#and I think it came out pretty good in the end

[misserabella]

s.r and a.h p links!

pxrn links for these two! (+ mental scenarios that came to my mind with them) minors dni!!

aaron hotchner:

it doesn’t stop dripping! ; aaron’s been pulled away from you from weeks on end due to back to back cases. when he comes home, the first thing he does (can do, cause it’s all he’s been thinking about while being gone) is bury his thick veiny cock into your snug soppy cunt, and when he cums, filling you up with his heavy load, it’s soooo much it doesn’t stop flowing down your ass onto the sheets.

do you deserve it? ; after your silly plan of making aaron jealous by flirting with another agent, he makes sure to remind you just who you belong to. he fucks your cunt open without any prep, letting you feel the sting, your walls taking on his shape as he harshly fucks into you for what seems hours on end, making sure to slow down his pace every time you’re gonna cum and stopping just before you reach your peak as a punishment. you can’t take it anymore, crying and moaning for him to let you cum, and when he does? is heavenly. you’re brain dead on his cock. but he does not give you what you want most: his cum filling your womb. he fucks your mouth and makes you swallow. ‘cause you don’t deserve to be bred after being such a fucking brat. and then, he’s fucking right back into you to start all over again. looooong night.

harder!! ; in which you break aaron’s rules and get yourself punished. sleeves rolled up. ass in the air. drenched panties and cheeks so red you won’t be able to sit tomorrow. and he’s relentless, hitting harder, making you whimper and jerk in pain until tears are springing your eyes. “want me to stop?” you shake your head and bite your lip, your ass pushing back against his warm stinging palm. “harder please. and he smirks. “good girl.” and later on, he fucks you with a dildo, ‘cause he denies you his cock. “this will make you think twice before disobeying next time. you don’t deserve my cock.”

tummy bulge ; just that. aaron being so fucking big stretching your pussy open that you two can see the imprint of his cock fucking in and out of your cunt.

spencer reid:

slurp it up! ; spencer is begging, puppy eyes looking up at you. you’ve got to get to uni. he knows. you have an important test today. he knows. but you’ve been studying so hard this couple of weeks for your finals… completely leaving him hanging and alone, making him stroke his cock every night just to get the relief he needs you to give him (you’re the only one who can make him cum so hard his eyes are rolling back), so he begs and begs and begs. “just one taste. i’ll be quick. i promise!!! please i just can’t cum without you.” and how can you say no? so there you are, leaning on the wall as spencer croons his neck up, tongue hungrily lavishing your pussy as groans and moans of pleasure, pure ecstasy and relief leave his lips as he slurps and drinks up every single drop you give him while he fucks his hand. god. he’s gonna cum so hard…!

shooting blanks! ; poor little thing. you’ve fucked him up for good this time. his glasses are fogged up. his pretty hair a mess. puppy eyes glassy and cheeks so red they resemble cherries. you’ve fucked him so much you’ve completely drained his balls empty, and rubbed his tip raw with your cunt. his hips shake prettily and pathetically as you stroke his long gorgeous cock, sucking at his nipple in hopes to get just one more rope of his creamy yummy cum. his eyes are rolling back, he has lost his voice due to all the moaning and whimpering, and when he comes, just a single drop leaves his tip. you pout. fuck, you’re still hungry.

paint me. ; after realizing just how much your pretty virgin nerdy boyfriend loved your boobs you decided that, to ease him into fucking your pussy (knowing that if he did right now he’d probably blow his load as the tip barely slips inside), you let him use your tits instead. and you’re right. spencer is moaning, whining at the sight, strong hands pushing your pillowy perfect tits together to create the perfect pocket for his cock, and after barely three thrusts he’s painting your neck and chest with ropes of his cum. “so pretty…” he mutters as his tip smooches your perky nipple. of course he cleans you up with his tongue later!!

show me how you move ; your first time riding spencer. you’re chest to chest, mouth to mouth, tongues hungrily pushing into each others mouths as you bounce gently on his cock, he’s not all the way in. you’re still trying to get used to his size, cause spencer was big. halfway in and he’s already kissing your cervix. you can’t stop moaning, cause he’s reaching sooo deep, and his happy trail is scratching your clit just the right way. but spencer can’t take it anymore. he needs more. so his hands cup your ass, he plants the sole of his feet on the bed, and pounds into you in deep hard strokes up your pussy. you scream. and before you know it you’re cumming. he doesn’t stop. not until you’re squirting and begging him to stop, leaving your pussy lips swollen and you, sensitive and sore the day after.

good morning ; it’s still early when you feel it, your boyfriend grunting against your ear, his hard cock thrusting against your ass. you’d probably slept 3 hours, at most, since you two had gone to sleep after fucking for hours on end. but it doesn’t seem like enough for him. it will never be enough. “i’m sorry. fuck. i’m so sorry.” he moans, thrusting harder as he sucks at your neck when you moan, fully awake now. “i need you.” and just like that, that easily, you’re pulling a leg over his and slightly shifting to give him a better access to your dripping pussy. the two of you moan when the tip parts your sticky folds, and when he pushes in, he’s groaning. “fuck. so fucking tight… why are you still so fucking tight? i fucked you open a couple of hours ago…”

you can take it ; spencer with his beautiful virgin girlfriend, who he was to prep with three of his expert long fingers before fucking you cause he’s that fucking big. once inside, having to go slow, only fucking you with half of his cock ‘cause he knows that’s all you can take for now. but don’t worry. he’ll make sure to shape your pussy to his cock. you will take it.

extras (threesome!):

you can take them both ; pussy stretched so open, just having one rearranging your insides will never be the same.

rivals ; “she’ll get pregnant with my baby.” “not if i am the one who comes the most.”

one from the back, the other from the front! ; aaron is smirking as you gag around spencer’s cock, snapping pictures he’ll use to jerk off with his pretty boyfriend when they two of them are away from you on a case. “come on darling. you can take him deeper, can’t you? thaaat’s it. good girl.”

[spurbleu]

thinking about Johnny’s bird being possessed by a succubus, and him needing a little extra help.

you’d been a good girl, too.

patient like a clock, the tail end of ribbons and made from the middles of cotton. wore a perfume because you noticed Johnny’s fondness for sunflowers and their scents.

a just barely prude. “not here, johnny, please.” you’d chide politely when he’d hold your thigh in public restaurants. look away when he’d fuck you, blush when he told you that you looked pretty.

so it came to him as a deep, albeit welcomed, surprise when you mounted him one evening, saying with all the bravado he never knew you had,

“I need your cum inside me, Johnny.”

and then it got weirder. sweet girl who went to church on sundays, now preferred to sleep in after a night of sex, before waking up and asking for another round. stopped wearing the perfume, but good god you started smelling even better without it.

he scoured the internet for answers. sent queries only to receive virtual pats on the back and “enjoy it, man. got lucky.”

his mother was the superstitious of the family, but it seeped into the forefront of his mind after the third week, when you started glowing when you came.

it was a clumsy way to find out. told you he filled the water bottle with holy water when it was millimeters away from your lips. when you dropped the bottle immediately, he squinted and asked what you were. you’d grinned, and answered in a way that made his stomach knot.

but he accepts it. you’re still there, if only half. appear in the new table flowers, or the kisses between rounds. does his best to navigate the new reality of his girlfriend sharing sentience with a demon.

realizes he cannot keep up.

ghost is first. bends you over the pillow he placed under your hips (his only nicety) before fucking you back to oblivion. gaz comes second, kissing you sweetly, a contradiction to the way his hips ruin your cunt in swift, harsh thrusts.

and john price, ever the patient, lets you ride your last grievances out on his cock in his office, cooing you through it all as his men watch from leather chair and nicotine respites.

the sticky routine lasts about a month, before the demon decides she’s had quiet enough, tuckered out and belly full of cum, and makes for an Irish goodbye.

but you, the poor, fawnish girl she left behind, still has four cocks primed for her cunt, and a need that she cannot put out.

johnny strokes you through your first (sentient) taking of simon, whispering in your ear,

“ken ye can do ‘t, hen. done it before, s’well, too.” you sob when he knobs the first inch in, and johnny drawls, “our little hellion.”

[theknightlywolfe]

As an aside on the memorization thing, I would argue for most humans we haven't lost an iota of memorization, it is simply dispersed over a wider area.

I don't listen to just local May Day and Harvest songs, church choirs, and whatever performances a traveler brought, on any given day a 30min commute each way will play 20 songs and tomorrow that's another 20 songs, and the next day another 20. And I don't have to just remember the rhythm and pace of mass but the words of the books, news articles, social media updates of friends, menus of local restaurants, current locations of favoured food trucks, etc that I encounter every week if I want to apply that knowledge when I encounter/plan something next week. Talking about the Hunger Games movie isn't just remembering the plot and pacing, its recalling Battle Royale, the social standards of when it came out and the inspirations of when the books were written, as well as the other works of the actors. And then I have to do that for hundreds of movies and thousands of episodes of TV. Just look how much there is to think about, know, and retain just with the MCU. And, I, personally, *suck* at modern media trivia and yet still am somehow the person people turn to for that very thing because in certain areas I retain a ton of it.

And my job isn't just painting or leatherworking or carpentry or farming. As an accountant I have to be familiar with GAAP and SOX and the tax rules of the IRS and sales and use, property, income, and payroll taxes of 1 to 50 states (and hundreds to thousands of municipalities) and also IFRS and FAR if I end up in an applicable organization, and that doesn't even begin to touch on how many regulations are applied to the field in medical insurance or government and grant. And then knowing how to use five of the major seven ERP systems I may be asked to work in depending on who I work for, and then the dozens of additional, specialty softwares/services standard to accounting work to say nothing of the advanced Excel skills needed and how that translates in a shared work environment or ports to Sheets and other softwares. And how to use general productivity and communication softwares and the corporate policies and rules of wherever I work. And I also provide software support and low level technical support and I have to know HR basics and local employment laws and management techniques and the specifics of the specialists who report to me or are on my team so I can cover them when they go on holiday. And if I am doing client work I have to do it all for multiple, often completely different, companies all with their own set of additional softwares and services I need to remember not just how to use but how to read their data output (fuck you Amazon and your completely deranged three seperate ways of recording sales and costs in one single fucking period). And then I go home and write, and draw, and leatherwork, and woodwork, and garden food crops.

So yeah, people make jokes about people reusing the same password for everything but good gods, count how many things require you to have a password and I bet you while it may not be the Odyssey, it is pretty well past Prufrock.

So yeah, give me the bloody tool to help me remember whether I need milk from the store or not. (But don't try to force me to use the thing that hallucinates penguin milk)

generative AI literally makes me feel like a boomer. people start talking about how it can be good to help you brainstorm ideas and i’m like oh you’re letting a computer do the hard work and thinking for you???

[ponderingmoonlight]

How you accidentally made Dante look like a hero again

Pairing: Dante x fem!reader

Word Count: 1,6k

Synopsis: All you wanted was to outsmart Dante and prove he was setting you up for demon attacks in order to get closer to you. Instead, you ended up buried under library rubble, fighting off scorpion demons, and getting saved by him — again. This is why you have trust issues.

Warnings: swearing, kinda enemies to lovers dynamic, I just love Dante y'all need to have mercy with me lol

You’re starting to think you’re cursed.

That’s the only explanation for it. How else do you keep ending up in demon-infested alleys, haunted casinos, and - once - dangling upside down from a stolen motorcycle, twice in the same week? No average person deserves so much distress.

But even worse: every time - every damn time - there’s Dante.

Bursting in like he’s auditioning for an action movie. Guns blazing, coat flaring behind him, a cocky smirk plastered across his stupidly handsome face.

God, how much you hate that guy.

…do you?

"Oh no," you mutter under your breath when you spot him swaggering through the chaos yet again.

"Not this asshole."

"Miss me, babe?" he calls, spinning his sword once before cleaving a demon in half like it's no big deal.

You barely dodge a flying claw, pretty used to almost dying by now.

"Dante, why are there hellhounds in the laundromat?! I just came here to do my laundry!"

He winks at you like this is all part of some grand romantic plan.

"You know. Crazy city. You never know what’s gonna happen. Nice panties by the way, wish I could see them up close."

You stare at him, sceptical to say the least, as he shoots a demon that was two inches away from biting your head off.

