're just going to stand there, then just leave already”

You ignore her. Instead, you step forward and wrap your arms around her from behind, holding her close.

"Listen carefully." Your voice is steady, even as everything inside you trembles. "This is what you wanted to hear, right?” 

“‘I hate you.’” 

“‘Why are you still here?’” 

“‘Just die already.’" 

You press your forehead against her shoulder, your voice barely above a whisper. 

"I’m begging you.’”

She shatters.

So do you.

Tears fall. Her grip tightens. Crying echoes through the small hospital room. Emotion flows in choked sobs, in words neither of you fully mean but can’t stop from spilling.

"I wanna die right now…"

"Okay."

"You’re the worst."

"I see."

"Let go of me. Just leave already."

"Sure."

Neither of you move.

At that moment, it feels as if the time has turned to what was a year ago.

Maybe because that was the day when your wife—Rei’s greatest shenanigans—came to an end.

—-

You step into the house, slipping off your shoes at the entrance.

"I'm home," you call out, your voice carrying into the quiet. The afternoon light filters through the windows, painting the walls in warm, golden hues—soft, familiar, inviting.

The scene of your home, usual, expected, natural.

You can't help but take a deep breath out of relief.

Your feet move on instinct, following a path you’ve walked countless times before. But this time, you stop just short.

A small shrine sits before you.

The plush duck sits at the center, its small form nearly lost beneath the weight of her headphones. You remember how you pout whenever you tell her it looked like her. Now, it leans against something held close in its embrace, something smooth, something quiet.

You pat the duck’s head, just as you once did with her. But it doesn’t fit your hand the same way. It doesn’t lean into your touch, doesn’t ask for more. It only sits there—steady, unmoving, permanent.

You exhale slowly, a smile tugging at your lips—gentle, aching.

"I'm home, Rei."

A/n: Part of suchsweetstories' prompt event! This one's for Valentine Drifter. (This is the smut version.)

[feminist-furby-freak]

Ok so what’s easier: douching before having sex OR getting laser hair removal on your penis so that when they invert it you don’t have hair inside, skin grafts, multiple surgeries, years of limited mobility (potentially a lifetime of disability), severe infection and pain, bacteria and smell in your permanent wound, sticking a plastic tube inside you multiple times a day for the rest of your life to have sex you can’t feel at best and is more likely excruciating with a man made monstrosity that will never resemble a real vulva!

I’m sick of this we’re all mr potato head dolls and we can customize our bodies however we want bullshit. Science isn’t there. We can’t make organs out of nothing. Why do you think we still rely on living donors for many medical procedures. It’s not fucking Star Trek babe!

[whore-ibly-hot]

Yan!Soldier/General x Fem!Reader

'His little bride.'

18+ Minors DNI

Warnings: Smut, power dynamics, mentions of sa, p-in-v sex, mentions of war and military, implied violence, threats, possible dub-con as reader does not know the full story behind our yan's goals, female and male genitalia, female reader, pet names.

(AN: Not me coming back from the grave to drop a horny fic and this disappear again. Gonna go eat some pumpkin roll.)

Part 2 here

The sound of papers shuffling and a heavy sigh pierces the usual quiet of General Fritz's office, which is only occasionally broken by you dusting or rearranging one of the many books on the various shelves that lined the room. It's been 3 weeks since the invasion of your small town of Cyril, and the few civilian homes not destroyed in the invasion have been turned into functioning barracks and homesteads for the troops that now occupy your town. While not ideal, the army Fritz serves aligns with the beliefs of your villages people much more than the opposition, and while they are still invaders, many believe them to be the lesser of two evils. You remain as quiet as you can as Fritz attends to his work with a furrowed brow.

