#currently about not quite dead which is just incredibly good

[literary-heights]

podcasts are really interesting because i have never in my life listened to one that didn't profoundly change my life

[reidmotif]

Dialing up for Trouble

Summary: Reader and Spencer were fuck-buddies, until Spencer cuts her off quite suddenly. A party and some risque images may be enough to get them back to their old routine.

Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader

Category: Smut

Content Warning: semi-public sex, sexting, mentions of nude images and descriptions of generic lingerie, masturbation (f!receiving), penetrative sex, semi-dom!spencer

Word Count: 3.5 k

Masterlist

Clichés bothered me. There was no other way to put it. I’d grown up hating the likes of love triangles, meet-cutes, chosen ones, and right now, I was being reminded more than ever of that hatred because, what the fuck? 

“Too much of a good thing” was the reasoning Spencer had cited when he proposed we stop sleeping together casually, and return to our previous relationship of  “just coworkers”. I’d let him know how ridiculous I found his sentiment, and attempted every possible method to continue our secret rendezvous, but he was absolutely dead-set on his decision, it seemed.

 No more sex. No more late-night calls. None of it. It was all over. All because of a cliche. 

We seemed to agree on one thing, and that was, yes. The sex was fantastic. It really was that good. While I’d never wish weariness on Spencer Reid, I couldn’t deny that in the aftermath of stress and frustration from whatever life had chosen for him, the way he’d deal with that was absolutely electrifying for me.

I’d find myself constantly breathless, pulled into hotel rooms, storage closets- anything resembling the barest hint of privacy, and allow him to use me as he saw fit. I gave him complete trust and control over my body, and in turn, he rewarded me with some incredibly life-changing orgasms. And for what it’s worth, he seemed to get an equal amount of satisfaction out of our hidden trysts, which only made his recent decision that more devastating.  

It’d been roughly a month since we’d had sex, or anything resembling the sort, and I found myself absolutely deprived. When the FBI gave out invitations to its semi-annual gala, I imagined the festivities would be enough to distract me, but I was completely in error for assuming so. Amidst drinks and conversations, there was the occasional lull where I couldn’t help but absentmindedly imagine the feel of his hands over my skin, squeezing the fat of my hips. His lips trailing up and down my neck, focusing on spots only he knew about. The way his hair would tickle against my thighs when he’d bury his head-

“Hey.” 

The voice breaks me out of my thoughts, and I have to remind myself not to choke on my beverage. There he was. The current subject of my thoughts, standing in front of me, live and in the flesh. Spencer Reid. 

“Hey.” I mirror back, taking a sip of my drink, acting as lax as I could, given the circumstances. “Enjoying yourself?” I ask, gesturing to the party in front of us, the general ambience. 

“You know me.” He replies, pausing for a second, keeping his gaze trained on mine. “Not my scene but.. doable.” 

I chuckle for a moment, understanding perfectly. Spencer wasn’t exactly the most social guy out there. I was honestly surprised he’d chosen to come to this thing at all in the first place. 

“You look nice.” He says, suddenly. “Your dress. It’s nice.” He rushes out the words, as if he’s scared to say them in the first place. 

I smooth down the fabric instinctively, nodding. I try not to let the compliment affect me so much, keeping my head down for a split second to hide the creeping heat emanating from my cheeks. 

 “Thank you. I appreciate it.” 

I surprise myself with my own answer. The silence for that tick is horrible. I appreciate it? Jesus. I couldn’t think of the right words anymore. The correct and witty response that would allow this conversation to flow smoothly. 

 I truly wanted to fuck this man so bad, it made me look stupid. 

And stupid I was, because yet again, I attempted to test the current parameters of our relationship he’d put us on. I swallow my pride, lifting my head to meet his eyes with mine. 

“If you like it so much, you could- you know. Take it off.” I say, biting my lip. There’s a light tease in my voice, but it’s obvious I’m being as forthcoming as I possibly could. No games. No jokes. I didn’t want to dance around it, and I hoped my boldness would reward me as it did previously in the past. 

But no, it seems that fortune does not favor the bold, because Spencer’s immediate response was to shake his head, lowering his voice. He pulled on my arm to decrease our proximity, to the point where it was ensured no passer-bys could possibly hear our conversation. 

“Come on.” He pleads, almost looking desperate.  “I told you we should stop- hasn’t that worked out? We can be coworkers. This works.”

I roll my eyes, letting my displeasure show plainly over my face. “This works?” I say, and the sarcasm is clear in my voice. “Sex worked too, you know.” 

“I know it did!” He says, in a hushed whisper. “But- we can’t. No. It’s not right. Too much of a-” 

“If you finish that sentence, I swear to god.” I say, my expression turning much more volatile. I forcibly shrug his arm off me. “This is stupid.” I continue, trying not to let my voice rise. “I see the way you look at me. I know it was good for both of us. I know you’re thinking about it just as much as I am, so why not!” There’s a hint of hurt in my voice as well. Underneath all the sex, I’d grown to miss the interactions after. The giggles under covers and the feel of his hair in my fingers. I missed him. All of him. 

There’s a miserable pause on his end, and I hold my breath waiting for his next words. Spencer sputters, looking absolutely defeated. “Because- because we just can’t, okay?” He replies, helplessly, stepping back from me, as I’d done with him. “Look. I’m just going to enjoy the rest of the party, okay? Take care of yourself, yeah?” 

Before I can get in another word, demanding a real explanation from the man, he leaves me alone, replaying the words of his confusing outburst in my mind. 

I take a short time to myself, electing to go use the restroom and take a breather from the party, a bit on edge after our exchange. Was it possible he was completely fine with what the loss of our arrangement had done to us? Was I the only one absolutely losing my mind? Any attempt to diverge my attention from the topic proved futile, and  I remained in the closed room, mindlessly adjusting myself in the mirror with no real rhyme or reason. There’s an eventual use of my phone, focusing the camera directly on my face to make sure nothing had smudged or looked off on my face in the time I’d last checked my makeup. In the use of the device, I remembered the pictures I’d taken before coming here. 

The pictures weren’t meant to serve any true purpose. I’d bought new lingerie for this dress, as my previous bras weren’t suited to the cut and shape of the specific piece of clothing, and decided to take a few pictures for myself. It was lacy, and pretty, but nothing truly special. The bra had a slight push-up effect, and the panties were a bit cheekier than my normal, day-to-day undergarments.  The actual lingerie was innocent- harmless, even. Looking at the images right now, though, a salacious idea creeped into my head. 

Under the right circumstances, these could be exactly the catalyst to finally receiving what I wanted. 

I open the messaging app on my phone, finding Spencer’s contact, and beginning to type out a simple message. 

hey. 

The response is immediate. 

What’s up? 

You good? 

Where’d you go? 

I laugh a little. I imagined him scanning the crowd for me, trying to figure out where I’d gone off to. 

all good, don’t worry

so we’re still sticking to the no sex thing? 

I see his typing bubble pop up, then pause. Then starts up again. 

Yes. 

Trust me, it’s for the better. 

I groan internally. Of course he thinks that. Always thinks he knows what’s good for everyone. 

trust me 

if you knew what i had planned for us

you wouldn’t say that

I feel my phone vibrate in my hand, indicating he was now calling me? I hadn’t planned for this. 

“Spencer?” I remark, waiting for his voice on the line. 

“What do you mean?” He says, quickly. I can no longer hear the bustle of the party in the background, so it’s only reasonable to assume he’s moved somewhere quieter. Still, I ask. 

“Are you around other people?” I murmur, keeping my voice low. 

“No. Alone. What did you mean by your last message?” He repeats, quickly. 

There’s my in. I respond, feigning an unmistakable innocence in my voice. “Mind if I show you?” 

“Show me?” The confusion in his voice is palpable. 

“Show you.” I reply, more definitively.  “Check your messages.” 

I bring my phone away from my ear, electing to send the first picture I saw in my camera roll,  which prominently featured my breasts- a feature of mine I knew Spencer was quite interested in. I return to the call, my heart pounding wildly. 

“Did you see?” I ask, hesitantly, when all I can hear is his breathing on the other line. 

The response is a choked out, breathy mess of a sentence. “Yeah- I did. Jesus.” 

“Want more?” I murmur, biting my lip as the realization dawned on me that this possibly had a chance of working. 

There’s a delay in his words on the line, before I finally hear:

“Yes. God, yes.” 

I grin ear-to-ear, beginning to send an assortment of pictures I’d taken previously in the day. Knowing this was having an effect on him, that somewhere in this party Spencer was sitting alone, his gaze trained on his phone intently, did something to me. He was behaving this way because of my body, because of what I could do to him. 

It was hard not to get wet at the thought. 

“You look so good.” He breathes out, and the desire in his voice is unmistakable. 

“Yeah?” I mumble to the speaker. “You think so?” 

“Mhm.” He murmurs. “You’re wearing this right now?” He asks, seemingly needing that confirmation at this moment.  

“In all its glory.” I try not to giggle before murmuring teasingly, “What, you wanna see?” 

“Where are you?” He asks, suddenly seeming very determined. I can hear the shuffling on the other line, indicating he was now starting to move from where he was currently situated. He was completely, and utterly serious about this. 

“Bathroom, on the left corridor of the entrance.” I say, feeling exhilarated at the thought of him meeting me here. This was happening. 

Finally. 

“Stay.” He replies, and the call cuts. 

There’s an impatient itch that creeps up on me during the two-minute wait for him, before I hear a solid knock on the door, and my name being whispered through the door, belonging to a voice I’d grown so accustomed to and fond of. 

My fingers undo the lock, opening it just enough so that he could squeeze through without drawing too much attention to ourselves right now. 

And as soon as he’s managed in, he’s practically on me, devouring me with a kiss with a passion I’d never felt from him before. My hands go to wrap around his neck, pressing our bodies flush against each other, every ragged breath of his shooting directly to my core, which was now throbbing with need. 

“Fuck. Missed this so much.” He breathes out, gasping for air in between our kisses. I couldn’t so much as get a whimper out, before he’d dive right in again. It’s like he wanted to eat me alive. 

And I’d let him. 

I moan softly into his mouth, starved for more contact between us. It’s as if he can read my mind, because in an instant,  he guides us from the center of the bathroom, towards a wall, slotting his thigh between my legs. He takes a momentary break from ravishing me with his lips, now adopting a slower, more sensual pace as he works down my neck, each soft kiss leaving me craving him even more.  

His hands drift down to my hips, keeping me pinned against the wall as he murmured soft praises. My legs felt wobbly, absolutely taken aback by how quickly I could go weak for this man. 

“You like this, mm?” He mumbles, letting his teeth nip over the lobe of my ear, before switching to a more neglected side of my neck. “Like me that much, mm?” 

I don’t care about the cockiness in his tone. I don’t care how smug I render him. I just need him to continue this, for as long as I can have him. 

“Yes.” I breathe out, my voice higher-pitched than it normally would be. “God. Love this so much.” 

There’s a flash of hesitance from him, as he pulls his face away from my neck, staring at my eyes with his own. I can’t dwell on the pause, because for once, I’m finally seeing him. His hair was absolutely ruined, sticking up wildly in different directions. His cheeks were a light pink, serving to make his features even prettier and doe-like than before. But what got me were his eyes. His pupils were blown out, the normal honey-hazel I’d seen on a daily basis replaced with an absolute abyss of black. The darkness served to cause a surge within me, practically launching forward to meet his lips with mine. 

There are no words required for what happens next, as I feel his hand creep up my back, pulling me away from the wall and towards the closest surface, which happened to be the sink. He guides me to bend over, and I do so with no resistance.

 He could have me, whichever way he wanted, whenever he wanted. All I needed was his touch. 

I can feel him crouch to his knees, slowly reaching under my dress to hook his fingers around my panties, slowly pulling them down. I can feel a string of my arousal clinging to the fabric, and it seems Spencer can too, because he practically moans as he drags the soiled piece of lingerie down my thighs. I step out of them quickly, and turn my head back, fast enough to see him stuff the proof of our debauchery down his suit pocket. 

“Eyes ahead.” He whispers, leaning down close to my ear to nip at the sensitive flesh again. 

“Okay.” I murmur, slipping into a more submissive version of myself that he seemed to bring out in me. There’s a sense of relaxation and excitement all at the same time, and I’m absolutely wracked with lust for him. 

