#Solid Reversible Door

[backyardbeginnings]

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[upsidedownwithsteve]

Steve Harrington x fem!reader 18+

[3.3k] a tired girlfriend, an eager to please steve. a flip and reverse it fic of this smutty oneshot.

If you’d not already made Steve aware of your bad day on your lunch break via a rushed, staticky phone call, he would’ve definitely caught onto quickly when you arrived home.

The door hit your hip as you battered your way inside the small hall, a curse leaving your lips in a way that was rougher than usual. He heard your bag hit the floor, a cacophony of dull thumps as you toed off your shoes and let them hit the baseboards, uncaring for once about the scuffs they left on the wood.

It would be tomorrow’s problem, and right now, the current one was his to fix.

You’d called to tell him that not only was today going horrifically, but that you’d been forced into working late as well. Mournful, you’d told him to not wait and have dinner without you, that you’d see to yourself whenever you arrived home. And now at almost nine o’clock, you really couldn’t face the idea of eating a large meal before diving face first into your side of the bed. But still, the house smelled appeasing, garlic and tomatoes and something like your favourite candle burning underneath it all coming from the kitchen.

It’s where you found Steve, leaning against the sink as he finished washing his own empty plate, leftover chicken on the stove if you wanted it. He turned at the sound of you, wet hands avoiding touching you but arms open all the same. He hummed something sympathetic when you closed your own around his waist, nose pressed to the middle of his chest as you groaned aloud before breathing him in.

He ducked down, lips on the crown of your head. “Baby.”

It was the sweetest of greetings, soft and full of an aching affection that made your shoulders slump and your eyes prick with hot tears. You let out a whine, a pitiful thing that made you press your face into the man’s chest a little harder and Steve cooed back with the same amount of understanding.

“You’re home now,” he murmured against your forehead, kisses stamped there too. He didn’t mention your bad day, no need now that it was over and he was there to fix it. “Lemme dry my hands and say ‘hi’ properly, huh? You hungry? I can put more garlic bread in the oven if you want some.”

You didn’t respond, not when Steve was drying his hands off on the towel hanging from the oven door and grasping your chin with a finger and thumb. It was so easy to smile with his touch on you, his attention. The corners of your lips lifted as he moved into you, big hand holding your jaw still for him as he kissed you. It was familiar and sweet and over a little too quickly but when he pulled back and saw your closed eyes and pout, Steve grinned and moved back in.

“Want ‘nother?” He whispered, too soft to sound teasing but you knew him well enough. Eyes still closed, you nodded, nose bumping against his own as you pushed up onto your toes and tried to find his lips with yours own. “Poor girl,” he told you, pouting right back. “My girl, my pretty, pretty girl.”

His kisses were more languid now, slower, deeper, easier to get lost in. Steve hummed against you, hands on the small of your back and keeping you tucked in close. His words had the right effect, softening you, making you hold onto him that little bit tighter, your hands fisting the front of t-shirt in a way that had his head spinning.

“Can I get you some food, huh? You wanna eat?” Steve asked, kissing at your cheek, nose pushed to the warm apple of it as you tried to get your bearings. The kitchen was warmer than before. “Go get changed and I can plate up for you.”

You shook your head as you held onto him, working yourself closer as Steve attempted to move to the stove.

“Baby—”

You didn’t say anything as you buried your face into the crook of his neck but you didn’t have to. Steve just leant back against the counter top, taking you with him. He wound his arms around you, holding you against him, warm and solid and the best thing you’d felt all day. It was easy to let out the sigh you’d been holding as he kissed at your cheek, head lolling to the side as he worked his mouth down your jaw and over your neck, kisses open mouthed and warm.

He didn’t have to do too much to make you let out other noises, softer, raspier ones that morphed into small moans and gasps. Teeth grazed over your pulse point as large hands wandered down, fingers cupping at the swell of your ass and you held onto Steve’s shoulders, eyes closed and head tipped to the side so he could do what he wanted to you.

Steve groaned as you fell pliant against him, your body moulding to his more than ever as you tried to work your way closer to his warmth, his hands, the smell of his leftover aftershave that clung to his neck.

“Want me to make you feel good?” He murmured, still kissing at the pieces of your skin that he could reach. Your black dress that you wore to the office seemed suddenly too encasing, the cotton fabric restricting him from all the places he wanted to touch. “Hmm? Want me to make you forget about your shitty day, honey?”

The idea seemed divine, heavenly, actually. Enough to make you sigh all pretty and whine when Steve’s teeth nipped gently at your jawline, your head tipping back and lips parting at his attention. But your body was bone tired, thrumming with the need your boyfriend had lit inside of you with his touch but your limbs ached, muscles already protesting at still being on your feet.

Regretful, you opened your eyes to meet Steve’s, his gaze overwhelming adoring as he gazed down at you, watching the way your body and face responded to each sweep of his fingers over your waist.

“I would love that,” you told him, voice soft and as quiet as his own. The hum of the fridge was the only other sound in the room, the soft glow of the light above the stove making Steve seem peach coloured, highlighted in gold. “But I don’t think I could hold myself up long enough.”

You tried to lighten your tone with a smile, tired as it was. And Steve could’ve responded with something dirty about having you on your back as he had his way with you but instead, he ducked down to kiss you again, soft and at the corner of your mouth.

“What if I look after you, hm?” He asked you, as kind and gentle as his kisses were. Each question was punctuated with another push of his mouth against yours, the rasp of his stubble against your cheek making your toes curl. “You won’t have to do a thing, honey. Jus’ gotta look pretty for me, yeah? Let me make you feel better? You wanna do that?”

It sounded like an offer you couldn’t turn down, enticing and as sweet as the boy in front of you. You knew that if you said no and asked to go to bed instead, Steve would lead you there with a kind hand and tuck you into bed himself - his offer was very much for you and not him. You could see it in the way he was gazing down at you, warm and affectionate as he pushed the baby hairs away from your eyes and dropped a kiss to the tip of your nose.

You’d done the same for him before, making him forget about any worries or stress he had as you handed him a stiff drink and then let him use your mouth, sitting on his laps and letting him play with you as he pleased.

So you nodded, breath exhaling in a shaky gasp and Steve stole one more kiss from you before gently nudging you towards the living room.

Steve met you there, where the lights were dimmed and the curtains were already closed and he sat on the slumped cushions of your well loved sofa and held out a hand. “C’mere, honey.”

He led you forward, fingers caught in his and he coaxed you onto his knee, legs spreading until you were sat on his lap, your dress hitching above your knees. “There y’go,” Steve praised. “You just sit there for me, yeah? Lookin’ too pretty, did I tell you that? Even prettier than last time I saw you, god, what did I tell you ‘bout doing that, huh?”

You couldn’t help your grin as Steve spoke sweetly, all charm and that soft smile that made your tummy flip, the tips of his fingers running down the tops of your bare arms. “Shut up,” you mumbled, embarrassed and pleased and shy all at once.

“What?” Steve grinned right back. “You know what I’m talking about. You just keep gettin’ prettier, babe, s’not good for my health.”

He’d complimented you enough for a kiss, one you greedily gave as you leaned in, hands pressed to his abdomen as you took what he gave you, greedy for the softness of his lips, more of his touch.

Steve hummed, giving you what you wanted before he pushed you back again, just slightly, gaze wandering down to your chest, to the tiny buttons that held the front of your dress together. He tapped the top one, his other hand grazing over your knee. “Can I make you more comfortable?”

You nodded, sensing the shift in the room, in him. It was quiet, the television off, the streets outside quiet in the late hour, no traffic or garden sprinklers to be heard from beyond the window.

Steve smiled as he popped the first button, then the second, then the third. It was enough for the straps of your dress to loosen and slip, dropping from your shoulders to expose more of you, your cleavage becoming visible, that pretty expanse of skin on show for Steve. The man cooed at the sight, fingertips trailing over your chest, dipping between your breasts until you made a soft noise and arched your back for him.

“There you go,” Steve whispered. “Nice?”

“Yeah,” you whispered back. You didn’t want to ask for more already, you wanted to be patient. But Steve was close to smirking. “Babe—”

“I know,” he assured you. “Gimme a sec, honey.” His hand trailed back to the buttons, the last three popping open under his nimble touch and the lacy cups of your bra appeared. The dress fell apart, dropping from your upper body and Steve blew out a breath. “Oh, you’re just the prettiest.”

You grew warm under Steve’s stare, his own cheeks turning pink as he took his time looking over you. You kept your chin high as he ran one finger down the middle of your chest, dipping into the space between your breasts, that soft spot of skin that made goosebumps erupt. “Can I see more? Gonna let me play w’you?”

You could only nod.

So Steve took that same single digit and hooked it into the first bra cup, pulling down, and then the same to the other side. It felt filthy being exposed like that, the band of your bra still around your ribs, the cups pulled down to free your tits, nipples peaking immediately on contact with the cooler air.

Steve groaned, lips parting at the sight before him and he shifted under you, the tent in his sweatpants growing. But he didn’t try much more than reaching out to graze the pad of one finger over a nipple. You gasped, body jerking slightly at the new touch, skin sensitive. And Steve mumbled something soothing, flicking his finger over your nipple until it stiffened entirely, hard and begging for more attention.

He pinched it, the skin darkening further, your mouth opening in a silent plea and he got a little mean, just the way you liked him to be. Steve pulled, letting go to watch your breast bounce back and he grinned before giving the other side the same attention. He cupped you, too big hands gathering your tits in his palms as he pressed them together and lay kisses across your chest, soft and sweet until his lips parted and he could sweep the flat of his tongue over a nipple.

You whined, back arching further, pushing yourself against his mouth, hands finding the back of his head so you could hold onto his hair. It made him grunt, teeth grazing ever, ever so gently over you. A soft bite, more tongue than teeth before he sucked at you, his nose pressed into your soft skin with intent.

“Fuck,” Steve groaned, fingers squeezing, palms moulded to you. “Baby, you’ve got the prettiest tits. Pretty all over, huh?” He pulled at your nipples again, a little harsh, eyes glazed over as he let go and watched them harden even further. “That good?”

You squirmed in answer, trying to find some friction against his leg but Steve kept his own knees spread, the junction between your thighs hovering over empty space and keeping you open for him.

“C’mon, tell me,” Steve reminded you, squeezing a warm, rough hand over your breast again. His thumb flicked your nipple, his smile too sweet. “Does it feel good?”

“Yeah,” you told him, brows scrunched and lips pouted. Your breath was coming heavier than before, chest heaving, tits arching forward for more of Steve’s mean touch. “Yeah, s’really good.”

The breathiness of your voice made the man groan, eyes half lidded as he settled back into the sofa and watched you grab at the hem of his shirt, grounding yourself. “Good girl,” he told you, voice quiet like before but a little raspier. “Let’s get this out the way, yeah?” He tugged at the bottom of your dress, lifting the hem until it dragged over the tops of your thighs.

You were burning now, tits on display, dress hanging off you, bra tangled around your ribs and your underwear on show. Steve grinned as he spread his knees a little wider still, opening yours further in return. He had you positioned on his lap, thighs open, the damp spot on your cotton underwear very much seen. Steve pressed his thumb there, over your entrance, pushing softly until he heard you moan his name.

“Fuck, baby,” Steve cursed, “already got yourself all worked up, haven’t you?”

You nodded, hips bucking against nothing and the thought of having to stand up to take your underwear off seemed too much of a task. “Steve, babe— Steve, please.”

The man tutted at you, cheeks reddening at your begging, his cock hard under his sweats, pressing against the cotton and twitching for release. But Steve wasn’t doing this to tease and he wasn’t doing this for himself. So he hushed you with soft hands and soft sounds before he gave a harsh tug to the elastic sides of your underwear and ripped the seam.

If you hadn’t been desperate before, that did it.

You squeaked, clinging to Steve’s hips as he pushed the now torn cotton out of the way, your spread cunt fully on show for him. He wasn’t subtle in his staring, his jaw unhinged as he murmured sweet, dirty words to you, his hands soothing up the insides of your thighs, kneading the doughy skin there.

“Fuck, look at you,” he groaned, bottom lip tucked between his teeth. “Pretty girl with a pretty pussy, huh?” His hands met at the juncture of your thighs, thumbs framing your folds so he could pull apart your lips, spreading you for his own viewing pleasure. “So wet, baby. You wanna come for me? Can I make you come nice and hard, yeah?”

You were gone, nodding with a head that felt too heavy, your nails digging into the tops of Steve’s arms to keep yourself balanced and you might have been whispering, begging over and over again, breathless and tits heaving as you tried to suck in enough air to keep yourself upright.

Steve didn’t need to work you up anymore, using one thumb to push at your clit, a soft press that had you immediately keening. You’d been with Steve long enough to have told him - and shown him - exactly how you liked to be touch. And despite his academic downfalls, he was a quick study in the bedroom. He didn’t falter in his pace nor his pressure, keeping a steady, slow circle over your clit as he watched your face.

He smiled when he saw your features go slack, a lazy, warm softness take over your expression, lips parting, eyes unfocused.

“That’s it, honey,” he praised. “You sit there and look pretty for me. Hmm? Yeah, like that, keep those legs open and lemme watch you come, wanna see that pretty, little pussy soak my hand.” Steve let out a rough sigh when you whined, one of your hands leaving his bicep to cup at his jaw and he turned his head to press a kiss to your palm, to nip at your thumb. “Pretty girl, pretty baby.”

He didn’t slip any fingers inside of you and you didn’t ask. In fact, Steve merely let his thumb run down between your folds and gather the wetness there. He hummed when you gasped, grinned when you moaned and then took his thumb back to your swollen button as his free hand cupped your tit. He squeezed and plucked at your nipple as his thumb circled, pulling and pushing you closer to an orgasm, all while your cunt clenched around nothing.

“Close, honey?” Steve asked as you swore, hips canting forward, your brows scrunching prettily as you neared the edge. You gasped your confirmation, falling forward into your boyfriend, foreheads touching, noses bumping and you breathed in the air that Steve exhaled out. “Yeah, you are, can see it on your face, baby, you wanna come real bad, don’t you?”

Steve kept his pace the same, circles messy over your wet and swollen clit, his words dirtier than ever, his breath coming out in heavy gasps as he tried to coax you into letting go as you tried to kiss him. Your lips found his jaw, his chin, the corner of his mouth as you groaned and whined and gasped his name, Steve’s eyes fluttering shut as you tried to clamber closer to him but he kept you seated with a sharp tug on your nipple.

