#even though they make up such a small part of the book itself and their interactions are very unromantic

[kisses4reid]

scare | ·˚ ༘ spencer reid ,, (part 1)

synopsis - you’re in a relationship with some one else and have a pregnancy scare, both your own reaction and spencer’s makes you realise that you’re not happy.

genre - bau!reader x spencer, friends to lovers, multi-part, pregnancy scare, reader has sort of a douche bf, one sided love (at first), angst and fluff

warnings - pregnancy talk, mentions of sex, unhealthy relationships, stress, sickness

w/c - 1.4k?? take a guess cause that’s mine.

a/n - i’ve got 9 weeks free. yeah, i have a job. and yeah, i have about 6 other hobbies i enjoy. but am i gonna make promises i can’t keep about writing more?? yeah. i am. here, enjoy. (pls lemme know abt mistakes it’s rlly late at night rn.)

The plane whirrs, small chatter from Morgan and who you assumed to be Penelope over the phone humming along with the music you try to distract yourself with. It isn’t working.

Because every song has its own special and quirky musical instrument that happens to sound like a message notification. And you keep getting your hopes up.

Your left leg started to bounce, your fingernails found their way to your anxious teeth. And Spencer noticed.

He noticed about halfway through the case, when you stopped talking as much, started drinking an influx of water, started discreetly taking pain medication. At first, he thought it was a simple stomach bug, and he knew your stomach didn’t agree with a lot of travel. But then you started getting nervous.

Spencer glanced at you a few times before moving, sitting next to you (attempting to be discreet). He can’t be discreet though, because every time he’s around you, his body does this weird thing where it can’t decide whether it should be instantly calm or instantly more nervous. Your presence stopped his fidgeting hands, his tired thoughts. But god, when he looked at you, it’s like his heart wants to see you for itself.

And right now his heart hurt, why were you scared?

You barely noticed Spencer sit down, usually you would, but your phone was annoyingly blank, silent. You turned it off and on three times, and re-entered the plane’s wifi password five times.

And now your stomach was grumbling, and not in the way that those nice small sandwiches can help out with.

“Are you okay?”

You jumped, taking your earphones out and staring at Spencer surprised. You laughed nervously, quietly, “Spencer! Sorry. Yeah, I’m fine.”

His warm eyes searched yours and for a second you could ignore the tight feeling in your chest. It made you think back around 8 months ago, when Penelope, your childhood best friend and now co-worker, created a pros and cons list for both Lloyd, and… Spencer.

It was unprofessional and inappropriate, especially when you decided to listen because you had nothing better to do. And especially when she started making some good points.

He squinted his eyes, and you sighed.

“Sorry, I’m just a bit antsy. Feeling a bit… off.”

You felt sick, and stressed, and like your thoughts were going to be the cause of your death. Because you’ve never been sick like this. And to your overworked brain, it only meant one thing.

Spencer’s a great profiler. And although the team collectively agreed to not profile each other, it becomes hard for Spencer when the girl he’s in love with is so obviously in distress. Even worse when he can’t be the hero.

“I can leave you to sleep if you want.” He says, getting up to leave.

“Oh, no. That’s okay. Honestly, I think sleeping would just make it worse.”

Ah, right. Travel sickness, Spencer thought. He gaps his mouth slightly and nods. He relaxes into the couch and looks over to you, heart picking up slightly as pieces of hair fell from your loose ponytail.

You looked over to the table he was previously sat at, the book you gifted him last Christmas open and nearly finished. You smiled to yourself, but it was bittersweet.

“You’re actually reading it?” You asked, looking back at him with slight surprise.

“Of course. I’ve read it 6 times already, it’s a great pallet cleanser- Just like you said in that Christmas card!” He smiled childishly, like he was recalling the first snow.

“I know right! It’s so simple but interesting, I mean I’ve only read it three times but to me I always found it to clear my head.”

Spencer angled himself towards you, “Did you know that the author actually interviewed his daughter’s teachers to see what ages teachers were more invested in compared to class sizes? He said in an interview that depending on a students intelligence, there’s an underlying emotional connection made between student and teacher,” he took a breath, “It plays into the intelligence to ego ratio that so many people claim isn’t true. Which I’m not trying to say you have a big ego, or that I do-“

You waved you hands, “Woah, woah. Why would I think you’re talking about me?”

He furrowed his eyebrows, “Well, you’re very intelligent.”

“Oh!… Thanks for thinking I’m intelligent, or smart.” You shrugged, “But I think you insulted yourself. You don’t have a 187 IQ for nothing do you?”

“You remembered my IQ?” He laughed nervously. His smile warms your chest like a candle. Like that candle he got you randomly in April, after you mentioned your favourite one being used up by your boyfriend.

Your boyfriend. Ugh.

You smile falters for only a second, “Of course. You only mention it to every person that second guesses you.”

He nods and smiles, “Must be my ego.”

You laugh, subconsciously bumping your shoulder with his. But- Jesus. Your stomach is queasy.

“Hey, uh, do you want some travel sickness pills?” He reached over for his satchel but you grab his forearm and smile as convincingly as you can.

“No, no. We’re landing soon, but thank you.”

You’re overreacting.

That’s what he said. When you texted your boyfriend of a year and a half that you thought you were pregnant he said, You’re overreacting. Two words, two hours after your first text, on his day off.

Maybe you are. You started feeling sick on a slightly more gory case, it’s lasted ever since the case started, you get travel sick as well.

The headaches are from the computer screen and stress. The stress is from fatigue. The fatigue is because of the lack of sleep. The lack of sleep is because of the headaches.

Why do you always do this? Always thinking that there’s something wrong with you. Always being the biggest person in your own life, selfish.

But… what if?

There’s a sudden squeak from behind you, and you instantly snapped out of it. You took a deep breath and looked at your surroundings. You were at your desk, standing, the strap of your bag clutched in your hands - god, your knuckles were white. Your eyes darted in surprise and confusion, and you jumped once again when Spencer spoke into the silence.

“You okay?”

“Um…”

You didn’t look back at him, only looking down at your shoes and taking a deep breath. You plastered on a smile despite the bile collecting in your throat.

“Yeah! Yeah, I’m fine. I’ve gonna go, the bus leaves at um…”

You took out your phone. He didn’t even respond to your text asking him to pick you up.

“I’ll drive you home. But uh, I gotta pick up some groceries. I hope you don’t mind.”

He curved to your desk and gently took your bag from your hands, glancing at the way you traced your knuckles and how the leather strap now had slight wrinkles in it. He smiled, warmly. And he started walking like you rejecting the idea wasn’t an option.

Which is wasn’t, because he knew you too well.

“Well, a cucumber actually has 3% more water than watermelon. So if you really want a refreshing snack, cucumber is your man.”

You smiled and raised your eyebrows in interest. He’s had many vegetables and fruits in the basket, not a lot of protein. Explained a lot.

My man, you thought with a smile.

My man, you shivered.

“I don’t like cucumbers.” You said like it was distraction, and he nodded, picking up some kewpie mayo as he you around to the next aisle. He glanced at you,

“I know. You say it’s tasteless. I like it.” He shrugged.

“I know.” You smiled, and he smiles back.

God, you wish you could bask in it, the warmth. But your chest was still tingly, and your heart hadn’t stopped aching ever since you got excited about an email notification.

“Hey, are you sure you’re okay? I noticed you’ve been tense for like… a week.” He grabbed some pasta sauce and put his hand on your shoulder to turn you around - you obviously looked too far into your own head.

“Yeah, just feeling-“

“Y/n.” He turned to you, stopping your venture into the dairy aisle. His eyes were hard, worried. The fluorescent lights swayed slightly. A worker walked by the end of the aisle with a trolley full of food.

“Sorry.”

“Don’t,” he lifted one arm, wanting to rest his hand on your upper arm, to help you, “Don’t say sorry. Just tell me what’s going on.”

“I have been feeling sick. That’s true. And I’ve been stressed and, thinking a lot. A lot.”

It felt weird to nearly tell Spencer about your relationship problems. It was like complaining to a doctor about healing crystals. It was like a slap in the face. Maybe that’s why you never did tell him about it, because it was facing your fears.

It was the pros and cons list made by Penelope.

But I’m overreacting.

“It’s nothing.”

Spencer sighed. You had that habit, of nearly opening up, and then shutting the door just as he was about to walk in.

You heard his sigh.

“Okay. I gave Lloyd my car because he has the day off, and he likes going to his friends houses on his days off. And, I told him something that should probably freak him out. But he doesn’t really care. I don’t think he really cares, about anything. At least about me.”

You started walking, because holy shit you’ve never said that out loud before, and Spencer followed you,

“Y/n, if you want to tell me something-“

“I think I’m pregnant.” You stopped, and started picking at your fingers, acting as if it was admitting to not knowing your left and rights, or that you don’t really like coconut.

His eyes widen, and his heart drops. It was like his worst nightmare coming true- jesus, how could he even think about himself right now? The girl he loved felt trapped with a man she thought might be the father of her baby.

Spencer gulped, “Oh.”

“Yeah, oh.”

You looked at each other, scared, you more than him. And then you cringed,

“God, I’m sorry Spencer. I shouldn’t have said anything-“

“No- Y/n, it’s fine. I’m glad you told me-“

“I haven’t even, like, taken a test yet-“

“Wait so-”

You spun on your heel and looked at him exasperated.

“So… let’s go get some tests.” He said (he hopes) calmly. He was really trying, to pretend to be calm and collected. That’s what you needed, a clear head to replace yours.

He paid for everything, even the 5 pregnancy tests and the over sized lollipop you put in the basket to ease your nerves later on.

The moon was high, you were about three hours late to get home now, and your head was attacking itself with rambles and aches and honestly, you were sick of it.

You shivered, huddling in your jacket and drawing only slightly closer to Spencer. His silence was like a hook, drawing you in closer and higher and taking every word you had been thinking that day to the tip of your tongue.

You looked up to him. His hair fell into his eyes, the breeze reddening his cheeks slightly.

It’s Spencer. You’ve known him for nearly 6 years, but it feels like you’ve known each other for ever. You know everything about him, and he knows everything about you. Well, not everything. He doesn’t know how you feel in your own apartment, how every anniversary had been forgotten even when it was the ‘1 year’ mark, how you felt like you were raising an over grown child who could drink.

He knows you’re strong, but admitting all that? I’d look weak.

You have looked weak in front of Spencer. He stayed overnight in your hospital room, he held you when you watched a little girl die, he wiped your tears when you watched a sad short film during your break.

You couldn’t hide anything from him.

“I don’t think I’m pregnant- Well, I mean I might be, but there’s a very low chance,” You started, Spencer’s jaw clenched for a millisecond, “I’ve just been feeling sick and… it could be because of stress from work, or just general stress- like, I don’t know.”

Spencer moved the grocery bag to his other hand.

“Kids are great, don’t get me wrong. Some people don’t get the chance to have kids. I mean…” You gulped, and Spencer finally looked down at you. But now, all you could do was stare at the car park’s concrete floor. Speaking out loud was like clearing your brain, the fog was lifting. “Lloyd doesn’t want kids. I do, at least in the future, not right now. I just hope it’s not with-“ You cut yourself off, and slow down a bit. Spencer matches your pace.

I just hope it’s not with him.

He gulps, and clears his throat, looking down at you with understanding eyes, “With everything that’s going on.”

“Yeah… yeah. You know, my job, my…” It’s no use lying to Spencer. He knows. He’s known, for a long time.

Your chest was tight, and you made eye contact with the pregnancy tests lying on top of Spencer’s groceries. The thought of going home, rushing to the bathroom, avoiding your boyfriend who was already waiting angry, made your throat close up. Because only now, when you were three hours late from work and ignoring his one attempt at a phone call, Lloyd texted, ‘I think you need to calm down.’ It was a bare minimum, and finally Spencer could see you realizing it.

No, ‘Wre you okay?’, ‘What’s making you think this?’ ‘Where are you?’

No. He was making you out to be the crazy one, the one to be over thinking, over bearing, too much.

You were confused. To put it blankly. And scared. And questioning your life decisions. And honestly you just wanted to curl up in a ball and to have Spencer make you bad cucumber salad at his warm apartment.

You looked up to Spencer but he was already looking down at you, reaching for his keys and nodding, “You can come to mine, it’ll be okay.”

taglist (open) - @jeffswh0re @reap3erslov3 @candyd1es @0108s22m @aurorsworld @theoraekenslover @c-losur3 @littlelearningbrat @khxna @laurakirsten0502 @cultish-corner

[georgiaswarr]

is it bad i still like bicci as a ship like not even right after the book but future type ship

let me check my schedule. alright, your designated bicci shipping time shall be every second thursday between 9:20 and 9:25 CEST starting first week of november. take it or leave it

[taro-bae]

Twisted Wonderland - Third Years

Summary: reacting to you falling asleep in their room

Characters: Third Years

CW/Notes: gn!reader, fluff, Slight Book 7 Spoilers! (Malleus's part), mostly written as platonic but its up to the reader

Trey Clover

Trey makes it to his dorm room after a hustling day of classes and vice-warden duties. He's ready to just sit down and relax his muscles for the afternoon. As soon as he steps inside his room, he recognises a familiar figure lying in his spacious bed on his clover plush. Trey smirks a little amused by your choice of sleeping space. He makes sure the lights are off making his way towards you. He shifts your body to put the blanket covers over you.

Trey is like the older brother of Heartslabyul. He has younger siblings and knows how to take responsibility for others. Taking off his dorm Uniform hat and jacket, he settles at a respectful distance away from you, just resting his eyes with a hand behind his head. He watches you as you stir awake. "Sleep well, sleepyhead?" Trey says with a teasing smirk looking at your slightly dishevelled appearance.

