#his side profile is chiseled by gods

[kiuruthings]

[hunkpossession0]

Stealing my former high school bully’s body was so easyyy. Look, now I am hot, and the best part is that I’m gay.

I leaned back in the plush leather seat of his—no, my—new car, savoring the feeling of power. God, I’d waited so long for this. All those years of torment, the sneers, the shoves into lockers, the homophobic slurs... they were all a distant memory now, fading away like smoke. The only thing that mattered was this body I was now inhabiting, perfectly sculpted and oozing confidence.

I smirked at the reflection in the rearview mirror. His—my—strong jawline, the chiseled features that had made everyone swoon, and those piercing blue eyes that used to look down on me with contempt were now mine to control. And control them I would.

The plan had come to me after a particularly rough night, one too many drinks mixed with the lingering bitterness of my high school years. I’d always been obsessed with the idea of revenge, but not the kind that left scars. I wanted something deeper, more satisfying. I wanted to become him. To live the life he’d never appreciated and do it better.

It wasn’t hard to find a spell. You’d be surprised at how many dark corners of the internet are devoted to body swapping. A few emails, a payment sent in crypto, and a strange-looking amulet later, I was ready. The ritual was simple enough—though it took a lot of concentration. But the moment I slipped it around his neck while he slept, it was over in seconds. I woke up in his bed, in his skin, and he… well, I don’t know where he is now. I like to imagine he’s trapped somewhere, conscious of what’s happening but completely powerless.

The first thing I did was check myself out in the mirror—really take in everything I’d just acquired. This body wasn’t just hot; it was perfect. Years of disciplined workouts, clean eating, and who knows what else had transformed him into someone who looked like they walked straight off a magazine cover.

Actually, make that literally off a magazine cover. I found a stack of fashion magazines under his bed with his stupidly gorgeous face plastered on them. He’d somehow turned his pretty-boy looks and gym rat habits into a full-fledged modeling career. I guess that explained the ridiculous number of selfies on his phone, each one showing off a different outfit or a perfectly timed flex in front of the mirror.

So yeah, I wasn’t giving up the gym. If anything, I was leaning into it. It’s not like I had to do much to maintain this body—he’d already done the hard work, and now I was reaping the benefits. I still hit the gym daily, if only to flex for the mirrors and admire my reflection. The attention I get now is incredible, and the best part is, I can be shameless about it.

Of course, I couldn’t wait to see what Grindr was like from this side of things. Installing the app was the first thing I did once I figured out the password to his phone. The moment I uploaded a shirtless pic, the notifications started rolling in—an endless stream of thirsty messages. Guys were practically lining up for a chance with me, throwing compliments, and I have to admit, I loved every second of it.

I’d spend hours swiping through profiles, chatting up whoever caught my eye. The way people reacted to me now was night and day compared to before. No more awkward small talk, no more second-guessing myself. I could tell someone to meet me at the gym just to watch me lift, and they’d show up without hesitation.

And the best part? I’ve started getting more gigs, just from a few posts on social media showing off his—no, my—body. Modeling agencies are all about that lean muscle, those killer cheekbones, that smirk that could melt anyone on the other end of the camera. He’d never really appreciated what he had, but I’m about to take this career to the next level. I’ve already got a photoshoot lined up for some luxury brand—an easy way to rake in the cash while showing off.

His—my—Instagram is blowing up too. I’m always in the gym, flexing and posting thirst traps for the masses. The likes pour in, and the comments? They’re pure gold. People are practically worshipping me, and I’ve only just begun. This body was wasted on him, but now that it’s mine, I’m going to enjoy every moment of it.

Every time I flex, every time I see a new message pop up on Grindr, it’s a reminder of just how sweet this revenge is. Not only did I take his body, but I’m living his life better than he ever could. I’m hotter, more confident, and finally free to be myself in the best possible way.

This is just the beginning.

[worlds-worst-ships]

After somewhat popular demand... here is an absolutely obscene fanfiction I wrote in 2021. This will either go down great, or horribly.

*BEEP**BEEP**BEEP**BEEP*

How exciting. My alarm clock, once again, is going off right next to my head. Using my genius level ingenuity, I put four alarm clocks on my bedside table, all of which have a different unique design to them, forcing me to wake up and sort through each one until I turn the offending alarm clock off. I have my boyfriend set them for me, and this time he seems to have gone with the clock that has Hannah Montana's face plastered all over it. How very empowering. While still dazed, I groggily picked it up and knuckleballed it against the wall, obliterating it into a thousand pieces, as a real man would. 

"I'm sorry Hannah, but as empowering to me as you are, you've got nothing on Bo Peep from Toy Story."

"Babe, I swear to god, if you destroy another alarm clock, my wife's boyfriend is gonna kill me... he only gives me five dollars of allowance a month, I theoretically can't keep replacing your alarm clocks" said a softy, nasally voice from behind me.  

