#black balloons tag

[darling-i-read-it]

Please Don't Kill Me Mr. Ghostface!

Ethan Landry x fem!reader

Word Count: 2.8k 

Warnings: SCREAM 6 SPOILERS 

Very susceptible reader, Ethan’s reaction to Richies death, heavy insinuations to smut, faking the reader and Quinn's death, the slight cringe from scream movies dialogue <3, they literally have sex in the stab shrine room (when will it be my turn), (that is all skipped over), me being unsure of which ghostface was at which part of the movie. I have only seen Scream 6 once and was just going off what I remembered from it! So if things are wrong (timing, Ghostfaces, etc) then I’m sorry! 

Author’s Note: This one requires some suspension of belief lol. I don’t know HOW to justify the reader doing all these things except Ethan was cute and this is fiction <3 I hope you enjoy love!! Also I wasn’t 100% sure on if Ethan’s name was Landry or Bailey. I went with Landry (which I’m sure is fake but what we all know him as! So when I refer to the house under that name, I was torn lol)

Requested by anon, ooh ok so can i request ethan x reader where reader is in on the ghostface thing (but she’s not killing people she just knows about it) and like helps them with stuff (maybe with like faking quinn’s death and stuff like that idk) but also it’s somehow fluffy relationship stuff in there too lol (sorry it’s kinda all over the place😬)

I don’t own these characters. They belong to author/director/creator

(not my gif)

You were laying on the back on Ethan’s bed, scrolling mindlessly through your phone. His room was as familiar to you as your own was. You had practically grown up at the Landry’s home, going to school together for your entire lives and staying close to Ethan throughout it all. Once you had hit your senior year in high school, it seemed only fate the two of you would start to date.

You put down your phone with a gentle huff. Ethan was sitting in front of his computer, doing homework. You turned your head to face him, trying to telepathically ask for attention. As if he could read your mind, he spoke. 

“Give me five more minutes.” 

“I told you taking chemistry for your lab credit was dumb,” you said gently, wanting to sneak in an ‘I told you so’ but also not wanting to agitate him. He was brilliant but he couldn’t always grasp the concepts he had too. You suspected some sort of undiagnosed learning disorder but you were far from a doctor. You were just his best friend. 

“I don’t remember you being there when I picked classes,” he said quietly. You rolled your eyes. 

“I was there in spirit.” You grabbed your phone again, flipping onto your stomach. You opened it back up, looking past the screensaver of you and Ethan over the summer before, when you had been on vacation with his family. You reopened Instagram to continue your doom scroll. The first story you opened was that of a friend from school. 

You usually skipped through them, not even registering what they said, but paused at the large bolded letters over a black screen. 

Rip Richie <3 

You didn’t deserve to be caught up in that. 

You squinted, trying to place a Richie that you knew. The first that came to your mind was Ethan’s older brother but just as quickly as the thought came it left. It couldn’t have been him. He was with his girlfriend in Modesto or something. Plus, how would this rando in high school know before you and Ethan? You kept flicking through your friend's stories, confused. Someone had posted a blurry picture of some sort of a crime scene. It was clearly reposted over and over so the picture itself was almost lost. You squinted and then opened your google app.

“Okay I’m done,” Ethan said, shutting his laptop with triumph. “I’m gonna ace that test tomorrow.” He looked over your face and could read you with ease. Something was wrong - or at the very least, confusing. “What?” 

You googled Richies name. A flood of reports came up. Your lips parted in surprise as you looked up at Ethan. 

“What?” he repeated. Before you could explain, his phone rang. You both looked towards where it was resting on the bed beside you. You picked it up. A picture of his dads face was on the screen. 

“Oh God,” you whispered, unable to contain it. 

“What?!” He grabbed his phone and answered it quickly. You sat up, tossing your phone aside and getting off the bed. You knew right now that he was going to be grieving more than you. You had to be there for him. “Hello? Dad?” You stood beside him and watched as his face fell according to the muffled voice coming from the receiver. His eyes were laced with confusion and then a flash of pain. “What do you mean Richie-” He was cut off. 

There were a few more words and then his eyes went dead with emotion. You weren’t sure what to do so you stood beside him. He hung up the phone after a moment and then looked up at you. 

“Richie?” He nodded. His mouth was ajar, stunned. He threw his arms around you and you embraced each other as he stood up. “What happened?” you questioned. He was silent. You didn’t think you were going to get an answer until he spoke, quietly. 

“He was murdered.” 

-

“It’s actually kind of easy to rig the roommate system,” you muttered, sitting at a chair in front of your computer. The room behind you was filled with the remaining Landry’s. 

You turned around to the curious eyes. 

“So he’s in?” Wayne questioned. You nodded. 

“He is going to be Chads Meeks-Martin’s roommate,” you explained. He slapped you on the back in approval. You had always been on good terms with Wayne. He was the kind of dad who would ask if you had a boyfriend and then wink at his son after the question. He had been slightly overjoyed when Ethan told him you were dating. This came only after, he caught you and Ethan making out in his bedroom. It was mortifying but he was pretty okay about it. 

“Thanks kid.” 

Wayne was not on board with telling you about the trio of Ghostfaces he had planned but Ethan insisted. You had been there when he found out about Richie and you had been there through all of his hardships. 

“And you’re okay with coming around my place when we have to…you know…” Quinn made a gesture of slitting her own throat. “I mean, I need someone to drag my body out of there while my dad brings a new one.” 

You tried to ignore your moral dilemma to this. Ethan had promised you wouldn’t be implicated in any of this. But sometimes when Wayne looked at you during this you knew that you would go down with them if he went down. You were in on this now. You couldn’t exactly back out. 

“Yeah, no problem.” 

Quinn smiled brightly. She was slightly too excited about this. Part of you still didn’t think it was actually going to happen. You couldn’t imagine Ethan actually killing anyone, even when his eyes lit up while talking about it. 

“For Richie,” Ethan promised, placing a hand on your back. You nodded, getting up and out of your seat. You gestured to the computer. 

“I didn’t think this is what I would be doing with my computer science classes,” you admitted. Ethan smiled gently at you, ever soft, even when planning people’s literal murders. 

“For some reason I feel like she’s gonna have no problem faking our deaths but is gonna have a major problem not getting to hang out with Ethan everyday,” Quinn teased. You rolled your eyes. You wouldn’t be able to see him when he’s hanging out with his new group of friends. At least, you would have to act like you didn’t know him as closely as you actually did. You were meant to be Quinn’s friend in all of this. 

Wayne was grabbing papers off the table, presumably planning. He actively tried to burn everything after memorizing it. You thought it was dumb of him to write anything else. 

“You gonna be okay?” Ethan questioned, jokingly. You rolled your eyes. 

“You shouldn’t be worried about me E. I’m not the clingy one in this relationship.” 

-

Sam and Tara shouldn’t have been as nice as they were. You recognized the hate in Sam's eyes, the paranoia that was justified. She was out, attempting to get Tara from a party she went to. You sat in the apartment with Quinn. She was working through some homework. You were still amazed she did all that during this planning. 

You walked around her room, making sure that all of the blood that needed to come out, would come out. You liked to double check. You blamed the nerves. 

“Is he supposed to be here soon?” Quinn questioned. You glanced back at her. 

“You know we aren’t supposed to talk that much over the phone.” You were standing on top of her bed. Everything was in place for when your Ghostface arrived. You hopped down. She turned away from her computer. 

“I know you’re not supposed to. I also know he can’t help himself.” You rolled your eyes. 

“Soon. Within the hour,” you admitted. She left her computer open, to show that she was ambushed. You and Quinn were supposed to die tonight at the hands of Ghostface. After Sam and Tara left, he would sneak in and find you both, unsuspecting and oh so helpless. By the time the sisters returned home, you would both be dead, or close to it.

You glanced down at your phone which was still open to your texts with Ethan. 

Can’t wait to stick something in you tonight ;) 

You rolled your eyes, flushed, and turned off your phone. 

Quinn helped you to make sure everything would look as realistic as possible. She explained, again, that they would blame Sam for all of this. Once she was dead and Richie’s death had been paid for, the two of you would be able to return to society as though Ghostface had held you captive. 

You were too far in to back out now. 

You heard the front door open. Quinn shut her blinds so that no one would see Ethan maskless. It had been a couple of weeks since the two of you had been alone (or alone with Quinn). He walked in through the front door, which Sam had left unlocked in her rush, and quickly made his way to Quinn’s room. 

You met him halfway, throwing your arms around him. His laughter was muffled by the voice changer. You took his mask off of him, eager to get your lips on his. You couldn’t believe you were really doing this. You couldn’t believe your boyfriend was going to fake kill you. 

He kissed you before you could get to it. 

“Alright alright love birds,” Quinn grumbled. “Get in the closet Ethan, the girls are gonna be back soon.” 

“Will you give us one sec?” Ethan questioned. Quinn looked like she wanted to argue but knew that an argument would just continue this further than she wanted to. You stood outside of her door, leaving it ajar. He looked around carefully to make sure no windows were in view. You were alone. 

You took the mask from him. You felt it in your fingers. You hadn’t seen him in the outfit yet. You had seen Quinn and you had seen his dad but you hadn’t ever seen him in the full get up. 

“You’re so scary,” you whispered, a buzz in your voice. “I would be terrified.” 

“Are you scared?” He put the mask up to his face. “What’s your favorite scary movie?” You scrunched your nose, shaking your head. 

“What’s that part in the first Stab?” You thought for a minute, pressing yourself up against him. He looked at you with adoration in his eyes. He had missed you desperately. You had grown up together and spending a long time apart was proving to be more difficult than he thought it would be. “Please don’t kill me Mr. Ghostface. I wanna be in the sequel!” 

He chuckled lowly and clutched your face, leaning over to kiss you. You let him, relishing in his lips. Who knew when he would slip away again to see you. You would be sentenced to hiding until all of this was over. He placed his other hand on your side, holding you in his grasp. 

“Alright you two! Andele, andele!” Quinn opened up the door. He let you go. You grabbed the mask with both of your hands, rubbing it with your thumb. It was scary. It wouldn’t be hard to act the part. 

“You ready to die?” he asked but his voice was so gentle it was almost comical. It was like he was checking in on you. 

“Yes sir.” 

You put the mask over his face and then he was no longer your boyfriend. He was Ghostface. You slipped into Quinn’s room and prepared for your end. 

-

“Maybe I should’ve joined in on the killing,” you muttered, looking up at the ceiling. You were stuck in the Ghostface shrine that Richie had created. It was fun for a while, considering there was so much to look at, but there were only so many times the Stab movies were interesting to watch. Quinn came and went but mostly went. You weren’t sure where Wayne was keeping her otherwise. 

The burner phone in your pocket buzzed. You quickly reached for it. 

“Hello?” 

“Lemme up.” 

You knew that voice. You also knew he wasn’t supposed to be anywhere near here until much later. This room wasn’t even supposed to be found yet. He hung up the phone. You walked to the elevator and pushed the button to lower it. It took a few minutes but you heard it come back after a while. 

Ethan practically threw the gate open. 

“What are you doing here?” 

He threw his arms around you. 

“Those people are really fucking annoying.” You scoffed. You were grateful for the company but not at the behest of his cover. “I missed you.”

“Does your dad know you’re here?”

“I’m supposed to be in a study group.” 

“Skipping study group to see me? Tsk, tsk Ethan.”

“Shush.” 

He dipped his head to kiss you. You put your hands on his cheeks. You melted into him. You tried to imagine what Quinn would’ve said if she was here. Probably some crude joke that all three of you knew to be true in the end. 

You pulled away from him and kissed his jaw as you did so. 

“Bet you’ve never made out in the Stab shrine before,” he questioned jokingly. You scoffed. 

“Alright Ethan,” you scoffed. “How are you feeling?” 

“I don’t wanna talk about feelings,” he whined. “I have to be back soon.” 

“You came all the way up here to have sex in front of all these dead peoples possessions?” He paused. He knew how that sounded. He also knew he had faked your death. He wasn’t super sure how to handle this one. 

“Yes?” 

You narrowed your eyes. 

“I’m not gonna see you before the whole big thing. You sure you don’t wanna talk about it?”

“Pillowtalk,” he breathed. You pretended to think. 

“You’re lucky you’re cute.”

-

You sat up against the wall of the backrooms. You dragged him away from the prying eyes of all the killer memorabilia. 

“Are you scared?” you questioned. He had his head resting in your lap. He had to leave soon, you both knew it. 

“No,” he said quietly. “My dad will be there. He wouldn’t let us die when he’s with us.” You were brushing your fingers through his curls. You looked down at his big doe eyes, a faint smile on your face. 

“I’m scared.” 

“Don’t be.” 

“You can’t stop me,” you promised. He rolled his eyes. He hummed pleasantly from your touch. “You’ll be safe, yeah?”

“I’m going to kill someone.”

“I know. I know.” You tried not to think of it. You couldn’t imagine his eyes going black, killing people without remorse. Even when he was rushing at you with the knife, you knew he was just Ethan. “I still want you to be safe.”

“I’ll be safe.” 

“You have to go.” He groaned. You pushed him gently so he would get off of you. You would be stuck here. Maybe you would have another Stab marathon. You were beginning to like even the shitty ones. Stab 3 started to become an odd comfort. “I’ll be here when you’re done.” 

“You promise?” 

“Yeah E. I promise.”

[lampyoil]

Bored

[degrees-of-lili]

The rest of the NPCs and I definitely have not forgot anyone at all

[shkotoko]

fun

[everymadara]

Chapter 678

[itelya]

Nanami Kento doesn’t usually celebrate Valentine’s Day, as he considers it a commercial holiday. For him, love is proven every day, not just one day a year.

Nanami Kento changes his mind when he sees your enthusiasm for the day approaching. He then decides to give you a special day, just for you. After all, what wouldn’t he do for his pretty girlfriend?

Nanami Kento buys and prepares everything needed to make this day as pleasant as possible. He chooses fresh rose petals, a carefully composed bouquet, ingredients, some decorations, and a gift that he hopes will light up your eyes. He also reserves activities that he is sure you will enjoy.

Today is Valentine’s Day.

Nanami Kento gets up early and discreetly to start preparing breakfast and decorating the room. He takes care of every detail, making sure that everything is perfect.

Nanami Kento is almost done when you wake up, troubled by his absence and drawn by the sweet smell floating in the air.

Nanami Kento hears you cry out in surprise as you discover the balloons hanging from the ceiling and the roses arranged around you.

Nanami Kento smiles as he slowly approaches, his tender gaze fixed on you. Then, without a word, he places a delicate kiss on your forehead and offers you the pretty bouquet with your favorite flowers.

Nanami Kento suddenly lifts you in his arms, as if you weighed nothing, and takes you to the kitchen.

Nanami Kento has prepared a brunch worthy of a five-star hotel. Soft pancakes, fresh fruit, golden pastries, steaming coffee… How could he do all that without you realizing it?

Nanami Kento doesn’t answer, just sitting you on the table, his hands sliding gently over your hips. His gaze on you is so sweet that you can't help but kiss him. He's so cute.

Nanami Kento shares this brunch with you in a peaceful atmosphere. You chat about everything and nothing, simply savoring this moment together.

Later in the day.

Nanami Kento suddenly tells you to get dressed, because he wants to take you somewhere. He takes you to a photo studio, filled with all kinds of sets and accessories.

Nanami Kento observes your excitement and feels a gentle warmth invade him. You take romantic, cute, funny photos. He captures each of your smiles, each of your laughs. His gaze shines with infinite tenderness.

Evening arrives quickly.

Nanami Kento then takes you to a chic and intimate restaurant, chosen with care. He watches your face light up as he discovers the place. His heart melts.

Nanami Kento listens to you talk throughout the meal, but he mostly just watches you. His girlfriend is so pretty.

Nanami Kento waits until dinner is over to take a black box with the brand name in gold out of his pocket and place it in front of you.

Nanami Kento watches your expression change as you open the box and discover a delicate gold necklace, adorned with a small, finely crafted pendant.

Nanami Kento gently brushes your cheek and whispers that this piece of jewelry immediately reminded him of you, elegant and timeless.

Nanami Kento watches you put the necklace around your neck and smiles as he sees how perfectly it fits you.

Nanami Kento admires you one last time before leaning towards you, his gaze burning with barely contained desire.

Nanami Kento has only one thought in mind: to devour you.

happy valentine's day 🌹

This drabble will be adapted into a oneshot so if you want to be tagged comment! ⟢﹒ masterlist

[hazelfoureyes]

Luck (Alastor x Reader smut)

Tags/warnings/promises: Alastor x reader, smut, creampie, attempted kidnapping, justified homicide, mention of the the history of women stabbing men with hat pins, biting, breeding kink if you squint, blood, Luci left on read :(, protective Alastor, cervix bullying, possessive Alastor, outside sex, rough sex, fem reader

minors DNI

This was a two part story, this being part two. But part one just isn’t good enough and I’m tired of waiting lol so here’s the standalone smut, written in a way it can be enjoyed solo

Vox’s ever present eyes noticed a reoccurring face around Alastor, and decided you were an easy way to get under his skin. Alastor manages to find you during the kidnapping but how he finds you sends his gentlemanly resolve unraveling. He had wanted to be gentle, he really had. C’est la vie, hm?

It took nearly 2 months of regular run-ins around Cannibal Town, chats over black coffee and deviled eggs, and some behind the scenes magic by Rosie but you finally enjoyed a dinner with the Radio Demon.

He’d never tell you how he awoke nightly in a panicked sweat, dreams of your soft skin under his nails tormenting him. He had done his absolute best to be just a charming southerner, tiptoeing between flirtatious and polite. Something about asking someone out during the night seemed scandalous and … loaded with implications. But ever since his hands felt your body thrumming beside him during a dance at Rosie’s Birthday Bash in the town square, he felt starved for the opportunity to see you again. You were beautiful in the daylight, yes. But something about the night, the way the shadows seemed to blanket the two of you together, it made him feel wild. He could remember the nights on the prowl during his time on earth, and the rush of being so close to you with so few people around felt so similar.

Rarely did he get a rush of adrenaline anymore, but when you’d shoot a witty retort back at him his heart would balloon against his ribs. The way you looked at him while he spoke, like you were drunk on the sound of his voice, made his fingers tremble. He never wanted anyone to know this, and hoped in some way he’d never have to tell. But then he considered, what face would you make if you ever reached over for his hand across the table? What if you rested your delicate head against this chest and heard the frantic beating? How sweetly would you smile? Smile at him, only?

“Alastor?” You broke him from his trance, noticing the ever so subtle way his smile seemed to loosen around the edges when he was lost in thought.

Dinner was long done, and you’d both managed to stall for a bit as he walked you toward the gates to Cannibal Town. He had insisted he escort you, though he was irked you wouldn’t allow him to wait until your ride had arrived.

If he knew you were staying with Lucifer Morningstar, he’d see you differently somehow. You didn’t want Alastor to think you were chasing powerful men, or to know you slept so close to the King of Hell. Something in your gut said he would find it unattractive.