General Fritz, while known for his excellence in military strategics and his translation skills, seems to be struggling with the morning's crossword puzzle. A man of 42, he has served in his countries army since he was just 15, leaving his family's small farm and quickly rising through the ranks. He's a scarred man, with many gashes, stubble, and hair that when not in public is rather unkempt. Despite the things he's seen, a kindness remains in his bespectacled eyes. He gives up on the crossword puzzle, allowing the paper to fall to his desk with a 'plop!'. You glance over at him, and approach.

"Sir, is there anything you need, you seem a bit, well, stressed." You say, trying not to impose but express concern. When the troops arrived, many men were recruited, and many girls had to seek jobs. Some had to turn to unsavory means to get by, but you were lucky, you supposed. You were scouted out to serve as a guide and servant for the general, to both give information and serve his needs. While the thought of serving a strange man, one much older than you at that had frightened you, he was nothing like the other soldiers you had seen. He was polite, careful not to scare you off, provided you with good quarters, and never laid hands on you. All in all, the situation would have been perfect, had you not missed your family's bakery from which you were taken. For reasons you didn't fully understand, he never wanted you to travel far beyond his estate and into town.

He sighs. "I am fine, my dear girl. Just dealing with some disputes at the border of the county. Nothing you should concern yourself with." He says. He looks up at you, his glasses reflecting the light of his desk lamp. "Would you mind drawing me a bath, my dear? It has been... quite the day, and I think I need some time to relax." You quickly nod, and scurry off to the master bedroom, entering the attached bathroom and beginning to fill the tub with hot water. After some time, Fritz enters, looking as though he is fighting the urge to ask a question. "I... I hate to ask this of you, and say no if at any point in my asking you are uncomfortable or find me uncouth, but-" He hesitates. "I am very tired, and am currently dealing with some rather serious pain in my legs. Past wounds, you know. Would you be offended if I asked for your assistance in bathing?" You blush a little, but a part of you knows he won't try anything. You have noticed he seems to be limping a little more than usual, his mobility decreasing. Plus, you can tell he's only asking because he must, as the look of utter shame on his face suggests this is the last thing he wished to ask of you. "Of course, sir." His breath hitches, but he nods. As he begins to remove his more civilian garb, as he did not wear his uniform on this day, you try to avert your gaze. Still, you catch a glimpse of his pronounced muscles, littered with the occasional scar or blemish. You swallow heavily.

He slides down into the tub, his tensed muscles visibly relaxing as he lets out a groan. "Hmm..." He glances at you. "It's okay to look now, my dear. Sorry to have upset you." You shake your head, as if to assure him that you aren't bothered. He looks at you softly as you go to grab a sponge, a small part of him disappointed that you won't be using your bare hands to lather soap onto him. He shakes this thought off quickly. 'Shame on you!' He scolds himself 'Thinking such thoughts about your sweet servant girl. God, I'm acting like a recruit visiting his first whorehouse'. He is disappointed in himself, but tries to rationalize it by being innocent. Perhaps he just wanted to feel your hands on him, for comfort, for something different. One of the things he likes most about you is your hands. He noticed them when you first were sent to his mansion, much more timid then. You shook his hand, and his large, calloused and veiny hands, rough from years of labor and fighting, practically trembled at the feeling of your soft ones. As he grew to know you better, he would watch as you worked, your delicate hands dusting a vase or folding a sheet. He quickly decided any hard labor around his home be delegated to cadets and privates, when they would make the occasional visit, and sometimes as a disciplinary action. He wanted to keep your hands like you, soft and warm.

"Sir?" Your voice snaps him out of his thoughts. "Uh- Yes?" He stammers, readjusting his glasses (which oddly enough he always kept on for bath time.). "I was wondering... if I may take a bath sometime soon?" You ask timidly, causing him to frown. "Have you not been able to take one?" He asks. He doesn't remember ever giving such a command, and he would never deny your basic needs. "Well, one of the privates told me that the recruits shower schedule is twice a week, and that I should probably adhere to that at your house." You explain. Fritz grimaces. Of course some recruit would find it funny to torment the General's beloved servant. The soldiers where allowed two showers a week, but you were no soldier. You were a servant. His Servant. His.