Cater Diamond

After the unbirthday party, Cater returns, eyes locked on his phone as he edits and goes through all the photos he has taken during the day. He walks into the room, still looking down at his phone until he notices a silhouette hugging his smily plushie. Cater immediately goes to his camera, tip toeing towards the bed.

He takes multiple photos thinking just how cute you look with your cheek flushed and soft against the pillow. Cater hovers over you to snap different angles and profiles. "Aww, such a cutie~" Their cheeks look so soft, " He thinks in his head, trying not to wake you up. He reaches over to poke your cheek, snapping a picture at the same time. Minutes later, you are on Magicam for everyone to see, and Cater has no shame. There are plenty hashtags describing just how cute he thinks you like #sleepingbeauty #cutiepatootie #sweetcheeks

Leona Kingscholar

Leona is not pleased. Leona did sense you before even making it into his room by your scent. He scowls, seeing the person lying in his bed. "Stupid herbivore" His tail swishing behind him in annoyance. "Oi, wake up" Leona says bluntly, standing over you. When you refuse to get out and won't budge he lets out a frustrated sigh. "Move over. Now".

Leona slumps over on the bed, spreding his limbs out. He doesn't care at this point. He shifts over, pulling you into his body. "Since ya not gonna listen, you'll be my pillow," He says in a gruff voice. His tail is thumping against the mattress, but he likes how comfortable this is. He will never admit it, though. Leona has a sense of pride that you're not afraid to be near him, let alone dare fall asleep in his room. "Not a word or ya out. I need my nap". He's out within seconds.

Rook Hunt

Rook already knew you were in his room. Most likely, it was his works doing, a set up to get you into his room. Being a hunter, he knows exactly what's happening were and he keeps his diligent eyes on you. Rook returns to his room, where you sleep with an adoring look on his face. "Such a darling, Mon ange ♡" He's absolutely mesmerised by your beauty and peaceful, vulnerable state. He sees beauty in everything. To him, you're like a work of art in itself.

Rook watches over your sleeping face and body. The way your body rises with each breath to the small movement of your face. He takes in every detail. At some point, he takes out his phone to snap a few photos of you. He's so stealthy you'll never know he did. Just be warned you'll end up on his secret wall behind the wallpaper in his room. He's a questionable one.

Vil Schoenheit

The last thing Vil expects is to find someone in his room when he returns. Let alone finding someone in his bed, that's just unacceptable. He lets out a small cough before he speaks, "Wake up this instant." Vil makes his way across the room. "You mustn't sleep in such attire, and sevens forbid in my bed. One must always wear clean pyjamas and do a proper skin and hair routine prior. Which you clearly have not done."

Vil would scold you and point out your eyebags or tired look, warning about the consequences of overworking yourself. You have no choice but to follow through with his routine as he applies beauty products on your face and hair. If you complied well, he might just let you stay and rest up. "Very well...I'll permit you to stay. But don't make a habit out of this. " His voice is authorative, but without a bite to it. Vil actually secretly enjoys pampering you with some self-care and sharing his knowledge.

Idia Shroud

What was he doing out of his room in the first place? Who knows. When Idia comes back, it's an instant panic and internal turmoil. He nearly yelled but slapped his hands over his mouth. "What are they doing here! This can't be happening IRL! What do I do? They'll be mad if I wake them up!" He is slouched over, fiddling with his hoodie string, trying to decide what to do. His heart is pounding in his chest, the phrase "why me? Why my room?" Running through his head at a hundred miles per hour.

He can't help but stare at you, a small smile tugging at his blue lips. "No, stop! That's creepy. Cringe behaviour. They'll think you are a creep!" Idia snaps himself out of the trance but can't bring himself to wake you up. He huddles over near his desk, distracting himself with a game occasionally glancing at you sleeping with the ends of his hair pink.

Malleus Draconia

Malleus is surprised to find anyone in his room. He appears looming over the sleeping form eyes slightly widened as he observes your state. Malleus is rather glad that you're here, making his room seem less lonely. He is pleased that you are not afraid of him and comfortable enough to sleep not only in his room but remain asleep in his presence.

Malleus ensures the room suits your comfort, moving the blankets over you. "You're an interesting cause, child of man. A truly endearing sight." Malleus watches over you, ensuring you only have pleasing dreams and a deserved rest. After a short passing of time, He starts humming a melody. A lullaby.

"My eyes are watching over you still, let’s be together. With no fear, even if we wake from this dream"

His low voice echoes through the room, sensing you into a deeper sleep. That guaranteed would be the best sleep of your life.

Lilia Vanrouge

His room is a mess stuffed with artefacts and the most random things. Lilia finds you tired and fast asleep in his room. He sees this as a perfect opportunity to give you a little scare. Hanging off the ceiling, he yells out a "boo!" Causing you to wake up. "Khee hee," he plays it off by acting cute. "Fu-fu~ look at you all worn out, little one." Lilia doesn't miss a chance to tease you.

His red eyes sparkle with mischief. "Oh, I'm just messing around. Go back to sleep, I'll watch over you~" Says the man who just woke you up for giggles. Once you're off to sleep again, Lilias caring side steps in. He ensures you are safe and well rested, letting you sleep in his room, even on him, as he pats your head affectionately. Lilia is very parental and will guard your sleep from any nightmares.

[wandamaximoffsbadgirl]

Throw A Tantrum

Mafia Boss!Lizzie Olsen x fem!reader

Summary: Lizzie won't stop asking you to marry her, it's become a game between you two now, but when Lizzie doesn't handle a situation right you blow off and go on a little shopping trip with her card

Word Count: 1.6K

Warnings: Lizzie and you have an argument

A/N: This is based off of this post

You always knew there was something different about Lizzie. Growing up together in the quiet suburbs, she always had this aura of command around her, even as kids. But you never imagined that one day she would become the head of the mafia, and you certainly didn't expect her to want to marry you.

Living with Lizzie in her sprawling, luxurious penthouse was an experience in itself. The place was a stark contrast to your childhood homes, filled with top-of-the-line furnishings and an almost intimidating level of sophistication. But despite the opulence, there were small touches that made it feel like home—photos of the two of you over the years, your favorite books on the shelves, and the cozy blanket you always curled up with draped over the back of the couch.

One evening, you were curled up on that very couch, reading a book, when Lizzie strolled into the living room. She leaned against the doorframe, her presence both comforting and intimidating, a paradox you had come to accept.

"Marry me," Lizzie said, for the hundredth time, her tone half-serious, half-teasing. Her dark green eyes sparkled with mischief as she looked at you.

"No," you replied with a smirk, not even looking up from your book. It was a ritual between you two by now, a game you both enjoyed. Despite your refusals, Lizzie never stopped asking, and you never stopped saying no, but it was all part of the dance you two shared.

"You know," Lizzie began, walking over to sit next to you on the couch, "you'd make a perfect mafia queen. You've got the attitude for it."

"And you have the persistence of a stalker," you shot back, finally meeting her gaze. Her eyes softened, a look that made your heart race.

"I just know what I want," Lizzie said, reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. "And I always get what I want."

You rolled your eyes, though the fluttering in your chest was hard to ignore. "You can't just go around deciding people's lives for them, Lizzie."

"Maybe not everyone," she conceded, a sly smile playing on her lips, "but you? You're different."

"Different how?" you challenged, leaning in slightly.

"Different as in, you're already my wife in every way that matters," she said softly, her fingers grazing your cheek. "I spoil you, protect you, and love you more than anything in this world."

Your heart skipped a beat at her words. Despite your playful refusals, you were deeply in love with Lizzie. You just couldn't admit it out loud, not when her life was filled with danger and uncertainty. But every touch, every glance she gave you made it harder to resist her.

"You're delusional," you teased, trying to keep the mood light, but your voice betrayed your true feelings.

"Maybe," she whispered, her lips now inches from yours, "but I wouldn't have it any other way."

Before you could respond, she closed the gap, her lips capturing yours in a kiss that was both gentle and demanding. It was a kiss that spoke of years of friendship, unspoken feelings, and a future you were too scared to embrace.

When she finally pulled away, you were breathless, your resolve crumbling.

"One day," Lizzie murmured, her forehead resting against yours, "you'll say yes."

"Maybe," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. "But until then, enjoy the chase."

Lizzie chuckled, pulling you into her arms. "Oh, I am, darling. I am."

And as you nestled into her embrace, surrounded by the familiarity of your shared home, you knew that no matter how much you teased or resisted, Lizzie would always be there, loving you in her own fierce, unwavering way.

================

Lizzie's penthouse had five bedrooms, each more lavish than the last. Yet, from the moment you moved in, Lizzie had insisted that you share her bedroom. "For your protection," she'd said, her tone brooking no argument. You had reluctantly agreed, knowing that her insistence came from a place of love and concern.

One night, after a particularly trying day, you found yourself lying in bed with Lizzie. The room was dimly lit, casting a warm glow over the plush bedding and elegant décor. Lizzie's arms were wrapped around you, her hands roaming over your back in a soothing, familiar pattern. Her lips found yours, and you melted into the kiss, feeling a mixture of love and frustration.

You loved these moments and hated them all in one breath. The intimacy, the warmth of her touch, the way she made you feel safe and cherished—it was intoxicating. But it also made you painfully aware of how much you wanted to submit, to be hers completely. And that terrified you.

Lizzie's kisses grew more passionate, her hands exploring with a hunger that mirrored your own. You responded eagerly, your fingers tangling in her hair as you deepened the kiss. Yet, in the back of your mind, a voice whispered that you couldn't allow yourself to fully give in. Not when her life was filled with danger and uncertainty.

When she finally pulled away, her eyes searched yours, as if seeking answers to unspoken questions. "What are you thinking?" she asked softly, her breath warm against your skin.

You hesitated, struggling to find the words. "I... I love you, Lizzie. You know that. But I can't—"

"Shh," she murmured, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. "You don't have to explain. I understand."

And she did. Lizzie knew your fears, your doubts, and the reasons behind your resistance. She respected them, even if it meant enduring the ache of unfulfilled longing.

"I just want you to know that I'm here," Lizzie whispered, her fingers brushing away a stray tear from your cheek. "Whenever you're ready, I'll be here."

You nodded, unable to speak past the lump in your throat. Nestling closer to her, you allowed yourself to bask in the comfort of her embrace, even if just for a little while longer.

=================

It started out as a minor disagreement, something trivial about the way Lizzie handled a situation with one of her lieutenants. But, as things often did with the two of you, it quickly escalated.

“You never listen to me, Lizzie!” you shouted, frustration boiling over. “You just do whatever you want, without considering how it affects others!”

Lizzie’s eyes narrowed, her calm demeanor cracking just a bit. “I always listen to you. But sometimes, there are things you don’t understand about my world.”

“That’s the problem, isn’t it?” you retorted. “It’s your world, not ours. You always have to be in control.”

The argument continued to spiral until you stormed out, grabbing your keys and slamming the door behind you. You needed space, a chance to cool down and clear your head. And maybe, just maybe, a little bit of retail therapy.

Hours passed, and you found yourself at the most luxurious boutiques in the city. Every swipe of your card felt like a small act of rebellion, a way to assert some control in a situation where you often felt powerless. Designer clothes, expensive jewelry, anything and everything caught your eye.

Meanwhile, back at home, Lizzie was dealing with the aftermath of your fight. She knew she had pushed too hard, but her pride wouldn’t let her admit it. That is, until her phone rang.

“Miss Olsen,” the bank manager’s voice was cautious. “There’s been an unusual amount of spending on one of your accounts. We wanted to verify—”

“It’s fine,” Lizzie interrupted, a wry smile on her lips as she realized what you were doing. “Just my future wife throwing a tantrum.”

There was a pause on the other end, followed by a tentative, “Understood, Miss Olsen. Should we impose any limits?”

“No,” Lizzie said firmly. “Let her buy whatever she wants. She’ll come home eventually.”

And she was right. Laden with shopping bags and feeling a mix of satisfaction and guilt, you finally returned. Lizzie was waiting, her expression a blend of amusement and exasperation.

“Had fun?” she asked, eyeing the mountain of bags you set down.

“Immensely,” you replied, though your tone was softer now, the anger having dissipated.

Lizzie stepped closer, taking your hands in hers. “I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “I do listen to you, and I do care about what you think. Sometimes I just get… carried away.”

You sighed, leaning into her touch. “I know. And I’m sorry too. I shouldn’t have stormed out like that.”

Lizzie pulled you into a hug, her arms wrapping around you tightly. “It’s okay. Just promise me you won’t run off and bankrupt me every time we argue.”

You laughed, the sound muffled against her shoulder. “Deal. But only if you promise to actually listen.”

“Deal,” she echoed, pulling back to look into your eyes. “Now, let’s go through these bags and see what my future wife bought.”

As you sat together, sorting through your extravagant purchases, you took a deep breath and decided to take the plunge. "Lizzie," you started, your voice steady despite the butterflies in your stomach.

"Yes?" she looked up, her eyes full of curiosity and a hint of apprehension.

"Ask me again," you said softly.

Her brows furrowed for a moment before realization dawned on her face. A slow smile spread across her lips as she took your hands in hers once more. "Will you marry me?"

You smiled, feeling a warmth spread through your chest. "Yes, Lizzie. I'll marry you."

Lizzie pulled you into a kiss, her arms tightening around you as if she never wanted to let go. And in that moment, surrounded by shopping bags and the remnants of a heated argument, you knew you had made the right decision. No matter the ups and downs, you were ready to face them together, as partners, as lovers, and now, as fiancées.