His fingers stroke my clit for a moment, applying pressure in just the right way. The movements are practiced, precise and guaranteed to hurl me off the edge if he continues this way. 

“You’re soaked, sweetheart.” He murmurs, almost amazed,  letting his fingers slip away. “All this for me?” 

I can barely respond, whimpering and nodding. “Yes. Please- Spencer.” I beg, needily. 

“I know, I know.” He replies, and I can hear how pleased he is. There’s a certain delight he derives from my submission, and while in any other circumstance, the smugness he displays would turn me off, right now it only served to further my hunger. 

I can feel him start to work on his belt, sliding the coarse material of his dress pants just enough, so that his cock could spring free. I can’t see it, but I can feel it, his tip sliding through my folds, and I clench at the thought of him finally being inside of me. 

Just when I believed his teasing to be done, there’s a knock at the door, and we both freeze. Spencer swallows, and quickly raises his voice. “Occupied!” 

There’s silence, and that previous sense of lust and content drifts back into our bodies, Spencer’s fingers trace up to my face, and he lets his finger slip into my mouth. I can taste my arousal on his fingers, and there’s a genuine struggle on my end to stay upright. How could I, when the man behind me rendered me so indisposed? 

He draws his fingers out of my mouth. “Good girl.” He whispers.

It seems the universe has other plans though, because yet again- a knock sounds at the door. I can hear Spencer’s groan, and watch through the mirror as he attempts to come up with a response that would give us the seclusion we required. 

My patience however, had worn thin. His cock was right there, and I’d be damned if I was forced to wait any longer. I turn my head towards the door, complacency and submission gone from my voice. 

“Do you mind? I’m trying to fuck him in here!” I say, snarking out the words. 

There’s a silence, and a murmur of mortification on the other side of the door. Footsteps. And then at last, silence. 

Spencer quickly leans down to kiss my cheek, mumbling out an “I love you.” 

Before I can even comprehend the words, he’s guiding himself into me, sliding his cock through my walls, and I have to bite my lip to keep a scream in. He feels so fucking good inside of me, stretching me out in ways no man ever could. I can feel the underside of his cock hitting that spongy spot deep inside of me, and my breathing turns rapid in mere seconds. 

“There we go, relax for me baby, yeah?” He mumbles. “Nice and slow.” 

I moan out my affirmative, gripping onto the sink as I let my jaw drop, eyes squeezing in absolute ecstasy. “So good for me.” He murmurs. “So warm and wet, Jesus.” 

And with that, he starts a pace that works for both of us. It’s hard and fast, but I wouldn’t have it any other way. The feel of his cock gliding through my puffy walls is intoxicating, and I can only wonder how I went so long without feeling it. 

It seems Spencer’s having similar  thoughts, because through my moans and his occasional groans, I can feel his grip on my hips get more bruising by the second, marking me as his own. I can hear occasional fragments of words through his noises. 

“Never letting you go. Oh fuck. Fuck.” He mumbles, and despite the overwhelming amount of arousal shooting through me, my heart swells. 

“Me too.” I whimper out, gripping the sink even harder. I can feel my wetness seeping all around us, splashing against my thighs with every movement he drives into me. “Need you so badly.” 

“Rub your clit for me.” He demands, whispering out the words. “Need to see you come on my cock first, pretty girl.” The words are strained, and I can tell he’s doing everything to keep from spilling inside of me prematurely. 

There’s no reason to temporize, and my fingers make their way down to the sensitive bundle of nerves, and the effect is almost immediate. It takes roughly a minute of my incessant rubbing and the feel of him inside me before I’m coming with a soft shout, growing limp against the sink as my muscles twitch and fill me with a deep sense of relief and satisfaction. 

Spencer isn’t far behind me, humping into me a few more times before coming inside of me, the release signified with a loud moan and a sense of warmth flooding my deepest point. He slumps against my back, pressing a few, soft kisses to my neck. 

As we both come down from our highs, I recall the words Spencer mumbled in my ear previously. I let out a self-satisfied giggle, which Spencer smiles at. 

“Mm. What’s that about?” He murmurs. 

“You love me?” I ask, softly. 

A pause. 

“A little.” He responds, voice equally as soft. 

“Is that why you stopped having sex with me?” I mumble out, gently. 

He presses another kiss to the nape of my neck. “Mhm. Please don’t be mad.” 

I let out a soft chuckle. “Not mad. The opposite, really.” 

He pulls me up, causing us both to look at each other. “You feel the same way?” 

I nod, biting my lip. “We could try this out, I think. I want to, Spencer.” 

I stop, and decide I do need to tease him a bit, especially after the sex-less agony he put me through for a month. 

“Though, I do recall someone telling me too much of a good thing can go bad..” 

His lips part in confusion, before he picks up the teasing nature of my words and leans in for a soft, simple kiss. He keeps his forehead on mind, his eyes staring into mine with a gentle reverence. 

“Let’s indulge just this once.” 

holy shit has it been a long time since i've written a fic!! i'm so sorry?! i've been dealing with life and other assorted things and writing sort of took a backseat in that period of time <3 i hope this was okay. as usual any feedback, likes, comments, reblogs are so so greatly appreciated. i love writing for spencer, and i hope you guys like that writing too <3 i'm sorry that the two previous fics i promised seem to be delayed, i swear i'm gonna write those next, but inspiration sort of just struck on my end f or this, and i hope it was good <3 but yeah!! thank you so much for reading and interacting with this in any way you choose!! i appreciate it greatly!!

[ghostaholics]

𝐏𝐈𝐂𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐄-𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐅𝐄𝐂𝐓

➸ PAIRING: Lieutenant Simon 'Ghost' Riley x gn!reader (aside from a single idiom whose origin uses masculine language/pronouns - every man for himself) ➸ SUMMARY: Against all odds, the Lieutenant accidentally falls asleep on your shoulder. Unfortunately, there are witnesses to the precarious situation (just your luck that it would be Gaz and Soap). ➸ WORD COUNT: 2k

𝐒𝐎𝐌𝐄 𝐒𝐀𝐆𝐄 𝐀𝐃𝐕𝐈𝐂𝐄: don't poke the bear.

Danger in your line of work typically consists of trying to walk away from a mission while still being left completely intact (i.e. the goal is to make it out alive, in one piece). You’ve survived a great number of ordeals: cornered into a shootout with a dwindling supply of ammo, tiptoed your way through a field of pressure-sensitive IEDs, dove towards probable death (with an awfully high probability of splattering onto hot, concrete hell like a bug on a windshield) because your helo was sent tail spinning courtesy of a perfectly-aimed RPG – and really, the list goes on.

It's been child’s play, in the grand scheme of things. An extensive catalogue of life-or-death scenarios accounts for your entire military career. And sure, this might be a bit of a stretch, but you'd wager that none of those instances thus far have been as high-stakes as the current predicament you’ve found yourself in.

Jesus-fucking-Christ. Why’d Ghost have to fall asleep on you?

𝐀 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐎𝐅 𝐂𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍: avoid sitting next to him on the plane ride home. You've had to learn it the hard way.

And the kicker is that this whole thing could’ve been avoided; it didn’t have to be your problem. You could’ve sentenced any one of the other soldiers to your seat. Every man for himself, right? Get off scot-free, have a normal trip back to base with plenty of legroom so that you’re not cramped. Theoretically, it would've been beautiful – a passenger's paradise, the closest you could get to a first-class ticket.

But no.

Instead, play the Good Samaritan; extend your hand out with an act of benevolence. What’s the harm, right? So, you'd spared the poor guy, said you wouldn't mind switching places with him because he'd looked as white as a damn sheet at the idea of being crammed beside this behemoth of a lieutenant who's infamously every FNG's living nightmare.

Yeah, well hindsight is 20/20. Had you known what was going to happen, you would've had no reservations about throwing him under the bus. Sayonara, mate.

Law of the jungle, plain and simple.

To make matters worse, he is, in fact, exhibiting terrible flight etiquette. His head (which is dead weight and feels about as pleasant as a fucking bowling ball, mind you) has taken up every inch of real estate on your shoulder and is practically tucked into the curve of your neck; you’ll need to take a trip to the chiropractor’s after this – several, probably. The edge of his skull mask is digging into you. And, the cherry on top: get this – he’s man-spreading, so his left leg's trespassing into your own territory and brushing against your thigh. Utter lack of regard for personal space.

Incredible.

You’d still rather die than wake him up, though. You're not sure what'll happen if you do, but that's a risk you're not willing to take.

All things considered, an achy shoulder is a much better alternative than incurring the wrath of one angry Lieutenant. He's more subdued in this kind of context. To be completely honest, if you weren't already well-acquainted with him, you'd find it endearing.

From here, it's easy to see the simple rise and fall of his chest, steady and even. Slow inhale in, slow exhale out. He's at peace, a rhythmic lull that matches your own breathing. You can't quite put your finger on the exact moment he fell asleep. (He's got a habit of shutting his eyes and folding his arms over his chest when he isn't in the mood to converse with the other soldiers onboard. But God willing, he would never voluntarily loll his head onto your shoulder.) For what it's worth, he deserves the rest – never been one to do it this soundly as countless missions have taught you that he's usually a light sleeper. You remember him roughly prodding the toe of his boot at Soap's arm once when the Scot was conked out and his snores were a bit loud for Ghost's taste.

Rather odd then, that the Lieutenant even managed to allow himself to doze off like this. It’s too loud, too unsteady – the droning of the plane engine doesn't exactly make for good white noise and the turbulence outside is jostling the cabin around. Moreover, this puts him in a position of vulnerability, and he’s not the type to let his guard down so easily.

But somehow he did it with you beside him.

You try not to think about the implications of that.

𝐈𝐓 𝐆𝐄𝐓𝐒 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐒𝐄, 𝐎𝐅 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐒𝐄.

Because, Soap's just woken up from his nap, the first among the entire company of soldiers in the cabin still sleeping, excluding yourself. His seat's parallel to yours, straight across the walkway within direct line of sight, so he’s got an unobstructed view of you and Ghost. Soap sends a questioning glance in your direction, eyebrow quirked. A look that says, The hell's going on?

The level of your voice is down; it's at a conservative decibel to avoid rousing the others. Yet you convey your distress with the same amount of passion as if you were stuck in the middle of a losing firefight. "MacTavish, help."

Soap works with bombs for a living. Surely, he's capable of defusing situations too.

Alright the man’s a demolitions expert, but that’s semantics.

He blinks like he's trying to make sense of the situation. Though, it's pretty obvious what the problem is here. You're not sure why he’s got to take a moment and contemplate it. You need a solution, now. And he's moving at a snail's pace.

For a second, you think he might sympathize with your plight.

But then his mouth morphs into a shit-eating grin and when he nudges Gaz awake, you know right then and there that you're absolutely fucked.

More witnesses.

Great.

Because that’s just what you need, isn’t it?

Gaz drags a hand down his face. He pans over to his right to figure out why he’s been jolted awake so suddenly, and sees Soap who’s inexplicably, nauseatingly jovial before his eyes land on you.

Much like Soap’s original reaction, Gaz can’t help but offer a quizzical expression. The confusion is evident. His brows are drawn together because he knows that the L.t. wouldn't fall asleep on your shoulder.

Soap's shifting, sliding his hand into his pocket before pulling out his phone. He messes with it – a few taps here, a few swipes there. And then before you're registering what's happening, he's aiming it straight at you, like one of those mums getting a snapshot of their kids in matching jumpers during the holidays.

"Say cheese."

An indignant gasp leaves your mouth. "If you so much as—

"Soap, no. Don't do that." Gaz says from beside him, plucking the phone out of his hands. He tsks him with a click of his tongue. Stern disapproval in spades. The meaning is clear: it’s a big thumbs down from the Brit. He’s not endorsing this type of behavior. “Gone mad now, have you?” he asks in admonishment.

You release a sigh of relief. Finally, some moral support. He's reliable. Your faith in him is unshakable. Always could count on Gaz to get you out of—

"Have to shoot with a wide angle, see? Or else it'll look wonky," he corrects, flipping the phone horizontally before handing it back to Soap.

"Aye, thanks mate.”

Gaz's smile isn't as excessive as Soap's but the smirk gracing his face tells you he's relishing in your misery all the same.

Fucking traitor.