"No, my dear, you may bathe whenever you see fit, that rule only applies to my soldiers of low rank. I imagine that young recruit may have been trying to have a laugh at your expense." He huffs. "Please, if you ever see him at the estate again, alert me to him, alright?" You nod, a little put off. You've never seen Fritz truly mad at one of his soldiers, he doesn't even get grumpy often, but now... he's scowling, as if that cadet had come right up to him, spit on his boots, and insulted his mother.

His eyes suddenly flash with a different emotion, as a thought crosses his mind. He bites his lips, trying to keep away the thought, but it's too tempting. "Perhaps..." His hand grips the porcelain edge of the tub. "Perhaps it would be easier for you to bathe me properly, if you were closer." He mumbles, avoiding eye contact. You tilt your head. "What do you mean, sir?" You ask naively. "Well, I just think, you could get a better position to clean me if you were to join me, i-in this bath, I mean." You blush wildly, and he begins to stammer, coming up with reasons it's a good idea. "For one, it would help you to apply the pain balm to my leg, and-" He's out of breath. "And taking a bath now, together, would ensure you are free later if I should need you." He risks a glance up at your face, feeling his turn red to match your own. You swallow. "I... I suppose that would be okay, sir." You mumble. You can't imagine he would hurt you, or try to take advantage of you. If that were the case, you imagine he would have had his way with you already. Besides, you can't deny how you failed to avoid looking at him when his disrobed before his bath. "Just, look away while I undress, please." You say, beginning to undo the corset of your servants attire. "Of course, anything to protect a ladies modesty." He says, quickly using his free hand to shield his eyes.

You slip into the bath water, and he looks up as he hears the water splash upon your entrance. You both remain silent, and you bathe him gently. He holds back sighs of pleasure, as you have forgone the sponge, and now use your bare hands as he had dreamed of moments ago. "Sir?" you break the silence. He lets out a "Hmm?" In response, eyes still closed in satisfaction. "May I ask, why do you never let me go into town? I wish to see my family, and the bakery." You ask. He seems to tense a little, the veins in his arm more prominent. "Because I simply don't have the time to venture there with you right now." He explains. "Yes, but I grew up there! I'm fine to go by my own." You say, a little annoyed he seems to think you're some helpless maid. He lets out a long exhale, before sitting up a little. Even like this in the bath, he towers over you. "It's not you I'm worried about, little one. I'm sure in town, before me and my men arrived, you could hold your own. But you couldn't against my soldiers, and-" He hesitates to tell you this, a part of him not wanting to scare you. "I don't trust half of them around a sweet thing like you." He sighs. You furrow your brows, your face upset. "You mean, like?" You can't bring yourself to say it. He nods. "I prevent it in every way I can, for all women. I do not allow it, but I cannot be everywhere, and the leaders above me do not permit me to dismiss a single man for a transgression like that. We need all the men you can get for the war." He makes a bold move, to cup your cheek. "But, rest assured, I won't let a single one of them lay hands on you. I just fear something could happen outside of my estate, that I could not control." You gulp at the notion, and nod. He sees the sorrow on your face, and strokes your cheek once more. "I will try to take a small holiday, a day or two perhaps, and I will take you to see them, alright?" He feels his heart speed up when he sees the light return to your eyes.