Of course... how could I forget? My boyfriend Ben was asleep right next to me. I felt bad. I knew he was always replacing the countless alarm clocks that I destroyed, but eventually, Chad was going to catch on and send him to his room with no dinner and no Fortnite for a week. Such a cruel man... A cruel, chiseled, strong, gorgeous unit of a man. Chad, Ben's wife's boyfriend... God, I wish I could leave Ben for him, but Chad would absolutely pop my skull like a grape between his mighty pectorals. I am not worthy. Thus, I turned to Ben and asked: 

"Today is the day. Are you ready?"

"Yeah.. yeah, I am" he replied, a confident look sweeping over his face. 

"Whats the name of the place you're getting it done again?" I asked

"Uhhh... Claire's, I think? I mean, I saw on a conservative Facebook page that thats where people usually go to get the surgery. The guy had a MAGA hat and a beer in his profile picture, and he works at a junk yard, so he must know what he's talking about" said Ben, climbing out of bed and putting on his spray-on jeans. "Hurry up and get dressed, we have to leave in an hour."

Yeah... today was the day that Ben would get his top surgery. I was so proud of him for getting one step closer to completing his transition. I know that Chad would just flick him in the chest, break all of his ribs instantly, and tell him to get back to raising his Chad-babies while he ate metal and drank beer, but I was going to support him all the way through. In the least gay way possible... I love him. Chad, not Ben. I actually hate Ben. He's so annoying, never just saying what he thinks, always saying "hypothetically" and dumb shit like that before everything. What an annoying little prick. If I didn't get views from his fans, I'd dump him straight away and stop agreeing with everything he says. 

"Alright, alright" I said, flicking through my side of the closet, looking for the best possible outfit to suit the situation. Hmmm... the closet.... it looks very comfy in there. I'd love to climb in and stay there forever to hide from my support group, but that would be the easy way out. So, after a minute or so, I chose the cutest floral blouse, some jean shorts that really hugged my glutes, some platform boots and a floppy brimmed straw hat adorned with fake flowers. I thought about using real flowers, but thats way too girly, which is offensive to my masculinity. 

After a breakfast of lucky charms, raw eggs and a whole turnip, Ben called us an Uber and we got ready to set off for Claire's. 

"Steven... I'm scared." Said Ben, tightly squeezing my hand. 

"Hey, hey, hey... whats the worst that could happen?" I said, forcing a confident smile. "It'll be fine! I'm here with you!" 

"You just ate a whole raw turnip five minutes ago Steven, I, in theory, highly doubt I can rely on you in the worst case theoretical scenario" said Ben in a snarky tone.

I nearly picked Ben up and Rikishi'd him through the front porch for that little comment, but then I remembered who the top was in this relationship... Chad. I'd be in big, big trouble if Ben came home with a porch wrapped around his neck. Either way, the Uber, who was interestingly named Guiseppe, arrived to pick us up.

"MAMA MIA!!! Look at the glutes on that thing!! My Grandma has made PIZZA DOUGH thats not as thick as that!!!" Guiseppe yelled, slapping his thigh and starting a small fire in the front seat, gesturing to me and saying "Come bay-bee, put it out for me"

I was extremely confused. Guiseppe was an extremely... "forward" man. I certainly didn't want to put a fire out with my dump truck of a batty crease, but at the same time, I desperately wanted to go off on him for harassing me and go on a tangent about how men deserve better than to be treated like this by Italian taxi drivers every day. But then I realised that I'm full of shit, and that I know I'm not actually a victim because this has never actually happened to me, and I climbed in the trunk instead with Ben tightly squeezed under my armpit. Then we felt the car start moving. 

"Steven... Why are we in the trunk?" asked Ben. 

"Well, thats because it's pointless trying to make myself a victim since I'm really not that bothered by it and we're not on camera anyways, and if the fire burns my booty, how will I ever please Chad?" I replied

"How will you... what?" Ben inquired in a serious tone

"Oh, uh, nothing, babe" I said, blushing as the thought of Chad running a rocket on my hips and confining me to a wheelchair forever. 

"Oh, fair enough." said Ben, letting out one of the loudest burps I've ever heard in my life. Then something hit me. 

Do I smell... turnips? Has that little pixie shit been eating my turnips?!

In a rage, I flung open the trunk, grabbed Ben by the head, and yelled an order at Guiseppe. 

"DO SOME DONUTS!! DO SOME DONUTS!!" 

And Guiseppe did so. As we spun around, I shoved Ben's face into the road below, grinding his entire upper body down to nothing. It looked like someone smeared tomato puree all over the concrete. Ben was reduced to an ass and a pair of legs. Sorta like this. 

"Hows that for top surgery, you turnip-stealing fuck?" I yelled at Ben's now burnt behind, spitting into what remained of his spinal cord. 

Then, as if on cue, Ben's remains bubbled and expanded, and he reformed into his original shape, and looked me in the eyes as if he'd just woken up. 

"What happened?" he asked. 

"What the-"

I was amazed. I'd just turned Ben into pizza sauce and he just grew back like a zit during high school. 