“Nuhuh, baby, sit still. Be good, m’gonna get you there,” he promised, muscles in his forearm flexing as he worked you that little harder. “Come for me, yeah? Come nice ‘n hard, pretty girl and I’ll let you have my fingers. You can come ‘round my fingers, yeah? Wanna feel you get nice n’ tight for me— oh, fuck, that’s it—”

It was easy to tell when you’d fallen over the edge, your jaw unhinged as you pressed forward into Steve’s chest, biting at the meat of his shoulder to smother your long, gasping moan. His name came out in several syllables, your hands finding his hair again as you tugged, your mouth finding his just as Steve swore, two fingers slipping into your aching cunt easily, your walls pulsing around them in a way that had his dick throbbing in the same pattern.

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ,” Steve grunted, hooking the pads of his digits into you and keeping them there, stuffing you full in a way he hadn’t given you before you’d come. “Such a good girl, feel better, yeah?”

Glassy eyed, you could only nod, nosing at the side of his neck, hands threading through the ends of his hair as if you’d float away if you let go.

Maybe you would.

Heavy limbed and more bone tired than before, you curled into Steve’s chest, sighing warmly when his arms welcomed you closer. He smelled like cologne and home and sex, and before your eyes closed completely, you managed to whisper into his jawline:

“M’gonna return the favour,” you promised. “Tomorrow. M’gonna return it tomorrow.”

[reiderwriter]

Wished Away Entire Lifetimes

Chapter 6 of I Can't Help Myself

Summary: Living with Spencer - even if it is because some psycho is trying to murder you - means learning more about him. You just hope that the reverse isn't also true as you keep your cards as close to your chest as possible.

Warnings: No smut, suggestive content, both reader and Spencer are horny as fuck the entire time, spoilers for Marley and Me, mention of a pet death in the aforementioned movie.

A/N: At this point, I have to admit to the audience that the plot has somewhat changed from my original intention, but I still have a solid goal in mind, so WHO CARES!!! Domestic Spencer! Dom can mean more than one thing, Amen.

Masterlist || Add yourself to the tag list

Spencer's apartment was exactly as you remembered it, but this time around, it felt different. 

You quietly walked in and sat down on the sofa, trying not to be so obvious in your glances towards the bookshelf, trying to see if your message was still intact. 

“The kitchen's just through here, my bedroom, study,” he said pointing to each doorway, introducing you to a place you already had ingrained in your mind as the site of your biggest surprise. 

You nodded along awkwardly and shifted the bag of spare clothes and toiletries you'd picked up from your apartment on the way there between your hands. 

The shelves were still in order and, based on the updated collection of dust sprinkled about the place, hadn't even been perused in a while. You pouted a little, thinking about how you'd have to reluctantly forgive him for not messaging you. If he hadn't seen the message, then you supposed he was telling the truth about being busy. 

More of you wanted to wallow in your pettiness, to wait until he noticed himself that you were expecting. You did wonder how long it would take him. He was observant. You'd admitted that to himself when he'd first started mentioning case details and inferences months before in the office, but it seemed like people weren't hit forte. 

You were sure he could statistically tell you how big your baby was given the amount of weeks pregnant you were (the size of a plum, according to a Google search the night before) but you didn't think he'd be able to notice that you specifically were carrying said baby. 

It was, though, only a matter of time. 

“Y/N? Did you hear me?” He asked, staring at you with his brow furrowed, his tie slightly looser than it had been a few moments earlier. 

Now you were the thoughtless one. Your gaze raked down from his face to the loosened tie, the top buttons undone, the flash of skin at his neck as he swallowed lightly, obviously not as effected by your gaze as you were by his. 

“Yes,” you replied, letting your mind wander off to one of the two couched he'd fucked you on. 

“Y/N, you're not listening,” he said again, slightly irritated now. Somehow  that turned you on more. 

“Yes, I am.”

“What did I say then?” 

“I said I was listening, not that I cared.” 

He closed his eyes in a sigh before stepping closer to you and grabbing your bag in his hand. You quickly snatched it back and pulled it to yourself. 

You hadn't exactly packed much, but in your rush out of the door, hormones or something maternal had grabbed a baby grow and a teddy bear, and you knew the combination would cause questions you didn't have the patience to answer just then. 

“Y/N,” he moaned, signalling how tired he was with your attitude. You wanted to calm down and just apologise, but the part of you that had jumped at the sight of his bare skin was now itching for a physical fight. 

Emphasis, hopefully, on the physical part. 

“I'd rather you didn't go through my things, Spencer,” you said, throwing the bag back over your shoulder. 

“And I'd rather you listened to me instead of glaring at me, but here we are.”

Your eyes narrowed on him as you found yourself pitching forward, head tipping back as his hand caught the top of the strap and slowly pushed it down your arm. 

“There, now, let me show you the bed.” 

“Bed?” 

“You really weren't listening?”

“I tend to drown you out these days, I fear its a trauma response.” 

He scoffed and pressed a hand to the base of your spine, inching you forward as he held your bag for you. 

First, his hand on your arm, and then the one on your back - you really shouldn't have accepted his offer knowing you were going to spend at least a night and likely more frustratedly horny. 

You'd barely survived a day in an office with him, And that was before you'd been intimate. 

Now you had memories, and a reference point, and a goddamn bed. 

“Here. I'll clear a draw so you can unpack. Let me grab you some towels as well, and-” 

“What do you mean?” Your tone was brighter, less challenging now and more open curiosity, as if being mollified by his temporary kindness. The change made you uncomfortable.

He looked back at you with a wide-eyed questioning stare. 

“Hmm?” 

“Clear a draw? You keep clothes in your spare room?” 

He struggled for an answer for a second before meeting your eyes again with an almost apologetic glance. 

“Y/N, I don't have a spare bed. The other room only has a desk. The bed was removed when-” he trailed off, looking almost guilty as he spotted your embarrassed look. 

“Okay, and when were you going to tell me that?” You said, hands on your hips in an attempt at intimidation. His eyes dragging down your body said that it'd had the opposite effect.

“I did,” he said, stepping closer to you again, hands resting on your hips then stroking up your back until he was cradling your back, closing the gap between you until you were chest to chest. 

“You weren't listening, remember?" 

You desperately clung to that indignant annoyance as his gaze slid to your mouth, your hands pinned against his chest. You were painfully aware of the bed just inches behind you, wondering what his reaction would be if you just stripped off and climbed in. 

“I wasn't listening just now, but I sure as hell was listening on campus. Emily has a spare room, let me call her.”

“No,” he pouted, leaning forward to press his lips to your cheek. 

“Spencer!” You gasped at the unexpected move. If you weren't so delicately pressed up against his rising member, you'd accuse him of acting like a spoiled child. 

He did it again, switching to your other cheek. You pouted back at him, glaring at him when he surfaced from each kiss. 

“You know,” you said as he licked at the skin between your neck and your collar bone. “You have a job to do, right?” 

He hummed against your skin, lips rising to the sensitive point just below your earlobe. 

You breathed out a shaky sigh and tried again. 

“You can't just keep me in bed for two weeks,” you said, gripping his shoulders lightly, not sure whether you wanted him off you, or you wanted him buried deeper.

“I can't?”  

His lips rose again to your cheeks, but so his his hands, grabbing a breast in one hand as the other squeezed your ass, pulling you closer. 

“Spencer, some would think you hadn't had sex in months, come on-” 

“Haven't.” 

His hands were more insistent now, pushing up your shirt and finding your sensitive breasts. His wandering hands didn't care about your bra, they didn't care about how sensitive your nipples were because of the hormones, they didn't even care they were being a bit too rough as he pinched your nipples hard and pulled them upwards, a moan shooting from your mouth. 

It was so painful, so fucking delicious that you almost missed his words. You almost laughed at the irony that both your and his first fuck in months had resulted in a pregnancy. A dry spell ended by a shower of orgasms and a conception to boot. How lucky. 

Spencer was too busy for thought. 

“God, Spencer, if you're going to fuck me standing up, at least do it against a wall.”

He reluctantly pulled his hands away and his head, too, just long enough to glare at you. 

“Towels,” you said. “And a clear draw.” 

He nodded and finally removed his hands from you, though you had no doubt he'd be back on you the minute all the tasks for the day were done. 

“And Spencer?” You said, curiosity getting the better of you. 

He turned to look at you, and you let the question out before you could think about it too much. 

“How busy were you that you haven't had time to fuck in months?” 

If it were any other man, you'd have cringed at hearing your own question. But Spencer always answered so earnestly that there could be very little embarrassment with him. Just frustration and confusion. 

“I wasn't busy,” he said, already making his way out of the room, leaving his head peeking around the doorway as he finished his explanation. 

“I was in prison.” 

You spent the next 72 hours trying to wrap your mind around that declaration. Of all things he could've been doing, prison never came to mind. 

A vow of celibacy you'd believe. Just a general lack of game, you'd be a bit more hesitant to believe, considering his general attractiveness. A nasty case of (now cured) Chlamydia leading to almost a year sex free in recovery would be preferable. Or a stint in rehab for sex addiction, perhaps, considering how often his hands had been on you since arriving. 

But prison? 

What the fuck would they put him in prison for? 

While he'd run errands for you that night, you'd tucked yourself into his bed, not even bothering to change into your pajamas. You stripped off a single layer and climbed in, not stopping to let yourself contemplate that answer until the morning. 

Unfortunately, since you'd found yourself snuggled up to a hard cock 8 hours later, you didn't exactly have time to think about it then either, busy grinding against him wantonly. 

By the time his hands were gripping the flesh of your thighs grinding back into you on the edge of sleep, you'd been struck with your usual morning upset, and had sent yourself to the bathroom quietly to empty your stomach. 

He was still abed when you'd finished, and you decided to leave him there to think, and then you'd repeated that twice coming up with no logical conclusion. 

You'd finally given in and thrown in the towel when you realised you had Penelope’s contact details still and decided to ask her yourself. 

It was a relief to know that the man you'd created life with was not actually a murderer but actually wrongfully convicted. Especially since you were supposedly thrown into his arms (this time) by a murderer yourself. 

You did start to feel guilty about treating him like shit when you first met, though. He'd, supposedly, only been back from federal prison for a few weeks when he was thrust into your office, which probably explained his less than friendly nature. 

It didn't excise yours. 

You'd kept our distance enough in those few days to avoid sexual encounters, but you relaxed into his touch a little more after finding out. 

It came as a bigger shock than it should have that you enjoyed Spencer Reid's company. 

Bored out of your mind on house arrest, you'd taken to rooting through his bookshelves, and when he wasn't commenting on your bad habit of touching other peoples books or actually doing his job, he rooted with you. 

“Why do you have a copy of The Collector by John Fowles from a New York public library?” 

“It was from a case.”

“And why didn't you return it.” 

“Touché.” 

You'd rolled your eyes at him  and picked up a battered copy of Crime and Punishment from a lower shelf.

“Writing a book this long should be a crime, and reading it must be a punishment,” you grumbled to yourself as he laughed behind you. 

“I can finish it in three hours,” he said, trying not to brag but failing miserably. 

“You're bluffing.”

“Want to make a bet?” He smiled at you mischievously, and suddenly you saw the boy he must've been. Your heart panged as you wondered if your child would inherit that look. 

“Penelope said I shouldn't gamble with you. Las Vegas, right?” 

“Penelope?” he asked, and you realised your blunder. Technically, you still had yet to be introduced to the one woman tech show that was Ms. Garcia, and you scrambled for an excuse. 

“Emily made me contact her with all my passwords and tech info,” you said, technically not lying. 

“She's real friendly.” That was definitely the truth, and you prayed to god that he bought it. 

You didn't give him a chance yo interrogate further, simply throwing the brick of a Russian classic at him and grabbing a book yourself. 

You climbed onto the couch next to him, resting your head in his lap and began to read your book. 

“Time starts now, Reid. And I will be testing you after.”

“Sure, if you can stay awake,” he said, stroking your hair out of your eyes and leaving you in peace as he began his solo race. 

Spencer didn't let go of your off-hand comment, though. On the contrary, he let it spill over into his work life the next day as he watched Penelope with furtive eyes, wondering what the two of you could be hiding. 

He knew you were hiding something. You'd had the same look about you at the bookshelves as you did when you first insisted you weren't attracted to him. A mildly annoyed face and an unconscious bite of the lip, a glance to the right, and all of a sudden, he was dying to know what you were hiding.

“So far there's been little activity in the hunting grounds due to the vigilance of the girls on campus, but there have been a spike in reported stalking, and Penelope, how do you know Y/N?” 

He fought to get the words out, mollifying himself with the consolation that at least he got all the important information out first in the middle of the meeting. 

“Oh ho,” chortled Luke from the side, looking on amusedly as Penelope glanced about for help or a way out. 

“I don't know Y/N, I've never met Y/N. Why would you think I know Y/N? Who is Y/N?” 

“Slightly overkill, Penelope,” Emily said, collecting her papers and abandoning the other woman. 

The others followed suit as she gaped and sent pleading looks behind them. 

“Penelope?” Reid said again, and Penelope was annoyed to find his stupidly innocent puppy-dog eyes staring back at her and expecting answers. 

“No, no, no, no, I promised I wouldn't say anything, and I am not breaking a promise. Don't make me break a promise, Spencer, you know that's bad luck.”

She stood and tried to walk briskly out of the room, but he followed her still. 

“Penelope, please. I won't say anything.” 

“Yes, you will. You can't help yourself,” she said, stopping to talk to him for a second before quickly starting again, practically marching to her office. 

“Then tell me where you met, at least? I know it wasn't messages, Penelope, all her communications went through Emily. She's lying to me, and we have to keep her safe.”

They finally reached her office, and Spencer finally pulled out his final card. 

“I just want to keep her safe, Penelope. Just this one girl, just this once.” 

She looked at him with a shocked, heartbroken face, even as she knew he was manipulating her and caved. 

“She came to your apartment. A month ago. I was there picking up a book for you.”

“What was she doing there?” 

Penelope hesitated, trying to avoid the topic of your revelation, telling herself that if she didn't tell him about the baby, she hadn't actually broken her promise. 

“The emails. She found some emails from you in her spam folder.” 

“Right,” he said, blowing out a deep breath in relief. “Right the emails. She mentioned that.” 

Penelope, too, let out a sharp exhale, imagining the worst of it over now he'd stopped asking questions. 

Spencer made his way to the door before turning back and asking one more, though.

“Penelope, why did she ask you to keep this to yourself?” 

Penelope sent him an apologetic look, then zipped her mouth shut and threw away the key. He nodded and took his leave. 

Spencer was sure that there was an explanation for everything, that you'd probably just been embarrassed at turning up at his house and finding out he wasn't there. Maybe you'd even forgotten you'd been. 

But another deeper part of him was angry and unjustifiably so. You'd lied to him, and he felt sick, angry, violent, and like he'd love nothing more than to bend you over his lap and make sure you never did it again.

All of the unjustified anger he'd pent up in prison, the rough way he carried himself in the field now, his less than friendly exterior, it was bleeding into his relationship with you. 

He tried to damp it down, but he couldn't control it, and he was scared even as he opened the door to the apartment and prepared himself for an argument that would probably end in rough, probably progress-ending sex. 