"Oh! Thank you, sir!" You look as if you could cry. He smiles and nods. "I, I must confess, I hope to go sooner rather than alter, I had wished to speak to your father." He says. "About what?" You feel a little fear knaw at you, and you gasp. "Wait, sir, no! He's much to old to fight, and-" Fritz cuts you off with both hands on your shoulder. "No, my dear, no. I'm not going to draft your poor father, do not worry. I would not want to do anything that would worry you so much." He coos, then avoids eye contact again. "I had wished to speak to him. The last time we spoke, we made a deal that you were to work for me as a servant girl, but..." You nod for him to continue. "I have found that house chores and labor do not suit you." You frown at his words. Had you not been doing a good enough job. "I'm sorry, sir, if I've not been performing well, please don't fire me. My family needs the money." He seems shocked once again, and laughs awkwardly. "God, I do seem to be bad at saying what I mean, don't I?" He shakes his head. "I mean that I think such things are below you. I... I should like to take you as my bride, if you and he should permit it." Your eyes widen. You hadn't expected that. What would he have you do as his bride? He senses your nervousness, and continues. "I assure you, it can have as much or as little intimacy as you wish. You needn't even act as a proper wife to me, I just-" He seems to be struggling to explain. "I just want you to be safe, and comfortable, a-as you have made me feel since you began to serve me." You feel your heart flutter at his words. "Since you arrived, you've been so sweet. Doting on me, caring for me, helping me with the daily crosswords." You laugh a little, and he smiles. "I want nothing more than to ensure that I get to enjoy that everday, and more importantly," a slightly darker tone ebbs its way into his voice. "I want to ensure that no other man does." You're a bit put off by the shift, but only nod.

"I should like to, sir." His head snaps up, his mouth hanging open slightly. "I'll admit, I always wanted to live in a fancy house like this, and the company isn't half bad either." You admit, shyly looking up at him. He is elated, his form almost trembling. "Do you mean it? Truly? You wish to accept my proposal?" He gasps. You nod. He lunges forward to hug you, causing the water to surge forward, but stops just short of you, remembering your nude form rests below the soapy water, as does his. "Ah, um." He coughs awkwardly. "I must ask, if we are to marry, and you do enjoy my company, would you be okay with the typically romantic things? I know people usually court first, but seeing as we've spent all this time together already." He says. You think. "Like kissing, and holding each other?" You ask. "Yes, like that sort of thing." He affirms. You nod. "I'm fine with trying it, but I need to tell you something." He nods for you to go on.

"I'm sure you know, we are a little reserved and conservative in our town. As a traveling man, and a general, I'm sure you have had your share of, um, intimate encounters. I was always told to wait, however, and I may not be what you are used to." You look at the water, trying to fight the insecurity gnawing at your heart. He only shakes his head quickly. "No, no, my darling girl! How could you ever be anything but perfect to me?" He asks, caressing your shoulder blade with his thumb. "I would be honored, if you would have me, to teach you about the more, intimate affairs of marriage and courting." He says. "I must admit, I'm afraid that I wouldn't be enough to satisfy you as a man, or a husband." He confesses. You gasp, and cup his face. "Why, sir?" You implore him to confide in you. "My dear, you are a mere twenty-three years of age, and I am forty-two. I'm practically twice your age. Besides being an old man, you had to help me with this blasted leg into the tub. I'm practically a cripple..." His insecurities begin to flow out as he confesses. You gently tuck your head against his shoulder. "No, sir. You are enough for me. You are a general, and a kind man. You have always treated me with respect. If I didn't think you were enough, I wouldn't have said yes to marrying you, would I?" He nods reluctantly. "No, you wouldn't have. You've always been a smart girl." He admits. "I'm willing to learn, as long as you show me, sir." You whisper.

He blushes, but takes this as a sign. "Well, seeing as we are due to wed, I don't see the harm in teaching you a few things now..." He says, pushing forward a little so your smaller frame is up against the slanted back wall of the tub. "Are you alright with this, you may tell me at any time if you want to stop." He says. You nod. "Words, my dear, please. I want to hear that you understand." He pushes. "I understand, sir." You say. He shakes his head as he plans a kiss on your forehead. "Call me Fritz, my little bride." He coos. "And since you are to be my bride, I hope you won't mind showing me what's been hiding under that uniform I gave you?" He asks. You blush, but slide a little further up the tub, parting your thighs just a touch, so he can see the bush of hair between them. "I haven't shaved, sorry." You say, a little embarrassed. He only chuckles, and shakes his head. "My dear, I've gone months without a shower, and shared a restroom and barrack with 27 other men. A little hair won't scare me off." He looks longingly. "Besides, it's what's under it I'm interested in." His hand suddenly comes to your inner thigh, the sensitive touch making you gasp. You've never been touched up there, much less by a man so strong. One of his large, calloused fingers comes to part your lips, exposing to your future husband your dripping, virgin holes. He lets out a wanton sigh at the sight.