"Knobheads—"

They’d risk their own hides to save you from certain death. You've seen it in Cairo, Valencia, and Seoul. Good men. Good hearts in the right place as well. However, they're also the type to embarrass you at every opportunity – public humiliation being somewhere on that roster as well. And for that, you want to strangle them.

"Rude,” Soap comments pointedly.

"Bite me, MacTavish."

"Just wake him up if it's bothering you," Gaz supplies unhelpfully.

"If you were in my shoes, would you do it?"

"'Course, not," he snorts. "I don’t have a death wish.”

“Well, I also prefer my head on my shoulders, thank you very much," you whisper furiously, nearly hissing at him.

And Soap is admiring his handiwork, when he coos, “Aw, the two o' you make quite the pair." He briefly twists the screen so that you can catch a glimpse of it, and even from this distance, you can confirm that he's captured the shot. Annoyingly well, to add insult to injury. Angle? Spot-on. Lighting? Brilliant. It's interesting, has character. Black and white photography. He's managed to make a stunning composition and your upper lip is curling up into a sneer of disgust at his artistic eye. How infuriating.

"I'll send this to the Cap. He’ll get a kick outta it."

"Sod off."

"He'll appreciate bein' included."

Gaz matches the energy with an equally gleeful smile, now delighted by the idea. “Hey, and the L.t. he looks—”

“—cute," Soap has the audacity to finish for him.

What.

There are many words that you’d use to describe Ghost.

Cutthroat, maybe. Imposing. Glacial. Taciturn. A stringent set of ideals that makes him the perfect soldier: disciplined, honed, fierce. Intimidating, if he's not fighting on your side – someone you'd much rather have on your team than against, unless you fancied death. He can be a stone-cold terror on occasion. The man’s been penned as a walking horror story by those in the military. Given his iron-hearted demeanor, you'd be hard-pressed to disagree with that statement; there's not much room to call his steel-encased resolve into question.

So, yeah. Above all else, he's certainly not cute.

Your eyes narrow at them. "Congratulations, the both of you have officially made the top of my shitlist."

Soap, indifferent to your crisis, asks, "Want a copy for your wallpaper?"

There's another heated remark waiting on the tip of your tongue, because there's no way in hell that you would and you're ready to tell him off, about to give him an earful.

But somebody else beats you to it.

“Wipe that picture, or I’ll wring your bloody necks.”

Ice surges through your veins. Goosebumps break out across your skin. Because that voice belongs to one person. Oh, Christ. Never in a million years would you want to be on the receiving end of it.

There's anxiety warping in your chest. You're scared stiff, paralyzed with fear in a way that implores you to remain stock-still. The coarse fabric of your trousers bunches underneath your palms as you try not to freak out. This isn't your fault. None of it is.

And here's the worst part: Ghost hasn't lifted his head from your shoulder yet.

But Soap's unfazed. He blinks a couple of times, seems like he's weighing his options – as if there's something else he could choose besides following his lieutenant's command – yeah, right. He wises up, settling for a simple answer in the end. "Alright, Ghost." His smile makes a reappearance, sweet and well-meaning. Troublemaker. "Any chance you'd like a copy before I do away with it?"

"What kind of fuckin' question is that, Johnny?" he grumbles. "Obviously."

𝐁𝐎𝐍𝐔𝐒 𝐒𝐂𝐄𝐍𝐄:

"I take it you don't think I'm cute then. Have I got that right?"

"I'm sorry... mind repeating that again, sir?"

"You didn't have anything to say about Soap's comment."

"I have a feeling that whatever I answer will get my arse handed to me, L.t."

He's smiling in response – like sunshine trapped behind clouds. Despite it being obscured by the mask, you can see his eyes crinkling at the corners, which makes the black charcoal that's lining them begin to crease a bit. "Permission to speak freely, Sergeant. You have the floor."

Your mouth parts in surprise. Well, then. Maybe you stand corrected. And so, you appraise him momentarily, giving it some serious thought. There's more to Ghost than you give him credit for. He's terse and rough around the edges, but respected for a reason. Admirable. Someone you think highly of and has deserved your approval. The mask undeniably provides an air of intrigue. “I suppose you can be,” you start off, gradually warming up to him being more approachable. “When you’re not terrorizing the new recruits, that is.”

[fidenciocryptidcreechur]

what i understand so far of Recent Twst Skully stuff

i have put tags for the twst nightmare before christmas event and tagged the character so this post has been labeled

this is from comparing and contrasting different translations from different folks, different translations from others, screenshots, and also youtube playthroughs (because i do not have twst jp but i am also deeply invested in the lore of Wonderland because it is SO GOOD)

Skully J Graves is considered a historical figure who founded the current Wonderland Halloween traditions (this implies that the skully we interacted with is from the past, and it seems he took sebek's words into consideration as the Current Wonderland Halloween traditions are not solemn and are instead festive and merry plus there's candy etc,)

Skully J Graves was once an NRC student. He eventually graduated and then spread the traditions of halloween in his life, he did this very successfully, enough so that he is considered the founder of Halloween.

Skully J Graves died a long time ago. He used to be an alumni, a student, CENTURIES BEFORE Crowley was even headmaster. ( which crowley has been a headmaster for NRC for quite some time so that's pretty freaking ancient. pretty far back in the time line i feel like)

Skully is dead, like beyond dead, he is a human who founded Wonderland Halloween literally centuries ago before a literal ancient FAE became Headmaster went there and crowley seems to have been headmaster for quite some time, so like Skully has very much been dead because he is an ANCIENT historical figure who founded a holiday before Crowley even took over.

Skully J Graves is heavily implied to still roam the lands as a ghost (people feel a phantom kiss on their hands after getting out)

While we did meet Skully J graves when he was 16, he later grew up and died from, yknow, time and age getting to him. He seems to have been VERY successful in spreading Halloween traditions. ( i can not express how incredibly dead he is due to the passage of time, that guy graduated and spread halloween spirit and died. So many centuries passed, like this guys bones are probably dust already, aint nothing left after that much time unless he managed to be buried in an environment that preserved him well enough)

Okay so now that the more canon stuff is out of the way here are some theories i have seen already pop up

He might have once been a resident of Ramshackle (he wears clothes that closely match the aesthetics and vibe of the abandoned dorm. I am unsure how likely this is but there ARE ghost of students that haunt that place and Skully used to to be a pretty lonely guy so maybe the dorm he used to live in was always a pretty lonesome place that was eventually abandoned. Also Twisted Wonderland is REALLY good about meaningful designs and placement and mentions of stuff so there could very well be something there, especially in twst jp.)

We might get him as a card but he will come visit as a Ramshackle ghost ( i do not know how likely this one is but i understand why they want this. I miss him too...)

He has been waiting for Yuu and company this whole time and when we finally came in at the right time he chucked that book at us to meet up. (this is just cute, i like it. who knows maybe he did idk but i love the idea)

any additional translations, additional info from screenshots or analyses are greatly appreciated ( check out yuurei20 for some super awesome analyses and translations of previous stuff, their linguistic dissection is great)

this took a bit because comparing and contrasting different translations from different folks and different screenshots and playthroughs so any additional info is awesome to have

[paperclipninja]

Middle of the night GO thoughts after reflecting on a couple of comments that the 'you're being silly' scene is actually not just the adorable soft exchange I have been caught up in. I mean it is, but it also isn't.

And it got me thinking that the whole of season 2 is like this, almost the entire time we have two truths in play. The whole season is one of duality.

A few examples (there are many more woven throughout but just to illustrate the point):

Right off the bat, the opening scene, it's both ominous and hopeful. Aziraphale is restrained while angel Crowley full of abandon; one angel is aware of the danger of questioning, the other is naïve. Both are experiencing the same moment in rather different ways. It sets the tone of the season immediately and puts in motion this layered truth within the story.

The minisode with wee Morag and Elspeth, the entire graverobbing premise presents us with the dual truth that digging up the dead is bad but the selling of the bodies to the surgeon, thus contributing to saving lives, is good.

Aziraphale grapples with the duality here, justifying the actions of Elspeth by convincing himself that one truth is greater than the other. We also see that Crowley is far more able to recognise the complexity of multiple truths being valid depending on circumstance. This whole minisode feels like Neil showing his hand a little bit, the duality is so explicitly addressed, meanwhile we, the audience, are engaged in a larger unfolding story in which we are observing similar layered truths playing out in different ways.

Now the scene that made this whole thought process unravel, still one of my favourite scenes and will remain so, is the "smitten, I believe...you're being silly" exchange. It is both tender and awful.

Here we have Crowley, expressing his very real fear of JimGabriel, opening up to Aziraphale that he doesn't feel safe in the bookshop because of the constant fear he will wake up, and Aziraphale just looks at him with heart eyes and tells him he's being silly. This flags so loudly that we're watching two characters who are experiencing very different versions of their current reality, due to past experience, yes, but also, Aziraphale and Crowley each have their own idea about the right way to react to the current situation.

It's been pointed out by many before me, but the ball is another example of incredible juxtaposition and an extraordinary display of two truths existing at once. It is both incredibly romantic and an actual nightmare.

It is reflected, once again, in the way Aziraphale and Crowley are experiencing it, we know one character is caught up in the romance, the other in the horror show, but as a viewer, we are being tasked with holding both truths in our mind simultaneously. And both are true.

Aziraphale the entire season is both giddy in love and completely dismissive of Crowley. It is adorable and infuriating at the same time.

And yes, it is a reflection of the very duality the entire premise of Good Omens presents us with - that something can be good and bad at the same time, pure and corrupt, that the entire binary of Heaven and Hell/good and evil is flawed because those concepts can and do co-exist.

But the way it is seen in the interactions on a personal level this season is what has leapt out at me. It's why I think we see people falling into different interpretations of a lot of the scenes and moments, because they are more than that, they are observations. We are often observing two sides of the same coin, and both are true. The sheer genius of it and the way it is a mirror to the characters and the entire concept of the show we are observing is, quite frankly, mind boggling.

And it all comes to a head in the final fifteen™. There is so much duality in play here that it is no wonder there are hundreds of posts untangling bits of it and trying to extract the meaning from within the many layers. It's because we are given two truths in this final scene that are both heartbreaking.

Crowley loves Aziraphale and wants them to be together, free at last. Aziraphale loves Crowley and wants them to be together, free at last.

BUT

Aziraphale wants to use the system to keep them both safe. Crowley wants to escape the system to keep them both safe.

And then all the moments of duality between them throughout the season reach a critical juncture: Aziraphale in love but dismissive, Crowley understanding that Heaven = good is too simplistic and trying to compel Aziraphale to remember the lesson from Edinburgh ("when Heaven ends life here on Earth, it'll be just as dead as if Hell ended it"), Crowley trying to use the notion of romance to counter the nightmare with a desperate kiss.

It's a complete inversion of those two truths in the opening scene of the season, the entire scene is at the same time ominous and hopeful, but it is Aziraphale who largely being naïve and Crowley who is aware of the danger.

I mean, it was all spelled out for us really, this duality and the fact that those multiple truths in play were always going to come to a head. It was all there, wrapped up in this quote:

"What does your exactly mean, exactly? I feel like your exactly and my exactly are different exactlies".

[thelostboyslove-ect]

Tour Mates (The Lost Boys X Fem!Reader) Chapter 1

(Hello, Hi, How ya goin. So I have been lurking in the Lost Boys fandom for over a year now and have been feral for these boys for far too long to not have an insane amount of ideas about them. So as if this movie didn't have a strong enough chokehold on me already, it led me to write my first ever fic. I have no idea if it's any good, but I hope someone out there at least enjoys the vision. This will be multiple chapters cause I can't shut up. Behold! Whatever this is!

P.S. I know Dwayne and his actor aren’t actually 6’7. But ya girl is 5’10 and may have a small size kink and this is my fic😤So let a girl live.)

Pairing: The Lost Boys x Fem!Reader (Poly Lost Boys implied)

Work count: 1208

Warnings: Darker Fic, misogyny, sexism, allusions to sex, allusions to murder, the boys being whores. Smut in future chapters.

Summary: You had always wanted nothing more than to be in a band and share your music with the world, and you were finally on your way to doing so. If only your band was big enough to do it alone.