“Yes, dear?”

You gestured to the gates a couple blocks in front of you, “This is good. You should get home.” Before Luci arrives to take me back to his.

“I intended to take you to the gates.” He looked past you, then back to you. You were so … small in front of him. Not your body or form, just, your existence. So delicate compared to his own strength. The way you looked up at him with your large doe eyes, it practically pained him. You looked so innocent, pure— how he wanted to make your eyes roll as your head lost any semblance of coherent thought. He wanted to corrupt you from the inside out.

“It’s just a couple of blocks.” He lifted his hand to begin to argue, but you cut him off at the head. “Alastor” you said it so softly now, your tone startling him with its gentleness. Had anyone, ever, said his name so sweetly? Since his mother, atleast?

“May I?” You tapped your cheek. His eyebrows rose before knitting together in understanding.

He leaned down and turned his cheek to you. You hummed happily and placed a chaste kiss there. Alastor turned his face toward yours, “In the future, You don’t have to ask for permission, darling.” You tried your best to keep your heart in your chest, and nodded. It was well known he wasn’t fond of physical touch, let alone unexpected touch. Is this how it felt to be an overlord? To claim a piece of someone else, a slice of territory not originally yours? “Two blocks is quite a deal of distance in hell.” He didn’t take his eyes off yours. Your attempt to distract him failed. Of course it did, he was nothing if not persistent.

“I have my weapon.” You lifted the hem of your dress to show a small angelic dagger holstered to your thigh.

“Ah, yes. Ha ha! Some kind of hat pin, I see” His eyes rolled, amused, “Who would dare bother you with such a frightening needle?”

With a glare, you mocked him, “Ha, Ha.” But as you turned to leave you stopped yourself. Every encounter with Alastor felt like it could be your last, as if he’d just disappear entirely. “May I see you tomorrow? I was going to get coffee at Hallowed Grounds around 10.”

“My dear, you couldn’t stop me.” He cooed, “Needle and all.”

“Good night, Alastor”

“Good night.” He didn’t move at first, but after you had made it half way to the gates of what he felt was assured safety, he let himself turn and leave.

His grin touched his ears as he hummed to himself. His cheek felt heavier where you’d kissed him. A part of you lingering with him. How he wanted nothing more than to grab you by the throat and -

An appliance store window filled with various sized TVs flickered as he walked past. Alastor stopped, ears turned down as he turned on the heels of his feet to face Vox’s cocky stare plastered on every screen.

“Oh, it’s you. Don’t you have a curfew? No TV after 9pm, they say. Rots the brain.” Alastor lifted his hand to inspect his nails. Vox had a witty intro planned, and launched straight into it. He only stopped when Alastor looked back up, “I’m sorry, were you speaking?”

The screens glitched and filled with static before Vox’s face stretched out across them all.

“It’s not my bed time you should be worried about.” Vox crooned. He couldn’t resist the urge to prod Alastor, “Perhaps your new friend should have gone home earlier.”

Just before you reached the gates, you stopped to see if Lucifer had replied about his ETA. Your phone slipped out of your hands as someone pulled you backwards into the narrow alley behind you.

A hand covered your mouth while the other arm was lifting you up by your waist. You kicked your feet uselessly trying to make contact with any thing that would slow your progress into the shadows.

Another man entered now in front of you, “You’ve got a meeting at Vee Tower, babe.”

The sound of an idling car in the back of the alley came into focus. You grabbed your knife and plunged it into the right thigh of the man holding you. He dropped you and you barely managed to scramble to your feet before his hand grabbed you by the hair and threw you against the wall. The force of the impact stunned you but you’d managed to keep the knife in your grip.

You’d been waiting for this. You had let men get the best of you before on earth, too scared of dying if you failed to defend yourself. You weren’t scared now. When you looked back at the man, he was shouting at his partner but you couldn’t understand a word. Your ears were ringing, a combined effect of hitting the wall and your skyrocketing blood pressure.

Your shoes slipped off easily and you pushed yourself from the wall and back into the attempted kidnapper, shoulder first.

Seeing you launch yourself onto his accomplice, the other man booked it out of the alley. It wasn’t worth it. This was supposed to be easier than this.

If he had maybe turned left, he would have made it to safety. But luck was with Alastor when the brute ran straight into him.

Your phone lay on the ground behind the man, who was already backing up when Alastor set his eyes on him.

“I’m going to enjoy this”, Alastor’s voice cracked with a static sting, eyes flickered to red dials against midnight black eyes as his back and neck broke and stretched. The man tripped over himself, but Alastor’s hands tore the man’s upper torso from his body before his ass had time to hit the sidewalk.

There was no time to savor the death, he tossed the man’s head and shoulders into the street before bounding with unnaturally wide strides into the entry of the side street.

Never had he known fear like this. Not when alive, not even close. Not even when Adam nearly bested him. There was a rock in his stomach threatening to drag his heart into the gutter of the Pride Ring as his eyes adjusted to the darkness of the alley. Were you still there? Were you still whole?

You hadn’t noticed him at first, not until his massive, looming shadow shrunk across your body. Even then, you hadn’t stopped to realize it wasn’t the other attacker. You continued stabbing the dagger into the man’s throat with both hands until Alastor’s shoe crushed a piece of wayward glass under his step, breaking your concentration. Wild eyes finally tore themselves from the grey flesh of the demon on the floor up to Alastor, still expecting a fight with the man who’d fled.

“Alastor” was all you could squeak out. You were straddling the man by the chest, his throat so thoroughly decimated his head held on by just a few loosened tendons. The white dress you’d worn specially for your dinner was soaked through with blood. Your hands red to the wrists. Your lips and cheeks splattered. Your feet dirty and bare.

You yelped as you were yanked off of the dead man by your chin, Alastor’s large hand holding you off the ground. You were finally eye to eye with your dinner date. For the second time that night you were thrown against the cold brick wall. Alastor’s free hand grabbed yours that still held the knife and repeatedly bashed your fisted hand against the wall until the knife fell from your grip to the street below you. You hadn’t meant to keep it, never meant to brandish it at Alastor. Your survival instinct had overridden your sense.

Perhaps it would have stayed in control, but when Alastor’s hand slipped to your throat and his lips crashed into yours your mind went blank.

He kissed you clumsily, this wasn’t a man in love, or even a man in lust. This wasn’t a man at all. A demon in need was bruising your lips against his teeth. When you didn’t immediately open to receive him, he used his free hand to push at your cheeks and press inward where your bottom jaw naturally met your top. Your mouth was wrenched open, allowing his long and wide tongue to bully your own.

Alastor felt frenzied, the sight of you manically stabbing the already dead attacker momentarily broke him. His sweet little doe, his innocent and gentle darling brutally murdered a man and he got to witness it with his own eyes. He never believed God ever noticed his existence, but the moment he saw you straddling that corpse he felt sure some higher power delivered you to him. Just for him.

Only for him.

Pretense and facade be damned, you were made for him in such a specifically demented way.

He lifted you up, pressing your body against the wall with his own as your legs wrapped around his hips. He didn’t know where to start, he couldn’t keep his hands from trembling as he smeared the blood over your cheek between hurried kisses. His eyes were aglow, keeping your focus on him and only him as they darted around your face taking in every detail, every errant drop of your attacker’s blood.

Alastor buried his head into your collarbone, sucking bruises and nipping cuts into your exposed skin. You could feel the strained erection in his pants, it helped keep you balanced against him and the wall. He seemed to be mindlessly grinding his clothed cock against your core. Your dress had naturally found its way up and over your hips as he let one of his hands cradle your ass.

He had half a mind to rip the dress off of you but as he took a second to look down at your body he knew he wanted to keep it. The dress his love first killed in. Love— before a word that fell weightless from his tongue now sat heavy in his thoughts. He wanted your blood stained dress stuffed in his mouth as his last meal. An ode to your corruption. Maybe you'd understand him now, better than most. Did you enjoy it when you stabbed that man?

Breathing ragged and uneven, he pressed his forehead against yours. His eyes were glowing red, pupils dark black pins.

Did it scare you, when you killed him?

Were you scared now?

He lurched you upward again, hands coming to either side of your head as he pulled back to look at your face properly.

“If you don’t want this, now is your only opportunity to stop me.” He closed his eyes to try and regain an ounce of composure. Perhaps a small human piece of him not wanting to see your face if you denied him this.

With every breath he seemed to be taking in your scent, his hips still gently pushing into you. Your eyes darted to the well lit street just beyond the dark of the alley. You wrapped your arms around his neck, letting your fingers scratch lightly at his undercut. He violently shuddered at the touch.

You shook your head imperceivably to most, “You don’t have to ask me for permission, darling.”

With that, Alastor came completely undone. As his teeth marked your neck with shallow tears, his hand tore the crotch of your panties entirely off, leaving just the lace waistband to slip up your stomach. With the speed of a starving man to his first meal, his cock was free of his pants and rutting against your exposed slit.

The head of his member was pushing against your clit in unpracticed thrusts, slipping between your lips and pressing at your entrance. With a growl he lifted you up more and angled your hips to him. He didn't wait to feel if he was lined up and he sunk into your heat with a single thrust. You winced, clutching onto his shoulders. His eyes saw the pained expression and for a second, just barely, the southern gentleman who tried to walk you home slipped back to the surface. But as quickly as he came, he was lost again as Alastor saw the way your mouth hung open, tongue hanging over your swollen lip.

A static shock nipped at your wrists where they met his neck, "Such a debauched look, mon cher. I haven't even begun to ruin you yet."

A moan slipped past your lips as he brought his mouth to your ear, tugging with his teeth as he thrust back into you. You could feel he hadn't bottomed out yet, but already he was crushing your stomach into your diaphragm. Your chest began to feel hot, a warmth trickling down to your stomach and pooling beneath your belly button.

Ad his breath ghosted along your neck, you could hear it sharply spike with every slam of his hips against yours. Something about seeing him losing composure, hearing him so vulnerable, spurred you to roll your hips against his cock.

"Mmmm," Alastor groaned, "Don't push your luck, dear. Do you know how precarious of a sit-"

You did it again.

He pulled out of you with one motion and flipped you around. Your hands were yanked behind you, the long fingers of one of his own hands intertwined with your wrists. His other hand lifted your knee up and out as he pushed back into you. The new position allowed him to reach deeper than before, and with a burning stretch you felt him finally bottom out. With each thrust, the head of his dick dragged inside of you. The new angle allowed him to smash into your g-spot with every slam into your heat, his balls tightly slapping against your wet cunt.

"I wanted to be gentler with you", He leaned his head against your shoulder, pace quickening. It felt as if your back would snap in half, "But you looked absolutely sinful covered in his blood." His lips grazed your ear as he let go of your wrists, his antlers now large enough to be scraping against the bricks above your head. The loss of him holding you made you lose you balance. Alastor took the opportunity to find your clit with his middle finger.

Biting down on your lip you broke the skin, trying to suppress the moan rising out of you. His hips kept a bruising pace, your ass smacking against his lower stomach with every thrust. You didn't want anyone, anyone to find you getting railed against a wall just outside of cannibal town.

His fingers forced past your lips, you hadn't noticed he was using a shadow tendril to now lift your knee to nearly touch your elbow. Two fingers pressed down on your tongue as his pace impossibly quickened.

You wanted to lick or suck at his digits, do anything to participate in this alleyway fucking, but it became clear Alastor didn't want you to do anything at all. He was lost in the pleasure of your pussy clamping down on him, pushing back against him with every intrusion. He just needed you to exist there around him. He needed you to take him, for your body to welcome the gentle abuse.

The pressure began to build as the reality set in that the Radio Demon was fucking you raw against a wall. You felt your orgasm winding up. The infamous Alastor, the mighty overlord, balls deep in you. So entranced by your cunt he could only groan and hiss against your ear. You could feel every centimeter of him pulling and pushing inside of you, his head smashing your cervix and uterus into your guts.

Your hands began to slip down the wall as your mind started to go fuzzy around the edges. His middle finger strumming at your sensitive clit with a new fervor, his thrusts becoming shallower. The radio in the assailants idling car roared to life, flitting through stations and static wildly as Alastor spoke to you.

"When you orgasm,” His voice crackled against the nape of your neck, "and your cervix lowers to receive my seed,” your knee was dropped as he fucked you flush against the wall, trapping your body there, "I will drown your needy cunt in my cum, darling." His words echoed through the car's radio and off the walls of the alley, volume peaking with a pop as the speakers blew out.

The tickle of his lips along your spine made you shudder, and you went limp as you let your mind go and allowed your body to spasm around him. As your orgasm hit, your stomach muscles cramped and your body tightened around Alastor's cock. He hissed, his hips losing their rhythm for a second as you almost painfully clamped onto him, cunt trying desperately to pull him deeper into you. He needed to slow down or else he’d be pushed into his own release sooner than he planned. As your orgasm waned and your pussy squeezed softly against him again, he renewed the rhythm. Your body had gone entirely slack, your limbs no longer able to receive messages from your brain.

Within seconds, Alastor thrust against you so forcefully you felt the air pressed out of your lungs. He buried himself in you, holding your hips flush against his as you instinctively tried to squirm away. The way you moved against him, tried to flee from his release, only seemed to make his cock jump more inside you. You thought you heard a pained “mine" against your shoulder as his promised seed jerked into your now pliant womb.

He finally stilled, his dick softening in you. You felt your body slide down the wall, feet touching the ground before giving out entirely. You sat, slumped back, and looked to the scene in front of you. Dead demon behind Alastor, your shoes bloodied and tossed around, and your little knife just within reach.

Alastor quickly composed himself, cock returned to his pants and his suit adjusted precisely. You looked up at him, eyes glazed and tear stained. Your dress was wet and ruined, thighs slick with a mix of fluids. Yet he stood there, clean and pretty. Perhaps some of you had soaked into the front of his pants, but you couldn’t be sure.

"I apologize for underestimating you", He took the dagger, lifting your dress to slide it back into its holster. "And for allowing you to leave my sight." He gathered your shoes and wiped the dirt from them against the leg of his pants before gently slipping them back onto your feet. With two large hands under your arms he pulled you up to your feet, legs trembling still. "I promise you it won't happen again. Can you walk, my doe?"

The new name made your cheeks feel hot, funny given the more embarrassing part of this situation was his cum now sliding down your thighs. You nodded weakly, adding, "But-" and glanced to your lap. You squeezed your knees together and looked back at him.

"I fail to see the problem." His head tilted to the side as he lifted your dress with one of his long fingers and watched the milky white liquid slowly inch down your inner leg. "But, I'll find us a taxi. You won't be going home." He guided you by your hands to step over the corpse and into the light of the street.

You clarified, "I won't be going home tonight?"

He summoned his microphone and brought it down with a crack onto your phone, still discarded on the sidewalk. "INCOMING CALL: LUCI" flashing on the screen before it was shattered. He lifted his hand and waved for a passing taxi, turning to you with a soft grin, "Any night, darling."

༻Masterlist༺

[thewidowsledger]

The Call

Chapter 3: 7 Minutes in Heaven | 7.5k

© thewidowsledger - DO NOT REPUBLISH AND PLAGIARISE

Summary: You were supposed to take her out—the infamous Black Widow—Natasha Romanoff. The S.H.I.E.L.D. has been keeping an eye on her for a while now and for some reason, another high-ranking agent as you was sent to get the mission done. But then, he made a different call leading the mission to be here in front of you, soon to be a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent.

Pairings: Ex-Russian Agent Natasha Romanoff x Senior S.H.I.E.L.D. Agent Female Reader

Tags | Warnings: 18+, fluff, sparring, jealousy, triggering Natasha's trauma, asshole Daisy, yummy awkward Nat, sexual innuendos, flirting, dirty talk, praising, Natasha making r make inappropriate sounds😩🤪 kissing

Author's Note: Based on my own experience but I changed it a bit, lol. Enjoy, I'll see you when I see you :)))

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⧗

“Johnson was there in her office.”

“What?!” Yelena shot back.

“She had flowers with her.” Natasha added not sure if she should say it now that she knows how Yelena will overreact.

“What?!” Yelena exclaimed again as she palmed her forehead, “What are they talking about? Did you hear?” she added in a rush. “No, she asked her to leave when I came in.”

“That's good, that's good.” Yelena said, trying to calm herself or gaslight herself rather.

Natasha posed a question that left Yelena stunned, “Do…do you think Y/N still has feelings for her?”

“She told me she's over it and I’m making sure that it really is.”

Natasha just nodded slowly pulling the sleeves of her pink shirt up to her shoulders innocently, “I’ll go get some water.”

“Sure, sure,” Yelena tried to hide the devilishly smile naturally forming in her face but as soon as Natasha walked away, she aggressively tapped Madisynn’s thigh.

“Aw!” Madisynn swatted Yelena's hand away.

“Do you know what's on my mind right now?” Yelena asked the girl who was dumbly tilting her head at her. But Yelena gave her a knowing look that made the girl���s head light like a bulb.

“Oh, I think I do know what's on your mind,” she said as she looked at your figure walking towards them. “Hi boss!” She greeted in a squeal.

You looked at the two confusingly not liking the evil faces they're making right now. “Okay, enough of that look. Stop grinning at me, you both look like a pervert.”

“Foul!”

“You're so mean!”

“Where's…Agent Romanoff?” You asked ignoring their whines and you wished it came off casually. But the two agents only grinned once again at your question, you immediately caught their reactions and you crossed your arms at them waiting for an answer.

“There she is!” Madisynn pointed behind you, her nails never failing to flex.

You immediately turn to see Natasha, her shirt sleeves rolled up to her shoulders and her biceps were godly…you thought to yourself. If only you knew the two agents caught you checking Natasha out.

“We haven't done anything yet but it's working already.” Madisynn whispered to the blonde.

“I know, I know. This is gonna be so much fun.”

⧗

The team-building event got off to a great start. All the agents were thoroughly enjoying themselves as they played various games together. Shouting, clapping, laughing here and there, it was a sight to see and it was a fun experience. Could you imagine that these agents were trained to save the world but right now they're trying to balance plastic cups on their heads? It was the only time when the entire agency came together to unwind and have some fun and be free with themselves while simultaneously strengthening their bonds with each other.

Many teams had already been eliminated, but thankfully, yours was still in the running for the game. You heard Yelena taking charge and leading your team as if they were on a real mission, you couldn't help but burst into a fit of giggles.

“Okay you idiots, balloon bust, the instruction is very easy we’ve done this last last year guys. We just have to keep the balloon up on our stomach, no dropping, no popping. Be gentle with the balloon,” she relayed, as if it was a serious mission. “It’s our baby!” she clapped between each word.

The team just nodded eagerly cheering themselves as they went to grab their own balloons. You hyped your team up by giving them thumbs up and a lot of claps.

Your gaze shifted towards Natasha and you observed how she seemed a little lost throughout the game. Yet, she hadn't lost her endearing smile the entire time. She has been asking Yelena over and over on how she's supposed to play in each game, on how she is going to contribute to win and Yelena has been nothing but patient towards her, guiding her and giving her tasks on what to do.