"So beautiful, and untouched?" He asks. You gulp, and nod. "It is my honor to be the first and last man to pleasure your sweet little sex." He says. He traces that finger up and down you're folds, making sure you are properly teased, and getting a feel for you. "So wet, and not just from the bathwater, it seems." He whispers. "Is this how you planned to lose your purity? To a man twice your age, and an invading military officer, no less?" You blush in shame. "I didn't think of the specifics, just... just wanted you to have it, sir..." You whine. His grins grows, and he lets out a groan as he latches his lips to your neck. He licks and kisses up and down your neck, until he finds a spot that makes you let out a beautiful whine, causing him to nip at it. "Do you think your father would be less likely to accept my proposal if he noticed you covered in marks of love from me?" Fritz asks, and you only giggle a little. He finger wanders up to touch the pearl of your sex, making you gasp. "Oh, Fritz... what are you doing?" You ask. "Just finding your pearl, my dear. I want you to cum at least once before I take your virginity. I want to please you, my darling girl." He kisses your cheek, before he presses another finger against your pearl. He rubs in soft, slow circles, trying a few different angles before he finds one that pleases you, which he discerns from the moans you let out. "Fritz, mm-" You moan. You can feel a slow heat spreading, as something in you builds. "Please, a little faster?" You ask. He tuts, and looks at you. "Can't you be patient?" He teases. "No, wanna finish..." You mumble. "Want you in me, I-I wanna be your little wife." He almost chokes at your pleas, the words going straight to his cock. He didn't think you could arouse him even further, but you always did exceed his expectations. He quickens the pace, and you can feel your orgasm approaching. "Yes, Fritz, Yes. Please, make me cum." You beg. "You want to cum, cum so I'll put my manhood into you? Want me to make you a proper little wife for me?" He edges you, and as you nod and agree profusely, you feel that wave wash over you. Your pussy convulses around nothing, as you let out a whine that sounds like music to him. This beats his visits to the royal opera a hundred times over.

As you pant, coming down from your high, Fritz holds you in your place, rising a little out of the water himself. You blush, as his erect manhood becomes visible. He's well groomed, and while the tip isn't pronounced, there's a curve to it that makes your mouth water. "Well, do I seem up to your standards, my love?" He asks. "More than that, Fritz. You're so pretty..." While it seems like nothing to you, these words strike him hard. He's never been called pretty before, and hearing it from your soft lips wipes the lewd grin off his face, replacing it with momentary shock. He pulls himself to you, his chapped lips colliding with your soft ones. You squeak, but melt into it. He tastes like earl grey tea and the occasional cigars he would smoke, but only when stressed. You both gasp as he pulls away, needing air. He places many small kisses on your face, making you smile as you look up at him. "My sweet, sweet girl. Always so kind to this old man..." He murmurs. As he does, he rolls his hips forward a little, allowing the underside of his manhood to rub against the length of your sex. "I'm going to be gentle, alright? It might hurt a little, especially with me being quite a bit larger than you. But I promise to take it at your pace, alright?" He asks, his hands resting gently on your waist. You nod, and feel his hard tip prod a few times at your aroused pearl, before moving down to line up with your entrance. He warns you a little, before gently pushing the tip in. You wince, and he continues to soothingly rub your waist with his thumbs. He moves himself out, then rolls his hips back in, a little deeper with each thrust. It hurts, but the relaxing warm water helps, and it's not as bad as you thought it would be. "Feels okay, darling?" He asks. "Yes..." You respond, focusing on the feeling of him inside you. As he continues, the pain subsides, and he begins to quicken the pace when he tells you this.