You had always wanted to be a musician. Always. Ever since you could remember. From a child when you would sit and listen to whatever music your dad loved, making you guess titles and quiz you on the bands. From when you were a preteen and had the freedom to branch out to whole new styles of music you had never heard, buying records with what little money you could save. From when you got a guitar on your thirteenth birthday and played every moment you could after school and every chance on the weekends. From when you were fifteen and your friends made the choice to form a band. And from when you made the promise that very day that you would be the most legendary band in history.

While you were yet to be the most legendary band in history, for now, you were finally making moves. You were nowhere near Motely Crue, but you were getting somewhere. After years of writing, months upon months of being in studios, and all the savings you could muster. You finally had the money, the managers, and the following to go on tour. Your dream was coming true. If only there wasn’t one slight, incredibly frustrating, and immensely infuriating problem.

While you had the monetary ability to tour and quite the following, you weren’t quite big enough to tour on your OWN. Enter stage left the current bain of your existence—The Lost Boys. A Californian glam rock heavy metal band just starting to find their feet os so luckily at the same time as you. The band consisted of David the lead singer, a dominant man who truly embodied the idea of a frontman. Marko the bassist - the secondhand man to David as they had said themselves which had been proven multiple times with the way Marko seemed to wait on David hand and foot, never seeming to be too far behind him. Paul the lead guitarist, a wild chaotic lady’s man who always smelt of weed where it may be his erratic behavior took him. And last but DEFINITELY not least Dwayne. The drummer, an imposing 6’7 man who seemed to be made of muscle, with an intense gaze that could make anyone feel immense fear or simply melt depending on his mood.

At first, it had seemed perfect. They were nice, if not slightly flirty (aka clawing to get into your pants from the get go) and your bandmates got along brilliantly with them. You loved their music and it matched your sound really well. It was the ideal situation. That was until maybe a month into the tour. You could understand the excitement for a while, the booze, the drugs, the women, the partying. You’d be a hypocrite if you had blamed them for enjoying those things seeing as you had partaken in them yourself. But you thought that maybe after a little while that they would maybe calm down a bit. But they seemed pretty dead set on sticking to their band's slogan of sleeping all day and partying all night. Which you would respect if it wasn’t for the fact that it was impacting your ability to sleep at all, and in turn, your ability to play.

Now it was already hard being a woman in the rock industry, but being the only woman on an otherwise all-male tour? That came with a whole nother set of problems. You had been called every misogynistic name under the sun. Constantly told you couldn’t play, which your predicament was only adding fuel to the fire. Even more, you had your fair share of being told that the only reason that any of the boys kept you around on the tour, is so that they can have someone around as a backup to fuck on the nights they can't pull any groupies. A sleazy stand-in kept in reserve for desperate nights.

This is where the resentment began. You obviously didn’t care about anyone on tour sleeping around or bringing people back to the hotels, it came with the territory, and your boys did it pretty regularly. But the lost boys were seemingly insatiable. Bringing groups of fawning girls back to their (weirdly) shared hotel room every single night. Of course, this word spread and they inevitably got nothing but praise for their man whore behavior. As where you had been branded a slut for so much as picking up a guitar and being in a band. You had even only made out with one man on the entirety of the tour! The opportunity to go any further being ruined by the band in question themselves when they stumbled across you and refused to leave, glowering at the man till he took his hands off of you and left. A strange situation but nonetheless frustrating. The resentment only grew as the situation began to affect you in other ways than just your image and reputation.

When the boys would bring these girls back to their room it would always go the same. At some ridiculous hour of the morning you would hear the drunken love-struck giggles of the group of girls they had chosen for the night, followed by the strong voice of David beckoning them into the room, insisting for them to make themselves at home, to even shed a few layers to get comfortable, which would inevitably be followed by whooping and hollering from the other boys and then the music would start blaring. But no matter how loud they would blast the music you could always still hear the giggling, which would turn to moaning, which would turn to shrieking. You had to admit the first few nights, hell even to this day, it sometimes frightens you. Sometimes the screams just don’t seem as pleasurable as they should. Sometimes they are…almost blood-curdling. Like someone losing a fight for their life. But you know that’s just your imagination running wild, because just inevitably as the girls being there every night, the moaning would return. Always just the boys though, but you always imagined they had just fucked the girls out so much that they didn’t have the energy to make much noise.

These nightly occurrences would not bother you if it weren’t for the fact that while they were up and causing chaos, you were up and unable to sleep. Which for the first few weeks, was fine, but now nearing a month and a half of borderline sleepless nights due to the proclivities of your tour mates, you were starting to come undone. You didn’t have the luxury of sleeping all day, so naps in your dressing room were having to suffice and that would inevitably have an effect on your performance. You can't remember the last time you got through a show and didn’t mess up at least a segment or two from a few songs.

But after all of that what had been your final straw, was the boys being AWARE of the effects their actions had on you. They HAD to be from the way they had taunted you, teased you. The acts had become more frequent as the days went on. And ton your aggravation, harder to forget about.

[vinelark]

in return for the fic recs i got last month, here are a few fics i read recently that i want to absolutely yell about from the rooftops:

Iron, Fire, Mirror-Glass by PurpleSoot: an early batman days AU where, while slowly healing from a spine-shattering injury, bruce finds an old book about the fae. in a fit of desperation he attempts a Summoning to try to heal his spine. enter: robin.

this story is fantastic—the kind of longfic with a plot so good and satisfying that finishing it leaves you on a reading high for at least a week. one of the best early days bruce fics i’ve ever read, with honorable mentions to excellent alfred and clark and jim and selina characterizations—but robin (dick) really takes the cake here. the balance of chilling, otherworldly, not-quite-human vs. playful, earnest, Still Just a Child…chef’s kiss. the way robin’s character arc drags bruce kicking and screaming through his own emotional growth is so well-paced and well-wrought that i already want to reread just so i can experience it again. this is one of those god-tier longfics that i can’t believe i got to read for free on the internet.

mid-reading testimonial:

The Lone Ranger Never Had to Deal with Bruce Wayne by @theskeptileptic: a tim-joins-the-family-early fic in which tim decides to do everyone (his parents) a solid by faking his own death and running away to canada, except his weirdo neighbor bruce wayne keeps butting in and messing up his plans.

this is one of the rare stories where tim doesn’t know batman’s identity yet, and even rarer stories where that somehow makes the whole thing even more compelling. this fic has two of my favorite things: small, lonely, moderately unhinged tim drake pov, and really good pangs—pangs that are expertly teased out through flashbacks that add context to the present action at exactly the right moments. also, a very fun cameo near the end. i had a blast reading this one, physically clutched my chest more than once, and am already looking forward to rereading.

mid-reading testimonial (feat. @cairoscene):

equivalent exchange by scribblemetimbers (wip): an au set during tim’s robin days in which tim discovers 1) crossroads demons are a thing and 2) people can make deals with them. deals that include bringing people back from the dead, so long as you’re willing to pay the price with your own life.

this fic is so…🤌‼️ it feels like everything i want in a fic so far, down to two incredibly specific concepts i love (bruce, in his grief, saying something harsh to robin!tim with disastrous consequences later + tim making a big secret sacrifice gambit) which are both done so so well, within a larger plot that is also done so so well. the way this fic cuts in and out of scenes at the exact right moments for max tension feels like a masterclass in causing me to tear my hair out (in the best way), and instead of assorted pangs reading it is just one big Pang. it currently leaves off on an agonizing cliffhanger but, again, in the best way. highly recommend. (thank you again @owlbats for the rec!)

exchange between me and my friend after i sent the link, which about sums it up:

and to cut this angst with some humor:

IRIS Log #1548 by @deadchannelradio: a night on patrol as recorded by the bats’ audio logs, centering around red hood getting flung into a ditch and everyone, eventually, getting home safe.

one of the top ten funniest things i’ve ever read—spiritually up there with send to all (and if you’ve seen my fic rec tag you’ll know what a compliment that is). this makes use of the audio log format SO well. the dialogue shines, the jokes land with excellent timing, and it moves at such a clip that it’s pretty much impossible to stop reading once you’ve started. every character shines in this, and i’ve randomly choked on laughter remembering the phrase ‘good god he got thrown like a corn hole beanbag�� like twenty times in the past few weeks.

mid-reading testimonial:

[sannirio]

Safe and Sound

part. 2 part. 3

wc: 2530

dom san x amab sub reader (good boy/prince)

18+ MINORS DNI 「im serious」

cw - non!idol au, werewolf san, size kink, swearing praise, mentions of death, slight dumbification? use of puppy.

syn: you got lost in the wood, very lost. just as you were about to give up a tall creature picks you up and brings you to safety.

it was dark. too dark. the trees surrounding you felt like they were suffocating you. the dense forest was claustrophobic especially with only the moon being your source of light. it was midnight, cold and dark. this weekend was supposed to be a fun camping trip with your friends, long weekends don’t happen often. “where is that damn path” you said gritting your teeth in the cold. you enjoyed hikes, this time however was not one of those times. you were lost, incredibly lost with no trace of civilization for what seemed like kilometers. no service not even a bar. “this is hopeless” you thought as a shiver ran down your back. the cold was getting to you now, camping in autumn is a great idea. 

you’ve been walking for what feels like hours and still no sign of the path or even a glimpse of light in the distance. “FUCK” you yelled “WHERE AM I.” speaking out loud for comfort you said “i have to keep moving or i’ll freeze.” that was true, what looked like frost was starting to paint the ground. though you couldn’t see it your breath was creating beautiful clouds of fog right in front of you. it was so damn cold, “i’m going to die” you thought. you started to cry, the tears stinging your skin as they cooled down with the air.  “i’m going to die” you whispered again, falling to the ground in defeat. you fingers were freezing and your body was tired, so incredibly tired. it felt like your body was going give up. the jacket you were wearing hadn’t done much to help to keep you warm with your state deteriorating quickly. as you lay there a bush rustled to your right. then again, this time a twig snapped. with what little strength you had left you opened your frozen eyes, standing in front of you was a tall creature, covered in fur huge sharp claws big paws and dark red eyes. before you could do anything to escape (which was unlikely considering the state you’re currently in) you passed out from the cold. 

a warm glow was dancing across your face. waking up felt impossible, were you dead? dreaming perhaps? as you opened your eyelids the sting of smoke hit them immediately forcing you to close them again before you could properly take in your surroundings. so you were alive, just where were you. a moment ago you were lying in the ground ready to die, the next in a new place with a source of warmth near you. you opened your eyes again, the smoke no longer burning your eyes. was this a cave? the walls beside you were made of rock, so was the ceiling. even your sleeping area was. “where the hell am i?” your mind was racing, then you remembered that creature you saw right before you passed out. was this where it lived maybe? 

sitting up, a little too quickly you scanned the room you were in. it was quite large, the ceilings were a lot taller than you had previously thought. there was indeed a fire burning quite close to you surrounded by uniform looking rocks with jagged edges on some spots. your gaze moved upwards slowly to see..

you let out a gasp, over on the other side of the cave standing there was a tall muscular man. all you could see was his black hair and muscular arms, until he turned around in what seemed to be a reaction to your gasp. he was just as buff facing you as he was with his back to you, his eyes were piercing yet soft somehow, his lips looked soft his skin was sun kissed and smooth. this wasn’t the creature who you saw in the forest a while ago… who was this. 

“you’re awake” he said smirking, taking a big stride in your direction, he didn’t have a shirt on, pants though they were present. “w…who are you” you breathed backing against the wall of the cave. “i won’t hurt you, i won’t hurt you” the man whispered a tone of worry in his voice. “i found you last night passed out in the cold.” “what? no, some random dog looking thing stood over me last night.”

the man laughed, “that was me hun.” you sat there dumbfounded, more confused though to be honest. “forget about it for right now” he said softly “are you feeling all right?” the way he spoke was comforting, he seemed genuinely concerned for you’re well-being, the look on his face pretty much confirmed it. “i think so” you said shivering. the man looked worried when you did that, he walked over to you in maybe two or three steps, “his strides were so long” you thought. sitting down beside you he turned to face you, the worried expression still plastering his face. 