"This is the fourth time this month. And every time you're 'coincidentally' nearby!"

He strolls over, casually beheading something with his sword like he's just stretching his legs. How many times have you seen this already? Probably like a hundred times.

This month.

"Fate works in mysterious ways, sweetheart."

You gawk at him. No, the thing he calls fate can’t be an accident. There is literally no way in hell that you get attacked even more often than himself. There has to be another reason. Could it be that…?

"Are you setting this up?!"

He gives you a look, all fake innocence and devilish grin.

That bastard.

"Who, me? Nahhh. Demons just have a thing for damsels. Lucky for you... I'm a professional knight in shining armor."

A piece of ceiling collapses dangerously close to you. You flinch for once. Dante doesn’t even blink, just throws an arm around your waist and throws you out of the way with way too much enthusiasm.

You land on your back with a grunt, staring up at the cracked ceiling and wondering what life choices led you here. Where did you take a wrong turn to deserve this? Being liked by a hot guy is all fun and games until the name of that jerk is Dante Sparda, apparently.

Dante leans over you, upside-down, grinning like a maniac.

"You good? Need mouth-to-mouth?" he offers helpfully.

You shove him off you, the heat of his body almost devouring you whole.

"I’m getting a restraining order."

"You say that, but then who’s gonna save you next time you almost get eaten by a possessed vending machine?"

You open your mouth to argue - and realize you have no idea how to deal with possessed vending machines. You groan, burying your face in your hands.

“Maybe you’re the one who possesses everything around me…”

Dante pats your head fondly like you’re some kind of beloved but very dumb kitten.

"You mean like your thoughts? Most definitely, yeah. But don't worry, babe," he coos cheerfully, "I'll always be there to save your pretty little ass."

You’re pretty sure that’s supposed to be comforting. Instead, you start mentally drafting your will.

“Get off me now, I need to get going jerk. And stop staring at my panties”, you hiss through gritted teeth while getting up, packing your things and leaving.

No, this isn’t an accident, not your fault by any means. Dante is the one who sets all of this shit up.

“That fucker…”, you mutter to yourself, slamming the door shut in fury.

You can’t do this anymore, can’t take seeing a demon each time you leave your house. You’ll have to teach him a lesson.

Yes, there has to be a way to stop this madness once and for all.

“I’ll catch you mid-act, Dante…”

You hatch a plan.

A pretty simple one: bait Dante into showing up, catch him red-handed, and finally prove he's arranging all this chaos.

You pick the most boring, demon-unfriendly place you can think of: the public library. No shady alleys, no creepy neon signs, no way in hell anything supernatural is hanging out between the tax law section and the dusty romance novels.

You text him a fake tip, something about "possible demonic activity" near the library, totally urgent, definitely needs his professional attention.

Then you sit back, tuck yourself into a corner with a stack of books, and wait.

Ten minutes pass. Twenty. Thirty.

No Dante.

You start to relax. Maybe he finally got the hint. Maybe he's actually busy for once. Did your words from yesterday finally stir something inside of his brain?

And that's when the ceiling caves in.

You shriek as a massive scorpion demon crashes through the roof, scattering books and terrified civilians everywhere. Librarians are running for their lives. An entire row of encyclopedias explodes in a puff of dusty chaos, taking your sight while you desperately try to crawl out of the scene.

Fuck, this wasn’t supposed to happen. That definitely wasn’t written on your bingo card for today.

"What the hell?!" you shout, diving behind a bookshelf just in time before a whole fucking shelf bumps onto the ground next to you.

"HEY BABY!" a too-familiar voice yells from somewhere in the smoke.

You peek out and see Dante standing atop the checkout desk, dual pistols in hand, grinning like this is the best day of his life.

"Miss me?"

You stare at him, speechless. No, this has to be a dream. This was supposed to be a trap, you set him off in order to finally find him guilty. And now this?

"HOW?!"

He jumps off the desk, unloading a round of bullets into the demon's face like it’s a casual Tuesday.

"You sent me the text! Good instincts, by the way - I was gonna ignore it, but then I figured, ‘Hey, if my girl’s around, probably gonna be some action.’ And look! Action!"

You dodge a flying claw and seriously consider strangling him with a library card cord.

"I SENT YOU A FAKE TEXT!" you shout over the sound of gunfire.

"THERE WASN’T SUPPOSED TO BE A REAL DEMON!"

"Aw," Dante replies, kicking a demon minion into a copy machine, "you’re so modest. You’re like a magnet for this stuff."

You have no time to argue. The giant scorpion is bearing down on you. You grab the nearest weapon, a hardcover dictionary about curse words in Spanish, and hurl it at its head. It bounces off harmlessly. Yeah, what a surprise, actually.

Dante whistles low, impressed.

"Good arm, babe. But here - lemme show you how it's done."

Before you can blink, he’s in front of you, sword flashing, doing some ridiculously show-offy spin move that absolutely wasn’t necessary but looks cool as hell anyway.

The demon collapses with a final screech.

Silence falls over the destroyed library.

Books smolder, paper flutters in the air like sad confetti. Somewhere, a printer makes a pathetic beep before dying.

You sit down heavily on the floor, dazed.

Dante strolls over, all proud, offering you a hand up.

"No need to thank me. It’s kinda my thing."

You stare at him, mind still processing what just happened. Your mission failed – miserably, so say the least.  

"I literally TRIED to set you up."

"And look how well it worked!" he declares brightly.

"You lured out the bad guys! You're a natural at this demon-hunting stuff. I'm so proud."

You want to punch him. You want to kiss him. You want to punch him then kiss him.

Instead, you let him pull you to your feet, dusting off your scorched jacket.

"I'm never texting you again," you grumble.

"Sure you will," Dante coos, flashing that stupid, charming grin.

"You can't resist me."

You open your mouth to argue - and immediately get tackled to the ground as a second, smaller demon leaps from the wreckage.

You land with a painful thud, pinned beneath Dante’s weight as he shoots over your head, finishing off the last monster.

When the danger’s over, he stays there for an awkward beat too long, smirking down at you.

"See? Told ya. Always there to catch ya when you fall."

You groan, covering your face with your hands while absolutely hating how good his body weight feels on top of you, how surprisingly good that asshole of a man smells.

"I'm going to die of second-hand embarrassment."

"Nah," Dante retorts confidently, getting up and pulling you with him again.

"If anyone’s gonna kill you, it’s gonna be something way cooler. Like a demon. Or a possessed espresso machine."

You squint at him.

 "You’re not gonna let this go, are you?"

He slings an arm around your shoulders like he owns the place, like the ablaze library isn’t his fault at all, and leads you toward the exit.

"Nope. You're stuck with me, sweetheart."

You sigh.

Maybe getting a new phone and a new name wouldn’t be the worst idea.

…Or just giving in.

[differenteagletragedy]

Simon doesn't remember the name of the woman who took his virginity. At this point, all these years later, he's not sure if he ever knew it. It was a chance encounter, quick and a little dirty but fun. Fine.

He'd been in the neighborhood pub, the one he escaped to when he didn't want to be at home, shooting pool. He wasn't that good at it, not then, but he practiced for something to do, and as he racked up the balls for a third round against himself, he apparently caught her eye.

A bit older than him, the woman was immediately forward and flirty, and it wasn't a secret, even as inexperienced as Simon was, as to what she wanted. His body must have felt some kind of desire with the way it reacted to her, blood rushing south as she slid her hands over him in the dim light of the nearly vacant bar, but when she invited him to her flat down the street, it wasn't lust that made him agree.

It was curiosity. He wondered what it would feel like to be wanted, even on a base level like this, and if it would fill up whatever hole that had been inside him for as long as he could remember.

And it did. A little.

He'd never even kissed a girl before, always too closed-off to get in any kind of position to do something like that, but that night, he kissed the woman from the pub, over and over again. He followed her movements, let her put her hands on him and place him where he needed to go, and it was something.

When their clothes came off, left in a haphazard heap around her cluttered living room, it was something more, and when she pushed him to the couch and sunk down onto him, the unfamiliar warmth almost overwhelming, for a second, it was everything.

He came too fast, and it was over too soon. That night, he slid back into his own bed, alone again. He couldn't tell if he felt better, knowing there was something he could do to soothe the ache in him, or if it was worse, having the relief for a moment then going back to nothing.

A few nights later, when the weekend hit and the pub was more crowded, he caught the eye of a pretty girl in the corner, shyly checking him out, and he got his answer.

For Simon, for years, it was better to have a little bit of comfort. Just a little bit, because he never saw a way that he could have more. A stranger from a bar, one from the grocery store that asks him to reach a high shelf and flirts a little too much ... he gets good at spotting whatever that first woman saw in him. The part of someone that's open to a quick, needy fuck.

He sees it in you. Clocks it straightaway, but he also sees something more.

It's in the way you pull back after he kisses you hard and deep, the only way he really knows how to kiss. He stops, thinking you've changed your mind, but you're still there, still close, with such a soft look in your eyes now. You initiate the kiss this time, your hands sliding up to cup his cheeks, keeping him in place as you slow things down.

It's disorienting almost, he tries to shake it off, to get back to how this is supposed to go. He yanks your shirt off, and you let him, but when he moves his hands to roughly palm at your chest, you patiently pull them back down to rest on your waist.

"Slow down," you murmur, smiling up at him. "We've got a little time."

It's muscle memory for him at this point, finding a woman and bringing her to a quiet, private place, pushing into her, feeling the brief reprieve it brings. But with you, the rhythm is all off. It's somehow very good and very bad, all at the same time.

"Thought you wanted something here," he mutters, his meaning clear -- he thought you wanted him.

"I do," you answer. "I just don't want it to be over in five minutes. That ok?"

He's not sure what else to do, so he nods. And he slows down.

It's different, sex when you're not rushing towards the end-goal. His hands, used to action in moments like this, pushing and pulling and gripping, instead find yours. Your fingers intertwine, and you kiss him, almost lazily, like you’ve got all the time in the world. Like he’s worth it.

To Simon, it feels strange and new, but not really -- like it's all happening through the filmy haze of a dream, where somehow he knows every step of this dance and yet nothing at all, all at once. To you, from the soft sounds slipping from your lips, it feels right.

When it's over, and you're both breathless and sated, he feels like that boy again -- the one who'd never been kissed and who didn't know where to put his hands. But now, he notices, one hand is still grasping yours and he squeezes it, just barely.

"That ok?" he asks softly, and he's not sure if he's speaking to you or to himself.

"Perfect," you tell him, turning your head to give him a smile.

He doesn't know if he'll ever see you again. But he's memorizing the weight of your hand in his, the steady sound of your breathing as it returns to normal. And even if he never has this with you again, in the moment he knows that he's capable of it. And that's enough.

[pazzispizookies]

A quick sunny pic

Short and fluffy, enjoy 🤗

Azzi had laid down with a sigh, it was the first time she was visiting Dallas in the summer, first time seeing Paige after a month, and first time she could actually catch some sun.

The winter had been cold, brutally cold—and left her paler then ever. She wanted to get a little more bronze before heading back to cloudy Storrs in a week, so when she had some free time and Paige was busy lifting, she thought it would be a good time to tan.

The apartment building Paige lived in was nice, extremely nice to say the least. It came with everything you could imagine,—including a rooftop pool along with some areas for lounging.

The afternoon sunlight beamed down hard, the sun falling directly onto her warm body.

The small purple bikini being the only barrier between her and rays gave a perfect opportunity to tease Paige.

She held a hand over her eyes to shade the sun while unlocking her phone,

Going to messages and snapping a quick pic of her body laid out in the heat of Texas.

She hit send without thinking twice, knowing Paige would have a heart attack the second she saw it.

***

After a brutal lifting session, Paige was ready to go home to her girlfriend.

Her and Azzi only had limited time together, so she canceled most actives for the week, just not being able to get out of the workout today.

As she neared the end of her set, Arike still yelling about everyone needing to “Push harder”, she felt a buzz in her pocket.

Knowing that she was on DND and the only contact allowed to send notifications being Azzi, she pulled out her phone quickly.

Expecting a stupid update from her like normal, something along the lines of “I just saw a squirrel” or “Just ate a bagel” She didn’t hesitate to open her phone up knowing her teammates were right next to her.