The thought hit you then, it is her first time experiencing something like this. Her entire life she was used to working alone. You knew her past, of course you do. You know how she hadn't had the luxury of playing with dolls, teddy bears, and make-up like you had. Instead, she had spent her childhood toying with real guns, learning to crack codes on computers, and mastering the art of physical combat that if she fails every time—she’ll end up tied up in a cell or eat no food for days.

She was too young for that, she was supposed to be protected—no kid deserves that.

As you stared at Natasha, a pang of pain gripped your heart. You watched as she laughed when she saw Yelena huffing in frustration after her balloon popped. Your entire team had given up, and all of them just ended up bursting into laughter, lying on the ground.

Your team ran back at you, waiting for the next game. Natasha was still giggling her life out, shaking Yelena's shoulder.

“Hey Romanoff, water?” she was the first one you offered water.

When she looked stunned and didn't respond, you chuckled faintly, which seemed to make her even more surprised.

“C'mon, take it before I take it back,” you urged and Natasha quickly snatched the bottle from your hand. As you handed out the water to the rest of your team, you couldn't help but notice the adorable blush spreading across her cheeks.

You watched Natasha as she gulped down the entire water in the bottle in one go. You were fixated on her neck, watching the way her throat moved with each gulp. She had chugged it down so quickly, like it was just a matter of three quick swallows. The sight of her holding onto the empty bottle, squeezing it tightly, was doing strange things to you. As you continued to observe Natasha, a warmth crept up your face.

“Hey, boss, we need you for the next game.” Yelena informed behind you, pulling you out of your trance.

“Me?” You turned to look at her as you pointed to yourself as if you weren't just checking out the redhead.

“Yeah, it's three-legged race. We're only five,” she shrugged innocently but in the back of her head she’s plotting something.

“You're my partner,” you immediately told her.

“Nuh uh, Nat’s your partner. You're almost the same height though she's taller than you. Madisynn and I have the same height so…” Before you could even protest further, Yelena tightly grasped your wrist and forcefully dragged you towards Natasha. As you approach her, you catch sight of her lifting her shirt to wipe some sweat from her forehead, revealing a glimpse of her well-toned abs.

You had seen all her muscular frame in all its glory for today.

“Where's your ribbon Nat?” Yelena asked. As Natasha hesitantly handed it to Yelena, Yelena pushed you down, causing you to yelp. Before you realized what was happening, Natasha was also pushed down and you found yourselves side by side. The blonde then knelt down in front of both you and Natasha, preparing to bind your legs together.

Yelena smirked mischievously as she observed the scene in front of her, her task completed, “Perfect!” she exclaimed before walking back in front of your team’s line. You and Natasha were left stunned, your bodies pressed close together.

“Are you okay?” She asked quietly, tugging her sleeves down, embarrassed at how sweaty she was, “You're tight?” Realizing how she worded the question Natasha immediately palmed her face looking the other way, “I mean no-not t-tight for you?”

You didn't miss the curse that came after that.

“I’m fine, you?” you replied, not bothering the silly, nasty, cute mistake and tried to sound authoritative. She just gave you a thumbs up and put both her arms on her knees.

An awkward silence hung in the air after your brief exchange, until the shrill sound of a whistle pierced through, signaling the start of the race.

Darcy, the designated emcee for the day, called out, her voice echoing through the area, “Are the teams ready for the race?” A twinkle danced in her eyes as she added, “Did you know that they say 80% of the paired players for this game usually end up together?”

Yelena leaned over to Madisynn and muttered, a mischievous smile on her face, “Darcy definitely knows the assignment.” Madisynn smirked in agreement, seemingly in on the unspoken plan they had in mind and nodded.

However, you and Natasha missed the playful comment because you were too focused on planning your strategy for the race.

“Coordination, Natasha okay?” You reiterated and she agreed, her cheeks turning a slight shade of red. Natasha felt a different kind of warmth as you spoke to her with a gentle tone, different from your usual cold and robotic tone. And the way you called her by her first name sent a flutter through her heart.

Daisy stood at a distance, her eyes locked on you and Natasha as you talked. She clenched her fist tightly, not liking how close you were to the red head.

A shrill whistle pierced the air once again, signaling the start of the race and a chorus of cheers and shouts echoed loudly as the first pair sprinted off, kicking up dust and sand behind them.

Sensing a bit of struggle on Natasha's part, you offered, “You can hold onto my shoulder if that'll make it easier for you.”

Natasha nodded appreciatively, her left arm about to reach for your shoulders when she surprised you by gently taking your right arm instead. She positioned it around her back, creating a more intimate position as you both clung to each other for support. The unexpected action caused you to blush and you found yourself pulled closer to her as Yelena and Madisynn handed you the flag, signaling your turn to start.

As you began the race, the mood was lighthearted, filled with laughter and giggles. You started off good, however, just as things seemed to be going well, you suddenly tripped and lost your balance, causing you to stumble forward. But Natasha was quick to hold you back, grabbing you by the waist, preventing you from falling forward. In the process, your hands inadvertently landed on her abdomen, seeking support.

“That was really stupid,” you manage to say between giggles.

“You're fine, we’re close c’mon,” Natasha encouraged sheepishly, her response catching you off guard as it was the first time she had talked to you again this entire game.

“Left, right, left…”

You and Natasha continued with the race, Yelena and your team eagerly watched and cheered from the sidelines, supporting you every step of the way. They shouted encouragement and teasing comments.

“I am going to tie you both for life!” Yelena exclaimed.

“Fall for Nat, boss! She’ll catch you!”

“Don't get too tangled up now!”

As you dashed towards the finish line, an unexpected trip caused you to falter—again. Natasha's quick reflexes kicked in once again. Her hand moved swiftly to support your head, preventing it from hitting the surface with a thud. She acted instinctively, shielding you from further harm. With a soft thump, you found yourself on the ground and Natasha was now on top of you. Her right hand holding the back of your head, her body hovering over yours.

Natasha's gaze remained fixed on you as you burst into a fit of laughter, lying on the floor. She couldn't help but marvel at the sight before her, no cold voice just your laughter filling the air. No hint of seriousness on your face, your unguarded expression and carefree attitude were delightful to behold.

As you continued to lie on the ground, laughing uncontrollably, you didn't notice Daisy appearing and giving Natasha a push from the sides. This unexpected shove caused Natasha to stumble and fall beside you, landing rather clumsily on the ground.

“Get away from her.”

“Fuck off, Daisy,” Yelena snapped coldly as she shoved Daisy away, Madisynn immediately knelt in front of you and Natasha to untie the ribbon.

Daisy was already back in her team’s position when you got up, her team trying to soothe her. Natasha saw you looking at Daisy’s direction as if you were checking on her—on your ex-fiance.

“Y/N…I’m sor—”

“I’m sorry about that Romanoff, are you okay?” you turned to her and touched her arm which made the redhead shudder.

Back with the last name basis now?

“I-I’m fine boss.” She stuttered, stunned at your apology. She scratched the back of her neck as she looked away but looking away wouldn't hide the redness of her face.

“Piece of advice, please don't interact with her,” you gave her a half smile tapping her arm twice before shouting to your team.

“Get up! Get up!”

⧗

The sudden news hit you like a flash. One of your agents had accepted a sparring challenge from a senior of another division. It is one of the activities your team-building events often took as a competitive edge.

You realized from the start that you had forgotten to remind your team not to participate. But it was a well-established rule that shouldn't need to be constantly reiterated, the sparring challenges were typically reserved for the more seasoned members, the oldies of the agency—the seniors and Natasha isn't one.

“Fucking hell.” You hissed, striding towards the area where the sparring match was taking place, “Romanoff is really testing my patience.”

How come that you were really soft with the agent earlier and now? You're back being a meanie to her?

Yelena tried to defend her partner, her voice a squeak. “She didn't know!” she protested. “She's only been here a few months. She's clueless and her senior isn't even making things easy on her.”

You were seething with anger as you heard Yelena's words. You halted in your tracks and turned around, your gaze locking onto the blonde, who suddenly looked like a frightened child under your intense stare. You fought to regulate your breathing, trying to maintain your composure. Deep down, you knew that Yelena had a point. Her words were stinging because they held a measure of truth. Yet, your ego couldn't help but bristle at the audacity of her calling you out like that.

The sound of raucous cheering jolted you back to reality, you pushed the door swinging open with a harsh creak, you felt a sudden wave of attention directed your way. Numerous agents turned their heads in your direction. It was obvious that your arrival had caused a ripple of interest amongst the crowd. Well, let's just say that the opponent that your agent is fighting is none other than your ex-fiance.

“Fucking hell.” You muttered to yourself as you balled your fists.

You hate her for being so naive…but god, she is now positioned in the ring and greeted you with an innocent wave. The protective mouthguard showed as she tried to smile. How are you supposed to hate that?

Despite your anger towards her naivety you managed to wave back but she wasn't able to see it as your ex-fiance landed a punch on her face, you involuntarily flinched and placed a palm on your forehead. Well, that was awkward.

“Get her Romanoff!” Yelena shouted from behind, you swear you heard her betting $20 for Natasha.

“She was supposed to take you out,” Daisy growled at the redhead, her boxing gloves poised to deliver another punch anytime.

Natasha furrowed her brows together but she didn't mind what Daisy was trying to say. Natasha seized an opening and threw a punch on her sides, catching Daisy off guard and regaining the upper hand in the fight. The impact sent Daisy stumbling back a few steps, momentarily stunned by the unexpected offensive move. But then a smirk creeped out on her face.

“You're supposed to be history by now if it wasn't by Barton.” Daisy's words, though meant to rile Natasha up, seemed to be taking effect now. “If it was Y/N, you’d be dead by now.”

Natasha's breath hitched at the revelation and Daisy saw the horror that flashed into the redhead's eye. Natasha clenched her jaw and squeezed her eyes shut.

Rule number 1: Never take your eye away from your opponent.

Another wave of cheers and shouting from the crowds surrounded the boxing ring as Natasha seized another opportunity, throwing another punch this time connecting with Daisy's cheek. It seemed as if Daisy was deliberately allowing Natasha to land blows, letting her get a few hits in. No, letting her hit her.

You stood there, frozen. You are really not liking this.

You saw Daisy's lips moving, clearly as if she was saying something to Natasha. While you also noticed how the redhead’s body tensed up and you saw her focus seemed to be shaken a little.

“Dreykov’s daughter?” You whispered to yourself as you read the words coming out of Daisy's lips. The redhead tried to throw another punch but Daisy was able to dodge it sending back a punch to Natasha's stomach.

“I won't let Y/N be with a killer like you.”

The words made Natasha’s emotions reach a breaking point, as if something snapped inside her she immediately moved forward encircling her arm around Daisy's neck locking in a tight grip. She then swung her other fist at Daisy, her boxing glove landing a powerful punch on her face as she kept her arm locked around her. The impact sent Daisy kneeling while Natasha stood behind her not letting her go, causing gasps and murmurs from the surrounding crowd.

The referee blew his whistle with a sharp, shrill sound, which echoed through the ring. He then extended his arm and pointed directly at Natasha, who had staggered backward losing her hold on Daisy.

Daisy recovered from the forceful blows, she rose unsteadily to her feet, her left eye was swollen and there was a cut on her lips. She let out a guttural snarl and stalked Natasha who was crawling backwards, Daisy leaned down to her and yelled, “Are you tryna kill me, too? Huh?!”

“You fucking kill—”

“Watch your next words Johnson!” You yelled as you ran and jumped towards the ring.

“Y/N she went out with the rules! She…she almost—” Daisy stopped when she saw you kneel in front of Natasha.

“I’m sorry,” Natasha immediately whispered. You furrowed your brows at her.

“Romanoff…”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry…” her voice became hoarse as she repeatedly whispered. As she continued to apologize, you stared into her eyes, noticing a look in them that revealed something deeper than mere regret. It was as though a hidden trigger had been set off within her.

“Romanoff…” you called out to her again.

“I’m sorry, Y/N…I—” she choked.

“Nat,” you called softly as you brought your hands on her cheeks. Her lips trembled as she finally looked at you, “You're okay,” you gave her a smile and she nodded slowly as if she was high with the sound of your gentle voice and your soft feathery touch.

As if she was an evil and you were an angel attempting to soothe her troubled soul.

“Yelena,” you summoned the blonde over. You removed the gloves on her hands and Natasha's gaze remained fixed on your every move, her eyes never straying as if she feared losing this connection between you—it was the closest she's been with you. Her breath hitched when you moved away to give Yelena a way to help Natasha stand. Yelena knelt in front of her and propped her up with a supportive arm around her shoulder.

You watched as Natasha and Yelena slowly moved out of the ring and away from the center of attention.

You ex-fiance, who stood surrounded by her team members from her division, remained surprisingly calm. She has been watching how you treated Natasha and she didn't like it—she wanted to tear you away from her.

You stepped up closer to her, your voice low and filled with venom as you spat out, “You know she was a new recruit and you still challenged her.”

“Oh Y/N we all know she's more than just a recruit.”

You huffed at her words, you couldn't hold the outrage any longer and you hissed back, “You think I didn't notice? You triggered my agent!” Your voice trembled in anger. “Dreykov's daughter? Really? You would bring that up? How did you even know about that?” You started eyeing each of her team who were looking down to try and avoid your gaze. You know damn well that they know something about it. You huffed on how pathetic they looked.

Natasha's information was kept under you since she was your mission back then. No one could access this information unless they possessed the same level of clearance and security clearance as you did as a level 7 S.H.I.E.L.D. agent.

Dreykov's daughter was the collateral damage to end Dreykov himself, to end the empire he built that brought horrors to the lives of young little girls. It was the last thing Natasha did before getting into the S.H.I.E.L.D. with the help of Clint.

You turned your gaze back to Daisy who is now looking down too. “Daisy…” you squeezed your eyes shut, “I forgave you for what you did to us,” you gulped as you tried to hold your tears at bay, you couldn't even utter the words that would bring up the memory of her betrayal. That she cheated.

The silence that had fallen over the entire room was almost deafening and you could feel the weight of everyone’s gaze bearing down to the both of you. You’ve had so much attention today already.

“Please stop going out of your way for this. Stop embarrassing yourself, you look desperate.” With that, you immediately stepped out the ring leaving her, she tried to go after you but her team immediately held her back.

⧗

After reading the text from Yelena, you can't believe it - they're still planning on going to the after-party after what just went down. You can feel the frustration rising inside you, almost boiling over as you read the message again.

“Please, Y/N join us, we’re all here with Natasha. She’s okay now but she's got bruised lippie though.”

“If you're scared that earthquake’s gonna be here, no she's not, so please join us here boss.”

Yelena then sent a video after she noticed that all her messages were just marked as seen by you. It's your team whining in the background, begging you to come to the party, but your gaze was fixated on Natasha's face on the screen. She waved shyly, her bruised lips forming a tight-lipped smile, the sight just making you sigh disappointingly before getting out of your car.

As you made your way into the party, you were relieved to find that most eyes were averted from you. You had been expecting a similar scene as the one earlier when you confronted your ex-fiance, but it seemed that the focus was on other things now. Maybe they're tired of the drama you had with her.

You spotted your team at a table near the bar, a few drinks already in front of them. They looked up as you approached, welcoming you with broad grins.

Yelena was the first one to greet you with a sly smile, acting as if nothing had happened earlier. “Well, look who decided to show up,” she said, her voice dripping with fake sweetness. “Here, let me help you with that.”

Before you could protest, Yelena had taken your purse and was leading you to a seat at their table. She pulled out the chair for you, gesturing for you to sit down.

Madisynn who was next to you, slurred slightly, a sure sign that alcohol had definitely gotten into her system already. She stumbled over to you, her eyes lighting up as she turned and saw you. Her gaze lingered on you for a second before realizing it's you, her voice was slightly slurred as she exclaimed, “Boss! I'm so happy to see you. You look hella sexy in that dress! Right, Romanoff?!”

Natasha, who had been quiet until now, spoke up timidly. “Yeah, you look…” she trailed off, careful on what to say, you really looked sexy right now. The way that your black dress hugged your body and highlighted your curves, but she didn't want to sound perverted

“Beautiful,” she continued, her voice barely above a whisper.

Yelena leaned in closely, her lips hovering mere centimeters from your ear. She looked at Natasha before whispering, loud enough for the redhead to hear, “I think you look delicious right now, Y/N.”

She then playfully nipped at your earlobe with her teeth, a sly smirk on her face. The brief contact sent a shiver down your spine. Yelena was never one to hold her tongue, she didn't have a filter and often spoke her mind without thinking.

You however, decided to play along with Yelena's antics, you faced her with a coy smile. Your faces were now mere inches apart, and you could see a hint of redness creeping up on Yelena's cheeks.

For a moment, it seemed like she was taken aback by your boldness, but then she regained her composure. Still, she couldn't help but back down slightly, her gaze lingering on your face before quickly looking away. You smirked as Yelena visibly backed down, her confidence faltering for a moment. Deciding to tease her further, you leaned in even closer and said, “What's wrong, Yelena? I thought I looked delicious.”

Natasha watched the exchange between you and Yelena, her eyes narrowing slightly. She hadn't realized just how close you were with Yelena, and it made her shift a little awkwardly in her seat.

A pang of jealousy flared up within her, but she quickly pushed it down. It was none of her business who you chose to be close to even if it's with her closest friend, and besides she had no right to feel possessive over you. Not when you hate her.

Not when you were supposed to be the one to take her out.

Still, the sight of Yelena being so flirtatious with you made her feel a little bothered. She found herself coughing involuntarily. It was an unexpected reaction, and she quickly tried to cover it up with a sip of her drink.

Yelena caught sight of Natasha and a sly grin spread across her face. She exchanged a glance with Madisynn in a brief second enough for you and Natasha not to notice.

“You okay, Romanoff?” The blonde asked, as she wrapped her hands on your waist, you on the other hand leaned to the blonde—not aware of the antics that she and Madisynn planned.

You were comfortable with Yelena's closeness, having known her for a long time and having shared many experiences together. She was like a strict baby sister, the type of sister that would ask you who you were with and what time you would be back. And If anyone hurt you, she wouldn't hesitate for a second to go after them. Her protective nature went into overdrive, and she would hunt down whoever had caused you pain. She cares for you and she would go far to keep you safe.

She had been there for you during tough times, like when Fury had to call her to make you come out to your childhood bedroom after your ex-fiance cheated on you or when she had to clean your room after she finally get you out to eat at the dinner table with your father. She had seen you smile because of your ex but she saw you cry more about her. Tough and good times, she had been there—always.

You yourself look out for her too—she can be careless at times so you gently correct her when she crosses the line or make sure she doesn't get into too much trouble. But at the same time, you also relied on her quirky sense of humor and unwavering support. She was part protector, part best friend, and part sibling all rolled into one.

“Let's play medusa y’all!” An agent shouted in the distance and it made you laugh.