"God, Fritz. You're big, s-so big..." You moan, his hips causing your ass to bounce back and forth off the wall of the tub. "I' feel 'mazing." He huffs. "So tight, and warm. My girl, letting me take you like this, getting you ready for our wedding night." He feels himself harden even further at the thought. "Y'know, I think it'd be a shame not to share how sweet you are, how caring." He says, his hips now pounding at your cervix. "W-what?" You ask. He had made it clear earlier he didn't want to share, so despite the pleasure you are confused. "Saying you'll make a good wife, but I think you'd make a better mother." He moans. You gasp at the thought. "All swollen with my baby, my child. Letting me care for you for once, instead of helping me walk cause of my leg, I'd get to help you around..." He thrusts grow more erratic at the idea, and you feel yourself about to climax once more. "Let me, my love, please. Let me fill you with my seed, my children. Let your fiance make you a mommy..." He begs. Just as you shout an agreement, you feel yourself convulse around him, causing his breath to hitch. He groans. "God, gonna finish to now, going to give you my babies..." He shouts. You feel a warmth flood you, as he sprays hot, white ropes of cum into your womb. You both pant, taking quite some time to recover.

Being the strong man he is, he bounces back quite quickly, while you are so tired you can barely move. "I'm sorry, my love." He coos. "Perhaps I was a bit rough for your first time..." You shake your head. "Mmm, no. I-I felt good, just, I'm just tired." You yawn. He chuckles. He cleans himself, and you, before draining the tub. He grabs both of your clothes as he carries you past your servants quarters, and into his room. Helping you to redress in your undergarments, he lays you down. You sigh as your body melts into the luxury sheets. He sits beside you, gently stroking your face. "Get some rest, my little bride." He whispers, before departing back to his office. He heads to the front door, and picks up a letter dropped off from the courier. Inside the envelope is your father's response, from a proposal sent several days ago by Fritz. Once again, though this was his third and final time asking, your father once again denied your hand in marriage to Fritz, saying he would never marry his precious girl to an invader. Fritz grimaces, as he had not wanted it to come to this. Sighing, he writes two more letters in response. One to your father, stating his intent to take your hand either way, and another to his second-in-command, ordering a man to be jailed for treason and defying military orders. The first letter reads as follows.

Dear sir,

As you are well aware, this is the third time you have rejected to allow me to take your daughters hand in marriage. While i understand your hesitation, I do what I do only to provide her a safe, comfortable life, which I do not believe you could have provided her, in your town which my men overtook in merely three hours. I could not imagine if a man worse than I had set his sights on her instead. Rest assured, that in light of your soon-to-be imprisonment, I will care for her. She has developed a reciprocation of my feelings, and despite your refusal to wed her to me, as I write this she lays in my bed, beginning to bear my child. I wish that you had been understanding, and done what was best for your daughter. Now, she will marry happily, but have no father, and the blame lies only on you.

-Fritz, General of the Northern King's forces.

[mochroialainn]

Besties, Im gonna be so for real right now, this turned out to be a little more intense and freaky than I intended. Im currently playing the campaign for Modern Warfare II (reboot) and could not get this scenario out of my brain since I first saw Graves. So uh... warnings for power play, mentions of safe words, over stimulation, multiple orgasms, breeding, creepy graves. Minors Do Not Interact this is an 18+ Post. This was also written on mobile and formatted on desktop so please ignore any spelling/grammar errors, I'm too tired to proof read it and fix it

Thinking about cybersecurity CIA!Operative reader whos married to Price and is brought onto the task force by the Secretary of Defense (so above Shepherds head) to try and find the traitor, the SoD has an inkling that its Shepherd and Graves and its readers job to prove it. One of the ways she does it, because shes young and pretty and knows how to get what she wants from a man, is by flirting with Graves and gradually getting closer and closer to him until she can hack his phone and gain access to his emails. She hates it. Hates him and his arrogance, his cocky smile and the way his eyes always trace over her body and stay too long leering at her tits when they talk. He genuinely makes her feel sick and queasy, and she shivers everytime shes out of his sight after flirting with him.