But fuck, she should’ve.

A photo of Azzi laid out in golden hues on a tanning chair, the sun draping over her curves only covered by a light lavender swimsuit filled her phone screen.

Paiges heart stopped at the sight, “fuck” Escaping her mouth involuntarily.

hearing the word, Dijonai glanced over at her phone, seeing the photo of Azzi, “Damnnnn, okay I see you P”

Paige looked over at her quickly locking her phone, the heat in her cheeks showing in a rosy hue, “shut up, you didn’t see anything.” she spat out,

The conversation caused the rest of the girls around them to wonder what was going on,

“What was it?” Nalyssa asked her girlfriend, knowing she’d get an answer.

“Just Paige over here gettin’ some very skimpy pics from her girl while she’s away, pretty crazy if you ask me”

“Okay Bueckers. I respect it,” Nalyssa said, knowing that Paige would only get more flustered.

Paige dragged a hand over her face, wishing the conversation would shift, “Can we move on? Please?”

But that wasn’t before Arike stole Paiges phone from behind her, unlocking it knowing the password was Azzis birthday.

As soon as she did she was met with the the photo, “DAMNNN!”

Paige ran to go get her phone, but Arike quickly passed it to Nalyssa.

She pretended to inspect the photo, rubbing her chin like an idiot, “I mean, second best to my girl, but still pretty good”

Paige snatched the phone before it could be passed around anymore. “I hate all of you.”

The girls burst into laughter while Paige quickly threw her bag over her shoulder.

“Leaving so soon?” DiJonai teased watching the blonde leave.

Paige didn’t turn back, instead holding out a middle finger which caused the laughter to only grow.

****

Azzi laid on Paiges bed, dressed in some loose clothes from after her shower, knowing Paige would be home any mintue.

The door opened, and in walked a very pathetic looking Paige.

“What happened baby?” Azzi aksed as the blonde flopped down on the bed.

“I was bullied.” Paige mumbled into the comforter

Azzi buckled lightly, “happens when your a rookie huh?”

Paige moved her head onto Azzis chest, the warmth still lingering from her shower.

Then getting an idea, remembering the photo. She sprung up.

“Take this off” She said while tugging at Azzis shirt.

Surprised but intrigued Azzi met her eyes, “What?”

“Take off your shirt…and your pants actually.”

“Jeez, is romance dead?” Azzi said laughing, knowing damn well her shirt would be on the ground in a minute.

Paige shrugged, “Ive been through it today.. and it was kinda your fault. So you owe me.”

“Oh really, and how was it my fault?” Azzi teased,

“I’ll tell you after.”

“After what?”

“You’re the worst.”

Azzi leaned up to kiss her, pulling her in.

****

Paige strolled into practice the next morning with a certain pep in her step.

One that only came with a night of pleasing her girlfriend,

As soon as she opened the door, Arike eyed her down,

“Someone’s happy this morning.” She teased, playing with a band in her hand.

She rolled her eyes setting down her water.

“Shut up”

Arike gasped, putting a hand over her chest, “that is no way to talk to your vets, rook.”

This caused a few of the girls laugh at the banter, it being to most interesting thing that would happen this morning.

“Yeah, yeah.” Paige replied.

[gofu-kurself]

lmao i’m rotting in the head with this frat boy/drug dealer steddie au so here’s a continuation of this post:

—

steve is trying his best to focus on the biology textbook in front of him, he really is. but.

instead he’s just laying on his stomach atop eddie munson’s crumpled bedsheets sporting his tightest jeans and thinnest t-shirt, and trying to pop his ass out in a subtle but sorta obvious way.

he’s trying his absolute best to clue eddie into the fact that he’s very interested in the long haired man joining him on said bed. and perhaps also that he’s interested in shedding their clothes and fucking nasty because steve has been flirting with this boy for what feels like eons and he’s nearly at the end of his wits. his dick definitely is.

so steve is arching his back in hopes of highlighting his, ahem, assets, and chewing absently on the end of his pencil while eddie sits entirely too far away and decidedly not on top of steve naked.

he allows himself to heave a huge sigh, trying to draw attention to himself because eddie’s been messing around with his guitar for the past 20 minutes and even though steve’s caught him sneaking looks (hopefully at the way his jeans are stretched across his ass) a few times, the long haired boy keeps dragging his eyes back to the neck of his acoustic.

eddie either ignores steve’s sigh or is too preoccupied by his music to hear the way it exhales from steves mouth in a bitchy and huffy manner.

steve pouts to himself but lets his mind wander back to reality instead of zoning out and screaming internally “if you can read minds get over here and fuck me”

since eddie’s probably not a mind reader, seeing as steve is currently not being dicked down in his bed, steve try’s another tactic and turns his attention to the soft strumming of eddie’s hands and his little hums or whisperings of lyrics under his breath.

he continues to chew on his pencil, but lets his eyes slide away from the textbook and gives up the pretense of studying biology instead of eddie.

god he’s pretty. with big hands and dexterous fingers that fiddle with the strings of his guitar like he doesn’t even have to think about it. steve lets his gaze linger on the way eddie’s legs are spread and sock clad feet planted on the floor so he can perch the guitar on his lap. the black jeans he’s wearing are a little baggy and sport random holes and bleach stains, but they still hug the meat of his thighs in a delicious manner that kinda make steve want to crawl over there and bite new holes into them.

“who’s the cute guy with the wide, blue eyes and the big bad mmm?”

wait. what the fuck?

steve’s eyes fly up to eddie’s face where he finds his big brown eyes fluttered shut, his mouth lax, and lips moving around mumbled syllables as his fingers continue to stumble across strings while he sings half-memorized lyrics under his breath.

“holy shit are you singing sabrina?” steve blurts in a breathy question. who even thinks before speaking? not steve, that’s for sure.

eddie startles and nearly drops his guitar, the body making a hollow echo as he slaps his hand down to stop it from falling from his lap. he lets out a nervous sounding laugh. “shit stevie you startled me princess,” he grins a toothy bashful smile that makes steve wanna kiss him until hes memorized it.

“well is it?” steve pesters, because he’s a little shit and needs to know the answer like, yesterday.

“i mean, yeah, it’s from the album you showed me the other day—“

steve interrupts because that’s who he is as a person “yeah, Bed Chem, it’s my favorite one!” he smiles broadly, remembering how when it came on in the car he exclaimed the same thing before bopping his head along to the beat and singing along to every word.

eddie shifts awkwardly in his desk chair like he’s a kid in detention “exactly, it’s a good one. and, i mean, i know it’s your favorite so, i thought it’d be nice if i learned and played it for you sometime. ‘s stupid, not like i can be sabrina or anything, im like not five foot, first of all, and i mean—“

steve has to cut him off again because holy fuck he needs the man in front of him so badly it’s become a health hazard.

“eddie, you—mr. exclusively listens to 80s metal and like, machine girl—is learning my favorite sabrina carpenter song on the guitar to play for me?”

“i don’t exclusively listen to metal and also, im impressed remember who machine girl are—“

“eddie, you’re evading, answer the question.”

“i mean i said i was doing that. so your question is redundant. but yeah. i did. i said i know its stupid—“

“eddie. ohmygod please come here” steve scrambles into a seated position and pats a spot on the bed next to him.

the long haired man slowly sets down his guitar and approaches the bed like a nervous newborn horse. it’s adorable and steve needs to just be upfront about everything at this point because it turns out they both might be denser than he thought possible.

“i’m sorry,” eddie begins to apologize for something he likely has convinced himself he’s at fault for

“nono,” steve starts and runs a hand through his hair like an overworked dad, “ohmygod, eddie i don’t know how to make it more obvious that im obsessed with you and want you to make a move on me but you literally just played sabrina fucking carpenter in front of me and said you learned it for me so i need to know if this is like, a secret band kid maneuver of making a move that i was supposed to be picking up on—“

eddie’s brows are furrowed and his eyes are so wide that his shock would be comical if steve wasn’t so fuckin pent up “wait you want me—?”

steve continues his interruption streak “to fuck me seven ways to sideways. yes. eddie, i’ve been pulling out all the goddam stops and you’ve been exclusively like, friendly back. i don’t know what to think.”

“wait wait wait. is this happening?” he shakes his head like he’s trying to shake water from his mop of hair, “is this like, for real? not a joke?”

for fucks sake who hurt this guy? steve’s gonna unpack that later, but not right now. now he needs to know if eddie feels the same.

“not a joke, ed’s,” he says sincerely as possible, looking into his dark eyes, “i know im probably not like, your type or something, but i. i really like you,” steve’s getting more vulnerable than he thought he would this morning, but in for a penny and all that, “and i—i like the way i get to be around you, and i think you’re so hot it’s ridiculous” eddie lets out an aborted guffaw at that but steve persists “and you learned a sabrina song for me and i want that to mean you like me back and i want you to be able to read minds so you could have heard me trying to telepathically get you to fuck me earlier and i want to listen to machine girl with you even though it’s like, just noise so i don’t really get it but i like the way you bop your head to the music when it gets really fast—“ steve cuts himself off because he finally realizes he’s rambling and making a fool of himself.

eddie’s hands have a firm grip on steve’s own, he’s not sure when that happened, and eddie is staring at him like he hung the stars in the sky or some other stupid metaphor.

“mind reading?—whatever we’ll go back to that later.” he takes a deep breath and steve watches as a tuft of his bangs floats and lands back on his forehead at the action.

“i like you too, steve, fuck. i’ve liked you since the moment i met you and you blushed and laughed at my terrible jokes.”

steve unclenches and lets himself laugh and ride the buzz of omgomgomghelikesmeback. he catches his breath and laughs again before joking, “yeah, they were pretty terrible”

“you’re not supposed to agree!” eddie exclaims, moving his face to mirror steve’s, grinning like a fool.

“sorry sorry, they were great, dude.”

eddie’s grin gets impossibly wider, eyes rolling a little at the title, “stevie, don’t call me dude right before i kiss you”

steve feels his breath catch, “you’re gonna kiss me?” he knows he’s blushing from the neck up.

“yeah, dude” eddie says cheekily before leaning in and stealing the last bits of steve’s meager supply of breath.

[fluff-lover]

Past Future | Logan x fem!Reader

Summary: Logan time travels and finds out his future self is married... to you.

Note: this is in a way part of my Healing Touch fic, where Reader is called "Angel", is a mutant and has healing powers. But can be read without reading the whole fic.

Also, I don't think the timelines and plot makes much sense, but this came to me one night and I just needed to write it!

In a desperate attempt to stop the sentinels, Charles and Logan offer to travel into the future to find out how (and if) the X-Men won the war, only to find out that mutants are almost extinct there. Year is 2030 and their only lead takes them to the Logan from the future: a more rugged, worn down Wolverine who hung the claws a year ago, after Charles died.

“I don’t go by Logan anymore.” He told them. “Here I’m James.”

It took a lot of persuasion to make James take them home and help them. James wanted to leave the past in the past, but seeing Chuck again, even if it was a younger version, pulled some strings in his heart.

That’s how they found themselves standing outside Jame’s home: a little cabin in the woods, with lovely flowers in the front yard, a wooden fence, a nice porch… 

Logan, the one from the past, felt like this was a completely parallel universe instead of his own in the future. The man standing in front of him was completely different from him.

“Listen, I’m very protective of my home.” James said. “So here are some ground rules: Don’t go sneaking around, don’t touch anything…” He said looking from Charles to Logan, then back to Charles. “Don’t feed the dog.” And finally he turned to Logan. “And don’t hit on my wife.” he said in a warning tone.

“You have a dog?” Charles asked.

“You have a wife?!” Logan added in disbelief.

They walked in and found a cozy home, a lit fireplace, and the smell of homemade food filling in the air.

“Shoes.” James said before taking his shoes off.

Charles and Logan exchanged a look before taking their shoes off too.

Oh, James was whipped!

A white and brown border collie rushed to James and he bent down to greet her.

“Hi Whiskey, have you been a good girl today?” He asked the dog while patting her. She wiggled her tail and licked his hand. “Yeah you were… always such a good girl.”

Logan watched closely, he couldn’t imagine ever getting a dog. 

James straightened with a groan and walked further into the home.

“Sweetheart?” He called out.

You walked out of the kitchen to greet him and Logan’s breath hitched.