“What are we? In college?” You huffed after, only to be dragged by Yelena.

“We’re joining!” Your eyes widened in disbelief and attempted to pull away from her grip, wanting nothing to do with this childish game. But just as you were about to tear yourself away, Madisynn suddenly latched onto your other arm, effectively trapping you. You were too confused when you noticed that Yelena was gone and Madisynn replacing her as if it was all planned.

“This will be fun boss, c’mon.” She slurred with a drink on her other hand.

You forgot to breathe as you saw Daisy across the room, conflicting emotions bubbled up within you, how in the hell she's here and you didn't even know?

Part of you wanted to run away from the room to escape the memories of her betrayal. But another part of you, driven by your desire to maintain your composure and dignity, compelled you to stay and keep things professional after what she did to you and to your agent.

But…a small, a sly part of you, tucked away in a hidden corner of your mind, whispered a tempting thought.

What if I make her jealous?

The idea was a little petty and you knew it, but you couldn't help the flicker of satisfaction it brought you. The chance to show Daisy that you were doing just fine without her, perhaps even better, was tantalizing.

But with who?

As various agents approached you with smiles, greetings or drinks, a wave of realization washed over you. Deep down, you knew this whole thing was ridiculous. Trying to find someone to make out with solely to make your ex jealous was a far cry from the person you aspired to be.

You shook your head slightly, silently scolding yourself for even contemplating such a childish idea. This whole situation was just plain stupid, however, despite the logical part of your brain telling you it was a stupid, a small, defiant part of you still wanted to go through with it.

If only you had known, but you were oblivious to the fact that Daisy had been burning with jealousy since the moment she spotted you with Natasha during the game.

Darcy, with her usual enthusiasm, called out to the group of agents gathered around you, “Alright, everybody! Form a circle, it's time to start!” She then saw you and let out a squeal, “Hi boss!”

You waved shyly before you settled down on the cold floor of the room with Madisynn beside you, “Where's Romanoff?” You asked, “and Yelena…” You rushed out. Madisynn then gestured with her drink, drawing your attention to the direction she was pointing. There, across from you, sat the redhead and the blonde.

Yelena had made sure that you and Natasha were seated directly across from each other, perfectly setting up the game of Medusa to play out exactly how she had planned.

“Alright, everybody!” Darcy shouted, getting the group's attention. “Everyone sit in a spot where you can see all of the other players.”

Once the group had taken their seats, she continued, “Now, each of you put your heads down. On the count of three, you'll raise your heads and stare directly at someone else. If you lock eyes with someone, both of you lose, and I will yell 'Medusa' if I caught y’all staring at each others’ asses and I will be sending you to 7 Minutes in Heaven!”

The agents began shouting and whistling, creating a chaotic atmosphere, hyped up from the game.

With a flourish of her hand, Darcy counted down, “Three, two, one.”

Everyone raised their heads, and you were suddenly faced with a sea of staring eyes. You quickly darted your eyes to an agent who was luckily not staring at you. The room buzzed with tension as people nervously tried to avoid locking gazes with the other players. Darcy stood in the center, ready to call out the first pair of victims. Her eyes scanning the group, spotted a pair that had locked eyes with each other. A sly grin spread across her face as she called out, “Medusa!”

The two unfortunate players were singled out and a chorus of “ooo” and whistles erupted from those around them. They sheepishly got up, blushing as they made their way toward the 7 Minutes in Heaven.

As the players shuffled off to the 7 Minutes in Heaven room, the game continued. It was only a matter of time before another pair would be called out for staring. You found yourself becoming more nervous as the round progressed.

Darcy's eyes glinted mischievously as she scanned the group once more, eagerly awaiting her next opportunity to pounce on a paired set of victims.

You were contemplating your strategy. And thought of Natasha, part of you knew that Natasha was averse to staring, always quick to look away—especially on you. But this might work to your advantage.

As the countdown ended, you found yourself staring at Natasha. She, as expected, was not looking at you. However, your heart raced when you noticed her eyes on someone else in the group. You furrowed your brows, trying to follow her line of sight to see who she's staring at.

Who was she looking at? Is she eyeing someone else? Oh, how you hoped that whoever she's staring at isn't looking back at her too.

You finally let yourself breathe, a wave of relief washing over you as Darcy called out “Medusa,” pointing at the pair who had been caught staring at each other. Thankful that it wasn't Natasha and whoever she's staring at, you felt a weight lift from your shoulders.

As Natasha navigated her way through the game, a plan formed in her mind. She glanced over at you, contemplating the likelihood of making eye contact with you. Her thoughts ran through her head, reasoning that you wouldn't look at her because you harbored a deep dislike for her—who would lock eyes on someone they hate, after all?

Natasha glanced around the room full of agents, her gaze falling upon Daisy, who was watching you as giggles escaped your lips at whatever Madisynn was whispering to you. The sight of your ex continuously eyeing you only made Natasha wish that you wouldn't look at your her the same way again as you did when you were still together.

She wished that you would look at her—this time.

“3”

“2”

“1”

You find yourself staring at the green orbs staring right back at you and the world seemed to stopped only for it to continue when Darcy shouted Medusa, her fingers pointed decisively at you and Natasha.

A collective gasp filled the room as everyone realized what had just taken place. Darcy's gleeful expression revealed her satisfaction at having caused this unexpected twist. Madisynn and Yelena traded smug grins, thrilled to see their plan unfolding flawlessly. They had orchestrated this moment carefully and their plans had paid off.

As word spread about your unexpected pairing with Natasha, your ex, Daisy, couldn't help but glance your way. She tried to hide her fueling rage, but her emotions were laid bare in her eyes. A lot of agents were looking her way too, satisfied at her reaction and silently rooting for Natasha.

Madisynn placed a gentle hand on your shoulders, helping you stand up from being seated on the floor. Your mind was still reeling from the sudden turn of events, unable to fully grasp what was happening. As you looked at the small cabinet not so far away from of you, the realization of who you would be sharing such a confined space with finally sank in.

“Times ticking boss.” Darcy whispered as she gently held your hands and pulled you. Meanwhile, Natasha was being ushered ahead by Yelena. Yelena then pushed Natasha gently into the small chamber, causing her to stumble forward slightly as she made her way into the cramped space. The room was dimly lit, its walls closed, not enough to leave little room to maneuver.

Natasha looked up as you stood just outside the small chamber. She saw how hesitant you are and she spoke up softly, “If you don't want this, you don't have to.” Her voice was gentle, giving you the option to back out of the situation if you so desired.

But you didn't listen to her, you immediately climbed into the small room and found yourself sitting beside the redhead. Before you had a chance to process the tight space, the door closed with a distinct click, sealing you inside with her.

Darcy's voice echoed from the other side of the door, she knocked, reminding that your time starts now, “Alright, lovebirds, 6:59 minutes. Enjoy your time there!” Her amusement was evident, and her words were followed by a series of giggles and shouts heard in the distance.

As Natasha hugged her knees and said, “We don't need to do anything,” she did so with a sense of finality, as if speaking aloud the thoughts that were already in your head. She already assumed you wouldn't want to do anything in this tiny-spaced room.

You haven't really scolded her for accepting the challenge from your ex and for going in here when she's supposed to be resting, you wanted to, though, but seeing her right now at this moment, you just couldn't bring yourself to.

You broke the silence, your words reverberating in the small chamber. “We can talk,” you suggested softly—too softly, your fingertips grazing the ceiling inches above your head. You asked once again, “Do you want to talk about something?”

Natasha sat silently, her eyes locked on the door as if she just wanted all this to be over, and for a moment, she didn't respond to your question. The quietness in the tiny space seemed to stretch on and her lack of response left you unsure of how to continue—so you just stayed silent too.

A couple of minutes have passed and you two just sat there. The silence between you was heavy, almost unbearably so, until Natasha finally spoke.

“Do you think you would make the same decision as Clint,” she started, her voice soft yet steady, “if you were the one sent to take me out?”

You were taken aback by Natasha's question, her words piercing through any facade you may have tried to maintain. How did she know about it? Panic and anger surged through you as you thought of the only person who could have told her the about it—intentionally told her. But you quickly pushed that thought aside, realizing it was a moot point now. The dilemma of how to respond to her question left you momentarily tongue-tied.

Would you? You asked yourself.

“I…” you trailed off, “I don't know.”

You took a deep breath, your voice low and steady as you finally admitted the truth. “Everything happens for a reason, Romanoff,” you began, your words measured, you’ve never been like this when you were talking to her. You’ve always been so honest, no, harsh when it comes to her, “It was originally my mission to take you out.”

“But Clint was the one sent with the same mission, you.” You sighed disappointingly as you recall the memory.

“I was upset, bitterly disappointed, angry.” You looked down at your thighs plopping sideways, “I immersed myself in studying you, devoting significant time understanding your every move, training myself on how to…” you stopped realizing what the next words would be, but Natasha knew what it was you’ve been trying to say.

You’ve been training yourself on how to eliminate her—to kill her.

There was a silence between the two of you again, not heavy this time, you leaned back against the cold wall and squeezed your eyes shut for a moment before opening them again.

“He made a different call for a reason.”

Natasha looked at you intently as you spoke again, “He saw something in you. And I think I do see that now.” You finally looked at her.

As you locked gazes, your eyes involuntarily fixated on her bruised lips, and you were certain that she was doing the same. However, the intensity of the moment became too palpable and you found yourself awkwardly turning your eyes away from her in an attempt to alleviate the growing tension.

“Boss, are you still alive in there?” You heard Darcy call out, how dare she ask if you were the one still alive? If there is someone supposed to be out of breath right now, it would be the redhead beside you. “You still got 2 minutes…and 32!”

“I wonder what other agents did in this room.” You suddenly spoke, but you didn't mean it to come out as if you were trying to hint to do the same thing you know agents did in this tight room which is releasing some sexual frustrations. “Gross.” You then whispered that made the redhead laugh.

“Yeah, I think they really need that.” She replied in a low voice, trying not to burst into more giggles.

“Wow, aren't you sexually frustrated too Agent Romanoff?” Maybe now you are hinting something.

Her voice echoed through the small space as she quipped, “I don't wanna get another punch from your ex.”

“You wouldn't catch a punch for me? Agent Romanoff?” you teased, your seductive tone adding an extra layer to the already charged atmosphere between you two.

Only if you know the things she would do and take for you.

“Trying to make your ex jealous?”

“Hm?” you eyed her before focusing with the necklace around your neck, fiddling with it absentmindedly as you avoided the redhead’s accusation when suddenly, her hands reached out and pinched your waist.

The action caught you off guard and an unintentional gasp escaped your lips. At that moment, Yelena's voice echoed through the door, as she whisper-shout, “What was that?!”

“What was that for?!” You quickly slapped Natasha's arm in retaliation, causing her to exaggerate a groan of pain that was heard outside.

“Oh god, it's happening. Shit! Shit!” Yelena exclaimed, apparently unable to contain her excitement. A chorus of shouts and whistles erupted from the agents gathered just outside the door, their reactions evident even through the thick boundary.

The situation was too absurd to not find amusing and you struggled to contain your laughter. Your hand shot up to cover your mouth, attempting to hide the impending giggles and shock at the chaos happening outside. You looked over at Natasha, you found her wearing a smirk. She then gestured for you to tap on the walls and you followed her lead, making a moaning sound as you did.

“Oh god!” you exclaimed, feigning a sense of ecstasy, playing into the moment and the reactions you knew you were eliciting from the agents outside.

“Oh god?!” Yelena and Madisynn shouted in chorus, “Praise the Lord!”

As you continued your act, Natasha suddenly spoke, her voice low and seductive. “Oh yeah?” she purred, “Mhm, yeah. That's my good girl,” she murmured, the praise and the nickname making you feel and think inappropriate things right now. 

Is this even appropriate?

Both you and Natasha released synchronized grunts and moans, intentionally creating the illusion of some... passionate act.

As your performance continued, you could hear Yelena's voice rise above the others, “Romanoff, if you hurt Y/N, I swear I'll chop you into tiny pieces!” Yelena threatened. “42 sex-onds!” she reminded in a rush.

“Get on my lap,” you hadn't even realized what you were doing until you found yourself sitting sideways on Natasha's lap, your tight dress not allowing you to straddle her but you still complied with her commanding order. The space between you grew even tighter, the proximity leaving you heady and breathless.

Natasha then shifted her thighs beneath you causing you squeal in surprise. 

“Sorry,” she whispered, but you just nodded, your face a burning kettle. Outside the door, the agents’ voices grew louder, their excitement evident as they reacted to the sounds you and Natasha were making.

“They were rushing it out!”

“Give them more time! C'mon!”

“I hope at least one of them could finish.”

You brought your hand on your mouth to contain your laughter once again. You blushed at the comment of the agents, the other was holding Natasha’s shoulder so you can steady yourself.

“18 seconds!”

The countdown and the outside world faded into the background as you bit your lip, your breath coming in short, shallow gasps. Overwhelmed by the moment and the intensity of your emotions, you leaned in and surged forward, your lips crashing onto hers, bruising them further in a desperate and passionate kiss.

As your lips melded together, Natasha's hands instinctively found their way to your waist, gripping it firmly, grounding you both. Pulling away, you locked eyes with Natasha, the gravity of the moment finally sinking in. Your heart hammered against your ribcage as you notice her lip, slightly bloodied with traces of your lipstick smeared across it. 

“I can't believe I just wasted those minutes in silence when I can have this with you,” she confessed.

And with that, the door of the small room you were in swung open, signaling that your 7 Minutes of Heaven is finally over.

The Call: Masterlist

[certaimromance]

𝜗𝜚 The Love Next Door.

Spencer Reid x Neighbor!reader

series masterlist

Summary: When you and Spencer have no one to spend Valentine's Day with, the idea of watching movies together can save, at least, the night.

Words: 4,4k.

Warnings & Tags: this works as a standalone one-shot but also is a prequel to a series. two idiots obviously in love. fluff. painter!reader who was a cat. english isn't my first language (sorry for my mistakes, be kind please).

Note: Happy Valentine's Day (belated) to all💝✨ I hope you enjoy this little glimpse into the past amidst the chaos of the line that follows my series.

Valentine’s Day had a way of making the world feel like a glittery, rose-scented battlefield for the lonely. Everywhere you turned, there were smiling couples wrapped in each other’s arms, whispering sweet nothings as if the rest of the world had ceased to exist. Heart-shaped balloons swayed lazily in the wind outside storefronts, red and pink ribbons draped over every available surface like a relentless invasion of affection. Cafés played catchy love songs on repeat, each chorus drilling into your skull, a painful reminder that the day belonged to those who had someone to share it with.

The worst part? The flowers. Gorgeous arrangements of deep red roses, soft pink peonies, and delicate white lilies, displayed in neat little buckets with tiny price tags that felt like a cruel joke. You could have them, sure, if you were willing to stand in an endless supermarket line, clutching your own bouquet like a pathetic consolation prize, enduring the cashier’s judging glance as they scanned the barcode. The same went for the chocolates. Expensive, gold-wrapped, promising indulgence and romance, except, in your case, the only romance involved was between you and your impulse to stress-eat.

But despite the bitterness that curled inside your chest, you didn’t hate love. If anything, you craved it, even if you pretended not to. Romance movie marathons were a blessing, an escape into a world where grand gestures and heartfelt confessions always led to a happy ending. You’d curl up under a blanket, eyes glued to the screen, soaking in every lingering touch, every whispered “I love you,” letting it fill your chest with warmth. And yet, no matter how deeply you immersed yourself, the magic always faded when the screen cut to black. The credits would roll, white letters against a dark void, and you’d be left staring at your own reflection in the blank screen, heart aching with a longing that never quite disappeared: the relentless, unshakable desire to live the love you only ever watched from afar.

All the February fourteens you remember were like this: lonely, with chocolate and romance movies.

Wait. This time was different.

This time, however, you were no longer alone, but accompanied by Spencer Reid. The room was in semi-darkness, lit only by the soft glow of a few scattered candles and the flickering light of the television, which cast shadows on the walls of your apartment. He was sitting next to you, leaning against the edge of the couch with his usual distracted air, his long limbs stretched out on the cushions, but his mind was clearly miles away from yours. He was not fully present, his attention wavering between the screen and the incredibly large world inside his own head. His leg brushed against yours with a nonchalance that only made it more noticeable; the slight warmth of his touch made you feel it every time it happened. You still tried not to notice, to pretend it was nothing, but there was something magnetic about the way he moved, as if the world around you tilted a little every time he was near.

Your hand brushed over his from time to time as you took chocolates from the heart-shaped box you shared and had gotten on sale at the supermarket. You could feel the coolness of his skin under your fingers, his touch lingering too long, as if he, too, was aware of the connection in the simplest of gestures. But Spencer, ever observant and living in his own head, didn't seem to care. He barely glanced at you, too absorbed in the ridiculousness of the movie to register the subtle moments between the two of you. With his mind constantly buzzing, analyzing even the most mundane things, it was almost as if his body knew more than his brain, his closeness a silent declaration that he was comfortable with you in a way he didn't seem to be with anyone else.

The movie on the screen was the kind of clichéd romance that made you cringe on a regular day. The kind where the couple was destined for each other from the moment they met, their chemistry so palpable it felt as though the universe itself was conspiring to bring them together. The dialogue was saccharine, the plot as predictable as a heartbeat, but you couldn’t help it; you loved every moment. The grand, sweeping gestures. The whispered confessions. The inevitable kiss in the rain. You had chosen it precisely because you knew how much Spencer would question everything from the nonsense in the dialogue to the false number of minutes the characters claimed they could travel from one part of the world to another.

“You know,” he murmured, his voice thoughtful as he absently reached for another piece of chocolate, “it’s statistically improbable that two people, just by chance, would fall in love in such a perfect, linear way.” He paused, glancing at you briefly with a look that was almost apologetic for ruining the mood. “I mean, the chances of all those factors aligning—timing, location, emotional availability—it’s…it’s not as simple as it seems.”

You tilted your head slightly, listening intently as he spoke, the weight of his words hanging in the air. He had always been the one to find patterns, to dissect everything until there was no mystery left. But you weren’t in the mood for logic right now. Not tonight.

Before you knew it, the question slipped out, unexpectedly blunt in the stillness of the room.

“Have you ever been in love?”

The words lingered between you, weighty in a way that surprised even you. You hadn’t meant to ask it like that—so direct, so raw—but now that it was out, you couldn’t take it back. It felt as though the question held something more than just curiosity. It felt like a delicate invitation into a part of Spencer you weren’t sure you had a right to see.

He didn’t answer right away. His gaze flickered back to the TV screen, his eyes unfocused as though the question had thrown him off guard. There was a pause, a shift in the air, a subtle change in the way he sat. His posture stiffened just enough that you wondered if you’d crossed some invisible line, if you’d pushed him somewhere he wasn’t ready to go.

Finally, he shifted, voice quieter now, almost hesitant. “I thought I was closer…But saying it out loud makes it sound kind of stupid, considering I never even got to kiss her.”