Price hates it. Hates the way Graves looks at her, eyes always on her tits or ass as if she was nothing more than something to fuck and leave disgarded. He has to clench his jaw and bite his tongue anytime he sees them together, he wants to punch Graves and break his fucking jaw. Wants to take a knife and carve his heart out of his fucking chest. But he doesn’t, because he can't. It would jeporadise everything you had worked for, would jeporadise his team if Shepherd knew his little lapdog had been found out he would have all of them killed in seconds.

But when you come to him after flirting with Graves all day, locking his office door behind you and already stripping yourself from your clothes beginning him to make you forget about every look and leer and touch from Graves, hes all but happy to oblige. He kisses you something fierce, all passion with a hint of danger mixed in, all lips and teeth and desperate panting into your mouth as he sigs your bare ass on his desk one hand already toying with your nipple while the other travels further down and starts to rub hard, rough circles your clit. You were already wet thinking about him, and now it starts to pull, slicking up your tighs and his desk but John doesnt care. It wouldnt be the first time he fucked you over his desk and it wouldnt be the last either. John makes you cum from just touching your clit before he removes his finger and rakes it through your hair, grabbing at the roots and pulling so your neck was barred to him.

He so desperately wanted to mark you, leaving bitea and hickeys over your skin to claim you as his but he couldnt, do he was gentle. Trailing kisses down your pulse point and across your collarbone, down your sternum going lower and lower until his face was in front of your pussy and he dove in like a man starved. Lips wrapping around your clit and sucking harshley, a satisfying pop echoing in the room as he let go. His eyes stared up at you as you threaded your fingers through his hair, "you remember your safe word?" A nod from you is all he needs to keep going, teeth digging into the supple flesh of your tigh as he slowly slid teo fingers into your weeping hole. He made sure to push you to the edge and withdraw, over and over again until you were a crying mess and he had mercy on you, edging you again until again until he finally let you cum. He made sure you came for him 2 more times before he even entartained the thought of fucking you and when he finally pulled his cock out of his trousers (not having undressed yet, wanting your wetness to soak into his clothes) you nearly weeped from the pleasure and overstimulation when he entered you, all the way to the hilt in one go. And there was no way he was stopping until he pumped at least 2 loads into your gorgeous pussy.

He'll make you forget all about Graves, hell when hes done with you, you'll be lucky if you can even remember your own name and don't walk away pregnant.

[monstersandmaw]

a biker orc has spawned in my drafts... here's an unedited snippet from what I have so far. Lemme know if you want the rest and I'll do it.

male orc, modern fantasy setting, gn reader who uses a cane as a mobility aid but their disability, while accommodated for later in the story, isn't the focus, or an issue.

___

You were used to your dog getting stares from people in the park. Tiny as a teacup, and as ugly as they came, Tinkerbell had been a rescue three years ago, and the two of you had pack bonded better than most werewolves who grew up together. The little chihuahua cross (crossed with what, no one knew and it would take an entire mage’s laboratory to unravel the DNA of your mystical little creature anyway) was sort of sandy coloured, with white socks and a hint of Jack Russel about the tail, but her bug-eyes and little teeth were all chihuahua. There was a tuft of longer hair on her head that made her look like a gremlin after midnight, and she had the attitude to go with it.

She also hated everyone.

It didn’t matter if they were the cutest, sweetest little fawn, or the gentlest fairy, she hated them.