You were SO beautiful, breathtaking. Now he understood Jame’s warning. His younger self would definitely try to make some moves on such a pretty thing.

Logan watched in disbelief as you cupped your husband’s face and kissed his lips oh so sweetly while James wrapped an arm around your waist. Logan wondered how on Earth he would end up with such a loving, beautiful partner. It was clear your tenderness rubbed off on James, seeing him being all lovey dovey with you.

James quickly introduced them and you couldn’t help but look at Logan in wonder. He looked just like your husband, just younger. But he wasn’t the same man. You and Logan went through so much together: losing the other mutants, helping Charles, finding Laura, only for Charles to pass away in a horrific way… No, your James was unique, and you loved him just the way he was.

Charles was a whole different story…

“That’s… a head full of hair…” You half joked. James snorted and kissed your temple.

Your life with James was simple and very domestic. You made dinner in the kitchen while he set the table. Logan and Charles tried to take everything in as this wasn’t the future they expected.

“Alright, dinner is ready!” you said as you placed the food on the table.

“I’ll get Laura.” James said before going upstairs.

“Who’s Laura?” Charles asked.

“She’s James’ kid.” You said as you sat down. Logan opened his eyes so widely you thought they would pop out of his skull. “It’s complicated, technically she’s his clone, but after we found out about her we decided to keep her and raise her as our own.”

Logan watched James arrive downstairs followed by a little girl. There was some resemblance, especially in her frown. She didn’t look happy to have visitors.

When Laura spotted Logan, she quickly hid behind James’ legs. He smiled gently at her and patted her head.

“It’s alright kiddo, he’s good. Not a clone.” He explained while guiding her to her chair next to you. You smiled sweetly and placed a plate of food in front of her.

Once you were all sat at the table Charles and Logan explained the situation and asked a ton of questions about the future. With a lot of patience James told them everything, from how to defeat the sentinels to how you two ended up here. He told them about Charle’s seizures and how it killed every other mutant except for the two of you. 

You told them about your healing powers and your days at the School as “Angel”. 

…About your marriage…

…About finding Laura…

About Charles passing away.

At one point you turned to Charles with glassy eyes.

“I’m so sorry I couldn’t save you. I used my healing powers with you every chance I got but…” You shook your head and sighed. “I think you were so tired you just gave up. And then when you were attacked by X-24 I got to you too late, you had already passed away…” you looked away in shame. James lifted your hand and kissed it.

“You did everything you could… We all did.” James said before turning to the others. “She’s constantly healing me too, otherwise I would be dead by now.”

“Healing from what? I thought you… we…” Logan cleared his throat, not knowing how to address James. “What about the enhanced healing power?”

“I still got it, but the adamantium in my bones is slowly poisoning me.” He then looked at you lovingly. “My little angel keeps it from taking me out entirely.”

“What’s adamantium?” Charles asked.

“A nearly indestructible metal that was injected inside me to make me stronger.” With that James unleashed his claws and the other men saw their reflection on the shiny material.

“What the fuck…?” Logan mumbled.

“How did that happen?” Charles asked.

“That’s another long story…” James sighed.

“And it’s been a long night, I’ll tuck Laura in.” You said getting up. “Come on sweetheart, it’s bedtime.” 

Laura got up and before following you upstairs she stopped to hug James goodnight. It took a while for James and Laura to form this father-daughter bond, but you knew they loved each other and every day they learned more and more to show their affection. It was slow progress but it was worth it.

“Good night, kiddo.” James smiled softly and watched the two of you walk upstairs. Logan was still trying to wrap this whole thing around his head. James turned to him and tilted his head towards the door. “Care for a drink?”

James, Logan and Charles sat down on the porch, each one of them with a glass of bourbon. The sky was clear and the stars shone bright. It was quiet and nice, the only light in the porch coming from a little lamp hanging from the roof.

Charles and James discussed plans of action against the sentinels and how to get reinforcements, but Logan stayed quiet mostly. He had so many questions, the most important one being what did he do to deserve such a happy, tranquil life?

Whiskey, the dog, laid next to James on the floor with her head resting on her master’s foot.

“So this is your life now, uh?” Logan suddenly said, interrupting Charles and James’ talk. “You go to work, come home to a wife and kid, have dinner, sit on the porch with a drink and a cigar…”

James arched an eyebrow.

“Pretty much, yeah.” He said before taking a drag.

“You forgot the dog.” Charles added and Logan shot him a glare.

“Hard to believe, no?” James asked him. Logan didn’t know what to say, but yes, he was having a hard time believing this.

“It's just so… peaceful.” he mumbled.

James hummed and took a sip of his drink.

“It is, and so far away from all the violence I once knew. For the longest time I didn’t believe I deserved it. That I didn’t deserve HER.” It was clear he was talking about you. “But each morning I wake up next to her and she reassures me this is where I belong.” He smiled, thinking about the quiet mornings, the whispers under the covers, the light kisses on his face.

“Are you happy?” Charles asked softly, wanting to believe his friend got a somewhat happy ending while the rest of the world went to shit.

James hummed again and nodded his head.

“Happier than I recall ever being.”

By the time they went back inside you were almost done washing the dishes. James stood next to you and started drying them, a radio playing old tunes in a corner.

While Logan and Charles discussed strategies, Logan caught a glimpse of you and James slow dancing in the kitchen. It was a heart pulling scene: your head resting against James’ chest, Paul Anka’s voice sounding in the background. 

It looked so simple, just a common married couple slow dancing in the kitchen late at night, a domestic yet sweet tint to it. Yet to Logan it looked like an impossible dream of something he never thought he could get.

“You’ll get there.” He heard Charles whisper and his face went red as he realized he was caught staring.

“Uh?”

Charles looked at the couple and back at him.

“You’ll meet her, fall in love and marry her. Don’t worry, this will happen to you.”

Logan cleared his throat awkwardly.

“It won’t if we change the future.”

“You won’t remember any of this when you get back to your own time. But I will, and I’ll make sure you meet her.” Charles promised.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” He said dismissively. “That’s not what we’re here for. Keep your head in the mission.”

Charles simply smiled.

Logan was whipped too…

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[gold-onthe-inside]

shape of you

who? spencer reid (s8/9) x blake!reader summary: when a terrible, horrible, no good day leaves you less that satisfied with your body t-minus 20 minutes before dinner with your boyfriend's friends and colleagues, it's up to spencer to cheer you up. content warnings: implied body dysmorphia/insecurities, weight and body type is ambiguous, spencer being the best boyfriend ever word count: 1.3k author's note: written by request for spring-fest. read more blake!reader here. divider courtesy of @/ saradika-graphics

It’s just one of those days where everything feels wrong, hyperaware of everything that doesn’t go to plan. Woke up an hour before you were supposed to, then having an unsatisfying extra hour of sleep where everything felt too warm. Burnt your tongue on coffee so you spend the rest of the day not really tasting anything, constantly aware of the abnormal numbness on the tip of your tongue. Bumped into a glass door twice during rounds, in front of your colleagues, juniors, and patients. And that was all before noon.

Your terrible mood carried to the end of the day, having tried three different dresses, wholly unsatisfied with all of them, and desperately going for the jumpsuit instead. But as you zip up the back, it doesn’t look right either. It feels like it’s hanging off of you rather than fitting you, and suddenly you can’t tell if it’s all in your head or if you really just look like a strangely shaped blob. You let out a sigh, considering giving up on the whole thing when your phone trilled on the counter beside the bathroom sink, a silly picture of Spencer with the cheesiest smile flashing on the screen and you picked up.

“Hey, so I might be like, 5 minutes late.” He never used ‘like’ as a filler word until he met you, mostly because he was too precise to need approximates or guesses, but precise is not a word you could use to describe the Metro system. “The train just randomly stopped past Union Station.” You could hear the fatigue in his voice, and slightly petulant frustration.

“It’s okay, take your time,” you replied, staring at yourself in the mirror. “It’s not like I’m getting ready anytime soon.”

“What do you mean?” Spencer asked and you could hear the confusion in his voice, and he heard the puff of breath that came from your lips.

“Nothing, just… Today’s just been a bad day,” you said lamely, moving to the bedroom and sitting on the edge of the bed.

“Oh,” Spencer said, his voice suddenly small. “You could’ve told me, I would have had Rossi reschedule.”

“No, it’s fine,” you said, flopping back onto your mattress. “It’s not every day you take down a whole trafficking ring.”

“They wouldn’t have minded,” Spencer replied, picking at the belt of his satchel. “Everyone’s exhausted. It’s just that noone’s about to turn down a free dinner.”

“Cheapskates,” you replied with a small giggle.

“Hey, not all of us get paid like you do,” he retorted, knowing you were probably rolling your eyes at him.

“What did you think you’d get paid working for the U.S. Government?” you scoffed.

“First of all, ouch. Second of all, someone has to work for the government, and if I wasn’t, then we would never have met.”

“So you’re saying our meeting trumps being able to pay for your own meal?” you asked, raising a brow.

“Pretty much. And then you wouldn’t be able to tell me about your no-good, terrible, horrible day.”

“It really isn’t that big a deal,” you said with a sigh, staring at the ceiling. “Just one of those days that confirms the existence of general adaptation syndrome.”

“Exhaustion phase, huh?” he asked and you smiled faintly, loving how he just understood you.

“Pretty much,” you murmured. “How far away are you?”

“Heading out of the station right now. Give me 3 minutes and 12 seconds. 9 if I don’t have to wait for traffic.”

“Look both ways before crossing,” you reminded him tiredly.

“That was one time,” he protested and you chuckled. “And in my defense, you’re very distracting.”

“You’re lucky that Subaru didn’t deck you,” you replied, smiling as you gently swung your feet. “Would’ve folded you up like a deck chair.”

“Aren’t girlfriends supposed to be nice?”

“Not this one,” and he can hear the cheek in your voice.

“Think I’m starting to miss the honeymoon period,” he said, and you can hear the jangle of his keys, the slightest loss of focus on your conversation, and you went and unlocked your front door for him before returning to the bedroom.

“Aren’t those meant to last like… a year at least?” you asked.

“Six months to 2 years, actually,” he answered. “In some cases, up to 2 and a half. Did you know honeymoons come from the tradition of marriage by capture? The groom would steal the bride and go into hiding so she wouldn’t be taken from him, and the intention was that she would be pregnant by the month’s end.”

“Well, that’s all kinds of wrong,” you murmured, staring at yourself in the mirror, and you can hear the door swing open so you hang up. “In here!” Your call is half-hearted, hand running over your stomach, willing it flatter.

“Do you think it’s okay if I just stick to a clean dress shirt?” he was asking, heading towards your voice, oblivious to the chaos in your head, only to find that you’d set out a suit for him. “You think of everything, don’t you?” he huffed with a smile, moving to hug you from behind and pressing a kiss to your cheek.

“Figured you wouldn’t have time to pick one up,” you replied, your smile too faint for him to be convinced you were okay. His arms tightened around you.

“Why won’t you tell me what’s going on?” he asked, his voice impossibly soft and you rested your head against his chest.

“It just… I tried like… three different outfits and nothing fits right,” you murmured and he frowned.

“You look the same as you always do,” he said, running his hand comfortingly over your stomach, where your hand had rested, pressing a soft kiss to your shoulder. “Insanely pretty and out of my league.” The all-too-familiar huff escaped your nose and his brow furrowed again.

“Hey, none of that,” he countered, tugging your back against his chest. “You’re so pretty,” he murmured, gently kissing the crook of your neck, hair brushing your jaw, as he scraped his teeth against soft skin. “It doesn’t even matter what you wear, you know that? You could be coming home after a 12 hour shift, exhausted and sweaty and still look completely beautiful to me.”

He rested his chin against your temple, still hugging you. “And we can do whatever you want. We can eat takeout and ice cream in our pyjamas and watch your favourite movie. Or, we can finish getting ready and go spend time with people who care about a lot more than how you look.” He pressed another warm kiss to your temple. “Or you can keep trying on dresses and I’ll tell you how beautiful you look in all of them.”

You can’t help but grin at him, turning your head to kiss him properly, as he deserved. Long and sweet, pouring all your love into it. “You’re the best boyfriend, you know that?” you murmured, looking up at him, all adoring.