And you had made progress in the last few days. He'd thought at the very least that you'd be a friend, albeit one he would love to kiss and sink deep into. Now he knew that he'd probably ruin all chances of that as he rounded the corner and prepared for a fight. 

He was angry, and, like it or not, he knew he was going to take it out on you. 

It was the sight of you on the couch that completely dissipated every negative emotion that he had. 

Your dress was loose and fell about you in a puddle, though it too was drowned underneath what looked to be every blanket in the house. 

Tara sat off in the corner silently watching you, and he gave her a stiff nod as she departed her protection duty for the day. 

“S-Spencer,” you sniffled, and his heart paced rapidly as he found your face stained with tear tracks, fresh tears still dripping down as well. 

He had just enough time to check you over for injuries before you had flung yourself into his arms and commenced sobbing like an absolute baby. 

“Y/N, what's wrong? Are you hurt? Did something happen?” 

Your breath hitched as you tried to speak, but you couldn't calm down and he walked you back to the couch, sitting down and letting you climb into his lap, straddling him as you once again buried your face in your neck. 

Five minutes later, you'd ceased with the dramatics, but you faced the awkward consequence of having to tell him now that you were crying because of a scene in Marley and Me. 

“It's s-stupid,” you laughed into his neck as you cuddled into him, further muffling your voice against his chest. 

“Just tell me,” he pleaded, stroking your back and hair. You looked up at him in his eyes, and then shook your head and retreated into the comfort of the crook of his neck, hips pushing closer into his as his hands rubbed comforting circles in your back. 

After a few rubs, it was quite obvious that his hands were pushing lower, and his fingers were close to grabbing a handful of your ass. 

“Was it a movie?” He asked. You nodded. 

He looked at the screen and sighed. 

“Marley and Me?” He asked. You nodded again. 

“And the dog-” 

“He died, Spencer. He loved his family so much that he took himself outside so they wouldn't have to watch him die.”

“I know, Y/N, I know.” 

“He was such a good dog,” you said, blubbering again. 

“I know,” he said, gently kissing you. 

“You know, crying during movies is a sign that oxytocin has been triggered by the connections you feel due to vicarious social experience. Your attention is captured and emotions elicited by the movie's story.” 

He kissed you again, and you kept listening to his explanation, suddenly calmed by his gentle explanation. 

“Oxytocin is best known for its role in childbirth and breastfeeding, increasing contractions during labour and stimulating the milk ducts, but it's also released in response to positive physical contact – hugging, kissing, sexual intimacy and even petting animals – as well as through positive social interactions.” 

“Spencer?” You said, looking up at him again. 

“Yes?” 

“As much as I appreciate the sentiment, I do know what oxytocin is. I, too, have a PhD, you know.” 

He smiled shyly as he ran his hands down your legs and back up again, pushing your skirt up to the tops of your thighs before gripping the bare skin he found there. 

“I think I'd much prefer if you just kissed me again,” you said. 

And he did. 

With a tear, you'd lifted the anger that had built up all day, and now he was like putty in your hands, obeying his every command for physical attention. 

He kissed you hard, his tongue tangling with yours as your hips subtly shifted above his, stimulating areas that had been much too eager to be stimulated in the last few days. 

His cock rose slightly, filling with blood as you moaned gently into the kiss. 

He was seconds from pushing you into the couch once again and freeing his abused cock, plundering your depths once again, but gently this time. He had promised himself he'd make the third time a bed at least, but here he was. You had to stop sitting on sofas. 

But with a quick thank you and heavy eyelids, you pulled away and rested your head against his shoulder. 

In his shock and disappointment, it took him rather a long time to realise you'd fallen asleep in his arms. Though his body craved attention for his own, the weight of you on top of him was warm, and satisfying, and when the shock wore off and he'd blinked away any untoward thoughts, he pulled you in closer, sunk down into the couch, and slept with you. 

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[familyvideostevie]

day after tomorrow

joel miller x reader

summary: joel drops you off and picks you up from the airport. you are definitely falling in love with him. 

warnings: modern no outbreak au, game!joel or hbo!joel, fluff, really just a fluff fest honestly, new-ish relationship, falling in love, sweet enough to make your teeth ache | 2.7k

A/N: this is a christmas gift for my dear friend @strangerfreaks who makes my life better in every way possible. i love you! hope you enjoy this <3

___

He's leaning on the side of the truck when you hurry outside with your stuff. 

"Morning," you call. It's barely that, sky still dark and air still carrying the bite of the night's chill. 

Joel straightens up and gives you a tired smile. Most of his smiles are tired but they're always genuine when directed at you. He tugs the backpack from your shoulder and presses his lips to your cheek, beard scratching your skin gently. 

"Howdy," he says in your ear before pulling away.

The travel mug Joel pushes into your hands is warm to the touch. 

"Tea," he says before you can tell him it's too early for coffee. His voice is deeper than usual, still warming up from sleep. It's not a cup from the local shop -- they're not open yet -- so he must have made it at home. "No caffeine before flights." 

"You remembered?" 

He gives you an unimpressed look and grabs your bags. They go in the backseat of his truck and he jerks his chin at the passenger door. "Get in. S'chilly."

It's also early. So early you were not going to ask him to drive you to the airport but when you mentioned you had to go on a work trip he offered. Insisted, actually, once he found out what time you needed to get there.

"You ain't takin' a cab that early," he had said. "Hell, you ain't takin' a cab home, neither. I'll pick you up."

This thing between you isn't new anymore, not exactly, but it's not solid yet. It doesn't have a name. But it's been a few months and you know what his sheets smell like and the feel of him pressed against you in the middle of the night and how he laughs with his head thrown back, mouth wide and eyes creased at the corners. He likes to take you on long walks around the lake a few towns over and you know all about his daughters even if you haven't met them yet. Your life feels a little more solid with Joel in it and the swell of your heart in your chest when you talk to him, when you see him, when he looks at you, is a welcome feeling. It's nice to want and be wanted in return. 

The inside of his truck is warm, your seat heater already turned on. The radio is down to a low hum and there's a silver cup similar to your own in the holder between the seats. Joel gets back into the truck with a slight groan and glances at you to see if you've got your seatbelt on before he clicks his. 

"Ready?" he asks. You nod. He settles his hand on your headrest and looks out the back windshield as he reverses the truck out of the driveway. "Shouldn't hit much traffic," he says. 

You take a sip of your tea and watch him as he drives out of your neighborhood and towards the highway. Part of you wishes you would hit traffic so you could look at him longer. Even in the dark you know his face pretty well by now. His hair is getting a little long, the dark threaded through with some grey and falling over his perpetually lined forehead. The scar on the bridge of his nose that you love to run your finger across and the bruises under his eyes from too many nights up late working on site plans and employee schedules. You don't think you've met a man who works as hard as Joel, and yet here he is driving you to the airport when he could be sleeping. 

Maybe it's because he's tired or maybe it's because it's dark or maybe it's because you're leaving for a few days but Joel lets you look without teasing. His eyes catch yours for just a second and he smirks.

"Why don't you drink coffee before a flight?" He takes a sip of his own thermos. You watch his throat work as he swallows and look away this time. The sky is starting to look purple out your window, the trees and fields and occasional buildings flying by too fast for your eyes to settle on anything. Joel drinks coffee like it's water. You're still leaning things about each other -- most days you find yourself thinking that you want to be learning things about him for the rest of your life -- and this is a new topic of conversation. You haven't had to be on a plane since you met him.

"I don't really like flying," you say. "Makes me nervous. I figure caffeine will just make it worse."

"Don't like it much either." You look at him again and find see smirk turn to a frown as he merges onto the nearly empty highway. "You gonna be okay?"

He asks like it's within his power to make flying something enjoyable, to cancel your work trip, to squash everything in this world that makes you nervous. Mostly you're just glad he's not teasing you about it. Maybe someday you can take a trip and be grumpy about it together.

"I'll be fine, Joel."

"Hm."

He rests an elbow against the window and rakes his hand through his hair.

"What are you up to this week?" you ask. 

He sighs. "Not much," he says. "Lumber shipment but Tommy's handlin' it. Ellie says her shower head is actin' funny so I'll go to her place and look at that. Probably sit my ass on the couch and try to watch a damn football game or somethin'."

"So what I'm hearing is you're going to miss me." It's meant to be a tease but it comes out a bit more earnest than you'd like. 

He sends you that unamused look of his but the mirth in his eyes betrays him, tells you he sees through it. You're learning that he's good at that -- seeing what you really mean, what you really want, who you really are, all the way down to the core. "Course I will," he says. "What man wouldn't miss cold hands bein' stuck up his shirt when he gets in bed?"

You scoff and Joel snickers. You could remind him how he usually catches your hands in his before you make it to his hemline on the rare nights he does wear a shirt, how he cradles your fingers and blows on them softly while rubbing them with his perpetually warm palms. The memory makes your breath hitch just a bit. 

It's only three days. Some conference your boss wanted you to go to in his stead. It won't require much of you -- you just have to attend a few panels, a dinner or two, and schmooze a little bit. You'll be back before you know it. You tell yourself it's silly to feel this apprehension at the distance, the time apart. But you're used to Joel by now and damn if you won't miss him. Used to him taking up space in your kitchen, used to his arm around you on the couch, used to his short texts and heavy gaze. You know by now that it's only a matter of time before you love him.  

"I'll miss you, too," you say softly. Joel eyes you, smirk turned soft again and reaches for you. He settles his palm on your thigh and you cover your hand with his. 

When you get to the airport aren't many cars around and you're pretty sure the attendants won't yell at you for idling. Joel seems to think the same thing as he gets out of the truck to set your luggage on the ground. You leave your now-empty to-go mug in his car and throw your arms around him when he gets to the curb with your suitcase. His chest rumbles in amusement but he hugs you back, one palm rubbing between your shoulder blades until you pull away. 

"Thank you for --"

"Nope," he interrupts you. "No thanks allowed." He hands you your backpack and you shoulder it. "I'll pick you up on Wednesday," he says. 

You wave him off. "I get in way too late, don't worry about it --"

His hand cups your cheek and the words sputter out in your throat. "I'll be here," he says again. 

"I'll call you," you say. "When I get there." It sounds like a question.

His eyes crinkle at the corners. "Please do."

"Thanks for the tea --"

"Now, what did I just say?"

You wrinkle your nose at him and he rolls his eyes before leaning in to press his lips to yours. You sigh into the kiss just a little though it remains chaste, mouths closed as his thumb strokes your cheek once, twice, before he pulls away. It's the kind of kiss that feels fond, feels familiar. A kiss that becomes routine and for a second you imgaine the press of your mouths a thousand times over just like this. 

"Safe flight, sweetheart."

You smile at him and grab your suitcase before you stand here kissing him all day. "Bye, Joel." 

6:04 am: you make it to your gate okay?

You send him a picture of your breakfast sandwich and the sun rising through the window, painting the sky purple and orange. 

6:05 am: don't text and drive!

He replies with a photo of a full mug of coffee on his counter. It's a silly one, a dinosaur wearing a Santa hat. You think Sarah got it for him as a gag gift. 

6:05 am: home already. let me know when you land

6:06 am: will do. have a good day!

The flight is pretty okay. You spend the bumpy moments thinking about Joel's hand on your leg and get through it just fine. A shuttle takes you to your hotel and you have to hurry a bit to be ready for your first panel. 

You're busy all day. So tired by the time you get back to your room that you flop on the bed with a groan. 

"Ugh," you say, face smushed into the sheets. You're tired and hungry and...you miss Joel and feel a little silly about it.

That sense of puppy love, as most people would call it, hasn't faded. Your feelings for Joel are more than the crush they were when you first started seeing each other but they still linger in the realm of infatuation. You like to look at him, to feel the solid warmth of him beside you, above you, underneath you. You like being near him. But you're also starting to love things. You love the way his voice sounds when he wakes up, the way he says your name over the phone, the way he asks you what you want, how you are, how your day was. You love to see him on your couch, in your kitchen, in your bed. You've started to miss him when he's not around. 

And what you said to him in his truck is true. You do miss him. It's an ache that sits in the center of your chest, an ache that feels like the best kind of bruise -- because it comes from something good. And because you know it'll be soothed soon enough. 

But, because you're only human, you doubt that it's as serious for him. Joel keeps his cards close to his chest and while you feel like you know him pretty well by now you also have so much to learn. So, though you really want to, you don't pick up the phone and call him. Maybe the next time you're away. 

7:54 pm: day 1 done! ready to get in bed. why do men talk so much?

He texts back immediately. 

7:54 pm: god knows. don't forget to order room service on the company dime. sweet dreams.

You laugh and do as he says. 

The rest of the conference goes the same. By day three you're exhausted and your face hurts from smiling at so many people. Your shoes are no longer comfortable and as soon as the closing keynote ends you're out of there, changing into soft clothes and taking the shuttle to the airport. You text Joel a picture of your airport dinner and then your eye bags and he replies with a cute that has you giggling a little too loudly in public. 

You just want to get home to him. Your own bed is a bonus. 

But then your flight gets delayed. Twice. Joel tells you not to worry, he'll pick you up in the middle of the night if he has to. Once you board you get stuck on the tarmac for another half hour before finally taking off. It's a decidedly less relaxing experience because you're so anxious to be home but you make it. When you land it feels like you're sitting in your seat for ages. You're tired and feel gross and you want to go to bed. Your phone turns back on and you've got one text waiting for you.

10:34 pm: i'll be by baggage claim

That was 15 minutes ago. He must have been checking your flight in the air to get here at a reasonable time. God, you want to touch him. You want to stick your nose in his neck and inhale. 

You try very hard not to run through the terminal to the escalator that goes down to arrivals. It seems to move really fucking slowly once you're on it. As soon as it gets far enough for you to see the baggage claim level and everyone waiting there your eyes search for him. You see some families, a few tired children sleeping in arms that hold them tenderly. A group of girls with a sign that reads WELCOME HOME RACHEL!

And then there's Joel.

Once you spot him it's hard to keep a smile from your face. He's standing there with his hands in his pockets, eyes glued to the escalator. Jeans, jacket, boots, and a firm set to his jaw that might be intimidating to anyone else but to you it's familiar. It's him. Once he sees you he stands a little taller and you see his cheek twitch. If someone wasn't in front of you you'd be down the steps in seconds but you wait until you're at the bottom to race forward. 

It's probably a bit dramatic. You drop your suitcase and backpack at your feet in front of him.

"Hi," you say, and then you throw your arms around his shoulders. Joel laughs. 

"S'like you're comin' home from war, or somethin'," he says, though his hugs you back just as tightly. "Should'a made a sign."

"Feels like it." Your words are muffled by his shoulder. 

"That bad, huh?" His palm drags up and down your spine. "Let's get you home, then."