“You’re cold” he whispered, with that he wrapped a spare blanket he had beside him around you. You looked up at him, he was so tall, even sitting down he towered over you. “Here, come sit on my lap” the man said. You did as he asked, not only to get warmer but something about him was comforting… he made you feel safe. Still looking up at him you managed to get a few words out, “who are you?” “im san” the man replied smiling, “like i said earlier, i was the one who found you on the ground.” a look of confusion crosses your face again, ‘how” you asked a little annoyed “you’re a human not a big dog creature.” san laughed, “no sweetheart, im a werewolf.” “hes a what??” you thought “thats not possible, those dont exist, they’re just a myth.” as if he had read you mind he said “yes they’re really real.” “is that why you live in a cave.” you asked sitting up a bit straighter to look at him in his eyes or as close as you could to do so. He laughed again and cupped the side of your face in his hand, “yes it is sweetheart.” “oh…” quickly changing the subject he pulled you back down into his chest. ‘Why were you out in the forest so late little one?” “i got lost” you said, now remembering what happened the previous night. “Why did you save me?” san looked at you again, he looked sad but there was a hint of softness in his eyes. “Because you were dying, i couldnt leave you there.” you sat there in silence for a minute or two, then you spoke up “why?” still looking down at you san opened his mouth then closed it again, probably thinking about what he wanted to say. after a moment he spoke softley, “because you were to precious to leave out there, from the day you stepped foot in this forest i kept an eye on you and when you got hurt i had to do something.”

“hes been watching me” you thought, usually youd be creeped out by something like this but for some reason right now you werent. “Im sorry” he whispered looking away from you, he seemed more upest with himself for having done so than for telling you what he did. You sat there for second before speaking “it’s ok.” he turned his head to face, he looked surprised at your response. “but i watched you without you knowing.” “i know, but something in me tells me too trust you.” san looked even more surprised than before, but only for a second, just as quickly as he’d reacted surprised his expression changed to relife. “Thank god, i was worried you would be scared.” he pulled you into a hug, his body was warm and soft, it felt like he could completely wrap around you like a blanket, it was comforting, safe. “Why did you watch me though” you heard yourself say, again san hesitated than said “i wanted to protect you.” this phrase cemented your feeling of safety, he was almost like a guardian angel, but a werewolf. “you’re so small and fragile, everything about you, i felt the need to protect you.” san spoke under his breath. a weird feeling filled your abdomen, butterflies maybe? You felt your cheeks flush, your ears were warming up. embarrassed you pulled the blanket up to your nose, trying to cover your quickly redning face. “Are you hungry” san asked. he placed you on the ground and proceeded too stand up. You’d forgotten just how tall he was. “yes” “ok i’ll make you some food.” 

The sun was setting now, the warm orange the sun painted the walls of the cave with was quickly disappearing. The small fire and a few candles scattered around the cave were the only sources of consistent light. You had a bowl of soup in your hands, the wooden bowl it was in was warm, keeping the cold from nipping at your fingers. san sat opposite of you across the fire, watching you eat. He sat there intently, his head tilted slightly. “Is the soup ok?” you nodded, your mouth too full to speak. “Good, im glad.” he got up and walked over to you. sitting down beside you, he crossed his legs and put his weight on his hand which were stretched out behind him. this pose was kind of cocky but not in a bad way, it was kind of hot you thought. You finished your soup and put the bowl down. “how are you not cold?” san smiled, being a werewolf has its perks.” you smiled back. “Its getting late,” he said standing up and looking out the cave entrance. by now the sun was all but gone, not a single ray of light was visible. “We should sleep,” san said walking over to a raised part of the cave, the spot where you had woken up on. “You can sleep here like last night.” “where will you sleep?” “on the ground.” “but it's hard and cold.” “i know but ill manage.” reluctantly you crawled onto the “bed’ made of moss and cedar, pulling the two blankets you had over your body as you did so. 

the minutes passed. 15, 30, an hour. you couldn't tell, sleeping at this point was completely out of the question. It was too cold and your thoughts were racing. what are my friends thinking? are they worried? do they think im dead? yeah, you definitely weren't sleeping tonight. you rolled over to see san fast asleep on the ground close to the dwindling fire. he looked so cute… and warm. “i can't wake him up,” you thought “that isn't fair to him.” but the cold, and your mind, you couldn't sleep. With a lot of hesitation, you stood up and walked over to san as quietly as you could. kneeling down you gave him a poke on the shoulder, he groaned and rolled onto his side. you poked him again, this time getting the reaction you wanted. “what is it sweetheart?” he uttered rubbing his eyes. “i can't sleep… can you maybe…” “do you want me to come to sleep with you?” he asked. you nodded your head sheepishly. san stood up taking your hand. the two of you made your way back to the “bed” with what little light the smoldering ashes were giving off. 

“lay down,” he said. you did as you were told. san then lay down right next to you. you subconsciously snuggled into his chest, facing him. you felt his arms wrap around your waist, the sensation made you gasp a little. you were tiny compared to him, he was like a shield protecting you from the cold. looking down san whispered “awwww? did you like it when i wrapped my arms around your waist?” he wasn't hiding the amusement in his voice. embarrassing. as quietly as you could you whimpered “yes” into his chest hoping he didn't hear you. he did, he pulled you closer to his body and tightened his grip on your waist. what was happening? oh my god! the racing thoughts from earlier were completely replaced with lust now. was him grabbing your waist really that intoxicating? “what’s wrong?” san whispered, very close to your ear. his breath brushed your skin making you tense up. “is someone… enjoying themselves?” “FUCK, am i hard? this is so embarrassing” somehow you hadn't notice yourself getting hard the entire time he was beside you. you pulled your lower-half away from his thigh trying, no praying he hadn't noticed. you were wrong once again. one of his large hands reached down to your butt and pushed your hips back to where they were before. he 100% noticed. His hand slowly started to grope you, the sensation sending shivers up your spine. “how adorable, look at how cute my good boy is being.” you melted, completely. good boy? He was driving you crazy. san whispered again “do you need help with that?” you nodded. your face was hot, red hot. You'd never felt like this before, so vulnerable and open to him yet so safe. “be a good boy and grind against my thigh for me, ok?” he cooed. you did as he asked, slowly moving your hips, pushing your hard dick into his thigh. “good boy” he muttered, planting a kiss on the top of your head. you kept grinding against his thigh. it felt so good, you'd never felt this good in your life. your dick was starting to leak covering both his thigh and your pants in precum. every time you pushed against him, a wave of electricity surged through your little body. You started shaking, not from the cold though, the feeling that was spreading out from your dick to the rest of your body was overwhelming. “keep going my little prince” san whispered in your ear, he was clearly enjoying seeing you fall apart beside him. seeing you like this made him feel amazing. he was making you like this, a pathetic needy mess doing your best to get off on his thigh. you kept your pace against his thigh it getting harder to hold it in with every stroke you made. whimpers that you tried to conceal were now escaping your lips. “puppy” san whispered, he said it like you were a cute little animal. one last stroke and you were sent over the edge, cum spilling out of your cock like a river. never in your life have you come this much. san held you close through your high, giving you praise the whole time. you were a sticky dizzy mess, cum soaked and numb. all you could do was lay there shaking, still not completely over the overstimulation. san sat up, and took your cum soaked pants off, “here wear this” he spoke softly, like an angel. he helped you put on a pair of oversized pants. he then laid down beside you pulling you on top of him. “You did so good puppy,” san said petting your head. he planted a kiss on your forehead, continuing to brush your hair with his hand until you fell asleep. 

[ part 2. coming soon :) ]

sannirio©

[ilovetheriddler]

Missing Detective.

(Fallout 4) Nick Valentine x F!Reader.

Word Count: 707.

Contents: Nick goes missing again while out on a case, and you go looking for him.

You were getting fairly exhausted. You had been wandering through the commonwealth for a few hours now, mainly looking for your boss, Nick Valentine. The detective synth who hired you to assist him from time to time. Well, you were supposed to meet him at his office in Diamond City to discuss a recent case, however, when you got there you had been informed by Ellie that he had gone off on his own and hadn't come back yet.

Nick always seemed to have a knack for getting tangled up in something or another in his attempts to help out anyone that he could, he was a good man, maybe too good of a man sometimes for his own well-being. Which, of course, is what led to your current search.

After wandering the commonwealth for several hours, you finally stumbled upon a large pit in the ground that you luckily noticed in time not to fall in, thankfully. A frustrated groan escaped your lips once you glanced down into it because there at the bottom was none other than the synth you were looking for himself, Nick Valentine.

"There you are! Um... do you need a hand?"

"Oh, incredible timing! yeah, I could use some help..."

"Alright... just give me a minute to look around and see if I can find anything!"

You frantically searched around the area, hoping to find anything that would work, and were ecstatic when your eyes landed on a ladder, perfect! It was broken down somewhat and questionably stable, but what in this wasteland wasn't? You grabbed the ladder and made your way back over to the pit, lowering it down for Nick to climb up. Which he quickly did.

"thanks doll, I appreciate the help, but what are you doing wandering around out here yourself?"

"Looking for you! Poor Ellie is worried because you've been gone for a few days! What exactly have you even been looking into?"

"Ah, well, you see... This older woman approached me and asked me to find her daughter. She said that she had just disappeared in the night. I assured her that I'd get to the bottom of the disappearance and went off to start searching."

You and Nick started walking back towards Diamond City, although the travel to there would unfortunately take quite some time.

"So I'm going to assume by the fact that I found you stranded in a pit to mean that you didn't find the girl?"

"Oh no, darling, I assure you that I did, in fact, find her... however, I then immediately lost her again..."

"Excuse me? How exactly did you lose her?"

A somewhat hesitant and troubled look crossed Nick's face as he debated with himself, whether he should tell you what happened or not. He didn't want to get you mixed up in all of this, not after how dangerous he'd just recently realized it was... but he also couldn't bring himself to lie to you.

"...The girl didn't disappear. She was taken."

"So a kidnapping?! Damn.... I assume, based on that look, that you know who?"

"...The institute... that's who..."

You stopped dead in your tracks. The institute?! Damn it, this was quite severe and extremely dangerous then. You then turned to face him as a specific question entered your mind.

"Wait... but how did wind up trapped down in the pit?"

"Well, I was following close behind the girl and the man that grabbed her, and the institute can be tricky to deal with, so I intended to attempt to tackle him to the ground, just so the girl could get away from his grasp. But um... well, before I could physically make contact with him, they just vanished into thin air...."

"What?! Wait.... hmm... could it possible that the institute is using teleportation to avoid where they operate out of from being found?"

"That's my leading theory for now, doll. I don't see what else it could reasonably be..."

Eventually, you and Nick made it back to his detective agency in Diamond City. Ellie made sure to scold him about disappearing like that without a word of warning for days on end. You couldn't help but chuckle as you relaxed on the beaten down couch.

[exorcqism]

𝐂𝐇𝐎𝐒𝐎 𝐊𝐀𝐌𝐎

„𝐈𝐍 𝐂𝐎𝐋𝐃 𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐃”

: ̗̀➛ GENERAL CONTENT!!!

: ̗̀➛ afab!reader, possible gore, blood, death (?). not proofread so i apologize in advance for any mistakes if they’re made.

: ̗̀➛ art creds by;; currently unknown. dividers are not mine, if you own these, you may claim them in comments.

: ̗̀➛ WORD COUNT;; 1.40K

* dark mode recommended

* do not copy this plot. i’m perfectly fine with inspirations but give creds. if this plot his stolen in any way, the post will be taken down and you will be blocked.

𝐃𝐀𝐊𝐎𝐓𝐀𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒 ✉️🖇️;; imma switch it up a lil. i been going through writers block cuz i can barely think of plots for myself. sum scary cuz why not??

REBLOG TO SUPPORT MEEEEE AND IF YOU WANT MORE :D

what a night. an incredible amount of men and women died this particular night. interesting. why? how? who would’ve done such a thing? a pure red dagger cut through the flesh of these people. now, these cuts weren’t quite deep at first…but they began to get more deep and the deaths were more brutal than the last.

bleeding through the mask, a red substance peered out of the fabric of the eyeholes. a 5’11 figure, wearing an all black robe looked down at their victim. they bend down before stabbing into their victim repeatedly.

the deed was done. “that was easy…” they thought. they would remove the mask to give themself some air. they took a breath. a pair of dead eyes fluttered, adjusting to the dark room that was lit with dim lights. eyes narrowed, staring at the blood that was splattered across the floor and the wall before a sinister smile stretched across their lips.

a beautiful night it was…for him, that is.