“I like being reminded,” he said simply, shrugging. “So, what do you want to do?”

You took a deep breath, looking at the pile of dresses on the corner of the bed. “I want you to pick one,” you said eventually, tucking hair out of your eyes, then watching with a smile as Spencer critically analysed each one before settling on a mauve bodycon dress, holding it up to you. Of course, he’d pick his favourite colour on you.

15 minutes later, you’re both horrendously late, Spencer behind the wheel of your car, using every moment of standstill traffic to look at you, caught between wanting to making a U-turn to take you straight home and wanting to show you off, even if it was just the team he was showing off to. He ended up choosing the latter, and all criticisms of tardiness were forgotten as the team warmly welcoming you, an extremely giddy Penelope gushing over how pretty you looked, JJ and Derek already making fun of Spencer’s possessive grip over your waist. All in all, it was a night spent well, Spencer’s adoring gaze more than making up for your terrible, horrible, no-good day.

comments and reblogs appreciated <3

[bullet-prooflove]

Permanent Marker: Dennis Whitaker x Reader

Tagging: @kmc1989 @cosmic-psychickitty @sargeant-sad-eyes @caffeinatedwoman @hooks-martin

Companion piece to:

Peppermint - The taste of peppermint will always have a special place in Dennis’s heart.

The Morgue Thing - A miscommunication between you and Dennis almost ends things before they begin.

Written In The Stars - Your first date with Dennis takes place underneath the stars.

In The Park - Dennis reveals a secret after the two of you spend the night together in the park.

Virgin - There's a rumour going around about Dennis.

Debauched (NSFW) - Karaoke night ends a lot differently than it did the first time around.

Symphony (NSFW) - Dennis has never eaten pussy before...

Pretty Boy (NSFW) - You and Dennis take the next step in your relationship.

Dennis wakes up to the sensation of your lips brushing over his forehead, your palm cupping his cheek before you kiss his mouth in that wonderful sweet way of yours. He groans, arching up to meet you and you smile before you draw away.

“I need to head into work to take care of something.” You tell him, your nose trailing  over his. “Get some rest, you had a busy night last night.”

“You should come back to bed.” He mumbles, his thumb chasing over the apple of your cheek. “I want to practise some more.”

“You don’t need to practise.” You tell him as he steals another greedy kiss. “You were perfect last night, both times.”

He’d rallied again at three in the morning, you’d woken up to his lips ghosting down your throat, his hand wandering. He’d had you from behind this time, your fingers entwining with his before you guided them down to your clit. He’d found your rhythm almost immediately, played all the right notes, all the way to the crescendo.

“Go back to sleep.” You urge him, your palm coming to rest on the space where his heart resides before you give him a gentle push. “We can play a little more tonight if you’re free.”

“Oh I’m definitely free.” He mumbles, sagging back into the pillows and burrowing down into the sheets. His eyes start to flutter closed and you smile at the sight of him, so relaxed, so care free.

It’s the change of shift for security when you get to the hospital. You know that Olsen and Ahmed like to do the handover in the canteen over a cup of coffee so the office will be empty.

You stand in front of the betting board, surveying all of those post-its about Dennis’s virginity. The suggestions, the implications, the odds. You remove them one by one, putting them into your pocket instead of the trash because you don’t want them to be able to use them to make good on those bets. Then you pick up a permanent marker, not one of the dry wipe ones that reside in the pen pot and get to work.

You came to learn about the board this morning when a friend texted you asking for details because she saw you and Dennis leaving karaoke together last night.

“You know I don’t kiss and tell.” You’d text back, to which she responded.

“Come on Lis, I’ve got $100 riding on this.”

That’s when you remember the bets about the ambulance, about Dr Robby and his younger girlfriend. You know it’s supposed to be a bit of fun, a way of venting the stress that comes with the job but this, this is just too far.

You take your time on the words, etching them in thick block capitals. You want them to stand out, make a point, you also want them as hard as hell to remove so that everytime they even think about doing something like this again, they’ll reconsider.

Do better, you write covering the majority of the board. Don’t be fucking assholes.

You don’t sign it off, you don’t want Gloria reprimanding you for defacing hospital property but the people who run those bets, they’ll know.

And they’ll know better than to cross you again.

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Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[violasghost]

I know some were irked with how the forgiveness confession played out in a true crime episode but I'm okay with it, because these episodes kind of have a way of exposing things under the surface that we are not privy to (sometimes in a funny way). Yes this time there was a laugh with Lucy/Tim being under the influence, but I'm positive there will definitely be a serious and well-earned meaningful moment before Chenford does finally decide to get back together for good. But I think its pretty telling, with the baby names easter egg, that the writing is on the wall. They are end-game and Chenford is indeed happening! <3

That said, I am a little bit worried about Tim. Cant put my finger on exactly why, maybe it was due to the previous episode and that person who came to threaten him at his house with the recording. Worried his life may be in danger. Hope our girl Lucy catches on and makes sure to take action. I know she'll pass the Sargeant's exam because she's awesome and she kicks butt!

THE ROOKIE (2018– ) S07E15 | A Deadly Secret

[seaborgium-dazies]

bro ive been fixating on ur walking in on denki masturbating fic for DAYS pleaseeee a p2 on that ☹️☹️🙏🙏

I bet you never had a Friday night like this♡ mdni

AYYYEEEEE that high-key means so much to me 🤭 The feared video game weekend is approaching 😋 and things are about to get messy - denki lovers unite! pt.2 to this fic cw: miscommunication, angst in the beginning, you and denki both being avoidant and afraid, wingman!deku, oral sex f!receiving, fingering, denki with a tongue piercing, pet name (sweetheart)

If there was something denki really didn't know how to deal with it was awkwardness. That gut wrenching bone crushing awkwardness. The type that makes you stare at a wall and burn hot under other peoples gazes. The type that makes your body feel foreign and guilt seep out of your pores.

And by all means the whole class was staring at him. And you. It's no wonder, really. One Thursday morning like every other came and you two suddenly avoided each other like the plague? No more interlocked limbs or disturbing class with loud laughter and dirty jokes? How could they not wonder what transpired?

The air felt thick with murmurs but as long as people wouldn't outright ask you what had happened you figured you'd be fine. Panic was burning in your chest, the words you said on repeat in your mind as you eyed the back of denkis head.

Minutes seemed to stretch into hours, your tongue growing thick with unsaid words; threatening to close your throat. But what could you even say? You had given him some high risk honesty and apologizing for that didn't feel right.

You buried your head in your hands and sighed in frustration when the bell finally rang. Denki watched you bolt past him, not even bothering to put your things away. No, you ran out of the classroom with your notes and pens in hand.

"I fucked up that bad, huh.", the words shot through denkis mind.

Words of self deprecation had been echoing in denkis head ever since he came down from his high to an empty room and a Kleenex full of cum. He felt like sobbing when he remembered what happened. The music coming from his sound system made him want to sob.

You told me, "Think about it," well, I did

Now I don't wanna feel a thing anymore

Just how much of a fuck up could he be? How was he able to ruin the one good thing in his life?! Why did he?! Why?!

And before denki knew it tears were cascading down his face. But who was he to fight them, he already did the most pathetic thing ever so why not cry in cum stained sheets?

He kept thinking back to your face when you walked in, that twitch of your eyebrows that he never saw before and the look of pity near the end, he just wanted to forget it ever happened. Fragments of his memory were already slipping away or maybe he was exiling them.

When the memory sneaks up on him he physically cringes, a painful ringing replacing any words you had said. And to make matters worse the snacks he bought yesterday were practically mocking him.

Denki let out a shuddering breath as he examined the sour gummy worms. He wants to apologize to you, for everything, but how could he? You were avoiding him and he's pretty sure that he couldn't even meet your eye if he stood in front of you.

Still there was a dull ache in his chest and the unignorable desire to talk to you like he did just one day ago. He just couldn't believe that he fumbled his crush even before he even tried to pull a move. Typical.

But whatever.

Denki shook his head, tried to puff out his chest and thought to himself that it's okay. Yes, losing the most important person in his life made him want to go to sleep and never wake up again. And it truly didn't feel like it was okay, but there's nothing else for him to do. He would try to get over it on the weekend or think of a proper apology or maybe just go take a bath while using his quirk-

He tried to push the negative thoughts away and just get through the day. Friday's schedule was shorter than every other day so it shouldn't be too hard.

Minutes turned to hours turned to a successful survival attempt. This time denki was the one to bolt. His sneakers were threatening to fall apart under the brutal pace he set but it didn't matter to him one bit.

You felt like your knees were about to give out. There went your chance to set things straight. You sighed deeply and went to your dorm defeated.

A couple hours later you heard a quick knock. Your heart was already beating wildly - much to your letdown Midoriya was standing in front of your dorm. Your next door neighbor seemed as happy-go-lucky as ever. You scoffed internally, you really hoped for it to be denki.

"Hi y/n!"

"Hey, what's up?"

You cocked an eyebrow at the stack of manga he was holding.

"These are denkis! I was gonna go return them to him now"

"Oh..."

Suddenly you felt sick-

"D-do you want me to give them to him or ?"

"Oh no, sorry! You guys invited me to your hangout? On Monday during lunch? It's okay if you forgot, I don't have to come, it's no biggie!-"

"Ah, yes! Of course! No, of course I didn't forget, let me just grab my things and let's get going."

You shot deku a quick smile but internally you were going off the rails. Had he really not noticed? Should you say something? But before you knew it you had gathered everything necessary and you both took your leave.

Denki was staring at the ceiling as he heard a firm knock. It couldn't be, could it?! Denki jumped up at the sound and immediately ran to get the door. He wiped his sweaty hands on the side of his pants before preparing himself mentally-

"Midoriya?"

"Hi!"

The disappointment in denkis voice was unmistakable until he spotted you too.

"Oh y/n, hi"

"Hey"

Moments passed without a word said, yours and denkis gaze meeting for the first time in days. Deku cleared his throat which put an end to your emotionally confusing staring contest.

"Uhm come in, come in"

Deku returned denkis manga and skillfully established an easygoing conversation between the three of you. Sadly he announced his departure all too soon, the tension returning to the situation when deku was absent.

"Uhm, so do you wanna play a little?"

You tore Denki out of his downward spiral and he gave you an all too familiar smirk.

"You're on"

Hours passed and you two were back in familiar waters - teasing, bickering and even an accidental hand brush that made you both gasp. Rounds of Mario kart over new monster flavors were able to bring a genuine smile to your face after what felt like years of sadness.

You were lazing on his couch as he was replaying Breath of the wild, the sun long gone by now. Your eyes felt heavy but your heart was content with having returned to normalcy. Even if you never spoke about the incident, you'd be happy like this.

"I'm sorry about Wednesday"

Denkis beaten down voice tore you from your dozing; you cocked your eyebrow.

"What? Why??", genuine surprise dripped off of your voice.

"I know I shouldn't have lied about not knowing where your CD was and I know I especially shouldn't have done anything shameful while listening to it it's not honest and I don't want you to think I'm any type of sleaze and I know it's unacceptable and really I will never do anything like that again-"

"Denki, I already told you not to worry about that" your voice was incredibly gentle as if not to startle him. Denki stops mid rant

"Wait, you did?"

"Yeah... don't you remember?"

"N...o?"

You couldn't help but blush. Your voice trailed off as you reiterated,

"I told you that it's a normal part of life and you shouldn't be ashamed..."

Now it was denkis turn to be confused

"Wait, but why have you acting so distant this week then?!"

You almost spit out the sip of monster you took.

"UHM?! You've been distant too?!"

"Okay but still, did you say anything else?"

"Well you really don't remember what I said?

"No??"

At this point denki is dying to know what you said but you saw the opening of your life. You saw the perfect opportunity to erase your peeping pervert moment from history. You were metaphorically washing yourself clean as you said

"Well that was actually everything. But I'm glad we talked it through. I'm low-key tired though, let's go to sleep"

Denki agreed and although he felt better to have gotten that off of his chest he still felt as if there was a piece missing from the puzzle.

You were both laying comfortably now, listening to the soft buzzing of his mini fridge. You could practically hear denkis thoughts at a hundred miles per hour when he sat up and shouted

"YOU SAID I LOOKED HOT?!"