Neither of you pull away. "I missed you," you say softly. 

Joel breathes deep and pulls away, hand on the back of your head as he makes sure you're looking at him. 

"Missed you, too," he says gruffly. Then he kisses you. It's less chaste than your goodbye kiss but still perfectly acceptable for airport arrivals, you think. 

"You hungry?"

"I sent you a picture of my dinner!"

"Not what I asked." You shrug and tangle your fingers with his. His thumb strokes the back of your hand. "We'll get you somethin' on the way home."

"Do you want to stay over?" you ask in a rush, realizing too late he's got no reason to want to. It's late and tomorrow is a workday. "I'm just gonna shower and go to bed but I--"

Joel's nostrils flare. "If you want me to I will." Simple as that. 

"Okay," you say. He squeezes your hand.

You walk in easy silence for a few moments. Once you're in the car you'll ask how his week was, tell him about the gossip you learned at the conference. You'll look at him the entire drive to your place, drinking your fill of him after three days without. Yeah, you're going to love him. It's just a matter of time.

"Thank you for coming to get me," you say. 

Joel looks like he wants to argue but he allows it.

"Anytime," he says. It sounds like a promise. 

thank you for reading <3 reblog, send feedback, general masterlist here!

[garfunklefield]

i just had this idea 5 sec ago and i know you are the best one to do it !!

boxer sukuna X reporter reader

hint ;) she interviewed him after he won the match ,first time he meet her

Got No Ass But She a D Cup!

18+ viewer discretion advised

Fem!reporter!reader/boxer!Ryomen Sukuna Warnings: dubious consent, cock warming, reverse cowgirl but seated, hookup, pet names [mama, babe] Word count: 1598 DESC: You meet Ryomen and instantly cave

I'm back (I'm lying)

You knew Ryomen Sukuna, but you didn’t expect him to be so forward. He was a famous boxer who was known for beating the ever-loving shit out of every one of his opponents. No mercy, that was his tagline. Every person he went up against instantly went down and ended up in a pool of their blood. It was hot, you had to admit it. He was a girl's dream. Perfect arms sculpted by gods. Veins popping out at every flex, covered in ink. Intricate designs wove back and forth between almost every crevice of Sukuna’s body, trailing up to his neck, stopping just short of his jaw. His chest was known for being rock solid and made of pure muscle mass. Six-pack, or .. maybe it was an eight-pack? Either way, it was obvious he was ripped from the tight shirts he’d sport before a match. The man’s face was even chiseled. With a jawline perfectly accentuating his square and sharp features.

He just finished a match utterly destroying some up-and-coming boxer, tanking his career before the crowd's eyes. It was amazing as you watched it, a few punches, and the boy went down. You were going to interview him, the infamous boxer … and infamous playboy. Ryomen was known for saying the right thing to make girls swoon and he was known for being forward. You didn’t realize he’d be as forward as he was, though. You adjusted your tight outfit and paced a few times in a spare room, waiting for him. There was a table set up, two chairs, your tape recorder set on the table, and your flash cards. Everything would be typed up, so you didn’t need a camera or crew.

Your thoughts soon got interrupted when the door opened. You turned your head and watched as the man entered, pink hair flushed against his forehead. He looked in your direction and raised an eyebrow. He hadn’t expected someone of your stature to be there before him. Usually, when Ryomen would get interviewed it would be some older man. Not a beautiful broad standing before him, with her tits on display. You knew what you were doing, hoping to get his number by the end of the interview. You knew it when you did your hair and makeup, and then picked out a revealing but professional outfit.

“Hey,” he gruffed, closing the door behind him and locking it with a click. Although, you didn’t hear the click. He took up so much space it was insane, just from his height alone. You watched him as he sat down at one of the chairs and spread his legs, sinking into the seat. Ryomen’s shirt was tight, so tight that you could see every muscle and every curve out of his perfect body.

“Hi,” you smiled and pushed a strand of hair away from your face. You introduced yourself and the station you were from, before continuing, “Is it okay if we record this session? I need it if I’m going to be writing an article.” You motioned to the recorder on the table as you went to sit down across from him.

“That’s fine,” Sukuna nodded, and you clicked it on, “I got a question for you though. Are we going to continue this interview facing each other… or shall we do it more intimately?” His large hand then patted one of his thighs. You didn’t expect this. In all of your preparation, you didn’t expect him to outright ask you to sit on his lap. And you didn’t expect him to do it so nonchalantly. It was as if this wasn’t his first rodeo, it definitely wasn’t, and it was as if you weren’t the first reporter he was coming onto, you definitely weren’t.

“Intimately?” You questioned, feigning ignorance.

Ryomen leaned forward in the seat, bringing one of his hands along with him. His elbow trailed along the table and rested his head in his hand. While his other hand snaked around your recorder and pressed pause, “Cut the bullshit, mama. And sit on my damn lap.” Anyone else, you would’ve felt violated. Harassed even. But this was hot. It made your plush thighs squeeze together to try and satiate the throbbing in your pussy. It started quickly and rose in heat at every passing second. What were you going to do? You could say no and end it right there. But you didn’t want to at all. You wanted to sit on his lap and feel his warm breath against your neck.

You stood up and marched over to the man, turning and going to sit on his lap. But you felt a hand stop you, “Take 'em off,” you heard him purr. Your pants? Your underwear? This was totally wrong and totally dubious, yet you wanted to see where it would go. You stripped, taking off your pants and laced panties, presenting your ass for him to see. Ryomen grabbed your hip and squeezed it, palming the skin a few times to get a feel for it. You looked back and he had already freed his cock from his gym shorts. Typical man, couldn’t wait a few seconds. He was large and hot, and it was getting you more hot every second you chose to stare at his dick. His other hand grabbed your other hip and slowly walked you backward, and soon he was aligning his penis with your folds. It tingled, how your genitals met and instantly clicked.

“We’re still doing the interview… right?” You inhaled sharply as he forced you down on his length. A gasp flew out of your mouth as you felt your pussy get stretched very slowly. He gently maneuvered you to sit, cradling your waist so you wouldn’t fall. He was so gentle, making sure this was a pleasurable experience all around for the both of you. Ryomen was good. He was so good at this. A playboy who knew how to fuck women so good and leave them begging for more.

You felt his mouth press into your neck, “Ask away, babe.” You leaned forward, exhaling at the sensation. Two of your small hands interlocked with his large one and removed the recorder from his grasp, turning it back on.

“What.. mm.. Inspired your fighting style?” You leaned back, moaning slightly at the sensation. You were being filled, it was so hot. Was this really the peak of interviewing? Was this really the peak of your life?

Ryomen exhaled and blew some air out of his mouth, responding with a bored answer about a fighter you hadn’t heard of before. The two of you did a good back and forth, about fighting and how his career truly started. He had only been doing this for a few years, so he still had so much to learn. At each question, you felt him get handsier and handsier. Two meaty hands planted on your hips, rocking you back and forth, and back and forth. It was a fleeting teasing sensation. Not enough to make you cum or feel anything, but enough to have you faltering in your sentences and stuttering consistently. You wanted to start bouncing or grinding, but you didn’t want to ruin the sensual air the two of you had created. You could tell he was starting to get restless, though, as his hands tightened on your skin.

“Ryomen…” You finally broke, turning your head to look back at him. Hazy eyes staring back at you, his mouth slightly agape, and a blush forming on his temples, “Why don’t we.. mm.. Pause the h-h.. Interview…? H-huh?” Your voice was fluttery and breathy, brushing against his ear in an arousing way.

“Mm.. I like the sound of that, mama,” a long and lazy smile formed on his mouth as he pressed a chaste kiss to yours. You weren’t prepared for his hands to force you up and then down on his shaft, forcing a pleasurable sting down your cunt. Up and down, and up and down. You gasped and threw your head back against his, moaning softly at the sensation.

“Ry..Ryom-mmm.. M.. h-h.. Hah … harde-e-er,” you rasped at the pleasure, and he didn’t have to be told twice. His hips thrust into your pussy slowly, before speeding up. Sure, he wanted to get you adjusted and content. But he was fiending for release. He was fiending to cum inside your pussy. It was hot and warm, clenching around his shaft in a way most women didn’t. In a way, most women couldn’t. You were different, you were so soft and you smelt like cherries. It sent waves of pleasure through his cock, tingling at his tip.

It was only a few seconds before his arms wrapped around your torso, hips snapping up into your ass. Two meaty hands gripped your breasts through your tight shirt, making you moan in pleasure. It wasn’t long after that, that you felt yourself spill over the edge and cum on his dick. Your juices felt so nice, so sticky, it made him cum a few seconds later. Squelching and plapping filled the air, along with faint groans from Ryomen. You felt the semen shoot into you, instantly snapping you to the fact you forgot to have the boxer put a condom on. The raw feeling of his penis rubbing up against your walls was so.. hot.. you just didn’t think about it.

“Oh fuck,” Ryomen muttered into your ear, slowing his thrusts to a stop, “You’re on birth control right?”

“…Nope,” you replied sheepishly.

“Aw shit.”

[buckrecs]

HELLO so i was wondering if you have some winter soldier x reader fics?? ive been trying to find some but theyre all so short (still amazing stories tho) tysm, i really appreciate you making recs

Winter Soldier!Bucky

masterlist | req masterlist

ONESHOT

Into Cursed Pixie Dust by @buckets-and-trees

“He's credited over two dozen assassinations in the last fifty years…” but you don’t know that. You run into him once, then again, again, again. Destiny draws you together, and neither of you can deny the pull. And yet though he never ages, you do.

Stalker by @you-are-my-sanctuary

In which Bucky has a crush on the new PR manager and is being an adorable stalker.

sleepwalking by @lanadelreyscokewhor3

when your boyfriend bucky wakes up with the winter soldier mindest, you do the only thing you know how to do- comfort him. he does the only thing he knows how to thank you- possessive sex. 

Colors in the Dark by @buckychrist

The world is without color, and that’s never bothered the Winter Soldier. The Fist of HYDRA didn’t have time for love and soulmates. At almost a century old, what are the odds that his soulmate was even still living?

ephemeral by @earlgreydream

the winter soldier shows up wounded at your door during a storm.

Purgatory by @wkemeup

While on a mission, Bucky becomes dissociated into the Winter Soldier. But instead of becoming a threat, his instinct is to protect.

a soldier gone rouge by @kinanabinks

the winter soldier has been sent to kill you. why, then, are you so wet?

Reverse Psychology by @waiting4inspiration

Bucky’s Winter Soldier mode is triggered. But you have something up your sleeves that will bring him back.

Comply by @gogolucky13

With Hydra, everyone is a prisoner.

Don’t Fear the Reaper by @gogolucky13

One night, the Winter Soldier appears at your place of work to eliminate a target. He leaves you alive, only to return a few months later.

Fatal Mistake by @rookthorne

A rogue agent amidst their ranks, it was the perfect plan, a perfect escape. It was their fatal mistake. 

Wolf, Partner, Gloves… by @revengingbarnes

HYDRA’s words make Bucky go into Winter Soldier mode. Then he meets you, and you make for him words that will bring him back to normal.

the dragon and her shadow by @kashimos-hajime

You fall in love with the Winter Soldier, and they punish you for it. Sentiment is weakness, but what can they do? After all, they cannot kill the Fist of H.Y.D.R.A. and mortal men cannot even begin to comprehend slaying a dragon.

take it easy, romeo by @sunmoonandeddie

The Soldat remembers one person through it all.

You Found Me by @samthemarvelfan

Bucky Barnes always came home to you. What happens when he doesn't? Worse than that...what happens when he forgets you existed?

Gone Again by @tokoyamisstuff

The Winter Soldier is lost and confused, unable to remember a single thing - except for the place where he’d find the woman that had become his safe space.

I’ll Come Back for You by @milliedazzledust

something where he is in winter soldier mode and protecting the scientist (y/n) where she is the only one who can sort of calm him down after a mission.

Void by @theeleggymeggy

Working as a nurse at HYDRA, you find yourself intervening when you catch Alexander Pierce striking The Asset. You don’t even know this man, but you can’t just stand and watch him be beat down.

Sweet Memory by @

SERIES

One’s Promised by @invisibleanonymousmonsters

Living a double life was not a choice when one was the daughter of Alexander Pierce. Y/N was the youngest agents of SHIELD and one of the most respected threats within Hydra’s empire. No matter her allegiance, she was feared by both. Y/N Pierce would’ve tried to escape it all… if it hadn’t been for The Winter Soldier.

Soldat by @the-fallen-nightmare

Captain America and Reader have worked together at SHIELD for over a year. What happens when they have a run in with The Winter Solider and Steve finds out the secret Reader had been hiding from him all this time? And what happens when reader is captured by Hydra and The Winter Soldier, again. Can she make Soldat remember her or is her life with Steve just a slow fading memory now?

 

Breach by @darkmasterlistyouneveraskedfor (dark)

The reader finds herself in the Winter Soldier’s cross hairs during a lock down.

Reset by @lunarbuck

The government has fallen, Hydra has taken over. You were an agent of SHIELD long before the reign of terror began, and became a member of the resistance when they needed you most. Everything changes when the Winter Soldier captures you from your safe house.

Devil’s Backbone by @trashmenofmarvel

With your team dead and your mission failed, you’ve been taken by the assassin to an unknown location and are at the mercy of your cruel tormentors.

Krasavchik by @after-avenging-hours

While under orders from Karpov to test the Soldat’s loyalties to Hydra, you find yourself questioning your own loyalties.

Welcome Home… Soldat? by @winterarmyy

Y/N had make a habit of greeting Bucky a warm 'welcome home' everytime he came back from his missions, but there was one particular day when she unknowingly greeted someone else.

[gogh-with-the-flow]

Part 2 of cheating!Soap. More angst. No comfort.

Pt. 1 Pt. 3

Johnny listens to you cry for hours. He doesn't move from his seat on the couch. He cries with you, digging his nails into his scalp. Sobbing at the sounds of your misery. Each wail from you was like a bullet to his chest. And the worst part is that it was all his fault. He hurt you. He was the reason for your screams of agony. You sounded as if you were dying. Part of you was.

He didn't follow you when you walked away. He didn't deserve to comfort you. He didn't deserve to touch you anymore. He was dirty. He had done the most unforgivable thing a spouse could do. He couldn't taint your body with his filthy hands. His hands, which were soaked in blood, that was fine to touch you. But this? This betrayal had rendered him untouchable.

So all he can do is sit and listen as you cry yourself sick twice. He isn't there to hold your hair out of your face or rub your back, or wipe your tears and remind you to breathe. He can't help you. He can't do anything. It's all his fault.

He wants to run from it. He wants to run as far away as he can and never look back. But he can't leave you. Not like this. He doesn't think you could take him leaving, too. So he stays.