[angelickisscs]

all he could ever want ~ blurb ‧₊˚

‧₊˚ ୨ ୧ ˚₊ pairing ~ jude bellingham x reader

summary: a usual night with you and your boyfriend

NO SOUNDS CHALLENGED that of the TV show Jude had opted for. Somehow, you managed to keep your focus on the page in front of you, your eyes slowly moving from side to side.

A comfortable silence washed itself upon your living room, just like that of a calm sea. Neither of you felt the need to say something to one another, all your talking having happened all throughout your day.

Warmth emitted from the missing sun, it still leaving its mark no matter what. It wasn’t humid however, the heat being the kind that didn’t make you sticky but rather just hung in the air, showing its presence with no consequence to those around.

You had your legs perched upon his lap, his hand mindlessly creeping under the pyjama bottoms, that you had stolen from him, so he was able to run it across your leg.

This had become your nightly routine ever since moving in with each other. How it came about? You wouldn’t know. It had just come about one day and ever since, the both of you had unconsciously followed it.

It was coming up on 10pm when Jude had turned off the television show, his head falling backwards to rest against the sofa as his eyes stared lovingly down at you.

The strong aroma of flowers clung to your nose, the fresh bunch that he had brought for you only that morning being placed on the table in front of you. They were beautiful, some of the best he had ever brought you. Though you could not name the particular types they were, their colours were majestic and that was enough for you.

“What are you reading?” He questioned softly, not daring to break the peace that encircled you.

You looked up from your book, the word that you had just read quickly leaving your mind. “Just some random romance book I found at the library.”

Turning it around, you let your eyes quickly scan the blurb, reading aloud the parts that described the book the best.

He chuckled at that, the vibrations bouncing throughout your calf muscles. You couldn’t do anything but turn your head to the side, your mind coming up blank as to what he could be laughing at.

Jude seemed to swiftly catch onto your confusion, a smile settling onto his face.

“Read it to me?”

His voice was small, almost nervous as you could hardly make out his loving eyes through the darkness. The singular light that pressured into making the whole room bright enough seemed to have given up, its golden hue hardly making it past the corner that it sat in.

You nodded, opening your arms so he could make himself comfortable. And he did just that, his head finding solace in your neck as his hands wrapped around your waist, their stroking motion restarting but this time on your back.

Flipping to the first page, you began. His breath was warm against your skin, it’s evenness a calming noise. One of your hands held the book whilst the other was in Jude’s hair, the paring of your movements and voice meaning that he fell asleep quicker than he would have liked too.

He could have listened to your voice all day and night, opting for that over anything that the TV could provide for him. It was gentle, perfectly becoming his favourite kind of hug on a chilly day.

It was all he could ever want, and he could not be happier that he had gotten it.

[ethereal-blossom]

Giving BSD boys a blowjob for the first time

ft. dazai, kunikida

warnings: blowjobs (surprise!) MDNI

a/n: kinda wrote these in mind thinking it was also giving them a handjob for the first time so I guess that's double the fun!

Dazai Osamu ♡

Your eyes looked up to find Dazai's face, searching for a sign of approval. In response, Dazai let out a validating, soft moan and closed his eyes as he nodded. "You're doing excellent, belladonna."

It wasn't unexpected. Dazai, sharp and observant as a hawk, had seen the way your eyes lingered over every small change in his facial expressions. While you were dating, both of you had agreed to take things slow. Even small milestones like holding hands was a huge thing for the man that was wrapped in bandages. The slow burn of deepening your relationship into each other's hearts until it left a permanent mark that even time couldn't erase, was wonderful.

But with time grows desire. Dazai teased you to the point of dilated pupils, hitching breaths, and a blush that cups your cheeks. Exactly like planned, the detective thought, smirking behind the mask of crafted innocence. Except, the plan had been for you to beg him to touch you; not that you would beg to make him feel good as your fingers pushed his hips onto the couch. Dazai is highly aware of his intelligence that makes him read people as if they are a children's book, but sometimes, he thinks he doesn't always grab your nature. The type of nature that has you on your knees in front of him, getting high off of his pleasure.

When you wanted to focus your attention back on the twitching cock in your hand, the sight of Dazai's fingers grabbed your attention. You knew Dazai better than any living soul. Although still a mystery novel that hides behind words of deceive and avoidance to keep parts of itself hidden until the time of reveal is there, this mystery novel was slowly showing you its pages that brought you closer to the truth.

One of the mysteries revealed was Dazai's massive self-control over his external reactions. Emotions were another vulnerable aspect of what it meant to be human, and Dazai hid them masterfully. A part of that was because it functioned as a tactic to reach his goals and stay in control, but a part of you wondered if it was because Dazai feared vulnerability more than a bullet. Emotional suffering is torture for the ones with a sensitive heart.

While Dazai's face was decorated in controlled bliss and his moans playing like a soft lullaby, the slender fingers around the sheets were clinging for dear life. You see... could you make another crack in that composed facade?

Your thumb starts drawing circles over Dazai's tip and with that, you witnessed the twitching of both his cock and fingers. A soft groan escaped Dazai's clenched jaw. "Ah, that's my belladonna. You're soo good to me, hm? Working hard for that reward." That controlled tone...

... It wasn't enough.

Dazai could tell something changed. Even though he had his eyes closed in concentration, clinging to the tiny bit of control he had, he noticed how your stroking became irregular. "What's filling your mind that isn't my- argh, shit." Dazai's eyes shot open as he bolted his hips deeper into your mouth, leaving you gagged for a good second.

That face of pure shock and arousal, the one you rarely got to see on your lover, revealed itself to you as you had taken Dazai's tip into your mouth. "Y/N, that's-"

Another lick and Dazai's original sentence was replaced by a moan, and the detective felt like all control slipped between his fingers when you placed your hands around the rest of his cock.

Dazai grabbed your hair, hissing you to go slower because oh God, he was about to cum faster than he ever did in his twenty-two years of living, and God knows he did not want this euphoria to end this soon. Oh, he really wasn't used to feeling this good-

"Belladonna, y/n, please-" Dazai didn't know what he was begging you for. For you to go slower? Faster? What it was, you hummed in approval. That little vibration was all it needed for Dazai to throw his head in his neck. His toes curled as high-pitched whines fell over lips that had become swollen in a miserable attempt to hide his moans.

When you looked up after swallowing, you were met with Dazai's bangs hanging over his eyes. "Osamu, are you okay?" Worried, you push the chocolate colored bangs aside and... oh.

He was so pretty with scarlet painted cheeks. Dazai couldn't even look you in the eyes, giving up after one second of eye-contact before shyly facing another side with his head. "That was... good. For a first attempt."

You chuckled as your hand caresses the cheek that faced your way and with a slightly hoarse voice you respond: "Good. I'll make you even feel better next time."

Dazai's hands twitch one last time before he closes his eyes and mentally picks up every string that he lost along the way. As the detective opens his eyes, you can see the control and seduction in those dark eyes that you love so much.

Dazai leans closer until you feel his breath on your ear. His lips tickle and a shiver runs down your spine as he whispers: "Someone has earned that reward, hasn't she? Let's see how long I can make you last."

Kunikida Doppo ♡

Rubies could not compete with the radiant red glow of Kunikida's face as he realized what you were about to do. The detective should have known you were up to something when he was preparing today's schedule and you had popped up behind him, placing your arms around his waist as you kissed his neck and whispered: "Keep a spot open at 8 PM, love."

Even when the blond had asked for details, your lips stayed sealed. The only hint Kunikida got out of you was "Dazai has made you work over-hours; I want to treat you."

Naively, innocently, Kunikida thought you might have a dinner or massage in mind. Not that he was wrong! It was just a... different type of massage. With your tender fingers wrapped around his cock, Kunikida clenched his jaw to not make a sound, but the moan slipped away as he sighed your name: "Y/n... I, we-"

"Does it feel good, Doppo?" You made sure to rub his tip with your thumb right then, making the detective's cock drop with pre-cum.

"It- yes... yes, it feels good."

Looking up blessed you with the sight of an orderly man turned into a mess under the tip of your fingers. A wave of arousal rushed through your body, seeing the man unravel in front of you. You figured he would be vocal, but oh-

Kunikida was sensitive. The smallest movement had him throwing his head back and trusting his hip as tiny moans calling your name filled the room. Not only were his cheeks the color of fire due to the heat of your touch, but the intimacy of it all left him flustered as well.

You felt a hand rest on your head, lightly gripping a bit of hair. "Y/n... we, you- I have to make you feel good, too."

Oh. "That has to wait."

"But- ah!" The hand around your hair tightened in response to your mouth taking his cock.

Kunikida's thoughts were twirled up in the storm that was you. Your name rolled off his tongue like worshipping prayers as you brought Heaven to earth for him.

The bliss of touching Heaven became too much, and with one closing word, Kunikida fell apart. He arched his back, forgetting to bite his lip to soften the groans that might slip through the walls where his colleagues live. His grip around you tightens, never wanting to let you go, never wanting to let this feeling go. But then Kunikida realizes he's still on earth and lessens his grip on the fear he's hurting you.

The detective looked into your eyes, but they were filled with lust directed at him and God, it felt so sinful that he had to deflect his gaze. Yet, you grabbed his chin and made your boyfriend face you.

"Do you feel better?"

Kunikida stammered, trying to get out a word. "Yes, that was," an embarrassed cough, "excellent." 

Your thumb caressed his lip. "Good."

And then, the world flipped around as Kunikida lay your back on the bed. "I have done a deep-dive research on how to please you when the time was there. Now, let me return the favor." 

[actual-changeling]

Welcome back to Alex's unhinged meta corner, and today I have something surprisingly not kiss-related—though it is still about the final fifteen because hey, gotta keep the brand image.

I read this post by @goodoldfashionednightingale and began typing a small response. Then I made the mistake of drinking half a litre of coffee on an empty stomach right after taking my adhd meds and my brain began vibrating at the speed of light.

But oh, have I discovered parallels. This, my friends, is about the nightingale, where it comes from, what it means, and what the fuck happened in part 3 of 1941.

Ready? Let's go.

Now, as OP said in her post, s1e3 is important. In the script book, Neil himself says that these flashbacks are where the producers would tell him to cut scenes to save money. They suggested every single one—except for the one he ended up taking out, which was the bookshop opening scene set in 1800. The others are building blocks, you need them to see how their relationship progressed and what kind of important milestones they had.

(side note: author is very miffed that english does not have a separate subjunctive form like german which makes quoting lines way more confusing than it has to be)

The one I want to mention is neither 1941 nor 1967. No, what I want to talk about is 1601. This might be about to get a bit rambly but I will do my best to keep it tidy.

The focus of that flashback is on the Arrangement, yes, but it gives us a lot more information than that.

they both see Shakespeare's plays regularly, maybe even meet in the crowd

Crowley prefers the comedies

Aziraphale does not seem to have a preference, he enjoys the tragedies and presumably the comedies too

there is an oyster woman selling food -> reference to their meeting in Rome when Aziraphale tempted him to try some oysters

Aziraphale reflexively denies their relationship

Crowley might say he is not worried but circles Aziraphale the entire time, keeping watch

they both ask favours of each other and both agree to do them

What stands out to me in relation to what I am about to expand on is the line that Crowley delivers after Aziraphale's little 'buck up'—which Crowley finds adorable btw but that's a post for another time.

"Age does not wither nor custom stale his infinite variety."

Why would he say that? What exactly is prompting this? WHY say that specific line?

At first I thought it might be to tempt Shakespeare because he does commit art theft by just copying that line down, BUT I think there is more to that. So much more, in fact. I am wiggling now because I am very excited about this and my adhd meds are kicking in anyway.

First things first: the line itself.

It appears in Shakespeare's play Antony and Cleopatra, a romantic tragedy, which was first performed in 1607 aka six years after this meeting. Enobarbus is talking about Cleopatra and describing why Antony won't leave her. Her.

Ccrowley uses his—again, who is he even talking about? Hamlet? Shakespeare? Random poetic quote?

No, I think this line is about Aziraphale and it's a code. Right after, the next line from Aziraphale is "What do you want?", meaning that this is their code phrase for 'I have a favour to ask of you'.

Age does not wither nor custom stale his infinite variety

Age will not affect his appearance nor will he ever become boring to Antony. Crowley, who later chooses the name Anthony for himself, tells Aziraphale, an immortal, that he will never age and that he will never grow bored of him.

It's flattery, pure and simple, and it's code at the same time. This establishes the important fact that they might use more of Shakespeare's work as code/already have a system in place (even though he steals Crowley's line for later).

They play their little morality game of back and forth, Aziraphale agrees, Crowley probably manipulates the coin toss, and THEN we find out that the oyster woman is called Juliet.

Why? What is the meaning of that? Why give her a name and that name in particular? Why bring the sexy oysters back into it?

Romeo and Juliet premiered in 1597, so it is safe to assume they have both seen it by 1601, but this is mostly for the audience, not for us-or is it?

Aziraphale gives Crowley puppy eyes until he agrees to make Hamlet popular, and while I don't think Juliet itself is a code word, although it's very interesting that the OYSTER woman is the one with that name (especially adding what we now know about Job), Romeo and Juliet might be.

Yes, the Nightingale song came out in 1940 but the bird has been around for much, much longer, and, as many probably know by now, also shows up in Romeo and Juliet.

This is where I am starting to vibrate at the speed of light because listen to me. Listen.

Crowley is Juliet. Anthony J. Crowley. Antony Juliet Crowley.

(side note: I'm not saying that Crowley chose it based on that—though I am not not saying that—but that it is a clue for us at the audience.)