He hastily turned the light on, the half drunken monsters still on the floor next to his consoles.

You tried to hide behind your hands, to no avail.

"yeah"

Your voice was impossibly small, the shame radiating off of you. But denki for one thought it was refreshing seeing someone else be ashamed for once.

"And you looked at me, didn't you?"

Denkis newfound smugness made you cringe.

"Well I don't think that's fair"

"no it really isn't and I'm sorry denki... I know I shouldn't have invaded your privacy like that and-"

You were busy explaining yourself behind your hand-shield and didn't see denki inching closer. Suddenly you felt his warm hands on yours, pulling them from your face.

"Wha-"

"Don't hide."

Your cheeks started turning crimson as his hands stayed on yours. All words seemed to be sucked out of your brain.

"I don't think it's fair-"

"Yeah you said that already-"

"That you saw me naked but I didn't see you naked"

Denkis words knocked the air out of your lungs. Did he really just?! And while your lips parted in shock he moved closer, placing his soft lips on yours.

Lips caressing and tongues melting into one another soon turned into impatient hands and sparks flying.

When denki pulled away from you his pupils were blown out and a string of saliva connected your lips.

"So? What do you say?"

Denkis words came back to you full force now. He wanted to see you naked? Your crush basically just kissed you and confessed to liking you too and now he wanted to see you naked?!

You let out a shuddering breath and with a nod you saw a gentle smile spreading across denkis lips that you knew was only reserved for you.

Before you knew it he was in his boxer shorts and you laid before him, fully exposed. He settled between your legs and gently pulled them apart.

Denki couldn't help but groan at the sight of your glistening folds, your cunt betraying just how much you wanted him.

"Can I?"

You nodded fervently and denki dove right in. His tongue met your swollen clit and you cried out. The cool metal of his piercing dragged along your walls as you clenched around nothing.

"Greedy, aren't we?"

Denkis taunting words sent a shiver down your spine and when he pressed the tip of his finger into your pussy you audibly gasped.

"denki-"

"What's the matter sweetheart?"

"S'much"

Denki felt pride blooming in his chest when he heard your slurred words. He marveled at the effect his tongue had on you as he began sucking on your clit. His fingers went faster and your cries of pleasure intensified.

You gripped and pulled his hair in an attempt to stay as sane as possible which earned you a moan vibrating through your core.

"Aaaah~ fuck!"

Denki lapped at your clit and folds for what felt like hours. Broad stripes to kitten licks to sucking on your clit again. He really knew how to make you lose your mind. And with a final cry the knot in your stomach snapped and ecstacy coursed through your veins.

Coming down from your high was intense but seeing denki grinning down at you with your arousal coating the bottom half of his face made your heart flutter.

Of course he cleaned you up, helped you get dressed and settled next to you in bed. And just as your cuddling bodies melted into one you whispered a reference he immediately understood.

"I bet you never had a Friday night like this."

Denki replied, "Keep it up, keep it up" while pressing a kiss to the side of your head.

And as you were falling asleep both of you were thanking your lucky stars.

Buy me a coffee? <3

©️ seaborgium-dazies 2025

Leave some love, reblogs and comments dearly appreciated. Thank you for reading!

[steddiehyperfixation]

let the sun rise

this is pure self-indulgent angst sorry. inspired by this post; written for @steddiebingo prompts: time loop + established relationship + saying goodbye | 2.9k words | T | ao3 |

Steve has been living the same three days over and over again. Just before the sun rises on Thursday, March 27, 1986, the day they’re supposed to defeat Vecna, he wakes up again in the Wheeler’s basement on Monday, March 24. He’s been at this for a long time now and he’s gotten pretty good at blending in with each loop, letting all the major events play out more or less they way they’re supposed to and being careful not to do or say anything that might make anyone think there’s something weird going on with him. But sometimes he slips. Sometimes, just sometimes, he loses track, the days all blend together and he says something he shouldn’t—a mention of Vecna’s plan that won’t be told to them until the sunrise that will never come, an offhand comment referencing a conversation that only happened in a previous loop and not the current one, or an exhausted complaint about going through something again. 

It’s always Eddie who notices these slips, always Eddie with his big worried eyes and careful attention who demands to know what’s going on with him and won’t let up until Steve either tells him the truth (which rarely ends well) or gives him a believable enough excuse (which is no small feat either; Eddie has always known how to see right through him). 

“I'm in a time loop,” Steve grudgingly admits this time, too tired to come up with anything else as he crawls into Eddie’s haphazardly remade bed, fresh bat bite wounds still aching. It’s been a while since he’s told the truth, and the loop will reset soon anyways. All they have left now are these few quiet hours while Nancy collects herself after her Vecna vision and the rest of them try to sneak in a couple precious hours of sleep. 

“Oh shit.” Eddie believes him instantly, always does. Still standing at the opposite side of the bed, he looks down at Steve with wide eyes. “For how long?”

“Dunno. Years, probably. It’s a three day loop and I lost track of how many there’ve been a long time ago,” Steve answers boredly, dismissively, hoping maybe this time Eddie won’t make a big deal out of it. “It doesn’t matter. It’ll reset soon and I’ll wake up on Monday.” 

“On Monday? Steve- sweetheart, why the hell didn’t you say anything sooner?” Eddie seems agitated already, hands moving fretfully as he speaks. So much for it not being a big deal. “You should’ve told me—the kids, Nancy, Robin—we could’ve helped you get out of it! We could-” 

“I don’t want to get out of it,” Steve cuts him off. It comes out a bit sharper than he intended, but it succeeds in giving Eddie pause. 

Eddie freezes, blinks, frowns. “What do you mean you don’t want to get out of it?”

“I asked for this,” Steve says. “I chose this.” 

“The fuck you mean you chose this?”

“I mean I chose it, Eddie. It's not a riddle.” 

(Steve couldn't cope after Eddie died. They got back from the upside-down, the hospital declared Eddie DOA, and Steve shattered. Not just his heart and his soul broke, but his mind snapped too. He put on a good face in front of the others, like a mask with artfully placed cracks to let only the appropriate levels and displays of grief through, but behind it he'd gone mad. He'd become obsessed. In private, he pored through books of ancient mythologies and occult rituals, lighting candles and chanting nonsense and spilling his own blood. Because if psychic kids and monsters from parallel dimensions exist, then surely there must be other things out there too—surely there must be something that could bring Eddie back. 

For weeks nothing happened, nothing worked, but Steve kept on trying, again and again, the very definition of insanity, until finally something did. Something came to him. In the dark, in the candlelight, the shadows gathered into a shape just at the edge of his peripheral. It hurt his eyes to try to look at it, and so he closed them. He didn’t need to see it, didn’t need to know what it was—spirit or demon or god; there was only one thing that mattered: “Can you bring him back?” 

It spoke to him in a soundless voice, words that bypassed his ears and slithered straight into his brain. I cannot, it said. 

“Then what’s the fucking point of you!?” Steve shouted, hands clenched into fists, fingers pressing into the gash in his palm.

I cannot raise the dead. I cannot undo what’s already been done. But I can give you more time, the thing whispered. He felt its presence move closer. I can take you into the past, let you relive the days before his death as many times as you need to. You will not be able to change anything, try though you might, but you can see him again, touch him and hold him as he was, alive. I can give you that, if you wish. 

Steve shuddered, the shadowy entity cold at his side. “Yes,” he exhaled. “Please. Take me back.”)

Eddie shakes his head, a refusal to accept that answer. “Why would you do that?” 

“It doesn’t matter.” Steve sits up and reaches across the bed to take Eddie’s hand. “Just come here and get some sleep. Please.” 

“Tell me why.” Eddie squeezes Steve’s hand but doesn’t budge, standing firm. “Why the fuck would you willingly choose to relive three of probably the most stressful days of your entire life over and over again?”

“Eddie.” Steve tugs at his hand, begging him one more time to drop the subject. 

“Why?” Eddie insists. “Why would you do that to yourself?” 

“Because you die, Eddie!” Steve blurts out, emotion getting ahead of his better judgement. “Because you die tomorrow and there’s nothing I can do to change it except make sure that tomorrow never comes. Because if I let this next sun rise, it’ll be the last one you ever see, and we didn’t get enough time. We deserved more time. So- so I was given a choice and I took it, I had to. This was the only way I could be with you again. This was the only way I could keep you alive.” 

(That’s as much as he can say without giving away his insanity. He told Eddie the full truth once, only once, in one of the earlier loops when he was still half-mad, manically pouring out the whole story of his grief and obsession and witchcraft. Eddie had backed away from him as if from something monstrous. “Steve, you’re scaring me,” he said, and Steve made sure to never tell that story again.)

“Fuck, Steve,” Eddie mutters vehemently. He drops Steve’s hand and turns away from him, raking his fingers through his hair and exhaling a sharp, heavy breath through his nose. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” 

Steve lets his dropped hand fall onto the bed like it weighs a ton, as heavy as the air between them and the words he’s confessed. “Please don’t get angry at me,” he pleads. He doesn’t want it to be a fight this time.

“What did you expect?” Eddie whirls back around. “You’ve been in this loop for years, I take it we’ve had this conversation before. So tell me, honestly, has there ever been a version of me that isn’t upset to learn that not only am I dead, but also that I’m the reason that you have been basically fucking torturing yourself for years?”

“No,” Steve admits. He doesn’t always act the same, so Eddie doesn’t always act the same—but whether it’s loud and angry or quiet and sad or somewhere in the middle, there has never been a loop where Eddie has reacted positively to any of this. And yet Steve still finds himself here, in loops like this one, desperate to make Eddie understand. “But it’s not like that. It’s not- I did this for you, so you could live!” 

That only makes things worse, it always does. 

“What, are you expecting a fucking thank you?” Eddie shakes his head, mangy curls flying. “You didn’t do this for me, you did this for you. Don’t you dare try to pretend like it’s anything other than purely fucking selfish. You haven’t given me any more life or any more time; I just reset, for you. You get to have all these extra years with me, but I’ll only ever have these three days with you.” His voice, though harsh and bitter, cracks; his eyes, though they blaze, are fractured and watery. “That’s not fucking fair, Steve. That isn’t right.” 

“It’s not right that you’re gone either! It’s not fucking fair that you died and you left me!” 

“Of course it fucking isn’t! But that doesn’t mean you go and stick yourself in a time loop, you idiot-!” 

“Fuck! Just stop yelling at me!” Steve sags back against the headboard, scrubbing his hands over his face and his stinging eyes. “I know, I already know. You’ve said all this before. I get it.” He drops his hands into his lap, tips his head back and closes his eyes as he sighs. He’s too fucking tired for this. Too fucking tired and in pain, and all he wants is to fall asleep in his boyfriend’s arms and wake up last Monday with this conversation erased from Eddie’s mind and a fresh loop ahead of him.  

Because Eddie’s wrong, he’s not torturing himself. Yes, they spend each loop in a near constant state of fear and stress, but they can still seek comfort in each other in the quiet moments; and even a panicked breath is still a breath, even a racing heartbeat is still a heartbeat, and Steve will treasure every second, every moment of proof he can get that they’re both still alive, together. That’s not torture when it’s all he’s got left. That’s worth everything. 

“There’s only a couple hours left of this loop,” Steve mutters wearily. “Can we please not waste it arguing with each other?” 

Eddie sighs in surrender, a slow, controlled huff like he’s still seething a little, but Steve can feel the worst of his anger beginning to curb into something softer. After a moment, the bed dips beside him and an arm slides around his shoulders. “I’m sorry,” Eddie says. He tugs Steve close and presses a kiss into his hair. “I don’t think you’re an idiot. I think you’ve just got too much heart for your own good, and I’m flattered that I mean so much to you. But…I also think that you need to let me go.”

Steve opens his eyes to Eddie’s soft, sad ones. It’s unbearable. He ducks his head, settling it onto Eddie’s shoulder and burrowing even further against his side. “Yeah,” Steve exhales a humorless laugh, “you’ve said that before too.” 

“And you’ve never listened,” Eddie says the obvious part out loud.

“No,” Steve confirms. His eyes close again, exhaustion pulling at him. “I don’t want you to die.” 