The words hung between you, fragile and unguarded, their presence stretching the silence like a thin thread threatening to snap. You could feel the weight of his hesitation, the quiet vulnerability in the way he avoided your gaze, fingers twitching slightly as if resisting the urge to fidget. It was as if he was standing at the edge of something, testing the waters before taking a plunge, unsure if he could share a truth that had settled deep inside him. Even after two years, two months, and ten seconds since the first words you exchanged in the hallway, even after all the late-night conversations, the shared laughter, the comfortable silences, and all the times the two of you acted as if your apartments were just one. If he bothered to calculate, he had spent more time with you than he had spent sleeping soundly in years. And yet, despite all of it—the familiarity, the trust, the way he let you curl up on his couch as if it were your own—he still hesitated, like he was afraid that if he told the whole story of his tragedy, there'd be no going back.

“I think you can love someone without kissing them.” The honest tone of your voice and the way you didn't laugh at him or look at him with pity surprised him.

Spencer glanced at you then, his expression unreadable for a moment, before he spoke again, his voice barely above a whisper. “Even if you’ve never seen them?”

“Oh,” you whispered, your mind trying to catch up. You hadn’t expected that. You hadn’t expected him to go there. “Never? Never?”

He chuckled lightly, but it wasn’t the usual, lighthearted sound. It was dry, tinged with something that made you want to reach out and pull him closer. “Yeah. That’s usually the reaction I get.” His tone was self-deprecating, a little uncomfortable.

You shook your head quickly, trying to right the atmosphere, to assure him that you weren’t dismissing his feelings. “It’s not that I think it’s foolish,” you said, the words tumbling out before you even fully processed them. “I just think you’re the kind of person who needs constant reassurance. Like a hug, a kiss, or even just a touch or a smile to remind you everything’s okay. That’s how you like to be loved. So it’s hard to imagine you loving someone without all of that.”

A moment of silence stretched between you, thick and heavy, until you could almost feel the weight of his gaze on you. You turned your head, just enough to catch his eyes, and found him still looking undisturbed, as if frozen in place. But there was something in his eyes, something soft, almost vulnerable: curiosity, perhaps, or something deeper, a fleeting glimpse of a side he wasn’t used to showing. It didn’t last long, though. It couldn’t. Because if there was one thing he wasn’t accustomed to, it was being the subject of such focused attention. He had spent his life observing, and studying the little details of those around him, recognizing habits, memorizing routines, and quietly cataloging every nuance. It was his skill, his way of moving through the world. He was always the watcher, the one who gathered knowledge and surprised others with what he knew. But now, as your eyes met his, it was as though the roles had reversed, and for a moment, he wasn’t sure how to handle being the one under the microscope.

Then, as if he wants to flip the conversation entirely, his tone turns curious. “And you? Have you ever been in love?”

The question catches you off guard, the sudden shift in the air surprising you more than you’d care to admit.

“No,” you say, your answer quick, almost instinctive.

His eyebrows lift, and the surprise is clear in his expression, a small wrinkle forming between his brows as if he’s trying to process your words.

“Oh, don’t give me that look,” you say, pointing at him, half-amused, half-defensive. “Don’t judge.”

“I’m not judging,” he insists, rubbing the back of his neck, the familiar nervous gesture betraying his discomfort. “I just…didn’t expect that answer.”

You sigh, leaning back into the couch, trying to find a way to make the silence feel less loaded. “Yeah, well. Neither did I. I used to think that by this age, I’d have it all figured out. Love, relationships, the whole thing.” You pause, your gaze drifting to the flickering TV screen before adding dryly, “But love is a tricky subject. Kind of like my finances.”

Spencer’s eyes flicker with something like amusement, but it quickly turns into that familiar glint of curiosity, the one that always makes you feel like you’re on the receiving end of an interrogation. You brace yourself, almost expecting him to start spewing facts about some obscure subject. And he doesn’t disappoint.

“Well,” he says, his voice taking on a tone that’s both analytical and oddly comforting, “there are studies that show people are more likely to find love later in life than they think.” He pauses for a moment, clearly enjoying this little fact-dropping session. “In fact, statistically speaking, people in their 30s and 40s have a higher success rate in finding lasting relationships than those in their 20s. It’s because they’ve had more time to understand themselves, their needs, and what they want out of a partner. It’s not about rushing into something, it’s about finding someone who fits, someone who…gets you.”

You blink, the ease with which Spencer switches into research mode never failing to surprise you. You knew he could recite statistics and facts with ease, but hearing him speak about love in such an objective, factual manner felt…oddly reassuring. The gentle, even tone of his voice made the whole thing seem less daunting, less like a puzzle that needed to be solved, and more like something you could take time with.

“No one gets me except my cat and you,” you say, the words slipping out before you can second-guess them. It’s a light joke, but there’s truth in it, at least partly. “I adopted my cat, and you live next door. You don’t really have a choice; you have to talk to me.”

“No,” he says, almost like he’s contemplating the weight of his own words. “It’s not like that.”

You blink, feeling an odd, almost electric shift in the air between you. Something in his tone is different, softer, more vulnerable. The casual banter, the easy comfort you’d grown accustomed to, suddenly feels far away, as if the room had expanded and narrowed all at once. You weren’t sure what had changed, but you felt it, felt him, in a way you hadn’t before.

Your heart picks up a rhythm that’s a little too fast, but you don’t look away, not this time. You study him, trying to decipher the change, the subtle change in the atmosphere. Was it just you, or was he feeling it too?

“It’s not just because I live next door,” he continues, his voice barely above a whisper but clear enough that you can hear the rawness in it. He’s looking at you now, eyes soft, his gaze not shy but steady, like he’s inviting you into a space only the two of you occupy. “I think it’s because you make it easy. To be around you. To talk to you. I don’t have to try so hard with you.”

The words settle between you, heavy and unspoken, filling the space in ways that neither of you expected. You open your mouth to respond, to deflect with another joke or lighthearted comment, but something in you pauses. The atmosphere has shifted, and the words feel too thin, too trivial to layer over what’s hanging between you.

There’s a small silence that follows, the kind that feels comfortable in a way you can’t quite explain, but also a little unsettling, like you’ve accidentally wandered into a territory neither of you are sure how to navigate. Spencer doesn’t break eye contact. His presence feels different, more present now, as if he’s allowing himself to be seen in a way he never has before. It’s raw, but not fragile. Honest, but not vulnerable in the way you’d expect.

You chuckle, trying to break the tension, but it comes out as a soft snort. “Congratulations. You’ve just been promoted to vice president of the ‘people who tolerate me’ club.”

He hums thoughtfully, the quiet sound of it warm and easy. “I don’t think it’s about tolerating you. I think it’s about understanding you.”

His words, simple as they are, land with more weight than you expected. They’re not teasing. Not a casual remark. He’s being serious, and that sincerity makes something shift in you, just slightly, in a way that catches you off guard.

You sink back into the couch, your mind slowing down to catch up with the unexpected shift in your thoughts. You hadn’t realized how much you were holding back, how much you’d been avoiding, until you said it aloud. “Understanding is a rare thing,” you say quietly, more to yourself than to him, but you know he hears you.

“It is,” he agrees softly, almost like he’s mulling over your words, letting them settle in the space between you. “That’s why, when you find it, you hold onto it.”

You glance at him out of the corner of your eye. He’s still looking at the screen, but his gaze is distant, lost in thought, like his mind is somewhere else entirely. The flicker of the TV casts soft shadows across his face, highlighting the sharp lines of his jaw and the gentle furrow in his brow, and for the first time, you realize how much you’ve been paying attention to him without meaning to.

The space between you feels comfortable in a way that’s new, more intimate than you thought it could be. The quiet stretches, wrapping itself around you both like a blanket, and you realize how much you’re here, in this moment, with him. It’s strange—peaceful, even—like time has slowed down and all that matters is this tiny bubble of calm you’re both in.

Without thinking, your body shifts slightly, leaning into him, your head dipping just enough to rest against his shoulder. It’s not something you plan, just instinct, like your body already knows what it needs before your mind catches up. Spencer tenses, a quick intake of breath, but then the tension melts, and he exhales softly, the air between you warmer. His sweater is soft against your cheek, faintly smelling of books and coffee, a quiet comfort that sinks deep into your bones.

He doesn’t move away.

He doesn’t say anything.

Instead, he does something so small, so careful, that you almost miss it. He turns his head just enough that his cheek brushes against the top of your hair, as if making sure you’re okay, but without disturbing the delicate space you’ve found. The contact is so light, so gentle, that it almost doesn’t feel real, but it settles in your chest like a secret, a silent promise.

A few minutes passed, maybe more. You weren’t sure anymore. The movie played on, the soft glow of the screen casting shifting patterns on the walls, but neither of you were paying attention. The warmth of the room, the steadiness of Spencer’s breathing, the gentle pressure of his shoulder beneath you—it was all lulling you into a hazy, dreamlike state, where time felt like it had slowed just for the two of you.

Spencer’s hand moved then, hesitating only briefly before he let it rest—gentle, careful—on the back of your head. His fingers barely grazed your hair, but the touch was grounding, a silent reassurance that you were welcome here, that you weren’t imposing, that this, whatever this was, was okay.

“You okay?” He murmured, his voice so low it barely disturbed the quiet.

You nod slowly, your eyes still closed, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “Yeah,” you whisper, barely audible. “I’m just…comfortable.”

He’s quiet for a moment, and you feel him watching you, quietly studying the way your breath has slowed, how you’ve settled, how the weight of the day has melted away from you. You’re not sure how you know it, but you do. You can feel him there, his attention soft, and thoughtful.

A small sigh escapes you, a quiet expression of contentment. His thumb brushes over your hair, the touch light but lingering, so tender it feels like something private, something shared only between the two of you. It’s a simple gesture, but it makes something warm unfurl in your chest, the kind of warmth that stays with you.

And just as sleep began to pull you under, in that delicate space between waking and dreaming, you heard it.

So quiet.

So soft.

Like he hadn’t meant to say it out loud.

“You’re not as hard to love as you think.”

If you were fully awake, maybe you would’ve stiffened, maybe you would’ve asked him to repeat it, maybe you would’ve tried to decipher the meaning behind his words. But you weren’t awake.

Spencer hadn’t realized how much time had passed, how long the two of you had been sitting there in complete silence. The soft, almost imperceptible hum of the television played movies he didn’t even register anymore, their sounds blending into the background as though they were no longer a part of the world. His attention was entirely consumed by the gentle rise and fall of your breathing, the quiet rhythm of your presence against his, steady and soothing. Your warmth had become a part of him, so natural.

He hadn’t intended to just watch you sleep. But there was something about the peacefulness of it, the way your face softened in sleep, the little sighs escaping you every so often, that made him forget about the passage of time. His gaze lingered on you, not in an intrusive way, but with a quiet kind of reverence, as if he were trying to commit the moment to memory. The soft glow of the TV reflected on your features, casting gentle shadows and highlighting the small details of your face that always seemed to captivate him. Like the way your eyelashes fluttered even in sleep, or how your lips parted just slightly.

The steady beat of his heart, the subtle pulse of his chest, seemed to synchronize with the silence that wrapped around him, blending together like a soft, unspoken lullaby. He let himself be carried by its rhythm, a rare, peaceful kind of quiet he hadn’t realized he’d been longing for until now. How precious it was to just be here, with you, with nothing to investigate, nothing to analyze, nothing to figure out. No puzzles to solve, no complex patterns to unravel. For the first time in what felt like forever, he could just be, and he didn’t want it to end. Never had a night off from work felt more necessary, more perfect, than this one.

His fingers twitched absentmindedly, brushing against the fabric of your sleeve as though needing to reassure himself that you were still here, that you were real. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting, or why he was so fixated on you in this moment, but it felt safe. His body was heavy with the weight of it, content and grounded.

Hours passed, unnoticed.

It was only when the sharp sound of his cellphone pierced the stillness that he snapped out of his trance, blinking in surprise. The ringtone, abrupt and insistent, felt jarring against the soft cocoon of silence that had enveloped everything.

He glanced at his phone, his mind still hazy, still wrapped up in the warmth of the moment. His eyes immediately flickered to you, still nestled comfortably against him, breathing steady and slow, unaware of the world outside.

The phone kept ringing, louder now, demanding attention.

With one hand, he pressed the phone to his ear, the other reaching out to adjust your position ever so gently. He wanted to make sure you were still comfortable, still blissfully lost in sleep, without waking you.

“Reid! Are you hurt?” Penelope’s voice burst through the speaker in his ear, sharp with concern.

“Uh…no?” He murmured, his voice thick with sleep, barely audible. It was more of a question than an answer, the words slow and unsteady, betraying how distracted he was.

“No?” she repeated, her tone morphing into something a little more teasing. She huffed loudly, her curiosity piqued. “Then why aren’t you here right now?”

“Where exactly?” Spencer asked, his voice a little groggy, still half lost in the fog of sleep.

A beat of silence. Then—

“Oh.”

He frowned, lifting his head slightly to look down at you. His thoughts were tangled, the confusion thick in his chest. “Oh?” he repeated.

“Oh.”

His brow furrowed further. “Why so many ‘oh’s?”

“You’re thirty minutes late,” she said, the realization in her tone quickly morphing into something suspiciously close to delight. “You sound confused but…happy. You, Dr. Spencer Reid, who is never late for anything, are sitting somewhere, all content and cozy, completely forgetting the concept of time on the day after Valentine’s Day.” Another pause, and then, with a sudden squeal of excitement, she practically shouted, “You celebrated Valentine’s Day!”

Spencer’s cheeks flushed a soft pink, the words surprising him in a way he wasn’t quite ready for. “Not like that,” he said quickly, almost too quickly, his voice rushed, as if trying to distance himself from the thought. But even as he said it, there was something about the way his voice faltered, something that made him unsure. He couldn’t help it, his eyes drifted back to you.

“Oh, you totally did!” She gasped. “You adorable, lovestruck genius, you did it! You let someone in! This is huge!”

His eyes darted to the clock on the wall then, his heart stalling for a moment as his gaze lingered on the time. Thirty minutes late. The realization hit him like a wave, and he felt his pulse quicken. This has never happened to him before.

“My alarm didn’t sound,” he muttered, almost to himself, shaking his head in disbelief. He couldn’t figure out how he had missed it.

Garcia scoffed. “Your alarm didn’t sound?”

He could practically hear the smirk in her voice.

“Think of a better excuse for Hotch on your way here,” she said, the teasing evident in her voice. “And save all the details of your lovely night for me. I need to hear about your real-life romance.”

Romance? His chest tightened at the word. No, this wasn’t like that. This was…just friendship.

Spencer exhaled sharply, glancing down at you once more. His chest tightened as he took in the sight of you, still sleeping soundly in his arms, your features relaxed. There was a part of him that wanted to wake you, to say something, anything, but he couldn’t bear to disturb this rare moment. He longed to leave you something, maybe breakfast or a note, before he rushed out the door.

He sighed, feeling the weight of responsibility settle on his shoulders. “Tell Hotch I’ll be there in fifteen,” he said quietly, almost too quietly to be heard.

Penelope’s voice hummed knowingly through the phone. “Okay, lover boy,” she teased.

He hung up before she could say anything else, a small smile tugging at his lips despite himself.

And then, all at once, the realization hit him.

He had spent the whole night watching you sleep. Not even the sunlight creeping through the edges of his poorly closed curtains or the distant ringing of his alarm clock had been able to pull him away from you. From this.

Oh, that’s when he knew.

He was in love. Deeply. Madly. In love.

Tag list ❤︎ ︎: @burningwitchprincess @withloverosse @fairiesofearth @pleasantwitchgarden @ximensitaa @lover-of-books-and-tea @cherryblossomfairyy @cherrygublersworld @i-need-to-be-put-down

Send me an ask or comment here if you would like to be added or removed!

[darling-i-read-it]

Window Cracked Open

Jeff the Killer x fem!reader

Word Count: 1.6k

Warnings: god where do i start, reader is clearly deranged in the sense that she finds love in fear (yes that was a jab at me), blood, a knife, jeff lighty threatening the reader, overall scary writing?, mentions of jeff being too skinny and unhuman, descriptions of jeffs scarring (let me know if i missed any!) 

Author’s Note: i was trying to watch a romance show and it made me so deranged and sad that i wrote this because i feel more comfortable in fear than i do in love sometimes. 

Summary: Literally no plot just Jeff showing up one night 

I don’t own these characters. They belong to author/director/creator

(not my gif)

He always came in without warning. His limbs sprawled out, always gangly and white. Even in the dark, there was something illuminating about them. Monstrous. They moved too slow, with too much precision. Predatory. You never would have guessed he was once a human. Despite the two arms and two legs, he always seemed something otherworldly. You never knew when he would show. Sometimes it would be months without so much as a peep. Sometimes he would be gone mere days, mumbling something about the cold, pretending he felt normal feelings. 

The air coming through the window was chilly. It was crisp and comforting. Summer had finally started to dissipate. The sun had started to set sooner. The leaves started to turn. They fell to the ground, being run over by cars with the heater blasting. When the darkness fell over the night you could feel your muscles start to relax. The tenseness in your body rested when you got under warm blankets, a candle lit by your bedside. 

It had been weeks. The sticky sweat of the summer had Jeff on the run. You never knew where he went when he was gone for long periods of time. It just made you antsy. Even after plenty of time, you could never go to sleep at peace. You left the window cracked open, always prepared for someone to come climbing in, something that looked like a monster under your bed. 

You could have shut it. Locked it. Bought double locks or something, gone to the local hardware store and asked for better protection or cameras or something. It would put you at ease. Jeff would get the message. 

But God, where’s the fun in that? 

You were in between consciousness. You could still hear everything around you, make  note of the normal noises as they came and went. The fan blowing, causing your curtains to slightly move. The sound of your clock, ticking. The familiar fabric moving with the wind from the window. 

A creak on the window. 

At first, you didn’t even open your eyes. You dismissed it as something in your dreams, something you could almost touch. The comforting feeling of sleep was about to overtake you and honestly, you were ready to let it. You could ignore something that echoed far away, nothing more than a simple abnormality. 

Then a longer creak. Weight shifting on the sill. 

You opened your eyes. It was dark. You had a little night light in the corner of your room by the door. You could see the edges of it from where you were laying. Your body stayed still. Listening. Waiting. You could see your digital clock on the bedside table. Nearing the witching hour. 

Finally, there was a footstep on your carpet. You could barely hear it. If it wasn’t so quiet otherwise, you would never have noticed it. 

You put your palm against your mattress. You used it to shift your weight, sitting up. 

Jeff was standing by the window. You could see him only by his silhouette. Your eyes weren’t used to the darkness yet but you the gentle night light illuminated against his striking figure. All sharp. The connection between his limbs seemed stagnant. Holding themselves together only by the sheer need to. You recognized him by his familiar motifs. 