Why do I think that? In the play, Romeo spends the night with Juliet and then goes to leave as the night begins to end. Juliet tries to stop him and tells him that the birds they are hearing aren't larks, which sing at dawn, but nightingales, which sing at night.

Who is the one always pushing for more? Crowley. He is the one trying to convince Aziraphale it's safe, they're safe to spend time together.

Romeo disagrees with Juliet and says 'I must be gone and live, or stay and die'.

Leave and stay alive, or stay and hell/heaven will punish us. It gets even better though.

We all know how Romeo and Juliet ends: Romeo thinks Juliet is dead, kills himself, Juliet finds him and then kills herself too.

Hey, do you know how Antony and Cleopatra ends?

Antony thinks Cleopatra is dead, kills himself and dies in her arms, then Cleopatra also kills herself—by snake poison; Romeo also died by poison.

The parallels are THERE. They are jumping down our throats! Two tragedies, two sides, several familiar names and phrases, same fear, same ending.

I think by now you can guess how this ties back to 1941.

We do not see how that night ends, but we know it ends. One of them wants to stretch it out, maybe even quotes Romeo and Juliet because look at the setting!

Candlelight, wonderful night they spend together, the threat of Crowley's early demise, and, to quote the play once more, this time Romeo: I have more care to stay than will to go.

Crowley thought it was his last night on earth and went with Aziraphale to his bookshop, to be with him, because he cares more about that than the fact that he will be dragged to hell come morning. Do you remember?

"Expect a legion to come for you first thing tomorrow" THAT is the threat. They have until dawn, just like Romeo and Juliet, which is why she is so desperate for the birds to be nightingales. Fortunately for them, Aziraphale saves the day, BUT there is NO SECURITY. They do not KNOW if a legion will still show up or not. If dawn is a deadline and they will need to fight.

Sure, they improved their chances, but who knows? Maybe they will come for him anyway, it's not like hell is all fair and square.

The best part: it gets even better.

Juliet eventually panics and tells him to go, and Romeo drops a line that huh, sounds oddly familiar, doesn't it?

'More light and light, more dark and dark our woes!'

Remind me, what does Aziraphale say again? Ah, yes. Perhaps there is something to be said for shades of grey.

There is more. Yes, even more. We know the whole rescue relies on a magic trick, a switch. Guess what Juliet yearns for while telling Romeo to go save himself?

Oh, now I would they had changed voices too. While they did not for Romeo and Juliet—they kiss and part—they did for our two. One fabulous switch and we're good.

(side note: Toads? Associated with hell. Larks? Associated with the dawn, yes, but also heaven since Romeo says 'Nor that is not the lark, whose notes do beat the vaulty heaven so high above our heads.')

So, this was a whole lot of information, let's see if I can summarize my thoughts.

I believe the nightingale is a code word that has existed even before 1941 and gained a lot of importance over the years. In 1941, the song is added to the meaning and whatever happened between the two that we have not seen yet, it fundamentally changed their relationship. Maybe they kissed, maybe one of them tried to convince the other to prolong the night but they parted on not-great terms.

The nightingale and the song become a symbol of hope, a goal to achieve, another uninterrupted night, maybe, or an uninterrupted life.

When they part in the final fifteen, it's morning. Crowley points at the sky and says "no nightingales", which at that point has several different layers to it.

No nightingales because their night is over, just like with Romeo and Juliet, and please, please allow me to add another detail, because I am frothing at the mouth over this. The scene I quoted, known as balcony scene, do you know what it is preceded by?

A ball.

Star-crossed lovers defying their sides, falling in love at a ball, getting a hurried, wonderful night together but torn apart by danger of punishment, the nightingale as a dream, as a wish for unhurried time together. Family rejection, torn apart by parents, willing to die for each other so they can reunite in death.

No nightingales. The ball, the romance, is over, their dancing is over, heaven is tearing them apart, and Aziraphale returns to heaven while they are both stuck in a pit of misunderstanding and miscommunication, all bound together by fear for each other.

The thing is, Crowley hates tragedies, he never liked the "gloomy ones", and he does not want them to end in one—luckily, this isn't the end. Yes, they kiss and part, but the play keeps going. We have an entire act 3 to fix what Romeo and Juliet couldn't, to ensure that this is a COMEDY, not a tragedy.

Both Antony & Cleopatra and Romeo & Juliet died out of fear, hurried into making bad decisions because they knew what would happen if their sides were to catch up with them.

Crowley and Aziraphale can reunite heaven and hell with love, not death. This is THEIR story and they are writing the ending. No more day and night, no more deadlines, no more hiding and sneaking about, no more fear of larks and sunshine.

Good Omens will end the way it began: In a garden with two no-longer-star-crossed lovers embracing the song of a lark as well as that of the nightingale.

I hope this made sense to everyone who was no present while my mind started to vibrate itself into a puddle because the thing is I can see Neil doing all of this completely on purpose.

Thoughts? Questions? Additions? Come and join me in my insanity and until next time I have a mental breakdown over this show (probably in like two hours).

[paraphwrites]

so obviously the time period a character comes from impacts them. but i adore the analysis of dbda and loneliness so now i want to analyze the characters + their time period + loneliness

edwin. so, edwin is from the 1900s. he was raised with the knowledge that he would join the military, that he would get married. this was an accepted part of life. now, i do not wish to analyze the full scale of edwin's relationship with violence (at least, not here), but i do think it's interesting that edwin goes out of his way not to inflict harm on others. this is potentially because he was raised in such a way where that was the norm, and he always knew he did not fit traditional male standards. he has always preferred knowledge and books to fighting and sport. this would have been incredibly isolating, especially as a young boy in a school for children of military members. additionally, as a queer person, edwin would have been entirely socially isolated from his peers. whether they picked up on it like simon or just thought he was un-manly, the point stands: edwin would not have fit in with his peers and seemingly had no friends when he died. which is very sad. and very lonely.

crystal. crystal's parents neglected her for their work. she lashes out. she lashes out and pushes people away (or in front of traffic). she is volatile and destructive and she is like this because she lives in an age when parents are expected to care for their children, and her parents still actively chose not to. crystal is especially traumatized because even tho she is in upper class which may have a higher rate of willful parental neglect, the expectation is still that parents love their children. moreover crystal is psychic, and that's never really been fun. she'll be completely different from all her peers in a fundamental way which she probably never talks about with any of them! so, like, of course when david, a demon, comes along, she lets him in - she's finally with someone who understands and makes her feel less lonely. someone else who's weird and angry and pretty and supernatural. and then he, too, betrays her. there is also almost certainly a race element, which may further disassociate her from her peers, seeing as the upper class is usually very white.

jenny. so jenny grew up as a lesbian in the 90s. now, i don't know much about washington state, but i do know that they legalized gay marriage in 2012. which means for over half of jenny's life, she was living with the knowledge that she would never get to live the same type of life as her peers; though the white picket fence americana dream may have been less prevalent by the 90s, it still was very ingrained in american society - especially small town society. i wonder if part of jenny's gothic fashion is to distinguish herself from other people - if she cannot have the same lives as them, then no one will make the mistake of assuming she will.

so the night nurse is lonely in a very unique way. she is lonely because she does not have a proper conception of an actual human life. she has no friends or relationships - nor does she want to; she does not know what they are like. and, i think, because she exists so outside of time and removed from society, that it makes her inherently lonely. she is lonely because somehow she was created and somehow someone convinced her that her only purpose in life is to collect lost children and she is satisfied with this but she is also alone. she has no time period to be contextualized in, and that in itself is the context.

niko is lonely because her dad is dead and her mom lives in a different continent. and i think that because she is able to utilize manga and cartoons as a form of escapism, it allows her to fill that void of devastating loneliness a bit more. she lives in a world where if she doesn't want to think she does not have to. she is not obligated to be courageous. however, she also lives in a world where she is able to choose to self-isolate, even if that isn't good for her. so when she is sad she hides away because she can and it's scary and she doesn't want to do it alone but she doesn't want to do it with her mom. i've seen people saying crystal is such a teenage girl but niko? niko wants her mom to comfort her but doesn't want to talk to her mom. niko is horribly lonely and it's only a gay victorian twink who can get her to smile again. niko is lonely because she exists in a world which allows her to be and it takes someone who is not from this time to help her move past this

charles. god, we all know how lonely charles is. biracial, abused by his father, probably bisexual, good with people yet killed via hate crime, morally upstanding. charles is the epitome of loneliness because he grows up in such a particular moment of time. he lives in the 80s. feminism and queer rights have been radically shifting in the past two decades. the 80s have huge amounts conservative pushback from these movements. so, yeah, being gay isn't a crime anymore, but gendered expectations are being reestablished in a new harmful way. so, yeah, charles is growing up in a time of progress, but he's also growing up in a household which will absolutely be anti-progress, and ergo charles is stuck in this dichotomy of he could hypothetically have everything but that would mean losing everything, too. he's lonely because his dad beats him. he's lonely because his mom doesn't say anything. he's lonely because he has a piercing but his dad locked him in his room for three days after it. he's lonely because he attends a boarding school which rich racist pricks. he's lonely because never once in his life has he admitted how the intersection of all his identities puts him in a situation where he is completely alone. and he isn't alone -he's got edwin- but their experiences with loneliness are vastly different.

as i have said a stupid number of times, dead boy detectives is a story about loneliness. and the writers made these characters so damn brilliantly because they all make so much sense in the context they were raised in.

we are all shaped by the context's we're raised in. everyone is raised at a different moment in history in different environments with different families. human experiences are so unique that everyone is inherently lonely. but lonely does not mean alone and lonely does not mean forever. it means when you were fourteen you cried yourself to sleep but now you're twenty and know how to play cricket and your friends come to all of your matches. it means you were raised in a world that was cruel and unforgiving, AND it means that because of that you don't have to be. dead boy detectives teaches us that we're all horribly lonely, and maybe that makes each other a little less lonely

i'll take some of your burden if you'll take some of mine, and whatnot

[btsqualityy]

BTS Dating Series #18: Favorite Things

Members x Reader

Genre/Rate: 18+, fluff

Summary: Little things about one another that makes your heart flutter.

Warnings: None to note.

Kim Seokjin

"Finally," Jin sighed as he stepped through the front door of his apartment, hurriedly shutting the door behind him before kicking his shoes off and setting his bag down. He then raised his arms above his head, attempting to stretch out his sore muscles as he moved down the hallway into the living room. When he stepped into the space, he saw you laid out on your side on the couch, a book laid out in front of you.

It was a picture that Jin had seen at least 50 times by this point in your relationship but it was one that he never got tired of seeing. He knew that it took a lot for you to become comfortable enough to open up to him and to be your natural self around him unguarded, so he did his best to never take it for granted.

"Hey you," Jin spoke up, making you look up from the book and grin widely.

"Hi," you greeted him, waiting until he stepped over to the couch to pucker your lips and Jin instantly leaned down to press a soft kiss to them. "How was your day?"

"Good, long practice though," he sighed as he sat down next to you. "And what about you?"

"Ok, easy work day," you shrugged. "Then I came here, cooked some dinner, and then got absorbed in this book."

"I see that, you didn't even hear me come in," he murmured. "Which isn't good but I digress."

"The book is so good though," you chuckled. "You have to read it once I'm done."

"I will jagi, I will," he assured you before leaning down to kiss you again.

Min Yoongi

You were laid out on the couch that was placed in Yoongi's studio, watching with a small smile as Yoongi worked on tweaking his latest track.

Now, it wasn't the first time you had been in Yoongi's studio watching him work. In fact, it had become a regular occurrence since he was almost always working and you were more than content to sit there with him, watching.

The way that his focus never wavered, how he'd bite his lip and tilt his head as he tried to figure out how to fix whatever part was troubling him, it amazed you. You had never had such a passion for anything the way that he did about music so it left you in awe how much he dedicated to his craft.

"Hey," Yoongi spoke up, making your eyes widen in surprise as you broke out of your thoughts.

"Yeah?"

"You ok over there?" He checked in and judging by his smirk, you knew that you had gotten caught staring at him.

"Yeah, just admiring the view," you replied honestly with a shrug. "Don't mind me."

"Ok," he laughed. "Give me 30 more minutes?"

"Sure," you nodded, watching as he turned around to face the desktop once again.

Kim Namjoon

You hummed to yourself as you stirred the pot on the stove, doing a little dance in place as the music flowed from the speaker sitting on the counter next to you. You were so zoned out, that you jumped in place when Namjoon snuck up behind you and wrapped his arms around your waist.

"Hey!" You squealed. "I didn't even hear you come in."

"The music is the culprit for that," Namjoon laughed. "How's dinner going? Need any help?"

"You could chop up those onions and celery for me," you said. "I can handle everything else."

"Ok," he nodded, pressing a kiss to your cheek before releasing you and moving over to the counter. You continued to stir the contents of the pot while he grabbed a knife and proceeded to try and cut up the vegetables as you requested, and you couldn't help but laugh at his attempts.

One of your favorite things about Namjoon was the fact that he always tried to help you, even if he was helplessly inept at whatever you had requested. Anyone who knew Namjoon knew that the kitchen wasn't his strongest suit but he was more than willing to jump in if it meant helping you out, and that presented itself in every facet of your relationship with him.

"Ouch!" Namjoon huffed and you broke out of your thoughts then, your eyes widening when you realized that he had sliced the side of his finger.

"Joon," you huffed playfully, grabbing a paper towel and wrapping it around his pointer finger. "You're gonna chop a finger off one of these days."

"Sorry," he murmured sheepishly and you just shook your head before leaning up and kissing his lips gently.