He didn't mean to do it, he swears. It was the heat of the moment. He never thought he was capable of doing such a thing to you. He'd never been disloyal in any relationship, and especially not to you, not his wife. His long-suffering, patient, loyal wife, who had married him knowing how often he'd be gone; who was always waiting for him at home, ready to welcome him back home with open arms and open legs. He never thought he could do such a thing to you.

But he had. He didn't mean to do it! The pressure had gotten to him. The mission was intense. Weeks of hiding in a safe house, waiting for exfil they didn't know for certain was even coming. Weeks of heavy fire and dodging bullets. He didn't even know if he would make it out alive.

And then there was Ghost. Solid, dependable, safe Ghost. Simon. That's what he had called him that night. That night at the end of another week of radio silence from Watcher. That night that Simon had laid him down and taken him on the rickety couch of the safe house. He didn't know if he would make it out alive! And if he didn't, then you would never know...

So he let Simon split him open, slow and sensual. The sex between two men- two comrades just trying to cope, to find refuge in each other. Soldiers trying to find some kind of peace in the midst of violence and death. Trying to find life worth living at death's door.

And then the next morning, exfil arrived. They moved quickly. Soap didn't even have time to shit out the load Ghost had left inside him. He felt it the whole way home. An uncomfortable, sticky reminder of that night. A physical weight in his stomach as he realized what he had done. It was a long flight. Plenty of time to think about what he had done. He felt Ghost watching him the whole way, but he couldn't bring himself to look back at him.

When the plane landed, he made a beeline to the showers. He cleaned himself up, cleaned himself out. Scrubbed his skin raw, but he couldn't clean himself of his actions. No soap in the world could reverse what he had done to you. He vomited into the shower drain.

Debrief was a blur, a hazy meeting. He avoided Ghost's eyes again. Ghost tried to talk to him afterwards, but Soap ignored him. He went to his room, packed his things, and got on the first available flight back to you. He moved quickly, leaving him no more time to think, to linger on what had happened, and what was yet to come.

Ghost called him. He called him again and again. Soap didn't know what he wanted. Was he going to apologize? Threaten Soap not to tell Price? Confess his feelings? Soap didn't know and he didn't care. He just needed to get back to you. He needed to get back to his wife and then everything would be okay again. You'd kiss away all the wounds he sustained on the mission like you always do. Your touch was a healing balm for both mind and body.

But when he saw your beaming face waiting for him at the airport, the guilt came crashing down again. Oh, what had he done? What had he done to you? He couldn't even bring himself to touch you. He couldn't eat, or else he'd get sick with himself again. Looking at you made him feel nothing but shame. You were innocent in all of this, yet you'd be the one who'd get hurt the most.

He didn't hold you that night, couldn't bear it. He got out of bed. Simon called again. He answered. It was Simon who told him to tell you. He said you deserved the truth. Simon, who didn't apologize, but insisted that what happened wasn't a mistake. Johnny argued otherwise. He cried himself to sleep on the couch. The couch he sits on now.

Johnny listens to you cry for hours. He listens and he knows that it's all his fault.

[adnauseum11]

Entry Control Point (John Price x Reader)

You spend the night at John's for the first time since you started dating. You have a revelation.

1.5k words

CW: nipples

This has been idling in Teen but the spice level is going to take a jump shortly, sorry if that's not your thing.

You are so used to John’s steady presence in your life that you can almost forget that things have changed between you. Except in moments like this, that forcibly remind you - he’s allowed to have his hands in certain places now. You find his touch creeping up on you, a natural extension of the familiarity you had before. It takes a minute for you to notice it, but when you do -

“What are you doing?” You elbow John in the ribs just this side of gently. His big hand has drifted off your back and is in your back pocket, cupping and squeezing your ass cheek. 

“Hmm?” He’s going for innocent but looks too pleased with himself to pull it off properly. His beanie hat is tugged low and his collar turned up against the cold. 

“Knock it off, you absolute muppet.” You struggle to create daylight between you, realizing belated he’s been slowly reeling you into his body as you walk back to his flat after dinner.

John grins, the expression taking years off his face and making your heart swell in your chest, suddenly feeling too tight. You won’t tell him that though, because he’s pinching the material of your back pocket in between his fingers and tugging you back against his big, solid body. You half-heartedly swat at him but give up, letting his warmth bleed in to your side. 

“Took an entire city block to notice, love.” He murmurs, bending slightly to deliver the words close to your ear. 

“It did not, stop being a nuisance.” You huff with ill-hidden amusement, pausing for a traffic light to change. 

“Can’t help it, you drive me to distraction.” John retorts immediately, returning his palm to your lower back in a protective gesture as you wait for the light together. You roll your eyes but lean into him anyways. You stay wrapped up in him for the rest of the walk back in contented silence, a full belly and brisk night bookending your night. 

It isn’t until you get through the front door of his that you realize the time. You freeze, half your jacket buttons undone as you try to decide what to do. John notices, because of course he does. 

“Bit late to head back to yours now, innit love?” He’s using a careful tone of voice as he stills, watching you struggle internally. You know if you ask, he’ll take you home right now, but he’s right. It’s getting late to ask him to run around the city. 

“Yeah, probably.” You say haltingly, your hands going back to the buttons slowly. John’s working hard to keep the triumphant smile off his face, but you know him too well.  

“John –“ You begin a warning but he’s got his hands up in supplication before you can finish the thought. 

“Everything will be above board, darling. No pressure from me. I’ll sleep on the couch, yah?” His accent deepens and you narrow your eyes at him, undoing the buttons with purpose now. 

“Stop being ridiculous, you’re not going to sleep on the couch. If this is some reverse psychology shit – “

“Never.” He shakes his head and takes your coat from you, hanging it up beside his own. His warm hands fall on your shoulders, massaging gently through your shirt as he steers you into the living room. ‘Unless it’s working?” His tone hopeful.

“John!” You admonish and he chuckles, his broad chest bumping against your back. 

“Just teasing love, just teasing.” He soothes, dropping a series of kisses into the juncture of your neck and shoulder, the mixture of heat from his lips and scratchiness of his whiskers making you shiver. “Since you’re not going home do you want to watch something before bed?” 

He backs off, giving you space to fold yourself into your preferred position on the end cushion, tucking your feet up against the armrest. He leans over to grab a well-worn blanket off the back of the couch, conspicuously the most feminine thing other than yourself in the room. It’s white and thick, still soft despite years of use. It has edges that end in loose threads of yarn and has simple geometric shapes woven into the pattern. You got it for him years ago, an early Christmas present before he shipped out on mission. It has never actually left his flat, so it retains its creamy white colouring. You’re fond of braiding the loose ends together while watching movies. 

He drops onto the cushion beside yours, one large arm going over the back of the couch, bracketing you into his body. You instinctively lean into his bulk, tucking yourself under his arm and taking control of the blanket. He kicks his legs up onto the coffee table after swiping the remote, sprawling his longer form as best he can without losing any space between you.

You are part way through an old Top Gear re-rerun when something finally clicks into place. Your cheek is pressed against the hard plane of muscle that is John’s pectoral, half watching the show and half focused on his steady heartbeat. His fingers are buried in your hair, running through the strands absently. Every gentle tug making goosebumps run up and down the back of your neck, melting you a little further into him. 

The blanket, driving you home regardless of the hour, the previous fist fights with bad boyfriends – it all crystallizes in a moment of clarity as Richard Hammond screams across a rickety footbridge in an ancient Bronco, making the man at your side chuckle lowly. John Price has been sweet on you for some time. He’s just…never acted on it. And you, without any overt overtures of interest had just assumed that was how John operated. Had never seen any indication of anything other than a man chivalrous to a fault. You speculate on his retirement and the timing of his interest, losing track of what’s happening on screen. You only realize its over when John sits up, shifting you against him. 

“You alright?” Concern is colouring his tone.

“Yeah, zoned out. Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize darling, ready for bed then?”

You’re loathe to move, wanting to stay cocooned with him while you process your revelation. Going to bed will raise its own anxieties, none of which have anything to do with John and everything to do with your fear of losing an important relationship in your life should this go sideways. Never mind it’s been over two decades and he’s not turned away from you yet. 

“One more show?” You ask, turning wide eyes on him. He relaxes against you again and you burrow into his side, grateful for a chance to mentally play catch up. You resettle your ear over his heart, feeling it’s comforting thump while you turn over interactions in your mind. Looking for clues, the world’s most inattentive detective. You lose track of the show again and are startled anew when John sits up, swinging his legs off the table to stand. 

“C’mon sleepy head, let’s get you ready for bed.”

“I don’t have anything –“

“You can wear whatever of mine you like, but maybe think about bringing some stuff over, hmm?” He’s wrapped around you from behind, steering you down the hallway to the bathroom, reading your mind. He hands you his toothbrush, letting you use it first and disappears to gather a shirt for you to sleep in. You stare at the toothbrush in your hand dumbly for a moment before using it. John swaps you the utensil for a shirt when he returns and goes about his business. You catch his eyes following you in the mirror though. 

The shirt in your hand is soft and familiar to you, an old one won playing darts at a pub. A good memory, filled with laughter and beer-soaked floors. Before you can think too hard you begin undressing, tossing each item haphazardly over a leather club chair in the corner.

You can feel your nipples harden in the air of the room, and as you lift your arms over your head to pull John’s shirt on you hear the clatter of his toothbrush in the sink. A muttered curse follows and by the time your head pops out of the neck hole, he’s gripping the counter and blatantly staring at you in the mirror. All the muscles down his arm are corded, as if he’s gripping the slab of countertop with all his strength.

“Are you alright, John?”

You ask innocently, and watch him swallow hard in the mirror. He nods and turns off the bathroom light, padding slowly over to you. His big palm lands on your lower back, wordlessly steering you to bed. You can’t help the rush of nervous anticipation at his nearness, but John is as good as his word. He doesn’t pressure you and lets you sleep, the both of you settling into his big bed with contented sighs. No, it’s when you wake up, wrapped around his powerful body that you should have had the foresight to be concerned about.     

Next Chapter

[dollyyun]

𝐝𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐥'𝐬 𝐤𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬' 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐲 | 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐬𝐢𝐱 𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞𝐫

RELEASE DATE: Wednesday, 26th June 2024

PAIRING: enha hyung line x fem!reader

GENRE: 18+ (mdni), semi-college au, adulthood, reverse harem, dark themes.

WARNINGS: mentions of christianity, profanities, smoking, mention of drugs, alcohol consumption, violence, blood, murders, yandere & tsundere, manipulation, corruption, toxicity, heavy angst, dubcon themes, unprotected sex (no!), dom hyung line (rip), name calling, degradation, possible voyeurism, mild bondage, gagging, choking, blowjob, fingering, edging, manhandling, spitting kink, orgasm denial, crying, squirting, creampies, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, threesomes (twice), more to be added....

TEASER WORD COUNT: 1.3k

PART 1, PART 2, PART 3.1, PART 3.2, PART 4, PART 5 ✘ SERIES MASTERLIST ✘

The passage of time appears to be slowing down, with the red neon luminosity encompassing you gradually fading into a blur, while the bright sign of 'exit' ahead remains a beacon to your fortitude, but your quest to the road of freedom grows languid as the eventual exertion dawns on your body.

Tears welling in your lower eyelids are a recrudescence of terror, parallel to your inner turmoil that remains unabating, and you feel as though it is eating you alive from the inside, dwindling the hope you so desperately clutch onto.

Your ears perk up at the sound of familiar, heavy-booted steps from not far behind you, eliciting a forlorn cry from you before you force your weary body to pick up the speed, despite the unknown yet lethal substance streaming through your every fibre and taking its major effect on your whole being.

No, this is not how you imagined facing your demise. You never would have thought that one of your worst nightmares had manifested itself and plunged into your reality.

Your skull is throbbing painfully, with blood seeping from the fresh wounds that trickle down the side of your face, while your heart aches tremendously. A sob emerges from the back of your throat before waterworks cascade down on you, but you refuse to allow yourself to die tonight, not when you’re nearly getting the taste of freedom.

Before you know it, you use the force of your body to push the door open as it swings outward violently, and you continue to run on the asphalt ground, having no clue of your current location, while your heaving chest is starting to hurt with how ragged your breathing is that mingles with the sobs.

“Please.” You choke out, your tearful eyes blurring your vision, while you feel as though more needles are piercing into your skull. “Please let all of this be a nightmare.” You manage to whisper in between broken sobs, nearly succumbing to the hyperventilation that renders you unfocused on your surroundings as your body remains in a fight-or-flight mode.

The next thing you know, you bump into a solid chest that nearly has you staggering back if it weren’t for strong arms latching onto your trembling form. The moment your eyes meet his concerned eyes that soon blaze with anger, a frightful shriek tears from your parched throat before you push him away from you, as though he is a disease.

“Princess?” Sunghoon, whose head is fogging with confusion, frowns visibly as he sees the way you are looking at him as though he is a terrifying stranger.

The movements from Jake and Jay catch your heightened sense, prompting you to cower away from them as you back away. “Stay away from me!” You shout at them, the fear is palpable in the tremor of your voice, to which they halt their movements.

“Baby, it’s us!” Jay exclaims while trying his utmost not to give away the tempest of wrath that storms within him upon seeing the state you are in. 

“Lovely…” Jake takes cautious steps towards you, but even his loving, gentle tone is not enough to dispel the betrayal and heartbreak you are still reeling from.

“I said don’t come close to me! Please!” To see you hyperventilating as you sob hard hits them in the face, but what pains them is the terror you exhibit right now because they never wanted you to fear them as though they would really hurt you.

You turn around with the intention to run from them, but this time, Heeseung’s figure is a hindrance as he blocks your way. His hands find their way to hold you firmly while you attempt to thrash and struggle in his captivity.

“Let go of me!” You become relentless, your fear is now eclipsed by anger that stems from the fresh betrayal.

Despite the confusion upon seeing the blazing anger in your crystalline eyes, Heeseung remains calmly collected as he holds you effortlessly yet is unable for you to escape from. “Sweetheart─”

Being utterly overwhelmed and blinded by the maelstrom of pain, betrayal, sadness, and anger, you raise your hand and bring it down to land a harsh slap to his now-stinging cheek, shocking the other three from behind.

“Do you think this is meant to be humorous to you?!” The rage in your voice is unmistakable as it sounds foreign to your ears, but your focus remains on his face as he slowly turns to look at you while you are oblivious to the raging storms in his dark eyes. “Is this really your endgame?! Once you’re satisfied after fucking me, you'll kill me?!”

Heeseung’s deadly silence only seems to fuel your wrath, and so you begin to throw punches into his chest that don't even have any effect on him. “Fight back!” You scream in between sobs, tears relentlessly streaming down your cheeks. “If you want to kill me, do it now!”

“Y/N, stop.” Jake and Jay appear from behind, intervening as they grab you away from Heeseung’s defeated grasps while you continue to struggle and fight against their strong hold valiantly despite feeling debilitated.