There was a long moment of complete stillness. Jeff stood at the window. You could imagine his eyes scanning the room, feverishly taking in his surroundings, understanding each and everything you had changed since he had been there last. You sat on the bed, watching him, breathing shallowly. You recognized that this was like a still from a horror movie. You knew that the fear in your chest was only narrowly alarming. There should have been a flight or fight guard behind it. Instead it was just a fear that was welcomed. A feeling you understood, one that you knew well. It paralyzed you from anything else. God, it was a nice feeling. 

Jeff moved. He walked towards your bed, putting both his palms on the comforter and crawling towards you. You could see more of his face as he moved, the night light flashing off his features in different ways. 

His permanent Glasgow smile was stained with dried blood. You lifted your hand towards him, putting it on his cheek. He sat criss cross applesauce in front of you. You had brought your legs towards your body to make room. You wanted to clean the wound, an innate instinct. You wondered how many times you had cleaned it. How many times he just returned it to its idle state. 

His eyes were wide. They always were. It showed no inclination of surprise, just a natural gaze. 

“Why the frown sweetface?” His voice broke the silence. It literally felt like it shattered, waking you from some sort of trance. You hadn’t realized you were frowning. How could he see your expression at all? You could hardly see his.

“You're bleeding.”

“Always.” Your hand dragged down from his cheek. It brushed over his neck, his Adam's apple bobbing. Then onto his hoodie. It looked like it had once been white but was now stained. Dirt. Blood. Guts. You left your hand against his chest. If he had a heart, it would be there. 

“Where have you been?” You wouldn’t get an answer you wanted. You asked anyway. 

“Here, there. No where.” His voice was raspy. Almost playful. “Didja miss me?” His voice remained just above a whisper. You swallowed hard.

“Yes,” you said, honestly. He smiled, as much as he could. “Do you wanna get some clean clothes?” You couldn’t even think twice about how long he had been wearing this set. 

“Sounds like a lotta work.” You half snorted. 

“Couldn’t be any more work than killing someone.”

“That has an end result.” 

“So does changing.” 

“You better watch your tongue,” he threatened, though it felt fake. He took his knife out from an unidentified face, flashing it in your face. It glistened in the night light. “You could be the next one on the other end of my knife.” 

“Is that a promise?” His version of a smile returned. You climbed off the bed, going towards your dresser. You had kept some things that looked mildly like Jeff’s size. You grabbed a different hoodie, a shirt and some slacks. He was watching you. You could feel it. 

You turned back to him. Large eyes watched your movements. 

You threw the clothes at him. He caught it, quickly, easily. 

“Get dressed.” 

“So demanding,” he muttered. He slid off the bed. His movements were always too easy. Too graceful. 

He had no qualms of getting dressed right there. He tossed his things to the side and you watched, climbing back into the bed and leaning against the wall. You watched him. His slender body, white as a sheet, moved like a ghost. He was impossibly skinny. Always cold to the touch, like a corpse. 

Once he had changed, he turned back to you. 

“Happy?” he snarled. 

“Very.” 

He crawled back onto the bed. Jeff sprawled onto the comforter. He pretended it was his, that the warmth and the safety was something he could live in. He knew it wasn’t what he wanted. But it was something he could enjoy, in small doses. 

“Do I get a space?”

“Sleep on the floor.” You scoffed. You shoved him aside, grabbing the top of the comforter and pulling it down. You climbed underneath it and he took the moment to also enjoy the warmth of the blankets. You faced him, cheek against your pillow. It was colder now that he had opened the window gap a little larger. You were going to get blood on your pillows. He likely wouldn’t be there when the sun rose. This would feel like nothing but a dream. 

He grabbed your hip, pulling you closer. He was freezing. Cold blooded, you swore. After a gasp you stifled your emotion. His hair smudged over his face, the tips of it touching your skin. He had pulled you to his chest, his grip like iron. 

Your eyes started to close. Sleep would come easily. You were still in the in-between of consciousness. 

You could feel his lips (or lack thereof) against the top of your head. He buried his face into the pillow so that his nose would remain in your hair, breathing in your shampoo. You would wake up with blood on you more than likely, the feeling of his kisses leaving you before you could comprehend them.   But you slept better with Jeff here then you did without him. All fear and anticipation dissipated. The knowing was far better than the unknown. You fell asleep in his arms, a crazy loopy reasoning in your head about the boy in your arms.

[baewritez]

Just A Little Touch Up (0)

( Aaron Pierre X Plus Size OC )

Summary : The black and white life of a makeup artist is given color by A-List Client

Tags : Work Place Romance , Age Gap , Plus Size OC , BDSM , 18 +

 How does one find themselves bent over a kitchen counter with their hands tied behind their back? Better yet how does one find themselves pent under one of the most beautiful men to grace my eyes?! But that is it; that is what holds the answer. If you were to ask how I ended up in this position, I would say it was an exchange of looks, eyes full of desires, wants, needs so pure like honey that you could almost taste its sweetness. His eyes, like crashing waves held me captive fixed in place while a smirk started to spread on his face. I want to be the next thing spread across those juicy pump lips, as if thunder rolled out his lips so confidently, he said “So do you know how long we are in hair and makeup for?” his voice piercing the darkest part of my desires leaving with a newfound longing.  

Strumming over my words “t-t-t-two hours I think” warm air filled the trailer blowing past him as he walked up the stairs closing the door as he stepped in. His cologne of warm nutmeg and patchouli oil filled the air as I fought the urge to take a deep breath. “Thanks, my assistant and manager won’t be on set til 9:00am so it’s just me and you.” Looking up at him I felt like a dwarf, and he was a skyscraper as he moved closer towards me. “Um that is okay I think I can be finished with your makeup before then. You can sit here.” I gestured with my hand to the black makeup chair in front of me. He held out his large hand towards me. “I am Aaron” I looked at the veins near his knuckles; my mouth started to water as I tried to swallow my thirst down. The image of his big hands grabbing my curly puff and pulling flashed in my mind. SLAPPING my hand down I took a step a back and smiled. My heartbeat was like an alarm in my ear at just the idea of being close to him set it into a frenzy. “Would you like a water or coffee?”  His hand slowly went back down to his side as confusion blossomed on his face, but he gently brushed off the interaction and exchange. As he started to get settled into the seat his bulky frame filled the space around me as I instinctively grabbed the counter behind me. A look of concern washed over his face as his handsome facial features scrunched up. Holding up both of his hands the white shirt and black leather jacket raised up to show his chiseled deep v leading to what I could only think was euphoria “I don’t bite, Love” his husky voice breaking the awkward silence. But all I wanted was for him to leave bite marks and hickeys where no one could see and even in places where they could be seen. I wanted him to show the world that I was his; but that was a fantasy. “So, water, right?” My voice trembled, as I started to break my gaze from his charcoal jeans as it now covered the valley of ecstasy. Slowly tracing up past his white v neck t-shirt into his hazelnut brown and storm cloud eyes taking in his clear and blemish free skin. “Water is perfect, Love.” he replies. Aaron moves his arm to rest of the side arm of the chair and he places his hand on chin and rests it on his full amber beard. Taking a deep breathe I turned to face the counter and mirror; I bent down opening the mini fridge to grab a cool bottle of water as a shiver ran down my spine. Coming up from the fridge I am stopped in my tracks as I glance into the mirror only to be frozen in time as Aaron’s eyes created a fire in his wake. I am the match, and he was setting me ablaze his eyes moving from legs to my ass gliding up like a feather. My palms start to form sweat beads became clammy. It’s as if I was rubbed up against a balloon the hair on my neck and arm stands small shocks pulse throughout my body. The sound of our heavy breathing and the humming of the ac unit filled my ears. He was my Hades making me his Persephone as his bottom lip is captured by his teeth. My mouth is left open the idea of his thick finger filling that emptiness sends another shiver down my spine and my body goes relax. The thud of the bottle snaps both of us out of drunken stupor.

** A/N : I hope i didn't keep you waiting too long. If you like the preview let me know. Welcome to BaeWritez where desire can be fulfilled. - XOXO BAE

[alastor-simp]

Trick or Treat - Alastor x Female Reader

❥Summary: It's Halloween, and the hotel is decorated in spooky decor and sweet treats were prepared. Towards the end of the night, you are approached by Alastor and he has a very intimate question for you.

❥Tags: Halloween, Halloween Night, Trick or Treat, October 31st, Alastor x Reader, Female Reader, Soon To Be Smut, Spooky.

❥Notes: Halloween story for Alastor is here. This will be a two different ending story (Trick Chapter and Treat Chapter) and they will both be different scenarios and either romantic fluff or smut. Enjoy and Happy Halloween

❥Credit- Halloween divider from @riottsrph

It's finally Halloween!!!! You have been waiting for this day ever since you arrived in the Hazbin Hotel. Halloween was something you celebrated when you were still alive, and you were still going to continue to celebrate it even when you were in Hell. You begged Charlie and Vaggie if it was possible to plan a Halloween costume party in the hotel for everyone. Charlie was immediately on board with you, grabbing a paper and pen, making a list of everything that they needed to prepare for the party. Vaggie was a bit hesitant at first, but she gave in to Charlie's puppy dog eyes.

Grabbing the invitations that you drew up, you placed them under the doors of all of the residents, reminding them to head to the lobby at around 7 pm, and to wear a spooky costume. Charlie also extended an invitation to her dad, especially since her and him had a better relationship now. Charlie and Vaggie were managing the decorations, while you headed to the kitchen, preparing tasty treats for the others. You decided to do both savory and sweet halloween treats, since others might not have a sweet tooth, aka Alastor. For the sweets, you made witch finger cookies, caramel + candy apples, halloween covered strawberries. The savory treats was ghost pizza, spooky charcuterie board, and mummie meatballs.

🧡💚💜🖤Treats🖤💜💚🧡

(Credit to Pinterest)

"All set!" You said to yourself, enthusiastically, satisfied with the dishes you prepared. Charlie saw what you made and gave you a big hug, truly happy and excited to try them and the others to enjoy them as well.

Eyeing the clock, it was almost time for the party. You ran towards your room, ready to put on your (favorite halloween costume) on. Once you were finished, you headed to the lobby, ready for the party. The lobby was decorated from head to toe in spooky decorations. The chandelier was covered in cobwebs, ghost string lights were hang up all over the walls, black, orange and white balloons were scattered on the floor, spider and ghost streamers hanged from the ceiling, and the table was set up with the food you prepared and a punch bowl, which was probably gonna be spiked later. Everyone was in the lobby, dressed in their costumes. Charlie and Vaggie were dressed up as Glinda and Elphaba from the musical, Wicked. Charlie's cat, Keekee was wearing an adorable devil costume. Angel was wearing a very sexy police uniform, as expected of him. Husk had on a big red and white striped hat and bowtie, resembling the cat in the hat. Niffty had on a purple and black dress, combined with a point hat and broom, resembling a witch. Sir Pentious donned a lab coat, with rubber gloves and fake medical tools, clearly looking like a mad doctor, and his Egg bois were dressed up in little nurses outfits. You expected Lucifer to dress up as either a prince or vampire, but here he was, dressed in a big duck costume, well he looked good in it.

Alastor was the only one who wasn't in the lobby, making you wondered where he was. "Hey, has anyone seen Alastor?" Your question was met with shrugs, until you heard the sound of static from behind you. "Here I am, my dear!" He said, in a sing-song tone, making you turn your head to look at him. He was still wearing a pin striped suit, but this time it was white and black, along with a bat bowtie in the front. "Ahh, decided to be the Pumpkin king himself for Halloween." Smiling up at Al, you admired his costume, moving your hand up to straightened the bow tie. "Yes well, I much rather prefer to appear as myself since I am heavily feared, but dear Charlie was persistent with the whole costume aspect of this celebration, so I chose this." He said, smile enlarging a bit as he watched you fix his tie. "Well you look very handsome." His ears twitched at what you said, smile turning soft. "OKAY!! ARE WE READY TO GET THIS PARTY STARTED?!" Charlie's voice rang out, making you and Alastor jump as you turned around, facing towards her. "HELL YEAH!" was everyone's response to Charlie, as the halloween party was ready to commence.

The party was a massive hit! Everyone was moaning in joy at how delicious the food was that you prepared, even Alastor gave you a nod of approval for the non sweet dishes you made. Lucifer had used his powers to conjure up some fun entertainment for everyone, as well. He had a giant water jug filled with apples for everyone to do bobbing for apples, which you really enjoyed playing. Turning on the boom box, you put on "Thriller" by MJ, grabbing both Husk and Angel to do the iconic dance. Husk grumbled through half of it, but he lightened up a bit after a while. Everyone else started to dance, and you pulled Alastor to join as well. He wasn't use to dancing to this type of music, but he slowly adapted to it, as you helped him a bit with the moves. Angel insisted on playing beer pong after he asked numerous times, making you relent. He went up against Al, which was a bad idea because the balls tend to always miss his cups, yet magically Al's ping pong balls always landed in Angels cups, causing Angel to drink all of his alcohol.

It soon became very late and everyone was either very drunk or flat out tired, which was a clear sign that the party was over. Lucifer bid everyone a good night, lifting both Charlie and Vaggie in his arms, carrying them to their bedroom. Angel placed Niffty on Husks head, as she was passed out, while the both of them headed to bed. Pen's egg bois were able to lift him up, dragging him away to his bedroom. The only ones who were still awake was you and Alastor, not surprising since he never slept. "MMMMM! Well that was a fun party." Stretching your arms up in the air, you let out a soft groan as you heard your bones crack. "I must admit, it was highly entertaining. Too bad we didn't finish the night with a good hunt!" The demonic aura surrounded Al, as his antlers enlarged and his eyes became dials. "Hey, behave yourself! Besides not everyone would partake in that, well maybe, Niffty." Crossing your arms, you glared at him, as his evil aura faded in a instance. "It was merely a suggestion, my dear. There is no need for you to frown, come now, Smile!" His fingers went to your lips, pulling them up into a smile. Rolling your eyes, you smiled genuinely while removing his hands from your mouth, "Yeah yeah." Turning your eyes back to the lobby, you saw there was a mess that needed to be cleaned up, welp lets get started. Before you can even start cleaning, everything vanished with a flash, making the room spotless. "What?! How did?" Turning back, you realized Al snapped his fingers, using his powers. "Oh right, forgot you could do that." You rubbed your neck, smiling at Al.

Chuckling at your reaction, Al walked closer to you, motioning his arm out for you to take, "Come along now, my dear. Its best we head to bed." Looping you arm with his, you walked along side him, venturing on towards your chambers The both of you finally reached your destination, your room, as the both of you stood at your door. "Thanks for walking me to my room, Al." Alastor smiled down at you, waiting for you to unhook your arm, as he placed both his hands behind his back. "Your very welcome, my dear." Grabbing the handle, you turned the door, before you bid Alastor a good night. Entering inside your room, your head met someones chest causing you to jump and scream. "WAH!" Alastor had teleported into your room, startling you. "HAHA! Apologies for scaring you, but there was a question I wanted to ask you, my dear." Trying to calm yourself down from the scare, you looked up at Al, asking what did he want to ask you. Wearing a toothy smirk, he walked slowly towards you, making you step backwards, your back touching the door. Gripping your chin softly, he tilted it up, crimson eyes gazing into yours, "Trick or Treat?" What? Remaining silent, you pondered what he meant. "Which one, darling? Trick or Treat?"

-To Be Continued-

What answer the reader choose?

Trick-Part Coming Soon

or

Treat- Part Coming Soon

Sinners:

@alastorsgoldie @91062854-ka , @delectableworm , @iiotic

@cookiekyo , @demoarah , @danveration , @beebsbea ,

@veethewriter , @forbidden-sunlight , @pinkcrystal44 , @luujjvi ,

@unholycheesesnack , @saturnhas82moons , @jyoongim ,

@aceofcards0-0 , @ghostdoodlen , @yourdoorisunlocked ,

@starshipcookie , @ainsliemac , @aria-tempest , @nobuharashinyao

, @sweet06tart , @blakedbeanss , @ihyperfixatedagain , @ktssstuff ,

@yakultt-art , @mooniee123 , @nightmarenaya , @darischerry ,

@sadnessiscoldtea , @alastorssimp , @imacollasaltitan ,

@dilucragnvindr-my-beloved , @batmanmonstarr , @felice-jaganshi ,

@justchillaine , @crazed-flower , @ohmylovewhereartthou-blog ,

@akiooshizuka , @lokis-imaginary-friend ,

@themysteriousslenderman , @huntlowfan , @futureittomainn ,

@christinaatyourservice92 , , @just-trash-yeah-thats-it ,

@angelinevalentine89 , @yunimimii , @staryosh1 ,

@mihawksdemoness , @crystalreads , @blahblahbruhmeow ,

@madam-strawberryrose , @inkslayer , @azazel-nyx , @lixanjewel ,

@artemisandhunters , @thereeallink , @ask-theradio-demon ,

@lousypotatoes @l4zyb0n35 , @midorichoco

@lillyisfreakyy , @alastorthirsty , @yukiinee ,

, @aconstructofamind @angiiiiiiiiie

@pumppkinlynn @erikaafernns , @silverpaw2 ,

@cosmiccandydreamer , @killer-nightmare0 , @visara-valentina

@thereallsaturnstar , @coffee-or-hot-cocoa ,

@fckedupandbeautiful , @alaskathestereodemoness , @fries11 ,

@toneystank-3000. , @doll-babe-a-tron-queenthousand

, @alastor-the-radio-demons-blog , @twistedvanillacoffee

@morganodaidiot

[saturnville]

more jude fics I beggg

where do we go?

pairing: jude bellingham x black oc warning: angst content: she finds her way to his house after midnight with no other thought besides where they move forward from here. reference: where do we go by andra day an: engagement is always appreciated, and highly encouraged. I hope you enjoy <3 tags: @mauvecherie-writes @emjayewrites @neewrites @saintslewis @boujiestpoet @vile-harlot @greedyjudge2 @cocobutterqwueen @cosmic-parker @blueaetherr + let me know if you want to be added/removed!

It was past midnight. The dark sky cried bitterly, its tears streaming down in sheets, drenching the earth below. Loud wails and heavy sobs shook the ground. Who was she missing? Perhaps the sun, her lover who disappeared for hours at a time. Warming her atmosphere for a few short hours before abandoning her for the light sky, leaving her cold and lonely in his absence,

Evelyn Alena watched the winding road intently. Her bright headlights cut through the blanket of rain. The storm's weight felt so heavy, so consuming, that it was suffocating. Her hands twisted around the steering wheel. Her knuckles turned white as she focused on an unknown destination; her eyes narrowed against the glare of the rain. 

While consciously, she had no destination, her heart had directed her brain to follow its created roadmap. It had driven her there, through familiar pathways and past streets with cars against the shoulder. It pulled her with a force she couldn’t name but couldn’t resist. 