Jung Hoseok

You grabbed your phone off of the charger that was placed in Hobi's bedroom, deciding to go downstairs and watch some tv after your shower. As you walked down the stairs, Hobi was coming up and he smiled at seeing you.

"Hi Y/N-ah," he said. "Good shower?"

"Hey and yeah, it was good," you nodded. "Gonna go watch some dramas."

"Ok, I have a conference call with the members," he told you and you nodded in response. After pressing a quick kiss to your cheek, you both continued on your separate ways. Once you made it to the couch, you made yourself comfortable and turned on the television, instantly becoming absorbed in it.

Before you knew it, three whole hours had passed and you found yourself getting hungry so you got up and walked into the kitchen. When you did, you saw Hobi sitting at the kitchen table on his phone.

"Hi baby," he grinned widely and you couldn't help but to laugh at how happy he was to see you. But then again, Hobi was never shy about letting you know how happy he was to see you and it always made you feel warm inside.

"What's funny?" He wondered as you walked over to him, chuckling when you bent down and gave him a firm kiss.

"Nothing," you shook your head once you pulled away. "What did you wanna do for dinner? I'm starving."

Park Jimin

"Y/N-ah!!!" Jimin screamed as he rushed into the house and you looked up from your spot on the couch in surprise as he ran into the living room.

"Where's the fire?" You giggled and Jimin ran over to you, grabbing your hands and helping you stand up off of the couch.

"Guess what?" He said and you shrugged your shoulders. "Y/N-ah, we got nominated for a Grammy!"

"What?!" You exclaimed, a wide smile appearing on your face. "You're lying!"

"I'm not!" Jimin chuckled. "That's what the meeting we had today was about! We're nominated and they want us to perform!"

"I'm so fucking proud of you!" You squealed as you literally jumped up into his arms, laughing loudly as he spun you around. Jimin's heart was already doing leaps and bounds but seeing how genuinely excited you were for him and his members, it warmed his heart.

"I want you to be my date to the ceremony too," Jimin told you as he set you back down on the ground.

"Really?" You gasped in awe. "You're sure?"

"No better place for our official first appearance together than on the biggest stage in the world," he smirked before kissing you firmly.

Kim Taehyung

You slowly pushed open the door to the practice room, doing your best to stay as quiet as possible as the members were in the middle of rehearsal. You crept over to a corner, huffing to yourself as you watched Taehyung struggle to keep up with the rest of the group as they flew threw the choreography.

See, the thing is: Taehyung was sick as hell. You'd heard it in his voice when he told you good morning when you woke up together, you could see it in the way he moved as he ambled around your bedroom getting dressed and you could see it now as coughs racked his body.

"Let's take a break," Hobi spoke up as he motioned for the music to be cut off and once it was, he turned and looked at Taehyung. "Are you sure you're alright?"

"Yeah, I'm good," Taehyung nodded, although he coughed immediately after.

"Could've fooled me," you spoke up, making everyone turn and look over at you.

"Y/N-ah," Taaehyung chuckled, moving over to you and pulling you into a hug. "What are you doing here?"

"Came to bring you this," you said as you held up the plastic bag in your hand that held Gatorade, soup, and medicine. "Figured you could use it. I also wanted to make sure you were doing ok."

"You came all this way just to make sure I was ok and to bring me food and medicine?" He questioned with a grin. This wasn't the first time you had shown your care towards him; in fact, it was a regular thing with you but he was surprised that you had come all the way to the HYBE building just to do it.

"Well, someone has to do it because you're sure not," you joked, making him laugh before he kissed your cheek.

Jeon Jungkook

Your eyes opened slowly, the sunlight from outside filtering through the curtains and shining down onto your face. You sat up slightly then, glancing next to you and seeing that Jungkook was missing. It didn't take you long to figure out where he was though, because you could hear his voice flowing from underneath the bathroom door with the sounds of the shower head in the background.

You couldn't help but to smile to yourself as you listened to him singing The Truth Untold. Jungkook sung all the time around you, the man was like the literal definition of a songbird but you couldn't help but to feel like when it was just you and him, that he was always singing specifically to you. His voice always touched a certain part of you and then melted it, and you felt yourself melting into the sheets as you listened to his gorgeous tone.

"Mmmm," he hummed as he suddenly opened the door and stepped out, a towel wrapped around his waist. He stopped singing once he saw you were awake, smiling widely as he stepped over to the bed and sat down on the edge next to you.

"Good morning," you murmured.

"Good morning," he replied before leaning down and pressing a slow, deep kiss to your lips. "Sleep good?"

"I always sleep much better in your bed than I do in my own," you confessed with a small smile. "Especially when I get these wake up calls too."

"Wake up calls?" He wondered before he chuckled in realization. "My singing? I hope I didn't wake you up."

"You didn't but you even if you did, I wouldn't mind," you told him and he just responded by leaning down and kissing you again.

[admiringlove]

[13:21] . . .

out of nowhere, one summer afternoon, your best friend asks you a question you never thought he would.

“you still got a thing for me?”

you raise your eyebrows, eyes poring off the book you were reading as you laid on your stomach in bed. your legs, blissfully held up in your knees find their way back to the bed, as you watch him. he’s playing with some trinket he found on your windowsill; an old figurine you loved to collect back in highschool. he’s not looking at you—he won’t look at you, and you know it.

the summer air hadn’t bothered you until now. now, it just felt too hot and too stuffy and too humid in your room. the bedsheets with cherries printed on them felt too childish and you felt as if you were being transported back to the times in highschool when you trailed after him like a lost puppy even though you were his best friend and his partner in crime after his twin brother.

“osamu, you knew?” for the first time, you call him by his name. not “‘samu”, or “bear” or any cheeky nicknames you’d given him. just plain old osamu. you had half the mind to fuck with him and call him “miya” but you think it’d take it too far.

that’s when he looks at you. he’s laying on your bed too, with his back against the fluffy pillows you like. you’re laying half-way down the bed, whereas he’s on your right, a little above you. the window above his head is open, and a small breeze flitters its way inside, the linen curtains swaying above his head as you watch him. your glasses perched on top of your nose as you scrutinize him. you’re judging him—or at least that’s what he thinks you’re doing because you never ever call him by just his name.

“i had an idea, i think,” he says, looking back at the figurine in his hand. it was some video-game character, he reckons. you and atsumu used to fight to play it in the arcade with your pocket money for the week. and then osamu had to buy all three of you meat buns because you’d run out of money at the arcade.

“right,” you say, a bitter and avoidant tone lacing your words as you look back at your book. he can’t tell what you’re thinking, and you can’t tell what he wants.

had he always been like this? were you too much in love with him to notice that he knew all along and didn’t bother to say anything?

“you didn’t answer my question,” he says. and it makes you wonder how much audacity he has running through his veins. you make a face, as if you’d smelled something pungent. your lips scrunched and your eyebrows knotted as you try to think how to respond, “i don’t want to.”

“why not?” he asks, perching himself up onto his elbow. you look back up from your book, and the sunlight that falls on his face and highlights his freckles makes you almost swoon. you catch yourself though. “because i don’t want to, miya.”

a deep physical pain festers itself in his chest when he hears you say his last name with gritted teeth and a clenched jaw. he blinks, sitting up, the figurine still in his hand as he rubs its face as hard as he can with his thumb to ground himself. “but i want to know.”

“and i don’t want to fucking tell you,” you quip, sparing him nothing but a dirty glance. he sucks in a sharp breath, watching you. had he distanced himself from you so much that being near him hurt you too? but he’d only been busy. in the last year of highschool, there was some obvious tension in between you, him and atsumu because of osamu’s decision to not pursue volleyball. you’d been crushed in between two men with big egos and big dreams, and you’d somehow managed to stay neutral. and then college happened. everyone moved to different places. osamu and you to tokyo. atsumu to okinawa for camp. then osamu got busy with his multiple part-time jobs and certification prep for his restaurant. he’d exchange five to ten minute phone calls with you once a week. but in the last six months, he hadn’t managed to do that either.

so he’d thought, at least it was summer now. he’d have more time to slow down and look around him.

“why not?” he asks, voice shaky and intuitive. he wants to read you again. he wants you to be his abditory again. he wants you back in his life the way it used to be before tokyo. he remembers the feeling still—you and him, standing in his kitchen in hyogo, as you try something he’d cooked. you’d always have that excited look in your eyes. and he’d always assumed you’d continue to have it till the end of time. maybe he was wrong.

“because it wasn’t a stupid fucking crush, ‘samu,” you laugh, but it’s not funny, “i was in love with you and you never noticed. as simple as that.”

“i said i had an idea,” he furrows his brows. it’s like you didn’t want his company anymore. did you not like being around him? what was the problem? he had taken notice, he just hadn’t taken any action. he reckons he wasn’t ready.

or was he just scared? he doesn’t know. but he watches as you turn your attention back to the book, and he feels a crack form under the two of you. as if you were slowly slipping away, and he couldn’t do anything about it. he scoffs slightly, prying the book away from you and placing it somewhere on the bed haphazardly as you protest. “osamu, seriously, stop being such a dick!”

“i’m talkin’ to you,” he says, sitting up straight. he rubs his thumb against the figurine’s face feeling its nose against the pad of his finger. he presses down hard, wanting to feel something. he hopes you’d notice how nervous he is.

“and i don’t want to talk to you because you’re a selfish prick,” you say, taking off your glasses and running a hand through your hair. you’re looking up at him with an emotional he can’t quite place, but he thinks it aligns somewhere with disgust. it makes him sick.

it’s not like he never noticed. he knew that the way you clung to him when you were younger had to be more than platonic. you’d stare at him with big eyes, blinking as if he hung the world together by strings and stars—and he’d feel that flutter in his stomach as if he were a child.

you’re both sitting in an awkward silence, the tension thickening the air like the humidity outside. osamu looks down at the figurine, its face now marred by the rough treatment. he feels like it’s a metaphor for you and him—something once cherished, now tarnished by neglect and misunderstanding.

“do you remember that summer festival in hyogo?” you suddenly ask, breaking the silence. the question catches him off guard, and he looks up, momentarily surprised that you’re shifting the conversation back to a happier time. but it’s a welcome distraction, he thinks.

“which year?” he replies, leaning back slightly, curiosity flickering across his face.

“the one where you tried to eat all the dango, but ended up just staring at the fireworks with half a stick in your mouth,” you chuckle, and it’s a sound he’s missed. the soft melody of your laughter contrasts sharply with the heaviness that has settled between you.

osamu feels warmth creep into his cheeks at the memory. he remembers the way the sky lit up, vibrant colors bursting in the night, mirroring the excitement in his chest as he watched you watch the fireworks. you had looked so beautiful, illuminated by the kaleidoscope of colors, your eyes sparkling with wonder. he had been so caught up in how pretty you looked, he forgot to chew. perhaps that was some kind of infatuation that he just didn't understand at the time. maybe if he simply had-

he shakes his head at the thought. there's no use thinking of what could've been.

“yeah, and ya made fun of me the entire time,” he smiles, trying hard to lighten the mood and to forget his current train of thought.

“because you looked ridiculous!” you tease, but there’s a hint of painful nostalgia in your voice. “you had this concentrated look like you were on a mission. i couldn’t stop laughing.”

he chuckles softly, but the sound feels hollow. “you were just jealous i because I could eat my weight in dango.”

you roll your eyes, but you’re smiling now, and he takes that as a small victory. “i don’t think i ever ate that much. but-” your voice trails off, and he can see a shadow passing over your face. “it was nice, wasn’t it? being young and… oblivious?”

“yeah, it was,” he admits, a hint of melancholy creeping into his tone. “we had so much fun back then. it feels like we were invincible.”

and it did. back then, when he'd drag you out to try random foods at stalls or simply to go on a walk. it felt as if he could do it forever. have you by his side as his constant in this ever-changing world of his—where his brother was a professional volleyball player and he would simply be a restaurant owner someday.

“were we?” you asked, voice incredulous as you tilted your head, “the whole time, it kinda felt like you were the invincible one and i was just there. it’s like how you feel with atsumu.”

this makes osamu pause. had you really felt that way all this time? inferior? the thought lodged itself deep in his chest, a heavy weight he couldn’t shake off. he had never meant for you to feel that way. in his eyes, you had always been the spark—the one who brought color to his world when everything else felt gray and predictable.

“i never thought that, you know?” he finally says, his voice soft, almost hesitant. “i thought- i thought you were always the brave one. always ready to dive into new things, while i was just there. playing it safe.”

your brow furrows as you process his words. “brave? me? i was just following you around, trying to keep up,” you reply, a hint of bitterness creeping into your tone.

“but you did keep up. you were always right there beside me,” osamu insists, his gaze searching yours, desperate for you to understand. “you made everything more fun. without you, i’d just be-” he hesitates, the reality of his words hanging in the air, “i’d just be some guy in a kitchen, flipping meat buns and rice balls.”

“but that’s what you want, isn’t it?" you challenge, a fire igniting in your eyes.

“it is,” he admits, his heart racing as he watches you, “but it’s not the only thing i want.” he swallows hard, unsure if he should say more, if he should reveal the way you had always been a part of that dream, a silent partner in the chaos of his life.

the silence stretches between you, charged with unspoken words and tangled emotions. osamu feels a wave of uncertainty crash over him. the weight of his thoughts, his feelings, it all feels too heavy to carry alone. “sometimes, i wish i could go back,” he confesses, “to the way things were before everything got complicated.”

a small flash of a memory passes by in front of his eyelids. just for a split second, he sees a younger version of himself chasing fireflies alongside you in his backyard. jumping up to the first branches of the apple tree his grandfather had planted, the two of you miserably failing. the thought makes his lip curve upward.