So when you were taking a break on a chilly bench at the edge of the park after walking her as far as your body would let you that day, and three orcs on obscenely loud motorbikes drew up to the curb only a few metres away and cut the engines on their bikes, you fully expected her to go absolutely ape shit on them.

One of the orcs removed his helmet and propped it on his bike’s mirror, and pointed at The Creature. A very un-orcish giggle escaped him and he began to make little cooing noises over her, so much that you found your mouth curling into a smirk at his antics.

The others kept their helmets on, but you could tell the were orcs too just by their build. They were laughing at their mate, who was rapidly losing his mind over your dog. Quite why, you had no idea, but there it was.

“She’ll eat you for breakfast, buddy,” you called over to them, and the orc without his helmet froze.

His expression turned from gooey-eyed to comically devastated and you couldn’t help the laugh that erupted out of your chest.

Tinkerbell looked up at you and then over at the bikers.

“I’m warning you,” you said with mock-seriousness. “She’s a killer.”

The orc without the helmet swung his leg over his monster of a sports bike and came round the front to stand, staring at her from a distance. You, in turn, stared at him.

Where his mates had perhaps more stereotypical clothing for the kind of bikes they rode — both choppers — he had on a baggy black hoodie which you hope was armoured underneath. By contrast though, his faded black jeans were tight around his tree trunk legs, and there was a slight rip in the thigh that showed his dark, olive green skin. The jeans clearly had knee armour though, and he had sporty looking biker boots instead of the scuffed, black work boot style shoes his friends had on. His black hair was plaited back off his gorgeous face in a complicated braid that was studded and adorned all the way down with charms made of bone and metal and wood, and it ended below his waistband. His tusks were rounded at the tip, unlike the more traditional orcs, but he did have a cuff of engraved silver around each one, showing he was over the age of twenty five.

His hands were covered by black, armoured gloves that did unreasonable things to your sex drive for some reason, and he crouched down and held one hand out towards Tinkerbell, though at that distance he couldn’t possibly hope to pet her. He was a good six or seven metres from the bench, but Tinkerbell took notice. They were all hard to miss, after all.

The orc’s mates were snickering openly, and one of them had got out their phone to record their friend. You hoped they wouldn’t get you in the frame. You had no inclination to become some prop on a stranger’s social media, though you didn’t mind if Tinkerbell had her five minutes in the limelight.

Propped up beside you on the bench, your walking cane started to slide slightly along the wooden seat, toppling slowly towards the ground, and you grabbed for it and tucked it up against your thigh. The movement freed up your hand for a moment, and it was all the excuse Tinkerbell needed to yank herself free of your clutches and launch herself at the orc.

“Oh shit,” you gasped, but the dog was off like a guided missile, trailing her pink leash behind her as she tore across the grass towards him, yapping wildly.

Instead of sinking her tiny little dagger teeth into his armoured arm though, she bounced up like a wayward baked bean and hurled herself at his chest — honestly, you couldn’t blame the girl — and he caught her, giggling like a small child. You stared, astonished, as the creature who had once fought a five year old at a birthday party for a single square of cheese proceeded to charm the hell out of a seven and a half foot orc with a litre sports bike that looked like it could eat a dragon for breakfast.

“What the actual fuck?” you hissed as the orc continued to fuss your minuscule dog and make little baby noises at her as he held her up like he was presenting a well-known lion cub to an audience while she squirmed in his frankly illegally huge hands before lowering her again and nuzzling his flatter nose against her pointy one and setting her down on the ground with surprising care for someone so bulky.

Baffled by her betrayal and change in personality, you stood awkwardly — painfully — leaning on your cane for stability, and the orc’s green eyes tracked the movement, his attention sliding from the dog to her owner as you eased yourself to your feet.

There is a bit more written but this felt like a good spot to leave it for now. Lemme know if you want the rest!

(EDIT: Chapter One is now up on Patreon - free to access from 21st Feb 2025)