The rhythm of the windshield wipers played a steady beat against the haunting melody of the storm. Thump. Thump. Thump. Clashing thunderclaps caused a sudden dissonance in the rhythm of nature. She jumped in her seat. She should go home, she told herself. There was still time to turn around and go home before it got too dangerous. But she kept driving. Her car moved slowly and steadily through the rain, hissing as it passed the large puddles at the road's edge.

Then she saw it. At the corner of the street, where it’d always been. Sitting pretty, strong in stature. An inanimate memory, holding safe the love she had wrapped in flesh. She hesitated, foot hovering over the brake, heart pounding in her ears. She made the turn.

Woodman Ave.

Familiar ground. Echoes of old footsteps. Laughter still lingered in the corners. She could almost see her and Jude walking those sidewalks, playing ball in the backyard (though she wasn’t very good), and throwing water balloons at each other during family cookouts. She could see the love between them. She blinked, and the ghosts disappeared.

She pulled into the driveway slowly. Her fingers switched the light, which let the house rest in darkness. Her breath hitched. Had she made a mistake? She couldn’t get in her head too much. She’d already made it this far.

She got out of the car and closed the door quietly. Within seconds, she was drenched. Yet, she didn’t move with urgency. One foot after another, she counted how many footsteps it took to get from the driveway to the front door. 15. 

She lifted her hand to knock but hesitated. What was she so afraid of? She’d already driven to his house during a storm, soaked her clothes like a child, and stood in front of his home. What more was there to be afraid of? 

She gulped. One knock, two knows, three knocks. Silence. 

The knock was quiet. Soft. Like whispers of the leaves during autumn. The door opens slowly. Her former lover, groggy from sleep, caught her silhouette through blurred vision. He blinked a few times. Evie. No words followed. She stood before him as her body shook, shivered, and quaked, evidence of walking in the rain. His eyes met hers—a moment of true recognition and understanding. 

Jude stepped aside, inviting her in. She stepped into the house slowly, water leaving her wake. There were no words to say. He stood behind her, his bare feet damp with rainwater, and peeled the wet coat off her shoulders. He tapped her hip twice, nodding toward the bedroom. 

She shuddered as she stripped out of her clothes. Each article hit the floor with a plop. She stared at herself in the mirror--bare-bodied, bare-faced, and bare-souled. What was she doing? A soft knock caught her attention. 

Without much thought, Jude cracked the door. She didn’t mind it. “Some clothes. Towel for your hair. Another towel for your body...” He handed her a pile of neatly folded clothes. They were hers. Her favorite was an oversized Avengers shirt and old college sweatpants. The towel was a gift from him. Black and microfiber to protect her hair. She wanted to smile. He never got rid of her stuff. 

Her eyes met his. He was tired, but so many emotions were swirling in his chocolate eyes. He was saying something, but she couldn’t make it out.

“Can you…I’m so cold,” she finally spoke through chattering teeth. Jude stepped into the bathroom. He shut the door behind him as if someone would follow. The black towel was thick and heavy in his hands as he wrapped it around her body. She let out a deep breath at the warmth. 

He took the head towel next. He wrapped it around her head, securing it with the string and button. He nodded once. “You okay?” She nodded back. “I’ll leave you to it.” With her damp clothes in his hands, he turned.

He said nothing further when he left. She slid the shirt over her body and shoved her feet into the pant legs. She sighed heavily. 

Her movements were slow as she opened the bathroom door and retreated downstairs. There were perks of living in a small home. Everything was easily accessible, and anyone could be easily found. His body was still against the couch. His finger drew circles around the rim of the pristine water glass, but not once did he pick it up. 

“Feel better?” He asked without turning around. She gulped. Her head bobbed as if she was seen. Her feet shuffled against the tile floor as she circled the couch and stood off. 

Burning ahead was the fireplace. Snap. Crackle. Pop. It warmed the living room and brought light to the desolate atmosphere. “Uh, yeah. Thank you. Room for another?” He lifted his arm, and she slipped under it; she was in her rightful place. 

Silence consumed them. There was much to say, but neither knew where to begin. Evelyn lay on his chest, her eyelids heavy and her vision blurred. Her body shook as it tried to regain its equilibrium from being chilled by the rain. Anxiety-ridden, she was. Nervous and unsure. Yet, the sound of his heartbeat, strong and steady, grounded her. 

Evelyn missed being so close to him. It felt like years, but it had only been a few months. There was a familiarity in how he held her near. Close and comfortable like she’d never left. Her mind raced with questions. Why was she here? Why’d her heart guide her to him?

Jude’s fingers traced absent-minded patterns on her arm. She wanted to ask if he missed her if he thought about her as much as she did him. But the words caught in her throat, held back by an unspoken agreement to simply exist, kept her from complicating it.

The storm began to die down. Violent winds and heavy rainpour tapered into a soft drizzle. It mirrored the quiet between them, a peace settling over the room, though the quiet tension lingered beneath it all. The fire continued to crackle in front of them.

“Jude...” she finally whispered, her voice hardly audible above the fading storm. But she didn’t know what else to say even as she said his name. There was no need. He responded with a quiet hum, his fingers pausing briefly before resuming their familiar dance on her skin.

They lay there like that for what felt like hours. The weight of everything unspoken hung between them, but neither felt the need to break the silence. It was a moment of comfort in confusion. Neither was sure where they would go, but basking in each other’s presence was enough.

[mamasturn]

how many drinks? benny cross

pairing: benny cross x black fem oc (sennett aliah) summary: she's new in town and the infamous biker benny cross invites her for drinks. warning: suggestive themes. light language. tags: @faephoria @thetaoofzoe @turn-thy-paige @contrarybeliefs @qveendiorsworld @blukit04 @neewrites

She was in a new era of life. Single, childless, and without any burden on her shoulders. On her way through a town with whom she knew not a soul. It was quite bold of her, she had to admit. To trudge into a small town in the heart of Illinois with a smaller Black population than the spectacles on the bottom of her shoe, from a city in Georgia where everywhere she turned, someone looked like her. 

She was far from nervous or afraid. The most they could do was call her out her name, but who was she to get bent out of shape over misplaced anger and lack of intelligence? No one. 

So, she packed her car with her belongings, drove to Illinois, sweet talked her way into a small house for less than it was worth, and began to make herself at home. Home. As best as she could, she figured. 

She kept in contact with her mother and cousin, who both cursed her for going to Illinois, but praised her courage and determination. She’d done what they never would have dreamed of. 

After a long day of packing and sweating like a dog, she took a cold shower, shoved her legs into a pair of old Levi’s jeans, threw a distressed cropped shirt on, slipped on her boots, and hopped into her 1952 convertible. 

Her dark hair blew in the wind as she cruised down the street, no care for the speed limit sign. She glanced at the speedometer. 67 in a 25 wasn’t bad, right? Her fingertips drummed along the body of the car as she hummed along to the song playing through the static radio.

If you’re looking for trouble…you’ve come to the right place. 

She’d heard of a bar in town from a group of men at the gas station. Owned and oftentimes filled by outlaw bikers from Chicago. Dangerous guys, the men insisted. To stay clear of at all times. While she wasn’t easily scared, she wouldn’t do what her heart desired to do. She’d be on her best behavior; just get a drink or two, flirt with a man with a scruffy beard, and go back home to look for jobs in the paper. A solid plan, she thought. 

It seemed like the world grew silent when the door of her convertible slammed shut. All eyes were on her. By their facial expressions, she knew what they were thinking. Who the hell is she? An unfamiliar woman with an unfamiliar face. It didn’t phase her. She simply gave a raspy, “Hello,” and tried to brush past the lunkheads at the door who refused to make it easy for her to enter. 

“What’re you doing?” One of them asked roughly. Her eyes dropped and her lips straightened. The tough-guy act wasn’t threatening; it didn’t put the fear of God in her heart. Hell, she could have laughed at how their chests blew up like a balloon and their arms crossed over them. 

“I want a drink. Heard this was the place to be,” she said simply with a shrug. She stood on her toes for a moment to eye the scenery behind them. Men and women in the corners, bikers’ wives gossipping over cigarettes and cold beer, the sound of balls colliding against each other on the pool table. “So, can I come in?” 

The lunkheads glanced at once another. They were prepared to say no. She could see it by the way their tongues lifted against the roof of their mouths and their lips rounded. She rolled her eyes in frustration. What the hell did a girl have to do to get a drink around here? 

“You know what, forget it.” She threw her hands up in surrender and prepared to walk away. She spent hours driving and even more time unpacking, the last thing she wanted to deal with was a lunkhead rejecting her from the bar, especially when she had money she was willing to spend on a drink. 

Then suddenly, she heard a voice say. “She’s with me. Let her in.” Her head bounced like a spring. The owner of the voice stood behind the lunkheads. He nodded toward the entrance and she knew better than to think too long, so she smiled slyly at the men outside and brushed past them. “Thank you, boys.” 

This was the place to be, she noted. The smell of smoke and strong liquor burned her nose and she loved it. Her eyes closed as she inhaled deeply. Finally. She was brought out of her fantasy world when he asked, “Do you want a drink?” His voice was hardly above a whisper, but his blue eyes on hers forced her attention to be directed to him. She nodded. 

He led her to the bar which was crowded but they were swift to move out the way for Benny, she heard them call him, and some pretty thing from around the way. At that, she became the star of the evening. The men glanced at her like they wanted to eat her or kill her, and the women tilted their heads in interest as to who she was. She chose not to respond. Nothing would keep her from getting the buzz she so rightfully deserved. 

“Pick your poison,” he said, pointing toward the wall of neatly organized liquor behind Johnny, who took on serving for the time being. 

“Whiskey neat,” she told Johnny, whose eyebrows raised. The corner of her lips turned upward. “Need something strong.” 

Johnny chuckled, “You got it, darlin’.” 

The man, Benny, wasn’t a man of many words, she noticed. He only spoke when he needed to. She presumed he was a man of action. He had to be if rather than asking her a million and one questions at the door, he simply told the guards to let her in. Rather than asking her what she wanted, he told her to pick for herself. A man of action, she noted. 

He was incredibly handsome, too. She had never seen herself finding herself attracted to a man again after her split from her husband a year prior. But Benny, he was a sight for sore eyes. Dirty blonde hair styled messily, daunting blue eyes, and a scruffy beard. Lord, she was a goner for beards. 

She appreciated the dirt on his boots, rips in his jeans, and crinkled in his cut. A seasoned biker. She’d never been with a biker before. Was it worth what the women in here giggled and blushed over when their men walked in the room and gave them a wink? She wondered how bad she’d be for wanting to find out. 

“You’ve got a wandering eye,” he said after some time. He didn’t look at her as he said it. His eyes were trained on the liquid he swirled in his short glass. She should’ve been embarrassed for getting caught but she was far from it. “You stare at strangers often?” 

She smiled slyly. “Just the ones who get me a drink. Which, I appreciate, by the way. Haven’t been able to find a decent joint all day.” She thanked Johnny who’d handed her a drink and knocked it back in one go. That caught Benny’s attention. How she didn’t flinch when it went down her throat. How her full lips pursed just slightly, how a drop of whiskey escaped her lips and slid off her cheek down her neck until it settled at the valley of her breasts. He sighed deeply. 

“Look who’s starting now, Benny,” she teased. For the first time that night, Benny met her eyes. God, he was so beautiful. She’d grab him and lick the drop of whiskey right off his lips. He beat her to the punch. She was jealous of his lip; having the ability to be caressed by his tongue. 

“Never caught your name,” Benny said, not directly addressing her comment. He nodded at Johnny, who had filled both their glasses. “I’d assume it compliments that unique personality of yours.”

She tossed her hair over her shoulder, a smile spreading across her blood-red lips. “Sennett.” 

Benny nodded, intrigued. Sennett. She was something spicy. She moved without a care in the world. She was bold and free. He knew from the moment she strutted to the door after hopping out of her convertible that she was a force to be reckoned with. He wanted to reckon with it. 

“Sennett.” Her name tasted tangy on his tongue. Like a piece of sour candy that he knew would cause a tinge of discomfort before it got delicious. With his hands folded on the table, he asked, “How many drinks do you think you’re having tonight, Sennett?"

She shivered. “How ever many you’re willing to treat me to.” 

His eyebrow raised in interest, “Good.” 

-

She knew how to handle her liquor, but it didn’t mean that it didn’t affect her in more ways than one. Liquid courage was a beautiful thing. It had her pressed against a wall in a dimly lit closet filled with dust and cobwebs but she didn’t mind it at all. 

Benny was mysterious. So mysterious and so under the radar that she didn’t expect his boldness and assertiveness to boil over the way it did. He had his hand wrapped around her throat as he claimed ownership over her lips with a dominance and intentionality that knocked the wind out of her chest. 

Her red nails combed through his dirty blonde hair and tugged at the roots. Her body was on fire, lit up like a flame. She could feel the sweat gather at her forehead and droplets slid down the valley of her breasts. The throbbing between her thighs pounded like a drum. She was desparate to soothe the ache and used his thigh to rid the tension building within her. 

Benny chuckled against her lips, snaking his hand between their bodies. His calloused fingers caressed her stomach, his thumb and forefinger tugging at her belly ring. She winced. Then, they dropped to the crevice between her thighs. Her jeans were thick but she could feel the warmth of his fingertips grazing her clit and she jolted. “Benny…”

His lips fell to her neck and she moaned loudly. He nipped and sucked until her chest and collarbone were bruised. Against her skin he whispered, “Not here…not now.” She released a guttural groan of frustration. Sennett could appreciate a man with logic, but goodness, all she wanted to do was have him take her right then and there. 

“Why not?”

Benny broke away from her. His arm stayed wrapped around her waist with his hand stroking her backside. His right thumb swiped along the sides of her mouth to wipe away the remnants of their oral tango. “Cause contrary to popular belief, I’m a man of class.” His words were stoic but she heard the playfulness in them. “And uh, a closet isn’t comfy for anybody.” 

Sennett’s hand didn’t fall from his hair and his didn’t fall from her waist. She hummed and nodded once. “Well, we’ll see how many drinks it takes you to take me in a closet next time, yeah?” 

His eyebrow raised. A force to be reckoned with for sure.

[midnightbears]

✿ duskbound, afterlight.

#STARRING: cybertronian femme reader & other characters.

#TAGS: a lot violence. death. anxiety and angst. mc goes haywire for a few minutes. flashbacks. mentions of cybertronian blood. anxiety. no appearance of canon characters.

#NOTES: here's the third chapter of my fic which i've officially named duskbound, afterlight. enjoy!

part one | part two | part four | part five | part six

taglist: @buubblegum

You were knocked back a meter or two before you clutched your mid-section, your tank twisting and the sizzling air of Kaon burning inside you. Clumsily, you tried to counter his next jab, but the kick sent to your knee plates caused you to buckle and fall like a sack of stones.

Panic gripped you like a vice as you desperately attempted to defend yourself, your movements erratic, uncoordinated. But your efforts proved futile against the experienced maneuvers of the mech. Blow after blow rained down upon you, each sending shockwaves of pain through your circuits.

The sharp, metallic tang of energon permeated the atmosphere, curling around you like a shimmering veil. It intertwined with the pungent aroma of oil and various fluids, creating an intoxicating compound that stung your olfactory sensors. Your ventilators whirred incessantly, battling against the oppressive heat that threatened to overwhelm you at any moment.

A heavy blow landed squarely on your chassis, sending you crashing to the ground with a resounding clang. As you struggled to regain footing, your opponent loomed over you, their optics gleaming with malice.

With a surge of adrenaline, you lashed out with renewed determination, striking back with all the strength you could muster. But it was too little, too late.

The mech quickly overpowered your feeble attempts at resistance, driving you back with relentless force, and suddenly, you lay sprawled upon the unforgiving floor of the arena. You gasped as your servos instinctively clad around the mech’s, which were pressing against your neck plates. Darkness surrounded you as the mech towered over you, swallowing you whole.

The volume of the crowd was loud enough to sound as if the whole of Cybertron had packed into the small stadium. With coolant and energon streaming down your cheeks, you surrendered to the inevitable. This was it. You were going to die here. Your spirit broken, your hope extinguished in the merciless light of the arena.

Only, gazing into the light, you were transported to a much simpler time.

"If you could change anything in the world, what would it be?"

The chamber was extremely quiet, save for the occasional tinkle from Starlight’s digits as she caressed her daughter’s helm, comfortably snuggled on her carrier’s breastplates and sleeping her questionably-earned exhaustion away.

"Mmh," you hummed out loud, turning to look at your friend from your berth, "I don’t know, what would you change?"

Starlight smiled harder, though the rest of her face plates remained the same, so it was quite the rare expression. "I wish Vaportrail was born in a nicer place, Cybertropolis, maybe."

"You wouldn’t wish to change anything for yourself?" you asked.

"I have you, and there’s not another you anywhere in all of Cybertron."

Starlight, was this what you felt before dying?

Starlight, was this what you felt before being killed?

Starlight, was this what you felt before being murdered?

You couldn’t breathe. Black tinged the edges of your vision. Then it turned red, scarlet, maroon. In that moment, something snapped inside you like a sea wave crashing against the rocks at the beach, like the snapping of a rubber band, like a balloon being popped, and all semblance of fear evaporated, replaced by a singular focus: revenge.

An awful rage so deep it reminisced the sun started bubbling inside you. A wave of anger so profound it dried up every drop of liquid in the world and replaced it with sand. Indignation blurred everything you’d ever been and ever would be, and you felt yourself gaining colossal strength. You needed revenge. You needed it like you needed to breathe. You wanted him to hurt.

And so, when your tremoring was at its greatest, your resentment was beyond bitterness and revenge, and the mech was about to enclose you in a makeshift grave—you just let go.

With a guttural scream that echoed across the arena, you unleashed your pent-up fury upon your assailant. You struggled and battled with a wild intensity fueled by nothing but the sweet, cold feel of revenge, scratching and gnawing as you attempted to escape from the hold that confined you.

Dams broke, and your processor slipped into a high of adrenaline so strong you didn’t know whether your body would purposely overheat. You couldn’t feel the pain of your wounds or the shooting pains in your gauntlets and your mandible. Had you inwardly deactivated your pain receptors?

You wrestled the weapon from your opponent's grasp with a lethal cascade of adrenaline-fueled strength and swung the blade in his direction.

The keen clangor of the blade hitting the mech's helm wreaked the arena into a hysterical state.

The mech stumbled backward with a scream as he gripped his facial plates.

But you didn't just stop there.

You leaned over him and swung the blade.

It found the base of his helmet.

A sickening crunch of metal against metal.

The mech staggered. He even dared to gasp in shock.

You swung again, a pained cry leaving his dermas.

Another crack.

You pulled back your elbow, a spray of energon hitting you on the plates of your face.

You swung again.

Again.

Again.

Again.

Again.

Again.

Again.

Again.

Again.

Again.

Again.

Again.

Ag̷̹͈̭̟͎̰̳̳͙̞̃̈́̌͑͒̍̐͠͠ain.

Agá̷̧̡̨̛̪̫͍̻͓̭̖̠̿̎̾̍͛͝in.