“complicated? bear, we’re not kids anymore. we can’t just go back.” your voice is firm, but there’s a softness in your eyes that he can’t ignore.

“i know,” he sighs, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “but sometimes it feels like... like i’m losing you in all this.” he gestures around, to the walls that had once held laughter and secrets but now felt like a cage.

“losing me?” you echo, your expression shifting to something more vulnerable. “do you even know how many times i’ve sat here wondering if you even wanted me around anymore? it’s like you’ve been drifting away, and i- i don’t want to be just a memory for you.”

the truth of your words hits him like a cold splash of water, and he’s left grappling with the realization that he has indeed let the distance grow between you. osamu feels his heart ache, the weight of regret settling over him like a heavy fog.

“i never meant to push you away. life just... got in the way. and with 'tsumu doing so well, it’s hard not to compare myself.” he pauses, the vulnerability of admitting that laying bare the fragility of his ego. “i thought if i focused on my dreams, i wouldn’t lose you in the process.”

“but that’s just it,” you murmur, voice barely above a whisper. “you’re so focused on what’s ahead that you forgot to look around and see what you have right now.”

osamu feels the sting of your words, a deep ache forming in his chest. “i don’t want to lose you,” he says finally, the honesty hanging heavy in the air. “but i don’t know how to fix this.”

he feels an estranged sensation pool at the pit of his stomach. it’s an unsettling mix of longing and disillusionment, a swirling tornado of emotions that seems to siphon away the warmth he had once felt in your presence. he remembers a time when everything between you had been easy—like a favorite song playing in the background, its melody effortlessly weaving through the fabric of his days. his relationship with you was always like a distant childhood memory; as if he were sitting on his bed whilst rain poured outside and laughter could be heard in the next room.

he can’t help but feel like he’s caught in a dream that has turned surreal, where the colors have faded, and the edges of reality blur into something unrecognizable. the laughter that had once come so easily now feels like a ghost haunting the hallways of his memory, a faint echo that reminds him of what he’s lost.

"maybe it's not about fixing it," you say, sitting up. he blinks a few times, as you push up your glasses. his eyes focus on your frame—the way you criss-cross your legs and look at him with that expression he could never pinpoint properly. something like how an older mentor figure would in disappointment, but with a hint of hope. "maybe, it's simply about trying."

and maybe, just maybe, he wasn't trying hard enough. maybe he wasn't trying at all.

© all works belong to admiringlove on tumblr. plagiarism is strictly prohibited.

[nenoname]

Details in Stan's letter that still haunt me

(how long will I continue thinking about a two page letter that's technically not even that long because Stan's handwriting is fricking large? .....you don't need to worry about that.)

The bro code only shows up in the Lost Journal pages, and to me Stan's message feels like it purposely echoes Ford's "miss you" in the college photo (and for some reason the message doesn't appear in the website version of the photo?) ....or alternatively Stan simply noticed how distressed Ford was about this entire thing and wanted to support him in a way so he can be sappy but without the kids knowing, or both!

Stan's claim about the Oregon lottery contradicts what the Lost Legends website said about Tate McGucket's ability to predict the winning numbers!! ...but also breaking into the Lottery HQ is definitely a very Stan thing to do and it's not the first time small gags have been retconned

Despite spending most of his letter nonchalantly destroying him, the taunt about ripping a dollar bill in half is the only part where Stan is directly responding to Bill. Maybe it's the two of them having similar ways of thinking but it's rather specific considering Bill taunts the reader about it...

And after Bill spends an entire book calling Ford Sixer despite normally using a pretty wide range of nicknames for him, Stan then spends his letter mainly referring to Ford as Sixer, even though post-Weirdmageddon he tends to use a mix of nicknames. And it's not like he'd gotten to see Bill himself for long, let alone see him steal that childhood nickname (that is only used twice in the actual show btw!). Did Ford tell him what happened or...?

With all this and the website's "still on your mind" message, what I'm getting at is my tinfoil hat theory of Stan somehow seeing some of the pages the irl readers saw, even when it should be personalised to the specific reader, and he's been lying about it for some reason. Considering that the book flat out doesn't make an attempt at convincing Soos, I find it a stretch that whatever Bill was telling Stan via the book was an attempt to convince him either.

Wouldn't be the first time Stan's skimmed through a book and lied about what it meant to him.

(...Now I kinda wanna see a story about the family reading their versions of the book and making fun of it while Stan is improvising every single one of his pages and blatantly ignoring Bill's attempts to mock and taunt him)

But also I'm fascinated by the letters that only showed up on the website (aka the Soos+Wendy+McGucket+Pacifica ones). I'm assuming that Mabel had stuck them on after Stan's letter... but they were basically eaten by the book itself because seeing Stan's letter kick-started Bill's breakdown which takes up the rest of the book

[charliemwrites]

Government Asset Soap! This is half of the last part (the smut got too long and I wanted to post this dammit).

Original concept comes from @ceilidho’s military asset Soap. Further inspiration came from @391780’s Nikto version “The Summons”. Both are very good and you should definitely check out!!

Content: Post-trauma coping, Non-Con Touching and Kissing, Violence (mentioned), Unstable Soap

It’s probably a fire hazard, the candles. They’re sprinkled across your little cabin like fireflies, feeble but steady heartbeats of a home you’re failing to build. Too many of them, likely. Two, sometimes three, per room. Tiny tealights, smokeless soy, scented pine. It would be easier, safer, to just turn on the lamps you foolishly invested in.

You can’t bear anything brighter than golden halogen anymore, though. The glare drags you back to a tiny cell bisected by cruel metal, holding back an even crueler fate. No, you’d much rather wade through pools of shadow and firelight, fire code be damned.

It’s a small cabin, but you’ve already cluttered it up with furniture and rugs, a theme for each room. Yellow and blue for the kitchen. Purple and cream for the den. Green and brown for your bedroom. Nooks to hide in, spaces to squeeze into, big shapes to huddle behind. You’ll never be caught out in a cold, barren room ever again.

Your days are long regardless of the time of year. Get groceries in town every day, making a point to be friendly and seen so that someone might notice if you suddenly stop coming. Clean incessantly, so many surfaces to dust. Pick hobbies like daisies. Knitting and crocheting, different paint styles, felting. You’re contemplating carpentry, would like to build shelves for all the books stacked up in the den. Keep a dream journal by your bed that you neglect for weeks at a time.

You draw out the nights until you can count the hours until dawn on one hand. Stay up baking, making homemade ink, learning new ways to style your hair, anything, anything, anything—

It’s not the sleeping – or at least that’s not the worst of it. It’s the waking.

Laswell suggested a cat.

You told her to stop suggesting pussy to unstable people.

But it’s still not a bad idea. Another living thing to keep you accountable; the plants are pretty and time-consuming, but not good company.

You talk yourself out of it every time, knowing the worst-case scenario. It’s not catastrophizing if it actually happens, and you can feel an invisible time weighing on your shoulders like another gravity. Tick, tick, tick. Heavier, heavier, heavier. It’s hard to breathe beneath the wait.

The military doesn’t do apologies. It does platitudes at best. Well wishes and good intentions are painted in brushstrokes of blood. Victory flags are planted on bodies, living or otherwise. Laswell apologized. She swore that if there had been another way – any other way…

She didn’t promise to leave you alone. Didn’t assure you that you’d never see her or her goons again.

If you thought it would do any good, you’d tip one of the candles over and set it all aflame. Rebirth through fire. But you never did figure yourself for a phoenix. And besides, a phoenix is still itself, even when the ash falls away.

So, you spool out your time like picking at tapestry threads, one thin string at time.

Tonight, it’s bread. Cinnamon chocolate babka, to be specific. You were craving something sweet. Are debating the merits of some sort of cream cheese icing while you shower off the long, ever-busy day.

Have decided on an optimistic why not as you slip out to begin your overly complicated self-care routine. Moisturizers, hair oils, lotion. An unexpected benefit of overloading yourself, you suppose. Even when you first got out of the military, you didn’t take such good care of yourself. You have a jogging route now. You’re handling your trauma every possible way except therapy. (And sleeping.) Better than nothing, you figure.

The candles have gone out in your bedroom. You click your tongue in annoyance, trying to remember where you left the matches this time. Bedside table?

You pad across the soft carpet, using the edge of the bed as a guide in the pitch black. The only other problem with candles is that their humble light doesn’t reach very far. But you know this house and keep the floors tidy enough that you’re confident you won’t trip.

Make it to the nightstand without incident and pat around. Knock the side of your hand into the little carton and only just catch it before it hits the deck. Let out a little huff and start to fumble it open.

“Nice catch, bonnie.”

You gasp, but your voice doesn’t get any farther than the back of your tongue. The box slips from your numb fingers, matchsticks scattering across the floor. He tsks.

“Shame that. We’ll get ‘em later.”

You can’t move. Can barely breathe. You’re just frozen, heart thundering with a sudden storm of fear and confusion. Hands still aloft in front of you, spine rigid, knees locked.

You feel more than hear movement behind you, and then the warmth of his body seeping into your naked skin. Not quite touching. Not yet.

“Missed you, little bird,” he rasps in your ear.

You always thought that in a moment like this you would scream. Kick and elbow and fight, damn your certain loss. But when it comes down to it, survival drowns out all those stupid, haughty ideas about pride and dignity. So you don’t curse and shout like you always fancied you would.

You whisper, “Soap.”

He hums but it sounds like a growl in your panicked state. “Missed me too, aye? You’re already naked fer me.”

His hands are searing when they settle on your waist like they belong there. He pulls you back against him; in the dark he’s bigger, broader than you remember. At least, you think, he’s fully clothed for now.

“What are you… how are you here?” you ask.

He barks a laugh, mean and rough. “Was only a matter of time after that shite they pulled.”

You squeeze your eyes shut and see it recreated in the phosphenes behind your lids.

Soap buried balls deep inside of you, murmuring a constant stream of filth as he got harder and harder inside you. Filling you up as you twitched around him, oversensitive and teary, afraid of what would come next.

Then the lights flashed, flicked red. An alarm sounded, Laswell’s voice ordering Soap away from you. But he just snarled and hunched over you, hips snapping to bury himself right back inside while you cried out.

The locked door swung in, armed guards swarming in. Yanked Soap off you while you scrambled to cover yourself. Someone grabbing your arm none too gently to pull you from the room. Soap wild-eyed and snarling like something possessed, until he was overtaken by struggling guards and you were trembling naked in that damned hallway.

“Was mad at you, at first, cannae lie,” he says, almost conversational. Your eyes snap open, though you know it’ll do you no good. “But I’ve had time to think on it. Wasnae yer fault, was it? Saw them drag you out.”

An awful relief floods you. Fuck dignity, fuck honesty. This is Soap right behind you, completely unrestrained and unsupervised.

“Yeah,” you answer, voice small. “I didn’t know they would do that. What… um. What happened to you?”

He presses his face into your damp hair, pressing closer, snaking his arms to squeeze you against him.

“Sent me off on some shite mission,” he explains, “probably hoped I’d die out there. You smell so good, lass.”

You shiver as his breath ghosts over the sensitive skin of your neck. Hot, humid.

“And… and then what?” you insist, trying to stall.

You’re not sure what you’re stalling for. There will be no miraculous saves here – not that you really got any last time. It’s not like there’s any real plan to be made here, either. None that you’d be confident enough to risk his wrath on.

“Disappeared. Took care of business. Came to get my pretty little bird.”

A rough hand trails over the curve of your hip, brush the neat curls of your mound. You suck in a breath, hands twitching with the urge to stop him but not sure of putting up resistance when you’re still unsure of his mental state.

“And what about you, hm?” he rumbles. “Been a good girl while I’ve been away?”

His fingers dart down towards your entrance, not nearly prepared for anything. Least of all his thick digits.

“Y-yes!” you yelp, grabbing at his wrist. Relief makes you dizzy when you manage to stop him. “I-I’ve been good. Which means I’m not… I can’t just take you. I need… I need prep.”

He huffs, nips at the tender spot beneath your ear. The thrill that shoots through your stomach is terrifying.

“That’s what these are for, bonnie.”

And to your horror, he starts to push past your resistance like your staying hands aren’t there at all.

“John!”

He freezes. You shudder air into your burning lungs, feeling dizzy on panic.

You can get through this without pain, just think.

“I haven’t even got to see you,” you stutter, voice shaky. Can’t quite inject the disappointment you’re trying for, but hopefully it’ll work. “And I bet you’re all dirty from travel.”

He grumbles. “So what?”

You scramble to think of a satisfactory response. “S-so let’s get reacquainted in the shower, yeah? That way I can see your handsome face, at least.”

He chuckles, grazes his teeth “playfully” across your cheek. “Bossy thing.”

“You like it.”

And to your shock, he agrees with an amused huff. Hauls you up in his arms and walks you back to the still muggy bathroom. You’re set on your feet and spun around, chin jerked up to receive a savage kiss. All tongue and teeth, no finesse. He’s just licking into your mouth, hungry and animalistic, spit dribbling down your chin.

When he finally pulls away, you blink spots from your vision. Finally focus on his smug features and make a soft, horrified noise when you register the splatter of crimson across them.

“Och, that? My little bird had watchers.”

Of course you did. The horror ebbs a bit. Resentment has made you indiscriminately bitter.

“Oh,” you say, “th-thank you. Definitely glad we’re showering first, then.”

“Squeamish?”

You’d like to know when the world turned upside down and John fucking “Soap” MacTavish began teasing you about the blood on his face.

“A bit,” you admit.

“Poor dear,” he coos. “Hard to believe we were made for each other sometimes, aye? Complementary, we are.”