“that’s so sad…all those poor people.” your mother said as she looked at the tv, explaining the incidents. you sucked on your bottom lip, feeling the unsettling energy kick into your system. finding all those bodies around the shibuya station. you heard a name being tossed around called the “shibuya slasher”.

it felt like a horror movie. hearing this made your stomach turn. your mother placed your dinner down in front of you and smiled softly. “you eat good, okay? and don’t waste it. put it in the refrigerator or the microwave if you don’t want it.”

you nod at your mother’s simple request and begin to eat after thanking her. you turn the channel to something more happy. you didn’t wanna be depressed and scared while you ate your favorite meal.

later that evening, you make your mother aware that you would be hanging out with your boyfriend for a couple hours. though, she agreed that this was fine, she’d warn you about the shibuya slasher one final time. you assure her that you’d be fine and you leave in a hurry.

two twintails bounced lightly as the owner’s head turned to look at you. their lips stretched into a smile as you entered the car.

“hey,” the deep voice says, sounding slightly excited at the sight of you. it was definitely a change compared to how he usually sounded. his voice was low adverb and it would catch you off guard if you never heard it or if the room was filled with silence and he began to speak.

“hi, cho!” you beam at the male, leaning over to kiss his cheek, to which his pale cheeks flushed a reddish color.

“did you hear the news? that slasher case is…interesting.” choso queries as he begins to drive away from your home, on the way to your next destination, wherever it may be. you sigh and nod, not feeling up to talk about the case. you didn’t like it. it made you sick actually.

“yes, i heard,” you reply, “but it’s…not something i wanna talk about now. we should just enjoy our time together…and maybe do our thing.” a smirk is plastered onto your face and choso has that usual dull expression on his face but he nods.

“very well…”

the two of you spent your evening at a fair, playing the games, eating…even though choso wasn’t really eating. he was just enjoying his time with you. before the night was over, the male had gone do the bathroom, washing the blood from his hands after he had finished another deed. just the sight of seeing you talking to another man drove him up the wall.

it was a bit hard for him to kill in a social setting like this but his body reacted before he could even think. choso came back to you and took your hand and led you back to you car. as you sat in the passenger seat, you noticed a small red stain on his neck. it looked fresh too.

“um…choso, you got something red on your neck.” you spoke up. you wanted to touch it but you didn’t want to distract choso from driving either.

“nothing.” he answered bluntly.

as the weeks passed on, the shibuya slasher was still on their killing spree. your mother would drill it into your brain to watch your surroundings and be careful to not get kidnapped or anything. as annoying as you thought it was, you know your mother was just looking out for you…so of course you take her advice.

out of curiosity, you and a male friend of yours make your way to shibuya station. because it was a bit late at night, the station was empty. you and your friend would have conversations about anything you could possibly think of. completely ignoring the fact that a killer would be nearby.

this is where the murders took place, after all…

amongst your talking between the two of you, there was a sound. it sounded like footsteps and something dragging. you were pretty sure no one was here…maybe you just assumed and didn’t think that maybe some janitors would be here. even the night security guards would probably be here….but there was no one.

your friend wanders off to go check the sound and tells you to wait…but your anxiety was starting to kick in and you didn’t wanna be left alone in a station where you could get kidnapped or murdered. you and your friend go towards the sound, you trailing behind because you were that nervous.

the two of you tread lightly and slowly as if you were attempting to sneak around and locate the noise and confront the person…if there is one. but that’s when you saw it…such speed and power. you saw nothing like it….but you did. it was familiar. that red arrow piercing through the flesh and the skull and eventually the brain, drilling a hole into its victims.

you scream and jump back when you see a 5’11 figure wearing a ghostface mask and a black robe, holding a pure red blade. there was a crimson substance staining the mask…but you were guilty. you couldn’t be scared when you were guilty of a killing yourself.

staring down at the body beneath you, you suddenly feel your tense body relax. blood travels over to the drain and you glance up at the figure in front of you who had been in the middle of removing their mask. revealing their true face.

in front of you was a pale face with blood streaming down its nose and cheeks. even on the side of the owner’s head. you also noticed a little bit of blood coming from their ear but it didn’t concern you as much as their dead eyes that had black rings around them and their brown hair sticking to their face.

“there you are, princess,” choso smirked at you, lifting his bloodstained glove to place under your chin, staining your soft brown skin. his eyes traveled down to your outfit.

“did you wear this for me?”

you put your hands around his arm gently and looked up at him. the two of you were smiling at each other as if death was your favorite thing to bond over. well, the both of you had the same game. killing for each other. that was the goal.

“i do everything for you.” you reply. this only made choso’s existing smile grow. it was sinister but there was also something about it that you liked. you couldn’t place a finger on it.

“good girl…”

despite the blood the was covering the both of you, choso smashed his lips against yours, biting and sucking on your lip whenever he got the chance to. you felt his tongue slip into your mouth, making you moan in between the kiss.

he pulled away from you and took a glance down at his mess, then at you. “did i overdo it?”

any normal person would tell him yes but you were obviously just as unhinged as he was. you shake your head no as your answer.

“no…you didn’t do anything wrong.” you answered. “you just wanted to keep me safe, right?”

“that’s right. i just wanted to keep you safe.” choso dropped the mask down and pushed a lot of pressure against his blade, making it shatter.

“and nobody will ever get near you again.”

𝐄𝐍𝐃.

⋆｡࿇ ·࣭࣪̇˖ 𖦹°༅༚

[suneeater]

solomon + general romantic hcs

✎a/n: im actually so obsessed w solomon i had to cut myself off writing these bc they became noticeably longer than the ones ive done for everyone else so far

✰warnings: slightly suggestive themes, minors DNI!

Solomon is the world’s biggest tease. He’s also incredibly observant and too smart for his own good, which means he knows your every weakness and loves to use them against you. It’s just so fun for him to see you get so pouty and beg him to quit, and he can’t help but make up arbitrary rules for his own satisfaction, such as swearing up and down the only way he will stop is with a kiss

He never gives you what you want right away; he’s always drawing things out for longer than they need to be, withholding touch or affection and offering only tiny little slivers in the meanwhile only to bask in how much you beg for him, upset he won’t give himself to you. He’s such a sadist, honestly

Teasing aside, Solomon is one hell of a reliable man. He has his mysterious ways which, as close as you become with him will always remain, and somehow always knows when you need him the most. He’s always managing to turn up at the second that he’s needed most knowing just what to do, thanks to his quick thinking. Even if he has prior commitments or has his hands full, you can always expect him to take some weight off your shoulders

As your only other fellow human in the devildom, Solomon worries about you a lot. You’re a quick learner and have more than enough pacts with some powerful demons to keep you safe, but he can’t help but think about your safety every moment he isn’t with you. Expect lots of gifts from him in the form of protective charms and items

Solomon is slightly similar to Lucifer in the role that he takes in your relationship; while he’ll always bend over backwards for you, he leans toward the assertive side. The way he sees it, it’s his job to keep you safe, and being around as long as he has he’s much more experienced than you, not to mention a powerful sorcerer. He’ll tell you what to do, but in the form of advice and genuine worry, while leading you by a firm but loving hold on your waist

Dates back in the human world are a must; catching Solomon up on current events and the past few decades is something the two of you enjoy thoroughly. There’s always something new to share, but it’s familiar enough that you still bond over your shared human experience. Back in the human world, you run about excitedly, pointing out all of your favorite things and rambling on about all that he’s missed, and while he doesn’t exactly retain every detail he’ll always the way you smiled so happily

When Solomon kisses you he takes his time. He’s a bit of a romantic, his surprisingly soft hand supporting your chin with tender care, keeping you close to him and guiding you just where he needs you, his other secured around your neck. There’s hardly any distance between you, and you have even less time to breathe before diving back in. Kissing Solomon is overwhelming in every sense of the word, all of your senses tingling with excitement and the desire for more. You can never be close enough to him to be fully satisfied and it’s frustrating, but it brings a spark to your relationship

He probably has really cold hands. Like, REALLY cold hands. He’s always using them to spook or startle you, sneaking up from behind and clasping his ice cold palms against your cheeks and watching you squeal. He has cold feet, too, and you have to beg him to wear socks after he touches you with them in the dead of night and it stirs you awake

If anyone wants you to wear their clothes, it’s Solomon. I mean, out of everyone he probably has the most normal wardrobe anyways! He’ll even buy some more average human clothes just to see you wear them, never deliberately asking but always trying to tempt you by dousing them in his scent and leaving them out in the open. He feels almost prideful when you’re lounging about in his t-shirts, eager for people to see you clad in his attire and know you’re his

You’re probably the only person that can convince him he is not the gourmet chef that he thinks he is, and that’s simply because he feels so warm and fuzzy inside when you spend late nights in the kitchen together, teaching him to cook your favorite dishes

Often, these late night cooking lessons end up being dance lessons. He takes his hands in yours and smiles softly for you, asking you without words for a dance to the distant song from your playlist. Solomon has two left feet though, and is constantly stepping on your toes and losing his balance. It’s one of the only times that you see the experienced sorcerer lose his composure, and surely a core memory of your relationship

find the same scenario for:

beelzebub | lucifer | mammon | simeon 

[blasphemous-lies-and-deceit]

67: tucking their hands beneath the other person’s shirt, just to watch them break the kiss and gasp in surprise at the sensation of cold/warm hands on their skin

With GerryMichael because as a fellow tall people I know Michael's hands are unbearably cold from lack of circulation but his face is easy to go red 🥰

Tall people with bad circulation 🤝 office workers working in cold offices

Michael wondered if Gertrude would let him help her kill Elias.

It was only a matter of time. He'd had his eyes wrenched open, no longer blind to reality. He knew who they were working for, and while he didn't necessarily like it, he knew Gertrude hated it. She was not quiet about her criticism, and while he was glad she wasn't keeping him in the dark anymore, it was still quite a thing to listen to his boss openly plot murder.

He didn't care if Elias was dead at her hands- really, the Head of the Institute was just as guilty as the others, and worse. What Michael did resent was the relentless busy work that he was being assigned, probably to keep them busy so they couldn't plot their boss's demise. The amount of incoming statements was so relentless, they nearly didn't have room to put them all. Gertrude was busy with her own plots, so she was no help, of course. And Elias's ever-so-helpful suggestion of "digitizing" the hand-written statements just meant more work for him.

Michael groaned as he flexed his fingers against the keyboard. He was a fast typer, but the statements were usually rambling, and the handwriting nearly illegible. The Eye helped a bit, but that left him with an awful headache at the end of the day, and exhausted beyond belief. He was even beginning to have dreams about the statements, which was incredibly annoying since he couldn't even have a break in his sleep.

The most current annoyance to him, however, were his fingers. He felt like he couldn't warm them up, they were like stiff icicles against the keys, and blowing on them or tucking them against his chest made no difference. Fingerless gloves might help, but he didn't have a pair on hand, and he'd been too tired to knit recently, so he couldn't whip up a pair either. It wasn't enough to slow him down, but it did make his mood worse, and he was more than ready for a break.

"Gerry," Michael sighed, leaning back limply in his chair to watch his boyfriend descend the stairs with a bag of takeout. "My love, the light of my life, the greatest joy, my absolute treasure-"

"That bad, huh?" Gerry grimaced, crossing the distance between them to drop a kiss on top of his head. Michael just groaned, long and whale-like, and spun his chair around so he could bury his face in Gerry's chest. "I'm sorry, love."

"It's awful," Michael moaned, slinging his arms around Gerry's waist. "It's like they don't realize someone's going to actually read what they've written. They don't even try to make it legible."

"Ugh." Gerry leaned over him to peer at the papers next to his computer. "Their handwriting is worse than mine."

"And it's so pointless! It's just busy work." Michael leaned back so he could see Gerry's face. "Next thing you know, that bastard'll have me recording them or something."

"I'm sure you'll do a fantastic job regardless," Gerry assured him, staring down at him with a terribly fond expression. He raised his hands to cup the back of his head, gently rubbing the tension away. "You're too damn good for this place."

"Flatterer," Michael rebutted, helplessly charmed. Gerry just smiled and bent down to kiss him, so soft but full of meaning. Michael kissed him back, feeling all of the tension drain right out of him, leaving him soothed and relaxed. It meant everything to him to have Gerry by his side, sympathetic and caring and exactly what he needed the most. As if Michael couldn't possibly be more in love with him.