“What are you talking about?” Heeseung’s calm voice manages to reach your ears despite the sound of your hysteria.

“Yeah, what do you mean by killing you, lovely?” Jake asks with a frown as soon as you shoot him a glare. “We would never do such a thing─”

Miraculously, you manage to escape from their grasps, and your glaring eyes penetrate into each of them. “Don’t lie to me! I know you’re the ones who kidnapped me and brought me to this God-forsaken place, and for what? To kill me!”

“We didn’t!” Jay objects vehemently, disbelief lacing his tone. “Why would we ever want to kill you?”

“Liar!” You retort before breaking down again, the sound of your cries only fuels their anger to hunt down whoever dared to hurt you. “If you weren’t the ones back there, then how did you even know where I was?”

“I installed a tracker on your phone. It’s the reason why we managed to track your location.” Jake steps forward, his softening eyes seem to balm your hysteric nerves. “But you have to believe us, love. We would never do anything to jeopardise your life.”

You open your mouth to speak, but a whimper comes instead as you feel the familiar pain plummeting into your skull, prompting you to clutch your still-bleeding head, and Sunghoon, being the nearest to you, holds you steady against him just as your body sways lightly.

“You’re still bleeding, princess.” Sunghoon murmurs, his gentle tone and his touch send you into a whirlwind of confusion. Disappointment seeps through him as you push him away while your mind is waging a battle of internal conflict, recalling the girls’ words about them, but at the same time, your love for them remains palpable, which only makes your head spin.

“Don’t touch me.” You protest weakly as you attempt to yank your arm from Heeseung’s firm grasp, but the substances injected into you that flow in your system wholly revoke the remnants of your vitality, rendering you debilitated as you find yourself leaning into him.

Without a word, Heeseung effortlessly carries you in a bridal style, with your whole body going limp as your consciousness slips away faster than you like before the darkness welcomes you once more.

“Gather all the knights from your respective houses. We’ll be having a meeting tomorrow morning.” Heeseung orders calmly, causing the three to exchange glances. “All of them, and not a single person is to be left out.”

“You got it.” Jake gives him a firm nod.

Heeseung catches Sunghoon and Jay’s eyes, and they immediately understand his deadly intent. “Find those fuckers inside and do what you need to do. Bring their heads to me.”

[im-totally-not-an-alien-2]

Vlad accidentally outed both of them publicly and Danny was forced to flee into the Ghost Zone while his former rogues destroy the portals and leave Vlad stranded in the mess he made.

Clockwork shows up only to dramatically tell Danny that "This chapter of your life has ended. It is time for you to begin anew." He also warned Danny that he would no longer be able to help him in the new world he would be inhabitanting and wished him luck.

Luck was something he clearly did not receive since he landed smack in the middle of Gotham.

Through a bright green portal.

At night.

As a very glowy Phantom.

In the middle of a very busy road.

People were staring at him from inside thier cars, some were trying to put thier cars in reverse to quietly get away some were filming him with thier phones or trying at least trying to. He is a ghost after all.

Some melodramatic person screamed and suddenly there was some type of demon swooping down to Phantom. It was at this point that Danny thought, Screw this. I'm out. Before turning invisible and flying away.

Except...the demon was following him. Black wings like a bat were flared as the thing followed Danny across the city. It took almost an hour to lose its trail and hes certain the only reason he managed to do that was by leading the thing into the sewers and phasing back up above ground while he was out of sight.

Danny took this opportunity to invisibly phase into a boarded up shop and transform from Phantom to Fenton then phase out invisibly and bolt. He needed to be more careful of cameras this time around. Amity may not have had a bunch but this city was infested with them. After a few failed mugging attempts from some people on the streets he thinks he knows why.

He spent his entire day exploring Gotham and swiping food. He felt bad about it but with no legal identity and no way to earn money in a non-criminal way he was kinda tight on options. Eventually dusk came and, not knowing if that bat demon thing could sense him or if it liked to snack on lost little ghosties, he began somewhat frantically looking for somewhere to hide for the night.

Danny was really, really good at finding hiding spots. Usually this wouldn't be a problem. The opposite really. But here it was.

Turns out most of the great hiding places Danny found (abandoned theaters, insides of clocktowers, the 13th floor of some wierd company towers that he heard were unused and had no way to access) they were already occupied. Either by thier wierd Owl cult, this wierd Robin cult or this wierd Bat cult, Danny has decided to avoid the heck out of the bat cult cause he was 90% certain the thing that chased him on his first night here was the bat monster they worshiped.

Also, that bird cult member in the back and blue kept trying to "adopt him" which he was pretty sure meant inducting into the cult, which is a solid no from him.

Appearently him just finding all of thier hideouts is either horrifying or just embarrassing to the members of the cults. One time he popped into another "bird nest" and came face to mask with Red Robin and Nightwing around when this first started. Everyone just stared at eachother in shock for a solid five seconds before RR began reaching for something and Danny bolted back the way he came (which weirdly enough was though a cabinet door)

RR inspected the dog sized hole in the back of the cabinet that the kid must have come through and realized it lead through the walls. Chilling.

In Dannys defence, his phone was left behind and he didn't even think about reading the newspaper past learning the current date. Still on him, but meh.

[route-to-eutopia-if]

Route to Eutopia - New WIP IF

DEMO(28K) I CHARACTER DOSSIERS I PLAYLIST (TBA)

You have one year left to live.

But are you afraid of dying? Probably not. Since you don’t even know how to live your life. You have been hidden away from public eye since young. And the only friend you have is an Alter, humanoid species born to only serve other people and nothing else. Alters live so ‘people like you’ could live.

That makes the two of you. Alive. But never here. Never lived.

If opportunities arise, would you take a chance to change it? Only you can answer.

In a world where feeling nothing at all is better than letting your emotions rule over you, your choice to break those rules and make a change will paint a new shade of history that no one ever could. 

Hidden behind shut doors to live your quiet life as a secret child of Bastien Palmer, Sole Leader of Eutopia paradise, you never experience anything except for repeating the same old routine your entire life. You are the existence which should not be known, not just for the reason that you are the byproduct of your father and his secret lover. But also because of your frightening ‘Alter-like’ eye color, most of it is silver like any Stargaze–but nevertheless… tinted shamefully by crimson streaks.

You are told to stay away from public eyes for the sake of Palmer’s reputation in which you feel obliged to. However, your life of peaceful solitude will never be the same again after tonight…

Route to Eutopia is a violent dystopian loosely-conceptual interactive story where you are a bystander surrounded by The Chosen One of your own choice. You are to designate whether this story will head towards the direction of mutual peace between Alters– a human-like species believed to be plagued by uncured disease since birth– and Stargazers —a group of survivors whose ancestors once lived on a faraway planet before an inevitable disaster occurred and forced them to flee into another dimension, or towards a doom fate that cannot be reversible.

To be noted; RtE is a heavily-relationship based game (not necessarily in platonic/romantic sense) each of your interactions with any character will determine the tone and purpose of their motivation. Any choice you have chosen, make sure to embrace the consequences of your action at your own expense.

With that being said, it is also worth mentioning that you don’t need to engage into a romance or specific relationship with any character to complete the story.

RtE also rated 18+ for strong language, suggestive contents, disturbing topics such as racism, sexism, discrimination against queer people, explicit descriptions of violence, murders, drug use and sexual behaviors of certain characters with optional intercourse scenes.

Setting

RtE takes place in a post-apocalypse society where the concept of time is lost and any history known was only speculations at best and rumour at worst. Trying to maintain their sense of utopia, Stargazers built and operated their space colony as a temporary base for self-preservation (in which only fews know details about) called ‘Eutopia’. 

In this dystopian paradise people’s sole purpose of living was fixated on surviving. And in order to do that, the whole population creates a solid ground rule not to let themselves ‘feel’ about other emotions that do not serve for public favors. Hence, you will be challenged to adapt to several situations and handpick the best flavor of your actions based on the emotions you have learnt or developed from your surroundings.

Who do you play as?

For now, you will be playing as a secret child of Bastien Palmer, the leader of Stargazers who already has a wife and two other perfect children, your younger sister and brother. Ones you have never interacted with nor you ever get the chance to.

MCs subjectively considered a white sheet which you can paint anything on by your preferences. Explore the world full of colorful emotions or bottomless pit of numbness by your own choices. 

But remember, Eutopia is a place where everything goes according to one simple rule ‘To survive’ hence the marriage between a man and woman will be set as the norm and only truth, and someone who will state otherwise must face and suffer the ugliness of social standards accordingly. However, I do not encourage any transphobic/homophobic behavior of the characters in this story. Please kindly be assured of that.

There might be a chance where you can start off as other characters, that is, however, still a subject-to-change matter as of now.

Introduction to the Chosen Ones [ ROs]

**Please be aware of mild spoilers below**

Vegaris (M/F) 19 Star-crossed lovers or Nemesis route, The Rebel.

They would do anything to survive, even if it means to betray the only person who trusts them deeply… like you.

Vegaris is an Alter who has so many sides hidden behind closed doors. Unpredictable, cunning, hot and cold are the words that describe them best. Due to their traumatic childhood (much like other Alters on Eutopia), they have a deep-root hatred for Stargazers. Although they were brought in by your family and treated almost the same as one of your father’s own kids. They still witness the unfairness of being an Alter in society and never afraid to point the wrong in other people’s doings. 

Their usual mask, however, is one where you cannot crack open that easily. They always remain calm and composed in front of you, and only show their fangs when circumstances arise.

Dana/Darren Regency (M/F) 22 Childhood friends, Forbidden route, The Face.

For a person who seems to be easy to read as much as an open-book, they sure talk with silence better than with their own voice.

A poster girl/boy for Regency Academy. Your former childhood friend (for some unknown reason, they're trying their hardest to avoid you) and an only child to the Head of Deans at Regency, Sandalphon. They are the precise image of how one should raise a Stargazer. Being a honor student. A model citizen. And a perfect ideal partner. They are assigned to be married with the most capable genetic-wise fiancé. As popular as they appear to be to the public, their private life (as private as it can be) is still a gigantic loophole for most imprudent reporters trying to catch even just a glimpse.

It seems like what they are trying to avoid is not just you, but the entirety of Eutopia.

Sandalphon Regency (M/F) 40 Age-difference, Single-parent route, The Pacifist.

Do you believe in something just because it's true, or it becomes the truth only when you believe in it?

Sandalphon is the most powerful influence among the deans of Regency. A group of people that has control over governing matters even beyond that of Bastien Palmer, the President. For Sandal, they are anything and everything people could ever ask for in a Regency. Kind, generous, well-versed with every branch of knowledge in the universe. Never wrong in anything. And never judge anyone based on their bias.

If only people knew the truth, they’d probably beg to differ.

Maybe they are just good at hiding beneath that gentle facade, maybe a calculated mind with strings to pull works best with neutral suggestions... who knows?

One more hidden character will be revealed in the demo, Into the Madness route, The Savior.

[ Classified info. ]

**There will be two sub ROs and flings to be introduced later in the story.**

More info will be announced.

Demo 1st update : 24/01/2024 Chapter 1 (28k codes excluded)

Datalog is completed roughly til the end of the story. Coding and polishing will certainly take time. Any more updates will be announced solely on this blog.

Reblogging is appreciated. Thank you!

[ghoststyles]

Meet Me In Augusta

A quick little check-in for Fairway to Heaven ❤️ inspired by my beefy hunky man at the Masters 🫶🏼🫶🏼🫶🏼🫶🏼🫶🏼

SMUT. FLUFF. That’s all.

———————————————————————————

When Briar and Harry first got together, she thought she’d won the lottery. A doting, strong boyfriend who puts her needs above his own. He cares for her dog as much as she does, gets along with her family members, and donates to charity regularly. It’s like the heavens handmade him. And yes, the reverse is true on Harry’s part. She’s his dream girl, and the bloody best thing to ever happen to him. But, where he’d truly won the lottery differs slightly:

He won tickets to the Masters.

It’s a once in a lifetime opportunity to attend one of the four major golf tournaments, and when Harry entered his name in the lottery system the year before, he never thought he’d see the day where his bucket list item would be checked off.

Briar is lounging on Harry’s couch, watching old episodes of Real Housewives (NY, obviously) with Gus at her feet and a bowl of popcorn and M&Ms beside her when she hears a completely manly and dignified shriek from Harry’s office. Sitting up in alarm, she opens her mouth to yell back to him, to make sure he’s okay, just as the heavy oak double doors swing open. Shirtless and in his Calvin Klein boxer briefs and socks, Harry sprints down the hall, phone in hand as he leaps over the back of the sofa to stand beside her.

“What on Earth! Harry, you’re scaring me! Is there a mouse? Where are your clothes?” Briar screams, jumping up to crouch on the sofa and cocooning herself in her blanket in case there’s a spider clinging to him.

Harry is laughing maniacally, and every so often an oh my god leaving his mouth. He nods to whomever he’s talking to on the phone as if they can see him before thanking them and hanging up.

He drops the phone, eyes wide and meeting hers. Grabbing her shoulders, he all but tackles her back to the sofa, signaling Gus to bark at him for hurting his mom. They’re on the settee part of the sofa, Harry’s arms wrapped around her, preventing her from moving, even if she wanted to.

“Harry! Tell me what’s going on right now!” Briar’s shrill voice finally brings him back to Earth.

He peppers kisses on her neck before shouting in her ear, “I’M GOING TO THE MASTERS!”

She doesn’t respond, not because she’s not supportive of his enthusiasm, but because she has no idea what that is. Feigning a smile, she replies, “wow, baby, that’s great!”

Craning his neck, his brows furrow when he meets her gaze, a clear indicator she’s confused.

“Birdie, do you know what the Masters is?”

“Mmmm, is it like MasterChef?”

Harry squawks out a laugh, shaking his head, “No, my love. The Masters is one of the big four golf tournaments for the PGA. When you win, you earn a green jacket and become a member of Augusta National in Georgia. And then you get to plan a celebration dinner. Plus, you win like, $3,000,000.”

“Ohhhh, okay, yes. Uncle Patrick has gone to that, I think. He didn’t win, though.”

Harry’s brows furrow even more, a bewildered look gracing his features, “We’ll come back to that later. I have a lot of questions. But, you enter a lottery to win tickets and I won! Otherwise, tickets are almost a million dollars.”

“A million dollars!? The course better be made of solid gold. I can’t even believe the stuff people spend their money on sometimes.”

“Tiger Woods will be there. He hasn’t played in a few years because of injuries. Baby, I could be near Tiger!” he smacks her ass, eliciting a yelp.

He hops up from his spot on the sofa as he looks outside with the biggest smile on his face, running his hands through his not-so-there curls on his head. He’d shaved it a few months ago impulsively; that was a crisis Briar never thought she’d see the other side of. But his peach fuzzy head grew on her.