Is that what he thinks? Christ.

You turn to start the shower again, spine prickling with the weight of his eyes on your back. The water rushes down and then he’s crowding you against the cold wall beneath the (thankfully) warm spray.

“Y-you’re still dressed!” you protest between sharp nips to your collarbone.

“Fix it, then,” he snarls.

You claw his shirt up his back, get momentarily distracted by the impressive display of muscle hidden beneath. Draw your palms over his chest and feel him shudder.

“Fuckin’ heavenly, love,” he purrs. “Missed this.”

A vague memory comes back to you, him gripping you close because he felt you naked against him for the first time. Him admitting he hasn’t had affectionate touch in a while.

This… this you could work with.

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Masterlist

[blimpintime]

a jar of wind part two

Wynnie Lara is a fairy that was saved from a jar from Amarantha's reign of terror, but is soon figuring out that her time of peace is coming to an end.

warnings: none besides being slightly unedited.

word count: 1.4k

4 months later 

Dearest Wynnie Lara,

I hope you are doing well, we miss you very dearly in the Night Court but understand you leaving after such harsh things were spoken to you. I wanted to invite you to Nyx’s first birthday celebration. He does miss you so much. (As do we).

After finding out what Azriel and the other two had said to you I almost blew up their homes with the help of my sisters. 

Elain misses you very much, even though she writes letters to you weekly, you and her seemed to help each other heal after everything happened to you both. She won't tell anybody where you have gone so I will be handing this letter to her in hopes it reaches you. 

We miss you so much, and I hate that the boys said those harsh things to you for no reason. You are not a bother, or suffocating, you light up every space you go into which is so refreshing, I do not want you to feel forced to come home (Nesta feels otherwise, she misses you so much she almost started a war with another court in search of you.) But we do want you to know you do have a home here. No matter what. I know Rhys feels devastated with how the situation turned out, even though it is partially his fault.  I want to make it clear how sorry we are for their actions and that we adore you. 

Lovingly, 

Feyre

I crumple the edges of the letter with tears streaming down my face, with a shaking breath I fold the letter gently and put it back into the envelope. I set it with the piles of letters Elain has sent to me on my coffee table. I wipe my face and head over to my rough looking door of the tree house that I am living in and latch it. This area of the Autumn Court has always been on the poorer side but it was home. Growing up with no family and moving around as a fairy was never safe, so before Amarantha’s reign I settled in this area of Autumn. 

Having not been to this home in two years it took a while to get it back into shape, cleaning and removing critters that have turned it into their home while I was gone. I have wind chimes and wards surrounding this home just like my other one, the difference here though is the Autumn wind is much more soothing for me then in any other court. It’s almost like my soul knows it's safe here. 

I have my wind playing soothing music with the small instruments placed around the open room. Candles lit and windows open for the utmost ambiance while I research different wind patterns.

I hear one of my chimes go off near the front door that catches my attention, I get up from the table and walk back to the door.  Frantic knocking is what I hear once I get to the door itself, I rip it open to see what is wrong. 

“Miss Wynnie!” with a sob, and I look down to see one of the kids I help take care of from the children’s shelter near my tree house. Little antlers poke through his red hair, and tears stream down his tanned face as he launches towards me. 

“Oatie what is the matter?” I say and crouch to his level. I put my hands on his shoulders to sooth him and look him in the eyes.

“Those mean guards are back at the shelter, they are demanding more money.” Oatie is a twelve year old boy who had to grow up quickly due to being an orphan partially under Beron’s rageful reign, but he was still a gentle soul. Things have started to get better slowly with the new High Lord, but it is a slow process when the court has so much hate built in. 

“Okay sweet boy, it’s going to be alright. Go curl up on the couch with a book and some tea and I will go take care of this okay?” I tell him with a soft voice. He nods and heads off that way. Once he is settled on the couch I fix my dress, and re-braid the two long braids under my bob and fly off the balcony.

When I arrive at the shelter there are two guards yelling at the volunteer on duty at the shelter. With a burst of wind I separate them from the worker, and land in front of them. I motion for the worker to go inside.

“What is the issue here?” I bark at them, their heated eyes turn to me.

“They owe us money for protection.” The one on the right says with a grunt.

“That’s your job. The High Lord literally pays you to protect the people. So that was the wrong answer, do me a favor and try again.” I say while rolling my eyes and shifting my weight to one hip. 

“You bitch.” One says and I let out a laugh with a clap of my hands. I know I probably shouldn’t egg them on but it’s so easy. As I am about to respond they both seem to stiffen and look behind me.

“Well that’s no way to speak to a lady.” I turn to face the new voice, which belongs to High Lord Eris, who recently has had his hair trimmed since the last time I saw him. 

“She is barely a lady, my lord.” One said with a snicker. I respond with a glare and a large gust of wind knocking them both over.

I turn to face Eris completely and give him a graceful curtsy grabbing the edges of my green dress. To which I receive a sucking of the teeth sound from him.

“Wynnie dear, stand up please. You don’t have to bow to me, we are old friends.” He says with a soft smile. The two guards seemed to have disappeared leaving the two of us alone. I straighten and glow a soft pink with a cheeky grin say,

“Yes, well, I have to show my respect My Lord.” He chuckles and makes a small lunge toward me, so I float backwards and he narrowly misses me. 

“You’ll have to be quicker than that to catch me sir.” He grunts a small breath and lunges towards me again. And I am suddenly reminded of when we were younger.

“Eris! Where are you?” I yell knowing he is hiding behind one of the trees with his hounds. 

“Got you!” I hear from behind me and feel my waist being pulled into someone's chest. I look up over my shoulder and see Eris with a wide grin. I pout at him. 

“That’s not fair.” I whine. “You know I am afraid of your pups, they think I am a big bird waiting to be hunted.”  He laughs in response. 

“I would never let them hurt you Wynnie Lara, I would never let anyone hurt you.” He said softly. “You are my only friend in this wretched court. I will burn it down to protect you.” 

“Eris that is sweet but, you are an heir would that not be counterproductive?” I ask teasingly but my skin glowing a bright warm orange with endearment. 

“Not for you Wynnie.” He says.

“I can’t stay in this area long, but I did want to invite you to dinner soon.”  He tells me when we both are sitting on the forest floor. Me on a rock with my wings glowing and him leaned up against it. My hands naturally find his hair and gently run my fingers through it. 

“I would love to.” I tell him, “I might visit the Night Court here soon.” I say with a whisper.

“Oh?” He asks me softly.

“Nyx is turning one and I miss the girls a little bit.” I responded.

“Yes, that's understandable. I still am beyond livid for how you were treated there.” He says back with a huff. And I laugh a little, “You and me both.” 

“I will have to send you with a gift, hmm?” He tells me. 

“That would be very kind of you, my lord.” And in response I get him standing up and pinching my sides. 

“Mercy! Mercy!” I say in between giggles. 

“Alright Wynn. I will send a letter for dinner when you return. Be safe and have a good night.” He tells me with a pat to the head and soft voice. 

a/n: soooooooooooo what do with think???

I am a sucker for soft Eris omggggg. Please if any questions please let me know!

I am trying the taglist I hope it works lmao

taglist: @cazrielsfairygf @buckyloki888 @litnerdwrites @the-fandom-ness @booksbypisces @nerdyalmondlawyerauthor

[thepenguinwriter]

°• The main cast + Lucifer ♡ Wholesome Lust •°

°• Fem!succubus!reader •°

~ Contains; fem!succubus!reader (obv), spoilers for ep 6 (at Vaggie's part), vague mention of Valentino, mention of depression, wholesomeness, all relationships platonic except for Lucifer's

~ All gifs from @/atttwoood (except for the Lucifer one)

~ Small tw; possible eyestrain/bright colours for the gifs

°• Charlie •°

- ♡ She's absolutely DELIGHTED to meet another hellborn

- ♡ Especially someone from a different ring

- ♡ She may be the Princess of Hell but she, surprisingly, doesn't travel her realm much

- ♡ She loves hearing about your culture, which is why you often end up telling her stories

- ♡ And we know demons from Lust are the only ones who have Asmodean crystals and are able to traverse to the human realm

- ♡ When she finds out, she squeals and begs to hear tales about what life on Earth is like

- ♡ She knows nothing at all about it apart from the tales of creation, but that is not much

- ♡ You don't believe hellborn demons can be redeemed, but you stay at the hotel. For her sake.

°• Vaggie •°

- ◇ Oh boy, was she MAD when you showed up at the hotel

- ◇ She's a fallen angel, she knows jackshit about different culture in Hell, so she is absolutely confused when you tell her you were born in Hell

- ◇ She thought Charlie was special for that??

- ◇ You explain that you're a succubus, to which she can only become more defensive

- ◇ All she's heard of your kind were dreadful stories about you sucking life out of men in their sleep, or something along those lines..

- ◇ She only agrees to let you in after her dearest, Charlie convinces her

- ◇ It was after a stressful day when you were both alone in the hotel parlor, sitting in silence

- ◇ You were fidgeting with a strange ring so she asked you about it

°• "Oh, this? It's an Asmodean Crystal!" ��°

- ◇ After the confusion for her wore off you explained to her what they were for, and she listened in stunned silence

- ◇ A demon able to go to the living world? How is that even possible?!

- ◇ Whenever you return from a visit to the human world, you always bring her a small trinket

- ◇ She coos quietly and gives you a hug. She hates to admit it, but she's warmes up to you.

°• Angel Dust •°

- ♡ The first thing that caught his attention was the fact that you were from the Lust ring

- ♡ He immediately started questioning you about what it's like there

- ♡ Given his circumstances with Val, he was shocked to hear how nice you described it

- ♡ He always jokes with you about him actually belonging there, but he really does wish he could go with you for a visit

- ♡ But of course, sinners are stuck in the Pride ring. Bummer.

- ♡ You always make sure to bring him something from your home ring though if you visit

- ♡ A little knick-knack, if you will

- ♡ He's even more intrigued when you tell him about the Asmodean Crystals

- ♡ He pesters you with questions constantly about how the world is currently going

- ♡ You can't help but chuckle at his enthusiasm.

°• Alastor •°

- ♤ Oh, what's this? A hellborn demon?

- ♤ He is INTRIGUED

- ♤ He isn't a big conversation starter, so he only ever talks to you when you come to him

- ♤ But he enjoys your company quite a lot, actually

- ♤ He, like Charlie, loves hearing about your culture and myths surrounding it

- ♤ He isn't really interested in the Lust ring itself, but you make it sound so good it's hard not to listen

- ♤ One morning he invites you to drink tea with him

- ♤ It was then that he noticed your unusual ring and asked about it

- ♤ When I tell you he is fascinated, I'm understating it

- ♤ But he isn't interested in prying about the living world like Angel

- ♤ In his opinion, technology has ruined many things already

- ♤ You roll your eyes a bit at his dramatic speech, but a smile is plastered on your face.

°• Husk •°

- ♤ In all honesty, he does not care a single bit about where you came from

- ♤ As long as you don't bother him, you're alright in his book

- ♤ You often come to the bar and talk to him, which is why he knows so much about you against his will

- ♤ You absolutely tell him embarrasing things you've seen humans do while drunk

- ♤ You might even try seducing him if you're really wasted, but he shuts that off quickly

- ♤ He starts seeing a lot of similarities between you and Angel

- ♤ You're basically the more mentally stable version

- ♤ He doesn't pry about your life at all

- ♤ He's just glad to have a... somewhat stable drinking buddy

°• Niffty •°

- ◇ Niffty's just a clueless chaotic gremlin

- ◇ She's very curious and asks a lot of questions, but you bet your ass when you start answering, if she sees a bug she will run off without hesitation

- ◇ Girlie's attention span doesn't exist

- ◇ She's trying, but she can't help it

- ◇ But one thing that REALLY interests her is your weird, shiny ring...

- ◇ The whole time you're telling her about it, she's staring at it with the BIGGEST sparkling eyes

- ◇ She keeps it safe from the other residents because she views it as such a special thing

- ◇ She's CONSTANTLY cleaning it too, to keep it bright and shiny!

°• Sir Pentious •°

- ◇ To be honest, he's been here for such a long time and he's still SO DAMN CLUELESS about everything

- ◇ He's so interested when you tell him you're from the Lust ring

- ◇ Mostly because he has literally no idea what you're talking about

- ◇ You tell him everything and you see his gaze gradually lighting up more and more until they're as bright as christmas lights

- ◇ He probably did not notice your crystal ring at all actually

- ◇ But after you explain it, he can't talk about anything else

- ◇ He CONSTANTLY, and I do mean constantly, pesters you with questions about the Lust ring, the human world, being a succubus, etc. In his own awkward way

- ◇ Man is so awkward he just does not know when to stop

- ◇ You're so interesting to him, he cherishes you more than anyone else.

°• Lucifer •°

- ☆ Lucifer never thought he'd find love again

- ☆ Especially from someone who's hellborn

- ☆ But here you were - a simple succubus, sweeping the King of Hell off his feet

- ☆ He could only hope his second wife wouldn't leave him like Lilith...

- ☆ You, surprising to him, are very understanding regarding his trauma and depression

- ☆ Hearing you talk enthusiastically about your home ring always brings the biggest smile onto his face

- ☆ Meeting your new step-daughter was quite awkward at first, but you got along surprisingly well

- ☆ You take him to visit the Lust ring on special occasions

- ☆ He is always amazed, no doubt

- ☆ For a long time, he thought all of Hell was a mistake, all his fault

- ☆ But ever since he met you, he's glad he offered the apple to Eve.

Hello my dear readers! I tried a new format, what do yall think? 👀 anyway this took me SO long, like literally 3 hours or smth so. Hope u enjoy!