“Well, shit, sweetheart,” Eddie gives a dry, shaky laugh of his own, “I don’t want me to die either. I’m kind of really fucking terrified actually. I mean, given what we’re up against, I’m sure it’s gruesome and horrible—and don’t tell me,” he adds quickly when Steve starts to open his mouth to comment. “But you already know, don’t you, because it’s already happened for you. I’m already dead. I’m just…I’m nothing but a ghost to you now.” 

“No, you’re real,” Steve insists. He shifts to wrap both arms around Eddie’s waist and rest his head against Eddie’s chest, right over his heart. It’s beating a bit fast now—contemplating your own mortality will do that to you—but it’s beating, it’s beating. “You’re not a ghost. You’re alive.” 

“Only for these three days,” Eddie says, quiet with the effort of keeping his voice steady. “That’s not living, that- that’s not life, it’s just an echo of it. Countless echoes, but the real me is already gone. You have to let me go.”

“Don’t say that.” Steve holds him tighter, desperately, throat closing up with panic and grief just at the thought of losing him again. He buries his face in the dingy, unwashed fabric of Eddie’s Hellfire Club shirt like an ostrich burying its head in the sand. “Stop saying that. Just let me keep you.” 

“Oh, Stevie,” Eddie whispers, and he holds him tighter too, his other hand coming up to run gentle fingers through Steve’s hair, “my Stevie, I’d let you keep me forever. But not like this. Not if I can’t keep you too, and especially not if keeping me is keeping you from living your life. I need you to live, Steve.”

“And I need you to live, Eddie,” Steve counters, mumbled petulantly into Eddie’s chest. This conversation is going in circles and Steve wishes Eddie would just let him sleep. He’d be lulled off in seconds by Eddie’s warmth and his soft hands if only he’d stop talking and making Steve want to cry.

“Steve-” 

“Stop,” he begs, voice breaking into something just short of a whine as it passes through the lump of emotion in his throat. He doesn’t want to hear this anymore. 

“Steve, look at me.” Eddie tugs lightly at Steve’s hair to get him to lift his head, pushes gently at his shoulder to peel him away from Eddie’s side. Steve tries to fall back into him, but Eddie’s hand slides from his hair and holds his chin up with firm fingers, forcing Steve to remain locked in Eddie’s intense gaze. Which would be incredibly hot if only the circumstances weren’t so devastating. 

Steve has to look at him now, no matter how tumultuous an ache it leaves in his chest. Eddie’s face is tear-stained, water tracks tracing streaks in the layer of grime left there from all the trials of the past few days, but his expression is hard-set, determination and resolve pulled tight over all the quivering emotions behind it. Steve has never seen him look so grave, so serious and sad and scared all at once. And even like this, he’s beautiful. 

“I don’t want to die. There is so much more I want to do with my life, and if I have any choice at all in the matter, I’m gonna fight like hell to keep it; I can promise you that,” Eddie tells him, words a little rough around the edges with how much he means them. “But if everything you’ve told me is true—if I really am doomed, if I’m already dead—if I can’t live, then you have to. Not just the same three days on repeat, none of this time loop bullshit, I mean really, actually live. If you do anything for me, do that. Let the sun rise, let me have my last day, and go have the best fucking life.” He speaks emphatically, urging, demanding, pleading. His unwavering eyes never leave Steve’s, even as fresh tears well up and collect in beads on his lashes. “Please. Can you promise me that?”

Steve manages a tiny, noncommittal nod and pitches forward to pull Eddie into a kiss—if nothing else just to shut him up, but also, maybe, just in case this time it might really be their last. It certainly feels like a last kiss, has all the desperation of one, all the clumsy fervor and salty taste of tears.

But Eddie recognizes it as the evasion it is and doesn’t let him get away with it. Though he indulges the distraction with equal, if not more, desperation for several long moments, he soon pushes Steve back. “Promise me,” he says again, a bit breathlessly now but still just as serious. “I need you to promise me you’ll let the sun rise. Don’t just placate me, don’t just shut me up, promise me.” 

Steve’s stubborn tears finally spill over as for the first time he finds himself truly considering it. For the first time, his denial is not as immediate; for the first time, Eddie’s words and pleas have started to sink in somewhere he can’t ignore, and he knows, somewhere deep, that he should let go, he should move on. If only the idea didn’t make his whole body shake and the monster of his grief tighten its claws around his heart.

They look at each other with haunted eyes, hold each other with trembling hands. Just a couple of scared kids—Eddie scared to die and Steve scared to live without him, both of them trying hard to have the courage to face the inevitability. But Eddie has always been the braver of them (though he’ll never quite know it), and being in a time loop has made an excellent liar out of Steve. 

“I promise,” he says, with enough softness and sincerity that Eddie lets him kiss him and curl up close again without any more argument. They whisper goodbyes to each other instead of goodnight as they lay down to sleep, Steve settling his head back on Eddie’s chest and finally drifting off wrapped blissfully in his arms. 

He wakes up on Monday, March 24th, and he tells himself it’s only for a little while longer. 

[accio-victuuri]

“last two days in shanghai”: A completely fake series of events typed up by a cpf. 🤡🤡🤡

well, i think the title of this post is disclaimer enough as it is. lol. i’ve initially talked about this here and here. this will be about the events that happened after the second link. so it’s the morning of the race and there are videos of wyb and xz here and there. i am actually slightly changing my stance on xz’s intention. i think he wants us to know that he is there. enough to be photographed leaving his hotel and nothing else. the usual plausible deniability card he and yibo are so good at.

so let’s start with a run down of events: we all know yibo won. by 5:00 PM we had videos of WYB’s win already. it was a happy affair. then around 8PM we received news that WYB is nominated for Huabiao Awards. after that, we got some talk of XZ attending Stefanie Sun’s concert at around 9:30. this was later confirmed by videos and XZ posted about it himself so much later in the day. please note that the 9:30 time when was the news made it to the internet, when it actually happened was earlier.

now here comes the clownery-interpretation.

no one knows where xz is after he left his hotel. yibo already won by 5PM, tho there was still time in the podium. so was that enough time for him to attend Stefanie Sun’s concert? absolutely. please see below:

so proximity wise. it’s very possible. there are also talks of how xz came in late. some attendees said he was there during the 3rd part of the concert, and was seen leaving the audience section before the program ended. well, i’m thinking he might have already been there, backstage or whatever VIP section earlier. people only learned he was there when he came out and stefanie mentioned him. this is his idol and his fandom lol so i would imagine that he wanted be there on time. tho being a bit late is okay too cause he still had to spend time with his champion racer boyfriend 🙄🙄🙄😤😤😤 there is a repo from a concert goer that he left around 9PM. yibo on the other hand was seen leaving the track at 9:30. so coordinated!

xz was again spotted returning to his hotel at around 11PM. so it is possible that xz watched wyb’s race, watch the concert and they still had time to go celebrate. 🎉🎉🎉🎉

XZ being spotted at a concert is the perfect alibi of sorts. he can say he was there to attend the concert. but if you look closely and observe the time, there is a huge window that is unexplained. Of course i’m not removing the fact that XZ did want to go. this specific concert is to celebrate her 25th year anniversary as a singer so it’s really special and any fan would surely want to watch. but it also happens to line up perfectly with bobo’s race.

now i’ll quickly run down a few cpns floating around……

first is how the caption is formatted, it’s so similar to yibo’s birthday post

the photo of the nutcracker that he shared was during the song 真的 ( really ). maybe he just liked how it looked but the song itself is pretty telling. if we are talking about this and interpreting it in the CPN context. that weekend specifically, they both had to go through a lot to spend time together. but they did. love is not always easy!

⬇️⬇️⬇️⬇️

i love his caption for the concert but i have a feeling that the last part was for someone else. for his racing win and the awards nomination.

I fly forward, fly across a sea of ​​time, and the best youth is you. I wish you happiness every day! Forever!

He specifically mentioned this song 尚好的青春 that she did not sing during the concert. but of course it’s important to him and yibo cause this was the song he performed during the 11.11 concert where WYB was supposed to introduce him 😭😭😭😭

https://youtu.be/B2cF9NzGO0Y?si=pB_aOWI0jkkELQR2

i’ll stop here and there’s probably some more if you clown hard enough 😋😋😋 you can also add him talking about being a “shining adult” and how that related to Chen Shuo.

Moving on —Sunday, was another race day and sadly, yibo couldn’t continue competing. he made it in time to attend Huabiao Awards. XZ then went back to Beijing and was spotted around 10PM. again. so much time in between for XZ to watch Bobo again!

what a great weekend in shanghai 😉😉😉

lastly, i wanna address the cpn about the black tent. some are saying that it’s a possible place for xz to be in there but was later was said to be where tires are stored. others are saying that for sports like this, the emergency contact should be present. i was holding off talking about that cause when cpfs are hyped up, we tend to over interpret. and that’s dangerous. we all fall for that one way or another, and i think it takes time to be more discerning. all cpn pieces should be taken as what they are — cpn. made up. fiction. i don’t know how i can make people understand that xz being there is not a fact. it’s not a matter of what “evidence” was there or whatever “washing” was done. the default fact is that xz wasn’t there.

so i hope people will not be too glass hearted when a different explanation for cpns comes up. this is all fiction. we won’t know. just enjoy the fandom! don’t take it too seriously. 💛💛💛

-END.

[theweasleytwinsownmyjuicyass]

Ashes and pine | D.D.

Daryl Dixon x reader

Summary: You and Daryl have been friends since you were both much younger. But lately Daryl's been noticing how his annoying little friend has become a girl he can't keep his eyes and mind off (not that he wants to).

Warnings: age gap (reader is 18, Daryl is 26), lil touchy touchy action but not too much hehe.

Word count: ~2,2K

A/N: Wassup my babygirls. I think its gonna be very obvious that I dedicate my life to Daryl Dixon, like sir plz step on me??? I know I ain't the only one wishing to find a man like this irl (also manifesting this every day now cuz I deserve to have what i want hehe). Hope y'all like this and there will be more😘.

The pavement shimmered in waves under the high summer sun, the kind of heat that made your skin stick to the inside of your clothes and your patience run thin. Even the birds had gone quiet, everything slowing down under the oppressive weight of the day.

Daryl’s truck rumbled along the cracked road, the windows down, his arm draped out the side. Sweat clung to the back of his neck, and the tattered flannel he wore over a sleeveless tee was already sticking to his spine. He wasn’t headed anywhere in particular—just driving, trying to keep his head clear, the buzz of the heat a dull roar in his ears.

And then he saw you.

You.

Walking along the edge of the road, barefoot and flushed from the sun, your hair tied in a messy ponytail at the back of your head, and wearing the smallest pair of shorts he’d ever seen. You had a bag slung over one shoulder, your tank top damp at the collar, sticking to you in a way that made Daryl have to blink twice and look away just to catch his breath.

He pulled the truck up beside you, tires crunching the gravel.

“Well, ain’t you a sight,” he said, voice rough with a smirk on the edge. “World’s cookin’ and you out here walkin’ like it’s nothin’.”

You shaded your eyes with one hand, squinting at him through a smile. “My dad took the car,” you said, shrugging. “Didn’t think home was that far till the sun started trying to murder me.”

Daryl leaned across the seat and pushed the passenger door open. “C’mon. Hop in, girl. Gonna fry that pretty head of yours.”

“Calling me pretty now huh?” you teased, climbing in with a grateful sigh, the scent of sunscreen and heat clinging to you.

He didn’t answer—just looked straight ahead and swallowed.

He didn’t bring you home.

He drove.

Miles beyond the neighborhood. Past the gas stations and busted-up stores. Out into the green edge of nowhere. The silence between you two was easy, filled with shared glances and you playing with the dials on his radio like it was yours. At some point, you ended up near the lake — one he used to come to as a kid — a place that felt forgotten.

He parked under the trees, the water still and blue, golden light dripping across the surface as the sun started to sink.

You kicked your legs out of the truck and stood with a soft sigh, stretching your arms over your head. “It’s beautiful,” you whispered.

“Yeah,” Daryl murmured, but he wasn’t looking at the water.

You turned to him, that mischievous glint in your eyes. “Let’s go for a swim.”

His brows lifted. “Swim?”

“It’s hot,” you said, already walking toward the edge of the water. “We’re sweaty. I’m dying. The water’s probably perfect.”