“When is it?”

“Second weekend in April. Are you doing anything?”

“Me? Why wouldn’t you take Niall?”

“He and Lydia already have a wedding that weekend back in Ireland. I already asked him.”

“So, I’m your second choice!?” Briar smacks the sofa cushion beside her, faking offense.

Harry rolls his eyes, “You didn’t even know what it was five minutes ago, brat.”

She parrots his eye rolling, leaning down to snuggle Gus. They’re quiet for a moment, letting Harry soak in the news.

“Wait, why don’t you have clothes on?”

“Oh, I stripped them off as they were telling me I got the tickets. I was just too excited,” he responds casually, as if the answer is obvious.

———————————————————————————

So the pair is in Augusta, Georgia, watching Harry’s childhood dream come true. The problem? No phones allowed.

To maintain their traditional values, Augusta National banned the use of cellphones. Briar’s lovely boyfriend failed to remind her of this fact until they were in the back of an Uber heading to the course.

“No phones!? I wanted to document this whole experience for you!” She whines, gently squeezing his wrist.

“Thanks for wanting to do that, Birdie, but it’s okay. My generation isn’t addicted to their phones. We like to live in the moment.”

“Oh my god,” she snorts, punching him lightly. If anyone is on their phone too much, it’s Harry. His entire day is determined by solving the New York Times Connections puzzle. What do you MEAN the theme was ice cream flavors without the last letter?

“What if we get separated? How will I find you?”

“Did you pack your leash?” Harry smirks, waiting for her to smack him again.

“H! Quiet,” she snarls, trying not to look if the driver is listening. “Fine. Do they collect the phones or do they just kick you out if they see it?”

“I think they kick you out and you’re not allowed back, ever. There’s also no running. It’s hilarious. When everyone is trying to follow around the big names, it turns into a speed walking competition to try and beat them to the hole.”

She hums, looking out the window at the gorgeous scenery. She hasn’t spent much time down south, but this trip has changed her opinion of this part of the country. They’ve had beautiful dinners at night on patios and taken walks on historic grounds.

“Good news is, the food and drinks are super cheap, and I think you have some French 75’s calling your name.”

“Yesss!”

The Uber turns, the beautiful gates to the course opening as they pull in. The white building before them is gorgeous and neatly kept, embodying the prestige of the entire event. For a moment, she thinks Harry is tearing up. Harry snaps a photo of the two of them in front of the building to send to Niall and Patrick.

He grabs her hand and squeezes gently as he flashes their credentials to the security guard.

“Lead the way, baby,” Briar whispers, linking her arm with his as they stand outside the car, taking it all in.

Like a kid in a candy store, Harry drags her by the wrist, slaloming through the crowds of people as they all try to make it to the entrance.

Harry looks fucking good today. He’s donning a navy blue sweater on top of a cobalt blue golf shirt. His taupe pinstripe pants are pressed perfectly. His fingers are decked out in rings of all different finishes, and his Prada sunglasses fit his scruffy face perfectly.

The finishing touch, his shoes, are what has Briar giggling to herself. His black Hoka sneakers are throwing off the whole vibe. She tried to change his mind as they packed, but we’ll be walking a lot, and I don’t want my plantar fasciitis to come back!

To make the occasion even more special, Briar let Harry pick out her outfits. She knew he’d pick out her lavender sports dress, a classic piece she whips out when they play on weekends so he’s frustrated and thrown off his game. She’s 3 for 4 on this strategy.

Harry loves the way it cuts at Briar’s strong thighs, and shows a little bit of her back. To elevate the look, she tied a white Hermes scarf around her neck just like Daphne! Her shoes are white Vince Camuto sneakers with no support. She knows she can’t whine later if her feet hurt, in fear of hearing a relentless, I told you so!

Before examining his choices in her suitcase, she zeros in on the lack of underwear and bras. She knows he also picked her floor length, black bodycon dress. He’s really pushing the limits of voyeurism with these picks.

They finally make it past security, thankful they didn’t confiscate her purse, a gift from Harry that is just a smidgen too large for their rules. He leads them to the main clubhouse to grab their first drinks of the day, and maybe even a breakfast sandwich.

They start off with mimosas to ease into the day drinking, because Harry is too fucking old for daydrinking and Briar is a menace when she drinks when the sun is up. By their third round, Harry is full on fangirling as all the players buzz around him. He’s allowed to fangirl all he wants, but when she wants to gush about One Direction for a minute, he covers his ears. Eyeroll.

Briar snaps out of her brattiness, deciding she needs some food in her stomach. As they’re gathered on the 8th hole, she starts to “koala” him, as he so lovingly calls it. She wraps her arms around him from behind, laying her chin on his bicep.

“What’s wrong, Birdie? Hungry?”

Briar lightly bites his arm, looking up to meet his sideways gaze. Part of her hates how well he knows her. She slides her hands in his front pockets, making him wiggle uncomfortably.

“Be good,” he says lowly so only they can hear.

“Okay, Daddy,” she says sweetly, smiling up at him. “But yes, I’m hungry.”

Briar can feel him hesitate, clearly conflicted in what to do next.

“Okay, baby, but,” he pauses. “Tiger is at this hole next, and I’d really like to see it.”

Briar slumps, making a slight hmmph sound. She knows better, and knows how important this is to him, so she shakes it off.

“It’s alright, I can go back to the clubhouse by myself. Will you stay here so I don’t lose you?”

“Of course,” he leans down to gently peck her lips, before his head whips around as Tiger arrives at the tee box just a few feet from them, sending the crowd into a chaotic roar. She reluctantly lets go of his waist, crossing her arms over herself as she walks away.

The crowd has only increased as they arrived, and she’s honestly overwhelmed. A staff member nearby can sense her unsettled demeanor, so he asks if she’d like a ride back to the building.

She smiles at him, “Yes, that’d be lovely! Thank you so much.”

Trey, the worker, doesn't say much, but Briar isn’t one for awkward silences. She tells him about Harry, Wynnewood, and how this is a lifelong dream for him to be here. He nods along, visibly recoiling after finding out Briar isn’t single. She hops off the cart as they approach the doors, and waves a friendly goodbye.

Perusing the snack bar, her eyes are bigger than her stomach. She grabs grapes, potato chips, a turkey sandwich, and even a pudding cup. A nice man helps her condense her items into a cardboard box for carrying. She grabs a fresh squeezed lemonade to finish off her deliciously simple lunch.

Slightly tipsy and overly giddy, she finds a bench to start eating. It’s amazing the different walks of life at this event; the die-hards who don’t care about the glamor of it all, and the ones that are here only as a status symbol. It’s honestly nice not having her phone; she’s a little more in touch with her surroundings.

Taking small bites of her sandwich, she’s startled when another man approaches her on the bench.

“Pardon me, miss. Are you Miss Barlowe?”

Taken back, she nods as she swallows her bite, “Yes, can I help you?”

“Mr. Styles is on the line over there,” he points to the hilariously old fashioned phone stand, where 3 mossy green phones hang on the wooden stand. “He just wanted to make sure you were doing alright.”

Briar smiles, patting her mouth with her napkin and rising to her feet, “Thank you so much. Do I have to do anything to connect to the call?”

“Just press # and it should connect. I’ll be right over there if you have trouble.”

She laughs to herself as she approaches and presses the ‘#’ just as he said, “Hello?”

“What are you wearing right now?”

“Who is this?” She plays along.

“Your handsome, charming boyfriend,” he muses.

“I have a few of those, so you’re going to have to narrow it down,” she fakes a sultry tone.

“Briar – come on, you know I don’t like those jokes,” he mutters.

She laughs, twirling the curly phone cord around in her hand, “I feel like Carrie Bradshaw with this phone, talking to one of my boyfriends.”

“Are you insinuating I’m Mr. Big? I’m Aidan at the very least. The good guy.”

“Of course you’re Aidan. But instead, we get married.”

“Yeah, y’wanna marry me?” Harry can’t contain his grin as he looks around to see if anyone can hear him. “I won’t say yes until you come back here and get down on one knee, Briar.”

“In your dreams, Styles. Why’d ya call anyway? I’m just sitting here eating my sandwich.”

“Just missed you. Tiger got a birdie on this hole, so it made me think of you.”

“Aw, you’re cute. You’re the first place boyfriend today. You were in third yesterday, for reference.”

“Glad to hear that. Finish up your lunch and come find me. I’m gonna go to the 17th hole to try and catch Justin Rose. He’s an old friend from home.”

“Okay, I’ll come find you. Love.”

“Love.”

Briar hangs up the phone, the butterflies in her stomach buzzing. Since returning home from California, she’s never felt so secure in their relationship. He’s balancing fatherhood, work and their everyday life with ease.

Readjusting her skirt, she walks back over to the bench, mouthing a thank you to the worker who let her know Harry was calling. She sips on her lemonade, the ice rattling as she finishes the cup. Tossing the remnants of her meal in the trash, she spots the beverage cart girl. Briar smiles as she approaches her, requesting another French 75 and a Casamigos on the rocks for her lover.

The 17th hole is a hell of a lot closer to the clubhouse, but swarmed with people. It’s going to be a needle in a haystack to find him. Briar scrunches her brows, scanning all the kinda old white men with brown hair. Where is her old man?

Panic sets in for a moment, until she feels two hands on her waist, lifting her off the ground slightly and kissing her neck where it meets her shoulder.. She squeals, reaching for her skirt to make sure nothing is showing. He didn’t pack her any underwear, after all!

“There y’are, Birdie. Wish I brought your leash to drag my cute puppy around. Make everyone jealous.”

“They’d think you need to be sent to jail, actually. Were you able to focus in my absence?”

“Yeah, but I missed your hundred questions and commentary. Is that for me?” he asks, pointing to his drink.

“Yes, but you made me spill it on my shirt,” she frowns, her gaze traveling down to the beads of liquid wicking off the fabric on her chest.

Without a second thought, Harry leans down, pressing his mouth to just over Briar’s nipple to suck up the dribbled liquid. Her eyes widened, in disbelief he just did that. She grips the back of his hair, pulling him out of her bosom.

“H! What the hell are you doing? We’re in public!”

“Mm, I know. I’m so hard right now. And thirsty. Saw an opportunity,” he smirks, his grip now around the back of her neck. “Wanna take you to the clubhouse and fuck you dumb.”

“Harryyy,” Briar whines again. Little does he know all he has to do is slip her skort to the side to reveal her soaking wet pussy. She does her best to drag her six foot tall boyfriend to the treeline, hiding themselves from prying eyes.

“Let’s go. We’ll find somewhere safe. Daddy needs you to do a favor for him,” he says low in her ear, his tongue touching her earlobe. “Did I tell you how happy I am that you came with me?”

“I’m happy you invited me,” she places a gentle kiss on his lips. “Love seeing you happy.”

———————————————————————————

The lovey dovey talk is how Briar got HOODWINKED into sucking her boyfriend’s cock in an administrator’s office at Augusta National Golf Course at the biggest event of the year. The door locked, thankfully, but the amount of foot traffic outside the door has Briar’s head spinning, even more than when his tip touches the back of her throat.

Harry lets out a guttural moan, “Oh my – fuck! Such a good fucking girl.”

Briar is pulling out her signature moves; cupping his balls with one hand, tweaking his shaft with the other when her mouth doesn’t cover it, and swirling her tongue along the ridge of his bright red, plump cockhead.

Briar bats her eyelashes and pulls off just as he gives his sign of completion; his left thigh muscle twitching. Harry’s eyes shoot open as he grips the desk to prevent himself from falling over. He was so, so close.

Before he can speak, Briar stands, pushing him to half lie on the desktop, opening his belt and pants wider. She climbs on the desk to straddle him, staring down at him deviously.

“Wanna ride you, Daddy,” she whispers in his ear. She sits back up, pulling her skort to the side to show him her pussy, spasming and begging to be touched. He reaches out to touch her, but she bats his hand away, instead placing her hand around his neck firmly. “Nope. No touching.”

Harry snorts, knowing anytime she’s tried to be in charge, she fails miserably. He knows she’ll be howling for his help in a few minutes. His smug look is wiped clean as she grips his cock again to line him up with her dripping hole. They moan in unison when he pushes through the tight opening as she squeezes him for good measure.

Briar bounces lightly, the skin of their thighs slapping together. She could listen to the sounds their bodies make for the rest of her life. He bottoms out a few times, puffs of air escaping his nose as he struggles to not cum immediately.

She starts to rub at her clit, her free hand coming up to tweak her nipple. His eyes are closed again, so she takes her middle and ring finger that are rubbing and sticks them past his lips. He moans, lapping up the wetness from her fingertips and choking on them a bit. She smiles before bringing the fingers back to her center and continuing to rub.

“Oh my god, baby. You taste so good,” Harry whines. “Want you to come. Then I’ll come in your little pussy. Don’t know how you’ll hold it all in there.”

Briar cries out, seconds away from tumbling over the edge. She leans forward, gripping the desk above his head. They’re making extreme eye contact now, the tension between them palpable.

“I’m cumming, Daddy. I’m cumming. Your cock feels so big in my pussy,” she cries out as Harry feels a tiniest bit of wetness expelled from where their bodies meet. She twitches, barely able to hold herself up. He sits up on the desk to support her and begins thrusting up into her with his hands wrapped delicately around her body, fingertips digging into the plushy skin of her ass and waist. He captures her lips in a deep kiss, her breath stuttering when he rams himself back into her.

The two remain intertwined, reality hitting them when Briar utters words he never thought he’d hear from her.

“Fuck me, Daddy. Fill me up. Make me yours. Wanna have your babies,” she fires off things he can’t even comprehend. “Want you to make me a mommy. Fuck – want it so bad. Fill me up, please!”

Harry’s breath is knocked out of him as he throttles upward, his tip colliding with her cervix every time. As he topples over the edge, he buries himself in her pussy – his eternal resting place, he’s decided he’ll request in his will – and releases his full load into her. He drops backwards, beginning her down to lie on top of him, his pants now hanging around his ankles.

“Oh my fucking GOD, baby. So fucking good for me,” he says into her ear, a shiver running down his spine.

“Love you, Daddy,” she says quietly, her ear pressed to his chest so she can hear his heartbeat racing.

“Love you so fucking much, Birdie,” Harry sighs, petting her back.

Harry smiles to himself. The diamond ring he has in his bag at the hotel is going to make an appearance even sooner than expected.

He’s sure of it.

[beansprean]

guillermo? hurting someone on purpose because they hurt him on accident? really truly earning his title as king of good communication

My Familiar’s Ghost part 71

Masterpost

See the latest pages on Patreon!