And to show his appreciation, he rucked up the back of Gerry's shirt and plastered his hands to the small of his back.

Gerry yelped and jumped away, gaping at Michael incredulously as he fell into giggles. "What the hell?" he gasped, sounding aghast and offended. "Why are your fingers so cold?"

"Because its cold down here!" Michael pointed out. "And my jumper doesn't cover my hands." He wiggled his fingers to prove his point, and Gerry rolled his eyes, coming back to take his hands in his.

"Poor guy," he commiserated, rubbing his hands and bending to breathe warm air over them. "I have some fingerless gloves back ho- back at Pinhole, I'll run over and grab them for you."

"Thank you," Michael murmured, touched that Gerry would step foot back in that place for him. Over the past few months they had been removing Gerry's clothes and personal items and relocating them to his flat, slowly moving him in where he belonged. Michael couldn't help but feel a deep stir of pleasure at the thought, of getting Gerry away from that awful place for good. It's what he deserved.

Gerry knelt next to him, tucking his cold hands under his chin as he smiled at Michael, happy and content. "Can you take a break for lunch? Get out of this basement for a bit?"

"Of course." Without looking, Michael put his computer into sleep mode and guided Gerry back to his feet, pulling him in for a hug. This time, when he cold hands wandered under Gerry's shirt, he didn't pull away.

[gffa]

I'm still making my way through the weewoo show (stopping occasionally to watch the newest episodes) and I have realized that I think I'm the most emotionally invested in the Bobby/Athena ship, sorry but no one else on that show can compete with Angela Bassett for my love. That it's Mr. Casey Sports Night she married only makes it better. Though, Chimney/Maddie are a reasonably close second, oh my god, they're so cute. I'm not really sure where I land re: Buck's love life, I'm kind of just going where the show takes me. Like, sometimes the show was incredibly blatant about feeling like they were setting the stage, you have someone commenting that Buck's ready to move on to something more grown up in his life, something more real, something meaningful, then immediately cut to him waiting outside Eddie and Christopher's house??? Like, what??? But then I watch the newest episodes and oh Buck and Tommy really do have fun chemistry, that kiss drunk look on Buck's face after their first kiss was so good, they're funny together, I'm enjoying it?? And I'm enjoying Eddie being one hell of a hot mess, like I've always liked him, but I have never liked him more than when he went out on a date with his dead ex-wife's doppleganger, which is going to throw a massive grenade into his current relationship, which is already weird because he found out she used to be a nun and it's bringing up all this weirdness that was probably already there and just looking for an excuse, never mind what it's going to do to his kid if he ever meets his dead mom's doppleganger, like this is a mess and I am living for it. But more than that, I'm here for Athena, because I also love that she can be such a hot mess at times, that someone kills her fiance and she spends 20 years or whatever looking for him, finds him, and has him arrested despite that he's spent that entire time in service to others because he felt guilty, but doesn't even REGISTER that she is married to a man she loves who killed a lot of people's spouses/fiances, got away with it, and felt so guilty that he spent all that time in service to others as a way to make amends. And none of this even seems to be deliberate! It's GREAT, because it makes her such a hypocrite in a lot of ways, but so thoroughly relatable because it is so very easy to forgive the ones you love and not forgive the ones who wronged you, even if they're largely the same. Anyway, I love this ridiculous show, I'm going to be sad when I have no more to catch up on. I like The Weewoo Show: Yeehaw! Version, but it doesn't scratch quite the same itch since I spoiled myself about where the Owen/Gwyn storyline is going.

[rita-repulsa-ke]

jealousy

post-finale, set in the past. Death is a jealous lover, they are both exceedingly petty. They are doing their normal fighting and flirting thing, maybe a bit more fighting. This is probably PG-13.

Going with two headcanons, that Death can’t kill people directly and that Agatha and Death have a deal where Agatha kills for her to keep herself alive, thus the murders.

Also Agatha speaks incredibly anachronistically on purpose, because she should be able to.

In 1780, Agatha takes a woman to bed.

No one who matters, a younger woman she passes on the street, doubles back to compliment the sewing on her dress, and then to compliment the blush on her cheeks. She forces herself listening to the girl's concerns about her upcoming nuptials, plies her with beer and sympathy until finally she gets her bodice off and things proceed from there as they have for the centuries before and will for the centuries after.

Her plaything has run off home when the air currents in the room change and the scent of grave dirt fills the room. Agatha, lying naked on the bed, opens her eyes, her expression twisting to one of malevolent, contemptuous hatred, and looks up at Death.

"Oh," she says. "It's you."

"I want her," Rio says with no precursor, motioning in the vague direction of the door and presumably the girl who had recently exited through it.

"Sure," Agatha says, easing up to sitting, reaching for her clothes, aware of the way she is being stared at, hungry, possessive. "I don't mind if you have my sloppy seconds."

"Agatha," Rio complains, because they both know Agatha is being purposefully uncooperative. "I want her dead." She slices her knife lazily through the air, a slow cut across an invisible throat.

"Do it yourself then," Agatha says, then gasps in mock-shock. "Oh, but that's right, you can't! It isn't her time. That's too bad for you, I'm so sorry."

Rio rolls her eyes. "I'll let you skip the next tithe."

Agatha stops and considers that. It's a good offer. That's time she could use for things other than finding and killing a coven of witches, time for her own personal projects, of which she was many. And it would be easy, she wouldn't even have to watch. There's hair all over her pillow, one of those and the right spell and the woman will sicken and die by morning.

She should say yes. It's just that she's very, very petty.

"Nope. Don't feel like it. She wasn't that bad in bed, honestly. Better than you ever were," she says, hopping into her pants, still shirtless and aware of where Rio's eyes are.

Look all you want, she thinks, you'll never get to touch. It's a stupid, small, petty victory, how much Death wants and can't have her, but such little victories are some of the few joys left to her.

"You're so immature," Rio murmurs and Agatha snorts.

"I'm getting better. Remember when I went through my bad boy phase?"

Rio studies her, head tilted to one side, hip cocked, aggressive and deadly, but Agatha isn't worried. Death can't touch her. There are rules.

And then Rio has her down on the bed, straddling her, the knife against her abdomen and Agatha remembers the fine print of those rules.

Rio can't take her life, but there's nothing stopping her from causing Agatha pain. And that knife is positioned in a way that could cause quite a bit of pain.

"Reconsider," Rio says, looking down at her with unnerving adoration.

"Hey, when we're talking about immature, can we talk about your sudden desire to have me kill the first woman I've had in my bed since—" she stops what she might have said, self-corrects. "In thirty years?"

In answer, Rio trails her fingers over Agatha's neck, down to her collarbone, but no further. Agatha finds herself wishing she had gotten her shirt on before they'd ended up like this. Those warm fingers on her skin evoke memories she could do without.

"Mine," Rio says. "All mine. No one else touches you."

Agatha bursts into snorting laughter, quickly restrained by the blade indenting her skin. "Wow, this is incentive to turn into the biggest slut possible. Feel free to do your creepy lurking, though. Watch all you want." Her hand cups Rio's cheek and with great care, she levers herself up on her elbow. "Miss me, baby?"

"Yes," Rio says, turning lighting-quick, pressing a kiss to Agatha's palm. Agatha jerks her hand back, wipes it on the bed with the expression of someone who squashed a bug barehanded.

"Ew," she complains, and okay, maybe Rio is right and she is petty, but the flicker of real fury in Rio's eyes, behind the more obvious exasperation, is very rewarding.

Then the knife bites in, sends a trickle of blood down her stomach and she hisses in pain. "Do what I want," Rio singsongs. "Or take your medicine."

"How about option C?" Agatha snarls, magic slamming into Rio's chest, throwing her across the room. She scrambles up, snatches her shirt, but has to shield against the next attack before she can put it on. Black tendrils of magic try to find a way around her shields, crawling bits of craft probing for any weakness.

"Still so sloppy," she taunts.

"How so?" Rio asks, not bothering to hide her amusement at Agatha trying to pull a shirt on with one hand while she continues to cast with the other. "And when did you get so modest, anyway?"

"Honey, no one likes to be ogled by their ex," Agatha says. "As for how, you are using so much power for that little exploratory spell, if you didn't have literally endless limits, you'd burn out before—"

She stops abruptly, because this is starting to get fun. She's starting to smile, a wild, exhilarated smile. She's starting to feel the urge to giggle, to experiment with spells, to find out if she can remove the floor from under Rio before she notices and send her plummeting into the room below.

For one breath, one heartbeat, she's forgotten to grieve.

She drops her shields at the same time Rio launches a real attack. It won't kill her, but it will hurt.

That's all right. It should.

Then there is a shape in front of her, only very slightly a woman, the impression of arms spread wide and an all-encompassing, welcoming darkness, the space behind the world.

The spell hits, and then there is only Rio, staggering, holding her side and Agatha's instinct is to reach for her, catch her, offer comfort or more likely, a scolding about not being able to better redirect her own energy—

Instead, she crosses her arms over her chest and watches, impassive, unmoved.

Rio whirls on her, nostrils flared, eyes wide. "What was that—" she stops, looks at Agatha. Snorts without mirth. "Oooh. Ags, if you want it to hurt that badly, you only have to ask." The knife is back in her hand, as much a part of her as any of her limbs. Perhaps more so, who can say what real shape lies under her favored guise? "I've got better ways than magic." She pauses, then adds, softer, more careful, "And that could have really hurt you."

"Can't have your favorite killing machine injured, hmm?" Agatha purrs. "Who'd get you all those bodies you love so much?"

"You know that isn't why," Rio says, colder, unimpressed.

Agatha shrugs, indifferent, resummoning her magic. "So are we going to do this or—"

Rio doesn't answer. She looks away from Agatha, always a bad idea. "…ss me," she murmurs, syllables too soft to be properly made out.

"What was that?"

"Kiss me. And I'll let it go." She still can't make herself look at Agatha.

"Wow," Agatha says, then repeats. "Wooooow. This is a new low, even for you. I know you're obsessed with me," she tosses her hair, preens a little. "And who could blame you. Still, that is really pitiful."

Rio taps her knife against the air, her expression one of grim patience, as though Agatha is a trial she’s trying to will herself through. "You can't beat me."

Agatha snorts. "We'll see about that. But all right, Romeo. Let me skip the next tithe and I'll do it."

Rio nods at once, as easy as that.

Agatha swaggers toward her, places her hand on her former lover's cheek, shockingly warm against her palm. "Close your eyes," she whispers, her voice gone husky. "I'll make it good."

Rio trembles ever-so-slightly and obeys.

Agatha spins her free hand in the air, mouths a silent incantation and the floor drops out from Rio, sends her plummeting into the room below as Agatha cackles with delight and for just a moment, forgets to grieve.

if you haven’t read it, I recommend the mistake.

[double-0h-no]

Old Dog, New Tricks

Second to last prompt I want and need to fill. And slowly and surely running out of time, but I'll do this. My prompt fill for "Secondary Villain/Henchman" and for @meadowcastiel prompt, to be revealed at the end. With the tiniest nod to @thestalwartheart gorgeous poem that didn't leave me alone while finihing this up, please go and read it, it's so so gorgeous!

on ao3

Bond has a sudden influx of ideas for gadgets to take out into the field. Henchmen suffer the consequences.

"007, to what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Oh, nothing in particular. Just wanted to see what R6D is working on these days." 

That stopped Q dead in his tracks and pinched the bridge of his nose in a feeble hope that it would delay the headache that was bound to result from this conversation.  "How often do I have to tell you that, unless you have a very good reason for it, there will not be an exploding pen for you."

Bond had the audacity to scoff, as if he hadn't asked for exactly that, and then continued his lazy stroll past the benches where currently, a few prototypes and blueprints were scattered. "I wouldn't dare come to you for something as trivial as that. Anymore."

"I'm not sure I like where this is going, but do go on."

"Well, I was thinking about how night goggles were actually rather handy, in general, but also very suspicious looking and bulky. And I know you've been tinkering around with your own glasses. Isn't there something to be done?"

Now, that piqued Q's interest, because: "There is, actually. As you've correctly stated, it can't be that only my glasses get tinkered with. There are a lot of things we're trying to do in that department, the easiest and most obvious one being cameras installed into the frame, or something as simple as a GPS tracker. Night vision has so far proven difficult because - Do you know how night goggles usually work?", he interrupted himself.