A̸̖̳̠͊g̷̹͈̭̟͎̰̳̳͙̞̃̈́̌͑͒̍̐͠͠á̷̧̡̨̛̪̫͍̻͓̭̖̠̿̎̾̍͛͝i̵̝̖̬̬͐̿̓̒͆̐̄̀͠ņ̷̤͕̣̙͈̏͌̎̃̎̾̀̃͒̓͊͗̽̚͝

W̸̧̘̣̝̻͎͕͉̥͖̋͊̍̌̅̚ì̷̝͋͠th a final, cathartic scream of defiance, you drove the blade deep into the mech’s helm, watching with grim satisfaction as sparks flew and circuits sputtered.

There was a brief, abrupt silence while the mech moaned more quietly, attempting to move. It crumpled inward with a low huff.

A pool of energon gushed out from his wounds, soiling the ground around him as you backed away to watch him die. You were shaking—breathing heavily, limbs quivering with exhaustion—and moments later, the other gladiator went limp.

You willed yourself to raise a hand toward your dermas, coolant pooling around your optics.

But the spectators erupted as your servos went up to your face.

And when the adrenaline finally wore off, you were almost sent to the ground at their sheer volume.

They were cheering for you.

It only took a moment to register the blinding pain.

You turned around and stumbled away from the pit and into the building, your optics tracing the ground and your servo scratching at the metallurgic skin over your sternum to ensure that your spark was still whole.

You stumbled down the corridors, the roaring cheers from the arena fading distantly and morphing into something you could not comprehend anymore, but their echoes still haunted your audials. The steady drip of energon from your body was driving you crazy, some of it your own, but most of it not.

Your servos trembled uncontrollably, the once-raw adrenaline slowly draining from your systems, replaced with an overwhelming surge of panic. I killed him. I killed him. The words repeated in your processor like a damaged disk, a nightmarish chant you couldn't silence no matter how hard you tried. Your optics darted around wildly as you moved deeper into the complex.

The tunnel's cool metallic walls closed around you. You forced yourself to keep moving, your breathing shallow and frantic, as if the very walls themselves were constricting around your chassis, squeezing tighter with each second. 

Your servos—trembling, bloodied—kept reaching for the walls, hoping to steady yourself, but every step sent your processor spinning. You were panting, desperate not to overheat your body, vision blurring as your optics struggled to focus. What have I done?

Then, you saw it.

In the dim light of the tunnel, your optics caught a glint—a flash of silver reflecting the low glow of the overhead lights. You staggered toward it, desperate for something, anything to ground you. The surface of a discarded metal panel gleamed like a mirror, and it was there that you saw yourself.

Your breath caught in your throat.

Your reflection stared back at you, but it was a version of yourself you didn’t recognize.

Your armor, dented and scratched, was smeared with dried energon, your own, and the mech’s you had killed. Your pale and trembling faceplates were streaked with the liquid, your optics wild and wide in disbelief. You could barely make out your features beneath the mess of fluids and grime.

You looked... feral. Broken.

But alive.

You were alive.

Somehow, against all odds, you had survived.

Your trembling slowed. The ragged, panicked breaths you’d been drawing in deepened as you stared at your reflection, the horrible truth settling into the pit of your spark. You had made it through that pit of death. You had won.

Slowly, your servos reached up, brushing over the dried fluids and scratches as if confirming that the wrecked reflection was indeed yours. You were bruised, battered, drenched in energon—but you were still standing.

That strange, cold realization started to settle in your spark.

"I’m… alive."

Then, cutting through the fragile silence, a voice crackled through the speakers above you, the distorted sound making you cringe.

"Winner," the voice declared.

You recognized the voice immediately.  Bullway. His tone was cold, devoid of emotion, and very different from the charming facade he’d put on in your old satellite. "I want to see you. Now."

A chill ran down your spinal strut. Bullway. If he wanted to see you, it wasn’t because he wanted to congratulate you on your victory. Had you done something wrong? You had won. You had given them the entertainment they wanted!

Your optic twitched as Bullway’s voice echoed in your audials again. You swallowed hard, your stabilizers shaking as you tried to regain your footing. There was no time to hesitate. You had no choice in this. If he wanted to see you, then you had to go.

Taking one final look at your reflection—bloodied, battered, but alive—you wiped a trembling servo across your faceplates as if trying to erase the horror of what you had just done. But it didn’t come off and just smeared across your cheek like a second paintjob.

You turned just in time to see a mech waiting for you across the hall.

"Hey, come with me."

Not trusting your voicebox to articulate what you wanted to say correctly, you wordlessly nodded, following after him.

Albeit a small part of you felt smug about it, you didn’t comment on how the mech visibly cringed at the energon staining your faceplates, quietly realizing that he was walking a great distance from you, as though if something he said would set you off the wrong way. As if you would repeat your previous actions upon him.

A few clicks later, you noted that the hallways were different, and with great dismay, you realized that he wasn’t leading you to the bosses’ offices. An ugly thought of what they might do to you now that you had unexpectedly won the match knocked on your processor. It would explain why the guard was leading you somewhere else. Your optics widened as it appeared and disappeared just as quickly.

"Hey," you called out to him, waiting until he briefly turned his head to glance your way. "Where are you taking me? This is not the way to see the bosses."

"The lobby." he said curtly, "You’ve won your place there with us, gladiators only."

"You’re a gladiator?"

"Yeah," he nodded, turning to look at you. "We were told there would be a match worth watching, so we all knew that Bullway had snatched a new batch of rookies from somewhere. Normally, rookies lose, bloody fights and all."

"I didn’t lose."

"That you didn’t," he answered, a ghost of a smile pulling at his dermas. "It was a horrible fight, you know. You finished it quickly and left right after. You gotta drag it out nicely if you want the audience to go crazy, but knowing that you are a rookie, I guess that’s why the crowds went wild."

The mech's relaxed demeanor grated on you, sharply contrasting with the turmoil still bubbling under your armor. You could sense the adrenaline coursing through you, the lingering echoes of the bloodlust that had propelled you through that arena, and now this gladiator was speaking as if it were just another routine battle.

As if the brutality you’d unleashed was nothing more than an expected performance. His words only heightened the gnawing discomfort in your spark, but you forced yourself to stay calm.

"Is it like that for everyone?" you asked, voice strained but steady. "Just... another fight?"

The mech glanced at you from the corner of his optics, his pace slowing just enough for you to fall in line beside him. "For some, yeah. For others, it's a way of life. Once you’ve been in the arena long enough, it’s just routine. You win, you survive. You lose, well... you don’t have to worry about much after that."

His matter-of-fact tone, almost automaton-like, grated on your nerves incessantly. There was nothing routine about what you'd just done. You looked away, staring down the dimly lit hallway as you walked, trying to ignore the thick, cloying scent of oil and energon still clinging to your frame.

"I didn’t expect it to feel like that," you muttered, almost to yourself.

"Like what?"

"Like I became someone else."

He gave you another sidelong glance, his optic ridge rising slightly as he considered your words. "Yeah, that happens. You change in the pit. It's not always for the better."

You stopped walking for a moment, your steps faltering. He paused too, turning to look at you, his expression unreadable. You could feel the rage from earlier simmering again, but it was different now—colder, more focused. Disdainful.

The mech took a step toward you, saying, "First time’s always the hardest. But you fought, and you lived. That’s what matters. No one’s going to ask you how you feel about it."

You scoffed, the bitterness in your processor spilling into your voice. "I bet they won't. As long as I keep bleeding for them."

He shrugged, as if that was just the way things were. "That’s the game. But hey, at least now you’re in it. There are worse places to be."

"Yeah?" you muttered, bitterness twisting your words. "Like dead?"

He didn’t answer immediately, his optics studying your face for a beat too long. "Something like that."

Before you could respond, the hallway opened into a larger space, a sprawling, multi-leveled chamber. Above and around you, several balconies arced around the space in a tiered structure, almost like a coliseum turned inside out. Each level was packed with mechs—some leaning over rusted railings, others pacing along narrow walkways, their heavy footsteps echoing through the chamber.

From these balconies, stairs spiraled down to the main floor, where groups of gladiators clustered together, some repairing their armor, others sharpening weapons or talking in hushed tones. A few glanced up at you as you entered, their optics lingering on your energon-stained form for a moment before they returned to their own business.

The smell of energon hung thick in the air, integrated with the acrid tang of oil and the metallic scent of freshly-welded parts. Overhead, dim lights flickered erratically, casting long shadows across the grime-slicked floor. In one corner, a group of mechs were hunched over a makeshift table, clearly gambling away whatever shanix they had earned in the pits.

Here and there, you could spot racks of weapons—blades, maces, guns—lined up along the walls like trophies. Some mechs were testing them out, and the sound of sharpening blades and the low thrum of power cells charging filled the space. Despite the noise, an underlying tension threaded through the room, like a wire stretched too thin.

You caught a few mechs eyeing the stains that marred your armor, their optics narrowing with curiosity and something else—respect, maybe, or wariness. It wasn’t clear. You knew what they saw when they looked at you: a newcomer, fresh out of the pit, still drenched in energon—both yours and your opponent's. And yet, you had survived.

The mech beside you nudged your shoulder gently. "This is it. Gladiators’ lobby."

Everything was interrupted by the sudden, sharp clang of a door being thrown open.

All optics snapped toward the entrance as Bullway stormed in, his heavy frame rattling the metal grating beneath his peds. His presence was electric, and even the more seasoned gladiators went quiet at the sight of his fury.

No one was scared of him, not really, but everyone agreed it'd be better if they didn't anger the one bot who controlled rations and the few things allowed for entertainment.

You, of course, weren't aware of this rule.

His optics, blazing with indignation, zeroed in on you.

"You," he barked, jabbing a thick servo in your direction, his frame practically vibrating angrily. "You just cost me one of the best gladiators I’ve ever had."

Bullway’s voice reverberated through the chamber, louder than even the murmurs of mechs on the balconies. His tone was sharp and accusing, and the heat in his optics made it clear that he hadn’t come to congratulate you.

You straightened your frame but didn’t get a chance to speak before he stomped closer, his bulk imposing.

"I thought it'd be a good fight, figured he’d rough you up a bit, maybe teach you a lesson. But no, you had to go and kill him!" His fists clenched tightly, the metal creaking. "Do you have any idea how long it took me to build him into the fighter he was? And you—you just walk in there and ruin him in your first damn match!"

The crowd watched you both closely, their optics flicking between Bullway and you like they were watching another fight unfold. He was livid, but there was more behind his anger. It wasn’t just the loss of a fighter—there was humiliation, too. Bullway had bet on the wrong outcome, and now he was making it your problem.

You felt your spark flare with defiance. The words tore out of your mouth before you could stop them.

"I didn’t ask to be here," you shot back, stepping forward, the energon staining your frame somehow making you more confident in yourself. "But I won. Fair and square."

Bullway sneered, towering over you now. "Won? You think this is about winning? That mech was supposed to be my winner. You were just a piece of bait! A rookie!"

"Y/N."

His visage morphed into confusion at the single word that left your mouth, though there were still traces of the anger that had previously plagued his faceplates.

Your optics narrowed, and you repeated yourself. "Y/N. That is my name. Use it."

Bullway blinked, taken aback for a split second before his expression twisted into cruel amusement. "A name? You think that matters? In this place, you don’t have names. You’re all just numbers, commodities, pieces of metal to be used up and thrown away when I’m done with you. And I couldn’t care less what you want to call yourself."

His words stung. Bitterly, he was reminding you of what you’d been reduced to in this violent, brutal world. Yet, despite his callous dismissal, you held your ground. You were more than just a number now, more than the faceless gladiator he wanted to make you. You weren’t H-08 anymore, at least, not to yourself.

You hadn’t been since the day Starlight changed everything.

"My name," you said slowly, wiping energon from your cheek as your voice trembled with both defiance and strength, "is Y/N."

Bullway’s optics flared, but you didn’t stop. His words, his mockery—none of it could erase the truth of who you were.

You had once been H-08, a nameless designation in the cold, sterile halls of the satellite where you’d been force to mine until your protoform ran out of strenght—a number, nothing more. You hadn’t even thought it mattered, hadn’t known it could matter, until Starlight came along. She’d been the one to look past the designation, to see you for who you were, not what they made you to be.

She didn’t see you and think, "What is she for?" but instead, "What is she like? What are her hopes and dreams?" She didn’t once think to see you above or below her. Nor did she ever think you were better than her or she better than you. You were her equal; she drilled that into you.

Starlight had always pushed you to choose a name, something that was yours and no one else’s, just like how she had chosen Vaportrail’s name.

"You deserve that. Not a number, not some cold code in a system. A real name. One that means something to you."

At first, you hadn’t understood why it mattered. Why choosing a name felt like reclaiming something, like grabbing hold of a piece of yourself that had been hidden away. But as time passed, you’d grown into it, and when you finally said it out loud for the first time, Starlight’s optics had gleamed with pride.

That name was all you had left of her now, and you weren’t about to let Bullway or anyone else take it from you.

Bullway snorted, his optics narrowing. "Whatever you call yourself—it doesn’t change the fact that you’re still standing here because I let you. Don’t forget that."

But his words fell flat against the wall of resolve that had built up inside you. You met his glare without flinching, the weight of your name grounding you. You were Y/N, and no matter how many battles or insults Bullway threw your way, that wouldn’t change.

"I didn’t ask for this," you said, your voice initially a whisper, but soon growing into words that the entire room could hear, "but you threw me in that pit, and I survived. I earned my place here, and I’ll keep earning it. Don’t talk to me like I’m some scrap metal to be tossed around. I won. He lost. That’s how this works, isn’t it?"

The defiance in your voice seemed to shock him, and for a moment, the entire lobby went deathly silent. The mechs perched on the balconies leaned forward slightly, some in surprise, others in thinly veiled approval.

"You think that makes you special?" he spat, "Killing one gladiator doesn’t make you invincible."

"I don’t need to be invincible. Just strong enough to survive."

Bullway glared at you for what felt like an eternity, his faceplates tight with frustration. Finally, he exhaled, stepping back just enough to let the tension drop a fraction. His optics roamed over you as if sizing up what you had left after that brutal match.

"Well, congratulations," he said, turning on his heel sharply. "You survived. But don’t think this is over. There’s always someone bigger and stronger waiting, and next time, I won’t care how long they’ve been in the pit. You better be ready."

The door slammed behind him, the echo reverberating through the lobby.

"Don’t just stand there like a lamppost!" A mech seated by the stairs raised his voice, causing you to look his way instinctively. "For Primus’ sake, look at her. Somebot take her to the infirmary!"

[simdertalia]

🐟 🎁 ACNH Aquarium Set 3 🎁 🐟

Here is the third part of the aquarium stuff! With some extras added, as always, made with love by me - 💗💗💗 This set mainly focuses on gift shop items, and some Angler Fish exhibit items (but there are lots of things!)

Sims 4, Base game compatible. 45 items | Check item list below for swatch numbers, most items have multiple swatches | Many extra swatches on many items added by me

I hope you enjoy! 💗

Set contains: -Angler Exhibit Fish Display 1 (ACNH) | 1 swatch | 1177 poly -Angler Exhibit Fish Display 2 (EA) | 5 swatches | 1341 poly -Angler Exhibit Light: On & Off (2 items) | 7 swatches each for light color | 242 poly each -Angler Exhibit Sign 1 (cameras) | 9 swatches frame color | 118 poly -Angler Exhibit Sign 2 (main exhibit sign) | 3 swatches | 2 poly -Angler Fish (glowing ball) | 5 swatches | 1215 poly -Framed Map | 6 swatches frame color | 38 poly -Gift Shop Balloons 1 & 2 (2 items) | 5 swatches each | 1862 poly each -Gift Shop Chest | 3 swatches | 1904 poly -Gift Shop Enclosed Display | 12 swatches | 148 poly -Gift Shop Enclosed Display No Glass | 12 swatches | 98 poly -Gift Shop Enclosed Display with Tag | 12 swatches | 204 poly -Gift Shop Enclosed Display with Tag, No Glass | 12 swatches | 154 poly -Gift Shop Fish Pillow | 5 swatches | 218 poly -Gift Shop Folded Shirts 1 & 2 (2 items) | 19 swatches each | 202 & 162 poly -Gift Shop Mermaid Globe (mermaid item inside borrowed from srslysims!) | 14 swatches | 1273 poly -Gift Shop Octopus Plush | 9 swatches | 638 poly -Gift Shop Pet Sea Angel | 3 container colors, 2 fish colors, 6 total swatches | 622 poly -Gift Shop Shelf 1 (small, 3 shelf) | 13 swatches | 494 poly -Gift Shop Shelf 2 (corner) | 11 swatches | 366 poly -Gift Shop Shelf 3 (tall, 5 shelf) | 13 swatch each | 854 poly -Gift Shop Shelf 4 (large, multi-level) | 13 swatches | 782 poly -Gift Shop Shell Pillow | 6 swatches | 214 poly -Gift Shop Squid (hanging, glows) | 1 swatch | 580 poly -Gift Shop Squid Plush (glows) | 1 swatch | 562 poly -Gift Shop Squid Plush 2 (matches octopus) | 5 swatches | 542 poly -Gift Shop Squid Plush 3 (black & white) | 6 swatches | 2254 poly -Gift Shop Starfish Pillow | 9 swatches | 290 poly -Hanging Sign | 33 swatches | 342 poly -Pamphlet Holder | 10 swatches | 184 poly -Poster Sign (this object has 8 package files, one for each frame color) | 11 swatches for poster each | 174 poly each -Velvet Rope (3 posts, 2 rope) | 17 swatches | 1202 poly -Velvet Rope Post | 9 swatches | 238 poly -Velvet Rope Just Rope | 16 swatches | 246 poly -Velvet Rope Single | 16 swatches | 720 poly

Type “acnh aquarium 3" into the search query in build mode to find quickly. You can always find items like this, just begin typing the title and it will appear.

As always, please let me know if you have any issues!

📁 Download all or pick & choose (SFS, No Ads): HERE

📁 Alt Mega Download (still no ads): HERE

📁 Download on Patreon

Will be public on July 4th, 2024 💗 Midnight CET

Happy Simming! ✨ Some of my sets are early access. If you like my work, please consider supporting me (all support helps me with managing my chronic pain/illness):

★ Patreon  🎉 ❤️ |★ Ko-Fi  ☕️  ❤️ ★ Instagram📷

Thank you for reblogging ❤️ ❤️ ❤️

@sssvitlanz  @maxismatchccworld @mmoutfitters  @coffee-cc-finds  @itsjessicaccfinds  @gamommypeach  @stargazer-sims-finds  @khelga68  @suricringe  @vaporwavesims  @mystictrance15 @moonglitchccfinds @xlost-in-wonderlandx @jbthedisabledvet

-Aquarium Set 1 (fish) -Aquarium Set 2 (fish) -Seashells, glass bottles & other from Mermaid Set -Sea Painting -Sea Globe -Puffer Fish Decor -Aquarium Diver Statue

The rest of my CC