(ID in alt and under cut)

ID: 1a. Knees up of Guillermo standing by the coffin, the edge of Nandor's shoulder close up in the foreground. The pillow-loaded settee and closed crypt door are lit warmly behind. Guillermo looks down with a scowl, face darkened by shadow, lips peeling back from new fangs as his shaking hands clench into fists at his side. After a moment of silence, he says, '...I gave you a thousand chances, Nandor.' 1b. Close up on Guillermo as he looks up, tears streaking down his face and eyes iced over into a glowing platinum gold. He glares as hard as he is capable of, snarling out cruelly, 'But I don't need you. I never did.' The background has turned solid black with a white starburst lashing out in the direction of Guillermo's words. 1c. Shoulders up of Nandor from the back on a mottled dark red background, still turned away from Guillermo. From offscreen, Guillermo spits, 'Still nothing to say?' Nandor visibly straightens, steeling himself. 1d. Repeat, slightly closer, as Nandor turns to face Guillermo and the viewer at last. Tears are running down his face and clearly have been for a while, eyes flashing pinkish-red as he glares at Guillermo and snarls, 'I have many things I would like to say to you.'

2a. Reverse shot, the edge of Nandor's shoulder and hair close up and blurred in the foreground as he looms over Guillermo. Guillermo, waist up, takes an instinctual step back, left fist rising up slightly in defense as he struggles to maintain his glare. The background is in focus behind him, the door getting closer. Nandor advances, continuing, 'Namely...' 2b. Shoulders up of both in profile as Nandor leans close, dark red background becoming splattered with lighter red. He glares icily at Guillermo with their noses less than an inch apart, a tear still pooled in his eye, and hisses, 'Get out.' His speech bubble is black with white text. Guillermo leans back, angry expression dropped for one of fear and confusion.

3a. Low shot from the hallway outside Nandor's room as the door suddenly crashes open, Guillermo flying out backwards as if pushed and smashing into the opposite wall, snapping the legs on a hall table and sending books and candles flying everywhere. 3b. Low shot angled down the hallway as Guillermo slams into the floor on his stomach, table collapsing down the wall behind him. Blood spurts out between his clenched fangs as he bites his tongue on impact, new glasses flying off his face and bouncing to the floor. 3b. Zoom out to wide. There is a visible crash site against the wall where Guillermo was thrown, dust and drywall settling on him, the floor, and the smashed chunks of the table and its contents. Guillermo sits up on his hands and knees and slips his glasses back on, a trail of blood dribbling down his chin and one lapel pin snapped loose and dangling from his collar. He looks over toward Nandor's room only to see the door slam definitively shut, sending the chandelier rocking in the background. /end ID

[waterrunner]

-Running to you-

SDV Sebastian X male farmer

Reverse comfort

Summery: Sebastian is having a rough night and decides he needs to be in the arms of his favorite guy, you. Yes he knows it’s raining, no hes not ok, please just hold him- even if he’s soaking wet.

It’s been raining for a solid two days now and it still wasn’t showing signs of letting up, luckily it meant you didn’t have to water the crops but you were concerned the rain would drown your crops.

You had been on your couch with the TV playing some nonsense, you weren’t paying attention with your eye lids half closed. The rain on your roof, the darkness outside, and comfortable worth that was being kept in your house was slowly lulling you to sleep.

*BANG BANG BANG*

You quickly jumped awake and stood from your couch, stumbling and almost tripping while making your way to your door. “I’m coming!” You yelled out to the mysterious knocker. When you finally got to your door and opened it you saw-

“Sebastian?” You said while titling your head slightly at the introvert at your door. It was purring practically and Sebastian was in his normal attire- which didn’t do much against the harsh rains. “What are you doing here? It’s purring out, and look at you! You’re soaking wet” you said while grabbing onto his arm lightly and pulling him in and out of the rain.

“Sorry” Sebastian mumbled while he let you guide him through your house and into your bathroom. He was staring at the back of your head while you were grabbing a towel for him. You felt so warm he thought to himself, even if you only held onto his soaking arm for a moment he felt your warmth.

You turned around with a towel in your hands and unfolded it and began to dry his hair for him. You were trying to be as gentle as you possibly could, but you weren’t the ‘gentle’ type. You were a farmer who also had animals to tend too, but you were trying for him.

“You finish drying off while I go get you some clothes” you said while handing him the towel and turning to walk out the door. You planned on getting him some of your clothes, preferably some of your darker ones.

Before you could walk out the door through Sebastian had grabbed your wrist, stopping you from continuing. You turned to him to try and question what he was doing but that’s when you saw it- his eyes were bloodshot, tear stains seeming down his cheeks, and unnatural glossy eyes.

“Shit- seb, what’s wrong?” You said while gently grabbing his shoulders and beginning to rub small circles into them with your thumb. You tried turning your head so you could make eye contact with him, but he kept his head turned away.

He didn’t respond, in fact all he did was wrap his arms around your middle and pull you two closer. Resting his head on your shoulder/crook of your neck and try to ground himself from his own thoughts.

You let him do this and wrapped your arms around him and continued to gently rub his back. You didn’t know what was wrong, but you did know he needed you.

It took a moment of this, a moment of silence before Sebastian even began to try and think of words to tell you what was wrong. During that silence Sebastian had let a few tears slip past his waterline and they landed on your once dry shirt. He hadn’t yet realized how cold he felt, much too focused on how warm you were and how nice this moment was.

“I just… needed you” Sebastian mumbled into the skin where your neck and shoulder met. He sounded like Sebastian, but some sorrow seemed to have laced his voice.

“That’s ok- I’m here whenever you need me, seb” you said while softly resting the side of your head on his. You didn’t care that he was wet, didn’t care that you were slowly becoming wet as well. All you cared about was that he was ok and everything would be ok….

[moonstruckme]

Dude I just get my hearing aid after have trouble hearing for some months

Could I request one for any character you like with a reader with hearing problem? When it happens they already in relationship so it a big change for both of them?

Cos not everyone in my family take it kindly... So it might happen in relationship too right?

I'm sorry you had to wait so long lovely! I don't have much experience with hearing impairments, so I apologize if anything is inaccurate—please feel free to let me know! And thank you for requesting <3

cw: frustrations around not hearing well, difficulties aquiring healthcare

Steve Harrington x fem!reader ♡ 1k words

You’re dicing onions, blinking hard against the fumes and trying to make as quick work of it as you can, when something touches your lower back. You gasp and jolt, knife slipping down the curvature of the onion and scaring you badly enough that you drop it as you spin around. 

Steve looks just as startled as you do, staring at you with wide eyes. Lately, you’ve had trouble catching everything people say when they talk, but that’s not an issue now because he’s immediately yelling. 

“Jesus—shit!” He drops into a squat, picking up the knife you hadn’t realized had clattered to your feet. Your heart’s still going a mile a minute, his panic fueling your own. “What the hell was that?” 

You press your fingers to your temples, mindless of the vegetable juice stickying your hairline. “Oh my god,” you pant, “you scared me!” 

You see it click in Steve’s face. “You couldn’t—I said hi when I came in.” He shakes his head, agitated. “You hummed back!” 

“I didn’t.” 

“You did!”

“I must have been humming about something else!” A belated, frightened tear leaks from your eye, and you take a harsh breath, trying to slow the adrenaline racing through your bloodstream. “I didn’t hear you.” 

The appearance of tears reverses your boyfriend’s demeanor in an instant. “Hey,” he says, now soft enough that you see his lips form the word more than hear it. He sets the knife on the counter, gripping your upper arms. “Okay, I’m sorry. Don’t cry.” 

“It’s the onions,” you huff, though you’re not sure that’s strictly true. 

He makes a sound that might be a word and pulls you into his chest. You fist your hands in the material of his sweatshirt, still a little bit furious at him. Or maybe at everyone. Everything. 

Steve says something else, and you sigh. 

“Can’t hear you.” 

Usually he’s better about this, but you still get sick of saying it. It feels like he’s making you remind him, forcing you to admit you can’t get on just the same as everybody else, though of course you know he’d never do that. Steve’s a good guy down to his bones. You’re just mad, lately. 

“I’m sorry I scared you,” he says at an audible volume. “I thought you could hear the door, and then when you seemed like you responded to me saying hi…I just thought I was good.” 

“It’s fine.” 

You’re shaking just slightly, the adrenaline working its way out of your system, and when Steve notices he tightens his grip on you as if he can contain your panic. 

“I almost made you cut your own finger off,” he says. 

“Well, I didn’t.” 

“Still.” He presses a kiss into your hair. “How long until you can get a hearing aid again?” 

Irritation prickles down your spine. “I don’t know. I’m still working it out with the insurance company.” 

Steve must hear the darkness seeping into your tone, because he gives your upper back a solid rub. “Let me know if there’s any way I can help.” 

You have to clamp your jaw shut, the temptation to be cruel sharp and cutting in your mouth. You could help by remembering to speak up, you want to say. It doesn’t seem like you’re asking that much of him. You can understand when other people forget, but Steve lives with you. It’s not so hard to raise his voice a little when he wants you to understand what he’s saying. Half the time, you can’t even hear yourself when you speak because you’re trying to be considerate of him and talk at a normal volume. When he doesn’t do the same for you, it makes you feel like you’re in this alone. 

Still, you know these thoughts don’t have so much to do with a deficiency in your boyfriend as your upset over your own change in circumstance. All of a sudden, the way you experience the entire world has shifted. You hate asking Steve to accommodate you, and you wish that you didn’t have to ask, but it’s nobody’s fault that you’re both still adjusting. In the time between now and when you eventually get a hearing aid, you’re just going to have to get used to this feeling that you’re a world apart from him. It’s not his fault he can’t be in it with you. 

Steve pulls away from the hug but keeps his hands on your arms, and he’s looking at you oddly. Considering. For all the shit you give him about not understanding when you need help, he really can surprise you with his intuition sometimes. Maybe he just knows you that well. 

You’re about to ask What? and hope your voice doesn’t come out as pissy as you feel when he says, in a tone somehow both loud and gentle, “Maybe I could get you a walkie talkie.” 

You blink. “Huh?” 

“Dustin just got these ones that light up when someone’s talking to you,” he explains. He lets you go, leaning back with his elbows on the counter opposite you and a pensive furrow between his brows. “So what if instead of trying to guess what you can hear, I just call you on that when I’m about to come inside? That way even if you don’t hear it you’ll see the light.” 

“That…could work.” You hesitate. “So I’d just carry it everywhere with me so I see if it lights up?” 

Steve winces. “I guess it doesn’t sound as easy as I’d thought.” 

“No, let’s try it,” you say, encouragingly as you can and nodding for good measure. “It might help.” 

“Yeah?” he asks hopefully. 

“Mhm.” You nod again. “Thanks, Stevie. I know I…I know this is really inconvenient. Thanks for trying so hard.” 

“Hey, it’s not. It’s nothing.” His voice drops until you can barely make it out, and when you look up at him Steve’s expression is softly fond. He makes sure you can hear when he asks, “You want another hug, honey?”

There’s that intuition again. You nod, stepping into his arms where he waits by the counter and wrapping yours tightly around his waist. 

“Thank you,” you say again, the material of his sweatshirt heating with your breath. 

Steve presses his cheek to your head. “Don’t mention it.” 

[chixkencxrry]

What of Loss do Children Know

Summary: This a small drabble about Miguel's girlfriend being worried after seeing him injured. (Miguel x Fem!Reader) (CW: NOT PROOFED, mentions of sex, angst, mentions of death.)

***

It was a slow, easy morning until you saw it. You had been excited at the sight of your vigilante boyfriend in your bed.

The yellow sunlight falling on the perfect outlines of Miguel’s face. You furrowed your brow as you watched him; there was a gash on his cheek that wasn’t there yesterday afternoon when he left. Sure, it was already healing but it looked painful. You’d finished off your night shift, and peeled your uniform off. Heading for a shower when you saw him — Miguel looked exhausted. Had it not been for the rise and fall of his chest, you might have thought he was dead. Turning away, you showered and dressed, you couldn’t stop yourself from joining him on the bed.

He moved in an instant. Heavy eyes pulling open to look at you. You tried to keep your face neutral. Tried not to cry at the aches settling into his bones, the creak of pain as he turned to you.

“You look like shit.” You said without preamble, fingers on his jaw as you looked at him carefully. “What happened?”

Miguel sighed. “Fight went bad. The usual.”

“This isn’t fucking usual, Miguel.” Tear choked your words. You hand fell to his collarbone, sliding doing to his chest. Rise. Fall. Rise. “I’m so scared. So scared every time you come back to me like this.”

“Hey, hey.” He sat up, holding your shoulders as you wept. “I’m right here. It’s just a side effect of the job.”

You sneered, shaking his hold and turning your back to him. “The job? Why does it have to be your job? Why do you have to almost kill yourself every night to save the world?”

“Babe, you aren’t making this easy.”

“Easy? What’s easy about seeing the man you love be battered?”

“I have to do this. I’m sorry but I can’t let things go wrong when I have the power to stop them.”

You knew he was right but didn’t want him to be the one. What if one night he didn’t come back to you? Standing, you grabbed your pillow and went to the living room. Miguel called after you but you slammed the bedroom door shut with your hip. Tears burning your eyes, you threw your pillow onto the couch and laid down head first, the cushion muffling your tears.

Miguel saved lives. But who would be there to save him if something went wrong? God, you didn’t want to lose him.

Moments pass, and soon you felt the heavy press of Miguel against your back, pushing you into the couch. You turned your head, eyes on the plain grey of the chair. Your fingers wiped your eyes and you sniffled. “Do you know what would happen if I lost you? I would lose my mind, Miguel.”

His nose brushed along your back. Lips feathering kisses on your bare skin until it meant the spaghetti strap of your tank top. “You’re not going to lose me. I promise.”

“You can’t promise that. You can’t.”

He relented; “You’re right. I can’t. But I can try.”

Miguel’s fingers threaded with yours. His breathe, warm and sweet kissed your skin. Your heartbeat slowed. You felt pressure leaving your neck, relaxing your muscles as he pressed himself to you.

“I’m sorry for freaking out.” You whispered.

“No. You’re right…I…couldn’t lose you either if the roles were reversed.”

You hummed, wiggling beneath him. “Baby, you’re kind of heavy.”

Miguel laughed, then friend his hips into your ass, morning wood making a steely appearance. “Brat.”

“Mhmm. You better do something about it then.” You teased, rubbing your ass along his length. Miguel circled his arms around you and turned your body to face him. The pain of the earlier morning disappeared as the two of you fell into each other, lovers braided and dancing as the yellow light filled the room. Gripping each other as tightly as possible, solid and whole in each other's arms. Each refusing to let go of the other.

It was slow, randy and filled with whispers of promises that could not be fulfilled. Don't let me go, you both seemed to scream into the other. Nails clawing, teeth dragging -- don't let me go. You made liars out of the other in your love.

Like all things made by humans, love would crumble. Whether by nature or force. No promise was stronger than that.

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