[undiscovered-horizon]

Enjoying my work? You can leave me a tip on Ko-Fi | Have a request?

[Just a sunny afternoon with bear Halsin. What more can a heart desire?]

Halsin claims that sleeping in his bear form provides better rest. Whether that is true or not, you have no way to know. But no matter what the truth is, the druid comes out the winner anyway: he's lightly napping, drifting in and out of slumber, while you're leaning against him.

For the past week, it's been raining on and off. Cold wind nipped at your skin, even sneaking its way into your tent and making sure you shuddered uncomfortably for an hour or two before finally falling asleep. Nighttime storms left you carrying drenched clothes for long hours.

But today, the weather is exceptionally nice. Warm sunlight is peeking through the crowns of the tall trees. Wind, much gentler than for the past few days, is only strong enough to make long blades of grass sway from side to side. Even birds seem to enjoy the change - their melodic songs are carried by the forest's echo.

Halsin and you have decided to spend your day off from travelling in a small gathering. Although your companions-turned-friends are a delightful bunch, the rather crowded camp doesn't allow much liberty in terms of intimacy. Not to mention the sheer noise of so many people going about their day, cramped in one place...

The woods are as silent as nature can be - filled with rustling, birdsong, chirping and chirring. It's the whispering of nature, Silvanus himself enjoying the chatter of his creations. On days as pleasant as today, it wouldn't be too far-fetched to think that he's wandering among the trees, checking in on things, so to speak.

Your back is leaning against Halsin's massive bear frame. With each of his sleepy, shallow breaths, your entire body is moving along them. Every now and then, he lets out a snore and you can't help the loving smile curling your lips. When was the last time he was allowed so much peace?

Dry paper rustles as you turn over the page. Your voice resounds in this part of the woods as you continue reading aloud the book you found just a few days ago. It's a typical, run-of-the-mill court drama but written well enough to have you thinking about something other than the rather unwelcome guest squirming inside your skull.

But the tale of prudish ladies and cunning servants is suddenly brought to a halt as you yawn and stretch your arms. It's been at least an hour or two since Halsin and you have sat down.

The bear underneath you opens one of his eyes curiously. His careful gaze studies your visibly tired face.

"Lay with me, my heart," he says in a groggy voice. There is nothing pressuring about his tone but you feel so enticed to fulfil his words that you don't have the mind to argue against.

Soon you find yourself lying on the ground, cuddled into the side of a bear. Which, by itself, sounds quite funny. And you do chuckle quietly but not because you find the situation humours - no, it's the all-consuming cosiness that makes you uncharacteristically giddy. His fur is thick and soft, as though a moment of distraction could cause you to fall into him.

Halsin, consciously or not, shift his bear body to engulf you a little more. Although a frame of that size is awkward to manoeuvre, he tries to fit his body around your curled-up physique. If it wasn't for the absolutely crushing weight of his wildshape form, Halsin would probably lay himself on top of you to satiate his desire to take care of you.

For the first time in long weeks, snuggled up to a snoring bear, you feel content and safe.

___

I have thought about having a nap with bear Halsin like two weeks ago and that thought has not left ever since. Actually, I think it's already built a house in my head.

[acradelius]

"Incoming Video Message"

KINKTOBER POST #1 / #16

FANDOM: Call of Duty - Modern Warfare (2019-2023)

PAIRING: Johnny "Soap" MacTavish x Female! Reader, Simon "Ghost" Riley x Female! Reader, Johnny "Soap" Mac Tavish x Female! Reader x Simon "Ghost" Riley

SUMMARY: While having some downtime on a mission Soap proceeds to check his phone, seeing that he has some incoming video messages from his best friend, Simon, who's on a break from missions. Let's just say that Simon's been taking good care of Johnny's woman while he's been away.

RATING: Lemon [🟡] - (NSFW!)

WARNINGS / MENTION OFS: MINORS DO NOT INTERACT WITH (MDNI), Established Relationship Between Johnny And Reader, Non-Established Relationship Between Simon and Reader, Non-Established Relationship Between Johnny and Simon, Non-Established Relationship Between Johnny, Reader, And Simon (They All Consider Themselves In A Relationship With Each Other Eitherway), Downtime Mission! Johnny, Off Mission! Simon, Singular Masturbation, Partial Exhibitionism, Voyeurism, Lewd Media Content, Groping, Oral Sex - Receiving! Simon, / Giving! Reader, Top!/Dom-ish! Simon, Bottom! Reader, Unmentioned Switch! Johnny, Unprotected Sex, Unprotected P in V, Spanking, Hair Pulling, Unprotected Creampie - Giving! Simon / Receiving! Reader, Cum Fetish, Cum Digesting, etc.

WORD COUNT: 1,816 Words (Not Including Images)

TAGLIST: @masterofpuns

(If you'd like to be tagged for all posts, certain fandom posts, or certain character posts then feel free to message me!)

He had almost forgotten about how boring downtime could be during these missions. 

Being on unaccompanied missions didn’t happen as often these days since Johnny had been within the ranks of being a Sergeant within Task Force 141, but it still occasionally happened. Yeah, there were certain segments of being physically alone during missions, but he never was truly alone during those moments. Typically, Laswell or Price would either be on the other end of communications, and that someone else would be meeting up with him to initiate the next part of whatever plan was next. 

Usually, it would be Simon. 

Simon wasn’t here though. 

Johnny hadn’t encountered anyone else within the safehouse that he was temporarily staying at, at least till morning, but nor was he informed if anyone else might be showing up as well. Not that he would necessarily go out of his way to be making a new friend, maybe just some small talk in order to pass the time till he fell asleep. 

There wasn’t much to actually do within the safehouse itself, and right now it was far too risky to actually go out and spend a couple of hours occupying time with something. While there was a television it was something of an ancient piece of technology, which probably only showed local, over the air channels which would bore him almost immediately. The radio had been ransacked for parts and batteries quite some time ago, and the books were worn and torn, probably had sections of them missing as well. Even the break rooms back on base had much more for entertainment than this safehouse did, even if Johnny was only going to be staying for a couple of hours. 

Bzz. Bzz. 

Oh, that’s right. 

There was his work phone within his back pocket. 

Initially, Johnny had forgotten about the phone that typically lingered within his back pocket, seeing that it’s primary use was supposed to be for work purposes only. Yet, it seemed that whatever was on the device was going to be the sole entertainment opportunity for the night, and at this point he would take it. Waking up the phone doesn’t take much more than a press of a button and then a mere password, bringing him to the main interface. There’s that little thing that proceeds to catch his eye, that little, red circle on the right corner of the mail icon, the number one practically burning into his retinas. 

Could it possibly be a message regarding the mission? 

Could it possibly be a message about some special going on from some restaurant he had ordered from earlier in the day? (Don’t tell the higher ups about that, Johnny hates when they put their damned parental locks on the phone.) 

To his surprise, or possibly not, it’s actually a text message from Simon. 

Johnny eyebrows raise as he sees the prompts to download the videos, the man considering himself quite intrigued now. Simon was always a man of words in person rather than over text, but he definitely wasn’t a photogenic person, which is what causes curiosity to creep up within his mind. If Simon was sending him something over the phone, especially videos after Johnny mentioning his missus, then this must have been something good. 

His finger couldn’t hit that download prompt much faster than it had. 

‘Sendin’ this ta’ Johnny.’ 

Simon’s voice could be heard clearly once the video had begun being played, sending shivers coursing straight down Johnny’s spine. He had to adjust himself on that small, worn couch within the living room of the safehouse, already starting to unbuckle and unzip his pants. Johnny was well aware that he himself was quite easy to exhilarate, and knowing that Simon and (Y/N) both involved, he was definitely going to be in for a ride. 

‘Hiya, baby!~ Miss ya’ so much!~’ 

Pausing the video for a moment to place a kiss upon the missus' beautiful face. 

‘Hope you’re keeping yourself safe out there!~ Simon’s been keeping me company!~ Good company, of course!~’ 

There’s some teasing aspects to the first video, subtle but noticeable enough for Johnny, but it’s tame for the most part. It’s a cute outing between the two, essentially a date if it’s to be described as anything else, between Simon and (Y/N). (Y/N)’s wearing that endearing sundress that she had bought on the previous shopping trip, the one that’s extremely low cut from the top and high riding from the bottom, Johnny hasn’t had the pleasure of getting to see it in person yet. Throughout the video there’s times where whenever (Y/N) would bend over or purposely lift the bottom of her dress up slightly that Simon would zoom in, sometimes even catching a peek of some lacy, white panties. Other times it would be Simon pressing her up against a wall wherever they happened to be at, bringing a large hand to grope at one her breasts or having his hand trailing up her thigh and underneath her dress. 

‘Be a good girl and flash those new piercings of yours to the camera, sweetheart. Show Johnny-boy what’s waiting for him once he gets back home.’ 

‘Yes, sir. Johnny, look at how cute my nipple piercings are~ Maybe we could look into getting my clit pierced next?~’

Johnny doesn’t want to end up finishing too quickly, that would ultimately ruin it for him, especially since he hasn’t even viewed the second video yet and he’s sure that there’s definitely going to be some delicious jerk-off material within it. 

His grip around the shaft has tightened, causing a shiver of pleasure to course down his spine while his hips involuntarily buck up. “Ohh, fuck~” His stroking speed being leisurely, making sure to drag along the veins of his erect cock up to that burning, red tip where he would tease himself by brushing the buildup of precum across it, and using it as lube for the rest of his cock. 

The second video was longer than the first video, but Johnny definitely didn’t mind. As a matter of fact, the longer the better. It gave Johnny the challenge to see how long he could last while watching his two favorite people in the world with each other. It made him more enthusiastic to get back home. Pressing the play button upon the screen he’s met with such a beautiful sight. A sight that he would never be able to get tired of, that would be able to get his cock hard and throbbing at any second of the day, no matter where he was or what he was doing. Those pretty eyes looking up into the camera through fluttering eyelashes, a gentle grip as the bottom of her dress is gripped within both hands, lips pursed and glistening from the saliva continuously coats them from bobbing her head. 

(Y/N) looks absolutely gorgeous being on her knees while sucking Simon’s cock. 

‘Johnny’s taught you quite well, hasn’t he, love? Using that pretty mouth of yours so well.’ 

‘Mmph!~ Johnny’s such a good- uhmm, mmph!~’

‘Didn’t give you permission to speak, love. Especially considering that I’ve got you busy with my cock in your mouth.’

Johnny’s thumb briefly brushes against the phone screen as he adjusts himself on the couch once again, causing the video to skip forward a couple of minutes. What he was seeing was an absolute tease, but also an absolute heaven. How such an obscene noise of skin slapping against skin was blaring through the phone speaker as Johnny watched Simon manhandle his cock in and out of his girlfriend, watching the plush flesh of her ass and hips bounce with every collision of Simon’s hips against her backside. How (Y/N)’s hands were tightly fisting the loose sheets underneath them, face buried into the pillows. Even then, Johnny could still clearly hear the loud moans and occasional shrieks that left her lips, those words of completely being in the grasp of pleasure. 

‘M-Mm, fuck!~ T-Too much, Si!~ Too much!~’ 

‘You can handle it, love. I know for sure that you can handle my big, thick cock. Taking it slow, taking it rough, taking it anyway that I want you to take it.’ 

Simon’s hand gracefully travels across the supple skin of (Y/N)’s ass, chuckling softly at her reaction of letting out a squeal of surprise as his hand collides with the flesh of her ass, giving a squeeze before proceeding to spank her once again. Squeezing the flesh of her ass is soon replaced with his hand slowly trailing up her back, thumb brushing against the structure of her spine, (Y/N)’s hips bucking up against him, until she’s forced to arch her back as Simon roughly grabs at her hair and pulls her head back. 

‘Simon, gonna cum!~ W-Wanna cum!~ Please, please, please!-’ 

‘Uh uh. There’s someone else that you need permission from to cum.’

‘J-Johnny, please!~ Please, can I cum?~ N-Need to cum, want to cum!~ Gonna cum, gonna cum, gonna cum!-’ 

It was absolutely beautiful watching her unravel due to the intense orgasm that Simon had withdrawn from her, and in some aspects, Johnny did as well. That soft cry that escapes past her lips while her eyes briefly roll back, a hand pressing back against Simon’s abdomen to get him to slow down. Yet, it proves to be fruitless, whatever words that Simon was speaking not clearly being picked up from the phone video, until his body takes up most of the view, his loud voice echoing throughout the living room of the safehouse. 

‘FUCK! TAKE MY FUCKIN’ CUM, LOVE! FUCKIN’ TAKE IT!’ 

Johnny’s breath becomes hitched within his throat at the next sight that causes his mouth to water, how the camera pans down from (Y/N)’s pleasure contorted face down to her messy cunt, Simon using two of his fingers to push apart the outer labias to reveal his thick cum slowly dripping from her and landing on the sheets below. ‘What a waste,’ Johnny thinks to himself briefly, wishing that he was home so he could clean up both of his girlfriend and his best friend, to enjoy the taste of them amongst his tongue, a taste that only he would be rewarded with out of all people. 

It’s the clear visual and imagining the taste upon his tongue that brings Johnny to his own orgasm, hips bucking sporadically while the pace of him stroking his cock becomes sloppy and erratic as well. “Fuckin, hell!” He groans out, head falling back while his eyes briefly close, cum spurting in thick stands across his lower abdomen and some upon his chest. He’s a damn fiend, Johnny is, gathering an abundance upon his fingers and bringing it to brush against his tongue. A soft chuckle, he finally begins to text Simon back.