Daryl scratched the back of his neck, glancing down at himself. “I, uh… didn’t exactly bring a suit.”

You looked back over your shoulder and smirked. “Good thing we’re both wearin’ underwear, then.”

That made him freeze.

You peeled your tank top over your head in one smooth motion and dropped it to the grass, revealing a simple black bra beneath—nothing fancy, but on you, it might as well have been goddamn silk. Then the shorts came off, and you waded into the water like it was nothing.

“C’mon, Dixon!” you called out, turning and splashing him playfully. “Don’t make me come drag your ass in.”

He cursed under his breath, heart hammering.

But he couldn’t say no to you. He never could.

With a deep sigh, he tugged off his flannel, then his shirt, his boots, and finally stepped out of his jeans, walking to the water in his boxers, arms crossed like it would shield him from the way you were looking at him now.

you floated toward him, body half-submerged, skin shimmering in the gold light, eyes following his every move like a cat. “See?” you said softly. “Perfect.”

He stepped in slow, the cool hitting his skin like a blessing. You were so close now. Too close. The water rippled around you as you reached for him, your fingers curling around his wrist as you laughed and tried to pull him deeper.

Daryl’s heart nearly exploded when your hands slid around his neck, legs gently looping behind him, wrapping herself around him like you’d done it a hundred times before.

“You’re tense,” you giggled, softly digging your hands into his back muscles.

“I wonder why,” he grunted, his arms instinctively catching you as you leaned back in the water, you head nearly weightless, hair floating like seaweed.

And you smiled up at him, eyes soft as cotton candy.

“I like being with you, Daryl,” you whispered.

He stared down at you, jaw clenching tight, his hands gripping your thighs like he was trying not to fall apart. Everything inside him was screaming. Not to ruin it. Not to break the spell. But how could he not love you in this moment?

How could he not want to kiss you until he forgot every reason he ever told himself not to?

And yet… he didn’t.

Not yet.

He just held you. Let you float in his arms like something fragile, something his rough hands weren’t supposed to hold.

But god—he wanted to.

The hours stretched like warm honey, slow and golden. You two stayed in the water long after the sun dipped lower in the sky, turning everything around them into amber and fire. The lake had gone still, glassy and quiet, as if it, too, was holding its breath.

You floated on your back again, arms splayed wide, face turned toward the fading sky. The pinks and purples painted over you like soft brushstrokes, and every now and then you'd flutter your fingers just to make little ripples fan out around you.

Daryl sat on the warm sand, arms resting on his knees, watching you in a silence that settled deep in his chest. The water glowed around you, casting an orange light against you skin, damp hair fanning out like a halo in the lake.

“Dixon,” you called suddenly, still floating, not even opening your eyes. “If you could have anything right now—like anything—what would it be?”

He huffed a breath through his nose, thoughtful. “A cold beer. A bed with real sheets. And maybe... I dunno. Peace. Quiet in my head.”

You smiled, your lashes fluttering open lazily. “That’s deep.”

He threw a small rock toward the water, not at you, just close enough to splash.

“What about you?”

You turned slowly in the water, lazily treading toward the center again. “Hmm… air conditioning. My mom’s blueberry pie. And… maybe... a future that doesn’t scare me.”

That last one made his throat feel tight.

You weren’t looking at him when you said it, but he saw your shoulders tense, just slightly.

“You scared now?” he asked, voice low.

You glanced back at him. “Not right now.”

The quiet stretched between you two again, but it wasn’t awkward. It was full. Full of things they weren’t saying yet. Things they both felt threading into their bones like roots.

Then Daryl stood.

He didn’t say anything, didn’t even brush the sand off his legs—just walked into the lake again, slow, deliberate, until the water reached his waist. You turned, surprised, but didn’t move away. Instead, you treaded closer to meet him.

And when you got close enough, he pulled you to him without a word. His hands found the small of your back and tugged you in, your legs naturally wrapping around his waist again like you belonged there—like you’d always belonged there.

You blinked up at him, water clinging to your lashes, mouth parted slightly.

He shifted his grip, strong arms circling you completely now, your chest pressing to his, damp skin sticking to his own. He turned just enough so he could lean back against a shallower slope, where the lake curved upward, and let you rest against him—his head dropping to your chest, ear pressed just above our heart.

Your arms came around his neck slowly, fingers playing with his damp hair, stroking through the strands, brushing over the warm skin at the back of his neck. Every now and then you traced lazy lines across his shoulders, and he felt his entire body exhale into you.

You held him like he was something that needed holding. And maybe he did.

The sky faded into night above them, the last colors sinking away.

“I could stay like this forever,” you whispered.

His fingers gently gripped the curve of your spine, pulling you in just a breath closer.

“Me too.”

And though he didn’t say it out loud, that was the moment he knew.

That he was already yours. That his heart had been walking beside you all this time. That nothing—not even the heat of the sun or the quiet of the lake—had ever made him feel more at peace than you holding him in your arms, in the middle of nowhere, in the middle of forever.

The lake was cooling now, the air turning dusk-sweet with the hum of insects and the quiet rustle of leaves. They lingered longer than they should’ve, tucked together in the water like time didn’t exist. But eventually, you stirred, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of Daryl’s head.

“We should go.”

He grunted quietly, reluctant, arms tightening around you one last time before letting go. You smiled down at him as he pulled himself up onto the bank, dripping wet and sun-kissed.

You climbed out after him, shivering slightly in the breeze. You reached for your clothes, but Daryl paused, tugged the worn gray t-shirt over his head, and tossed it to you without saying anything. Just a quick look, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“Here.”

You caught it, blinking. “You’ll drive shirtless?”

He gave you a tiny smirk. “Ain’t the worst thing I’ve done.”

You tugged the shirt on over your damp skin—it was too big, of course, hanging off one shoulder, smelling faintly of pine, gasoline, and Daryl. It felt like wearing armor. Like safety. You didn't know why it made your chest ache in the sweetest way, but it did.

As they walked back to the truck, you kept sneaking glances at him—shirtless, the golden hour light catching the edges of him. The sharp lines of muscle, the few scattered scars, his damp hair falling over his eyes. And he didn’t say much, but you felt the way his eyes kept flicking back to you too.

By the time they climbed into the truck, the world was melting into twilight.

The windows were rolled down, the warm wind slipping through, carrying the scents of summer and quiet country roads. Daryl’s left hand rested on the wheel, and his right was idle at first, until something shifted.

A bump in the road, maybe a bug. A little jolt. You, already sitting with your legs drawn up into the seat, let out a small sound and leaned into him instinctively, your head brushing his shoulder.

Daryl didn’t say a word.

But his right hand moved—just a simple, natural movement—and settled gently on your knees, holding them in place. Not tight. Not possessive. Just… there. Solid. Steady.

You let out a slow breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, heart quietly thudding your chest. You turned our face slightly, resting it against his upper arm, hair brushing against his skin. You could feel the warmth of him all along your side.

Neither of you spoke. The world had gone hushed, the hum of the engine the only sound between you two. Your fingers gently curled into the fabric of his shirt—the one you were wearing—and for a moment, you just closed your eyes.

Daryl glanced at you, his chest tight, one corner of his mouth twitching up. The way you curled into him, like he was a place you could rest—that did something to him. Something he didn’t have the words for.

He held your knees a little tighter now, brushing your skin with his fingertips.

And in that perfect, quiet ride back—his hand on you, yours tucked up against him, both of them thinking too many soft things they couldn’t say—the world felt far away. Like the two of you had carved out a moment just for themselves. Something small. Sacred.

Daryl drove slower than he needed to, dragging out the drive, not ready for it to end.

And long after they pulled back into town, long after you slipped inside your house with flushed cheeks and a sleepy smile, Daryl sat alone in his truck, head tipped back, heart doing strange things in his chest.

He was already dreaming of the next time he’d see you.

[otsalezu]

College Cat AU Sneak Peak

This is just chapter one! These chapters are gonna be shorter than the Crashing Down ones, as this is mostly a fun side fic based off of @dark-lord-of-awesomeness Cat Stan AU! Okay chapter below the cut cuz its pretty long

Fiddleford Hadron McGucket, who was raised a proper Christian boy, knew all sorts of things about demons. He grew up hearing stories and urban legends about them and being taught to never trust anything that seemed like one. He wasn’t, however, told that they would come in the form of his college campus’ honorary mascot.

It had all started during the first few weeks of his and Ford’s second year at Backupsmore. Fiddleford had been heading towards his engineering class when, with a start, he realized he’d forgotten his thermos of coffee. He’d cursed a bit, checking his watch and deciding that it was worth the risk of being a little late. The professor, a fellow Southerner with a similar passion for the subject, loved him enough to excuse the odd tardiness. He hadn’t thought much of the rustling that came from the dorm, thinking that Ford had simply also forgotten something. When he neared the door, he’d thought his first prediction was correct. The man going through his desk had Ford’s face and curls. However, that was where the resemblance ended. Stubble lined his worn face, and glasses didn’t rest upon his crooked and obviously previously broken nose. His hair was long and matted, splayed around his shoulders in a greasy mullet. The clothes that hung off of him were too casual and threadbare to be from Ford’s closet. And the final discovery, the one that hammered home the wrongness for Fiddleford, were the man’s hands. Five fingers each, he noted with horror, as the man picked up his driver’s license and snorted.

“Heh. Diddlefuck Hard-on McSuckit.”

Despite the situation, Fiddleford made an offended noise. Jokes about his name were nothing new, but hearing a stranger who’d broken into his dorm make them must have been the final straw. The figure turned towards him, cursed loudly, and then…disappeared? No, he hadn’t disappeared. He’d simply changed. Where the man had once stood was now Nikola, the campus cat. In its mouth was the driver’s license, which dropped to the floor as the cat made a run for the door. Fiddleford quickly scooped him up, before remembering the situation and dropping him again like a hot coal.

“You! Just what in the hell are you?!”

“It’s a cat, F. Are you feeling alright?”

Ford pushed past him, and the cat quickly escaped as he did. The two men were left alone in the room to survey the mess on the desk.

“Moses, did a bomb go off in here?”

“I–the cat–you were–”

“Really? The cat? You’re telling me Nikola opened these drawers and took out all the papers?”

“He was a man!”

Ford gave him a cautious side-eye,

“Are you…?”

“God dammit Ford, I’m not high!”

“...Whatever you say. Don’t you have a class?”

“Don’t you?”

“The professor was sick, and I heard yelling. Which was apparently you terrorizing Nikola. What’s your excuse?”

“I’m…”

Fiddleford rubbed his head. Had he really just hallucinated the whole thing? The mess on the desk could have been a prank, and sleep had been scarce lately. It was more likely he was seeing things than the campus cat being a shapeshifting Ford look-alike.

“I’m not feelin’ too good.”

“Clearly. Do you need anything?”

“Nah, don’t worry about it. Probably just a migraine.”

“Alright. I’m headed off to the library.”

And that had been the end of that, or so he’d thought. Seeing “Nikola” around campus—especially their dorm—became a common occurrence for him. Going through their things, eating unattended leftovers in the cafeteria, lurking around the local cafes. The man would grin at him and wave, before being replaced by that familiar shaggy brown cat. This was frustrating enough. He was never able to get a camera out fast enough to take a picture, and the man always seemed to stay far from Ford. In human form, that was. Ford adored the hellspawn in cat form, often letting the cat sit on his shoulders or lap during study sessions. Sure, Nikola may have been the campus cat, but most people thought he belonged to Ford. It was a fair assumption, the way the cat always made a beeline for him.

Now, about four months into the year, Fiddleford was running out of ideas. Nikola and Ford seemed to only get more fond of each other, which was making Fiddleford’s job of subtly protecting Ford from the demon harder than ever. He’d started by keeping around a rosary…which disappeared from his nightstand the next day and appeared around the neck of the man. He’d laughed—laughed!—and mouthed a smug “thanks”, before turning back into the cat. He doubted he’d be able to catch the cat for an exorcism, not that he wanted to touch it at all. Any indication he gave to Ford that the cat may be dangerous was met with incredulity and a lighthearted jab about the first day Fiddleford had seen it shift. He was really, truly, at the end of his rope. He had begun absentmindedly sketching the design for a holy water spraying robot when Ford burst in, grinning.

“Fidds, what do you know about anomalies?”