Bond shook his head, and Q motioned for him to step closer to his own bench, where he quickly opened a new browser window to pull up some graphics. "All right, so our problem currently lies in this."

_//\\_//\\_

Mission transcript for internal use.

H - Handler - Quartermaster

A - Agent - 007

Transcript written by Quartermaster for potential blackmailing purposes among the women of Q branch and Bond.

Transcript begins:

A: "Q?"

H: "Yes, 007?"

A: "Could you develop a repellent?"

H: "A repellent? Whatever for? I think you're quite capable of getting some nobite from a nearby drugstore or pharmacy."

A: "Not for mosquitoes. For all the women approaching me this evening who aren't my target."

H: "..."

A: "Q?"

H: "..."

A: "I take that as a no."

H: "I'll start a survey among the women who frequent Q-branch on which aftershave or perfume they think to be the most repelling. Otherwise, I will keep it to myself that you just asked me for a spray to repel women, but I will save this bit to bring out and show to R and Moneypenny should I feel the need to blackmail you, are we understood?"

_//\\_//\\_

It was the strangest thing, really, and unfortunately, horribly endearing in the way it reminded Q of his cats, at least distantly.

James was lounging on the sofa in his office, limbs akimbo, half asleep, a cooling pad still held to his face, and quite possibly loopy on pain meds.

Q thought it incredible that James appeared to be able to maintain that position without too much discomfort. His own joints probably wouldn't appreciate this kind of treatment, but that might be due to his own lack of exercise in recent years.

"Run that by me again?", he asked, mortified by the amount of affection that his voice held.

"S'mthing to call 'nimals. Useful ones. Like a swarm of bees."

"And how would calling a swarm of bees to your location be helpful?"

James shrugged to the best of his ability. "Don't know. Not to my location. the other guy."

"So let me get this straight, you want to call the bees so that they go after the bad guy."

The Double Oh agent made a sound that could, unfortunately, best be described as a giggle. That was that settled, at least. Certainly high on pain meds, and possibly not half as comfortable in this situation as the meds might make him believe.

"You said bad guy."

Q buried his face in his hands both in exasperation and to hide the redness he felt blooming in his cheeks.

Hopeless cases, the both of them.

_//\\_//\\_

"How small do you think you can make a taser?"

"About lipstick-sized. Of the larger variety, but about that size."

"So not the size of a ring."

"Not unless all you want to be able to stun is a blowfly. Or knock yourself on your arse because I'm not sure how the hell I'd isolate a metal ring properly."

_//\\_//\\_

"You want what?" James - Bond had caught him just on his way back to Q-branch from a meeting that surely could have been an email or three, at most.

"Come on, Q, you can't deny that it would be helpful."

"I mean, yes, except you'd ultimately always impede yourself as well. Plus, it would require you to get out of dodge in the blink of an eye."

James cocked an eyebrow in amusement. "Because that's never been known to happen."

He couldn't help the snort. "Careful with your knees at your age."

"You had nothing to complain about last-"

"Will you be quiet?", Q interjected snidely, but with a big grin on his face. Gosh, that surely had happened. And would happen again, and again. And a few more times after, for sure.

"Now, about my idea?", Bond teased, and Q sighed.

"Why do you always come to me with those things anyway? You very well know by now that R heads R&D, not me. I don't have time for those things anymore because I have meetings now that take a day and an age but could have been done in a fraction of the time, and she-"

James suddenly pulled him around a corner, pressed him up against a wall, and snogged him silly. It wasn't a good kiss, he was smiling way too much for that, but damn if it didn't make him feel good. He was so giddy with it it made him look stupid.

"You're very distracting," Bond murmured, lips only centimetres from his own. "Did I ever tell you that you're incredibly hot when you get worked up and commanding?"

Q bit his tongue not to giggle. "That explains so much, actually." He closed the gap between them and stole another kiss. "Where would you even stash them away?"

It visibly took James a few seconds to catch on to Q's drifting thoughts. "Depends on how small you can make them, but I was thinking about fastening them to the inside of my belt."

"Won't that be uncomfortable?"

James left featherlight kisses on the high point of his cheek, pushing his glasses up with his nose, the hinge of his jaw, corner of his lips, before he answered: "I've been through worse. Plus, I'm sure you'll come up with something."

Another kiss. He felt like a teenager again. It was embarrassing. It was glorious.

"I probably will. Don't think it'll be like that now just because you give decent head."

The indignant sound was almost as sweet as the kisses.

_//\\_//\\_

Mission monitoring was not going any worse than it had been before, and Q was a bit relieved about it.

No matter what he'd told James before, no matter what he'd told himself, deep down he had been worried that separating the mission from his personal feelings would in fact get more difficult now that he had something to lose that went beyond his feelings, but included a person almost sharing his flat and life and feeding his cats. But it was fine. Or at least not any worse than he was used to. Which was to say, it wasn't going great.

He was monitoring Bond, but couldn't communicate with him anymore, which at least was not Bond's fault. 007 was being led down a corridor, henchmen guarding him, Q and R watching him via the security cameras. Their journey ended in a windowless room, and Q and R exchanged a worried glance. They'd seen too many rooms of that variety in their time, though fortunately never from up close.

The henchmen kept their guns trained at Bond while he sat down on the singular chair in the room.

There was no audio, but his lips were moving.

The next thing they saw was the camera whitening out for a brief second, and when the feed returned to normal, black smoke filled the room and was already being filtered out. He could make out the feet of one of the guards, clearly sprawled on the floor, and the other one had probably suffered a similar fate, though Q was already going through the cameras to find Bond again.

"I can't believe it worked," mumbled Riley next to him, and only then did the reality of what had happened set in.

He groaned pitifully. "We will never hear the end of this."

_//\\_//\\_

They did never hear the end of this.

_//\\_//\\_

After this very first success, Riley was actually more open to working with Bond on several of her projects, and the litany of minions of various evil operations who'd fallen victim to increasingly ridiculous contraptions was growing by the week.

It also had the nice side effect that James was... Q didn't have any other words to describe it, but he felt that Bond was doing better. The time he spent in R&D shortened the time he spent on the bench, at least in his perception, and he wasn't as keen to go out in the field anymore between missions. As much as he'd like to think that it was in part his own doing, Q knew that James' work with R played just as big a role.

It was good, all in all. It was very good.

_//\\_//\\_

Q was standing at his desk in his office, double checking a mixup with an order of materials to find the error, when a heavy blanket of Double Oh draped itself over his back.

"What have you come up with this time? Or is it time to leave already?" It usually was one thing or another, these days.

"An EMP."

As much as he tried - not very hard at all, this bit of chasing tails had already robbed him of his last nerve - this one really caught his interest.

_//\\_//\\_

They never managed to figure out a way to make it work. It was fine, too.

_//\\_//\\_

When Q came home that day, exhausted beyond comprehension, James was already home, sitting in his favourite armchair, reading glasses on his nose while he was reading something on his tablet, the Admiral snuggled into his side.

"What do you think of freeze grenades?", he asked in lieu of a greeting.

"Freeze grenades?", Q asked incredulously, still getting out of his shoes. "What are they even supposed to do?" He wandered into the kitchen and scoured it for something left to eat. There was a sandwich sitting out, carefully protected from the cats, and Q picked up the plate with a grateful smile and joined James in the living room.

"Well, they're supposed to emit intense cold upon activation."

"To what end?"

"Depends. Freeze something over to make it brittle. Freeze water over to cross it, though I can imagine that might be difficult. Freeze burns are a bitch, too."

"As opposed to normal grenades, who don#t hurt much at all. What even are you reading there?" He leaned over to catcha glimpse at the screen, and James didn't try to hide it. Q tilted his head. "Is that a batman comic?"

James nodded. "I never read them when I was a kid, but I watched one of the movies on my way back from... I don't even know anymore. It was utterly ridiculous. I wanted to know more."

"Is that where you get all those ridiculous ideas from?"

"You say that as if they haven't worked."

Q's eyes widened in childish wonder. "You have. This is amazing. You're such a closet nerd." He leaned in and pressed an ill-aimed kiss to James' cheek.

James tried his best to appear annoyed at Q's antics, but there was the smile in his eyes that everybody else said was missing when they met him.

"So, what about batarangs?"

[mcmookiemeal]

Donkey Kong x Femme fatale reader

You were Peach’s distant cousin, the two of you haven’t had contact since you were little kids.

And thats why you were so surprised whenever you got a letter from your cousin, asking for your help with the whole Bowser situation.

Even though you two weren’t close you still couldn’t sit back and let innocent lives get taken.

So you hopped on your motorcycle and made your way to the Mushroom Kingdom.

When you arrived, Peach’s mouth was agape.

She hadn’t seen your face since you were at least six years old, and you had changed.

Like really changed.

You had a rather revealing black skin tight dress that was just a little below your thighs, a smokey eye with dark red lipstick, and you had a cool ass bike.

Your current style wasn’t a bad thing, in fact you looked incredibly hot, it was just very shocking.

You smiled brightly and waved at your cousin and the little man beside her.

“It’s been a while! And who’s this little guy? He’s adorable~.” You chuckled.

“Uh I-I’m Mario.” He said with an awkward smile.

You and Peach took a few minutes to catch up on each other, almost forgetting about Bowser before Mario interrupted your little girl talk.

“Are we gonna get going or…?”

Peach nodded and agreed that it would be best to head over to the jungle kingdom, you could catch up later.

You thought the trip to the Jungle Kingdom was miserable since you couldn’t take your bike, meaning you had to go on foot and you were not dressed properly for a hiking trip.

But you got to know Mario and Toad which made the journey more bearable.

When you all got to the Jungle Kingdom Mario agreed to fight with the kings son which you thought was a stupid decision, but you weren’t gonna say that to his face.

You took a seat next to Peach and waited for the fight to begin.

The crowd broke out into yells as the kings son revealed himself with confidence, he was quite showy.

But he was cute as hell.

He was eagerly trying to get his dad to wave back at him, doing a little dance and showing off his muscles in the process.

His eyes met yours and his whole demeanor had changed.

He had never seen anyone like you before, in such a colorful world he had never seen someone who looked so dark, it intrigued him.

You giggled and winked at him before blowing him a kiss.

He smirked and turned around, giving his attention back to Mario and the fight.

Mario ended up winning the fight, which you did not expect at all, but his victory means that we Peach now has the help of the Kong army.

After the fight was over you figured you would pay Donkey Kong a visit since his ego was destroyed in front of everyone.

You entered the little hut on the water and found him sitting in his hammock, looking kinda sad as he looked up at you.

“It’s you.” He whispered, he stood up from his hammock and puffed out his chest to look confident.

“Are you okay, Monkey boy?” You asked.

“Yeah! Yeah I’m fine….I let him win.”

You smile at him and softly grab both of his cheeks and analyzing his bruises and scratches from the fight.

“Damn, he got you pretty good.”

He felt embarrassed as he let you look at all his wounds, the marks of his defeat.

Slowly you leaned in and kissed the cheek where Mario scratched him, you felt him wince at your lips on his cheek.

When you pulled back there was a red kiss mark dead center of his cheek.

“All better.”

“H-hey what’s your name?” He said nervously.

You had never seen someone who was once so confident be so shy all of a sudden, but in your opinion it made him endearing.

“Y/N, we should meet up someday.” You whispered in his ear.

You backed away from him as you heard the door open and the others walked into the room, ready to discuss the plan on how to take down Bowser.

As Peach and Cranky Kong were talking about the plan, Mario stood off to the side.

His eyes fell onto Donkey Kongs cheek and he quickly looked between you and the gorilla before looking at a wall to avoid any awkward conversations.

You and Donkey Kong had a few dates that ended with success, so you decided to make it official and started dating.

You two were invited to most dinners and parties that were held at the Mushroom Kingdom.

It was fun for the most part, if only Mario and Donkey kong didn’t get into so many petty arguments that you had to step in on most of the time.

“Oh you leave him alone, He’s nothing but big sweetheart.” You argued with Mario across the dinner table.

“He tried to kill me?!”

“He didn’t mean anything by it, shush.” You said as you leaned over to kiss Donkey Kong on his cheek, leaving another red lipstick mark.

A/N: It’s been a while since I’ve written anything so I’m a bit rusty, but thank you for the request and I hope you enjoy!