"I think my brain got destroyed, so I lost some of my memory. What happened?" He asked, scratching his new head. "Oh I should mention, I have Resident Evil powers, since this is an ideal world, and the creator wanted to add in a hilarious moment where you turned the freeway into a bloody pizza by grinding someone down to nothing. Is that what happened?"

Regaining my senses, I said "No, I just farted and you passed out from it. See? you can smell the turnips."

"Oh, ok, cool." said Ben, nestling back into my armpit. "do you think you have regenerative powers too? You should get top surgery right after me and find out. Although I heard they're a one-time thing, so be careful."

Unwilling to find out, I stayed silent for the remainder of the journey until we felt the car come to a violent halt. Turns out Guiseppe decided to drive his car through the doors to the mall, and park right outside Claire's. 

"Finally!" we both said in unison, stepping out of the trunk. 

"You know, if you want to pay me, you could always let me get a lick of that dough ball behind, big boy" said Guiseppe. 

"No, I think I'm just going to leave and never talk to you again" I said, flipping Guiseppe off like a bad boy. I should really film a 'why do good girls like bad guys' TikTok after that one.

In the chaos of the crash, it would seem that all but one of a group of protestors were reduced to paste under the car. The one remaining, a soccer mom looking woman with a scowl on her face, stood up, dusted herself off, and looked at us in disgust.

"You'd better not be going in there" she hissed, pointing at Claire's. "you know they operate on kids in there, right? You know they mutilate kids? You know they manipulate young girls into getting their bodies ruined forever??" 

I walked over to the door, gestured to a 'no kids allowed' sign and said "Bitch, please. Show me some proof". 

"Whatever. I'm still right. Have a nice day. I'm nice really, even though I'm not. Trust me." she said, rolling her eyes and turning away with no proof to give. "You guys are just... I dunno, sexist or something, I really don't feel like putting actual effort into finding an appropriate buzz word to call you."

Then what she did next will haunt me for the rest of my days. 

She knelt down and... picked up her picket sign. But... how?!

She's a woman... how could she be so strong?? That power... in a woman's body... anything heavier than a cooking pot should be impossible!!!

"Who... who are you?? Who the heck are you???" I yelled

"Arielle. Ally to trans people, and supporter of having their healthcare rights taken, supporter of groups that hate them, and supporter of authors who write uninformed bullshit books on them, as well as long-time transphobe. I love trans people! I just show no respect for them and block people who call me out unless they have followers. I'm so nice! Wanna try my apple crumble? Don't worry, saying I support them immediately erases anything bad I've said or done to them. Jeez, isn't the existence of Bon Ninary people so sexist? I'm only saying that because I feel personally attacked that female-bodied people anywhere are becoming trans rather than dating me, because I'm entitled to that, but yknow. Hmmm, I wonder why so many people hate me... Oh well. I'm a genius. I'm gonna go cry into a frozen microwave meal for one now."

While I wasn't surprised that a woman had just said something stupid and oxymoronic, being as I love looking down on them, I was surprised at her insane power. I... I had to fight her. 

But then I remembered that I'm not on camera, realised I don't actually think like that, and walked into Claire's. Jeez, I really need to grow up. 

The room we were in was... strange. There were way too many cameras. I mean, of course everywhere has cameras, but this many? There were even some on the floor aiming upwards... lucky I didn't wear my favourite skirt! That would be extremely gay and stupid and probably lower my strength stat by a few hundred points. 

We walked past the ear piercing section, and straight through the black curtain at the back to the surgical department. 

Ben's hand clasped mine even tighter, as if to say "daddy, I'm scared". But I know he wouldn't be stupid enough to show me any fear, unless he wants to be evaporated into nothing but an ass and some legs again. Stupid boy. Be a real man. Pathetic. 

Once we entered the lobby, things just got stranger. There were even more cameras, and the windows almost seemed... fake. Nonetheless, we approached the front desk where a rather snooty looking young man was sitting watching a lacrosse game on his phone. I almost wanted to tell him to stop pouting and flexing, but I felt like he was on the cusp of a meltdown if I offered him any sort of criticism. We stood there awkwardly for a moment in the silence of the lobby, where only the three of us and a man hidden behind a newspaper were sat, until Ben broke the silence.

"Um... excuse me?" he stammered

"Holy shit, you're fat and ugly" said the receptionist, looking up from his phone. "Why do you look like your wife has a boyfriend who treats you like a son? You look so stupid. Jeez. Probably a trender."

Blown away from his rudeness, I grabbed him by the collar and stood up, dangling him like a saveloy on a fishing hook. I looked him dead in the eyes, and spoke from the heart. 

"Listen here you antagonistic little cretin, if you ever talk to my boyfriend like that again, I'm going to fold you into a paper cup and drink from you on my podcast where I talk about things I don't understand, got it, you soggy onion boy?"

Seeing that I wasn't a 13 year old non binary kid on TikTok, or someone with half the testosterone he has, he backed down with nothing to say like a rat retreating into a hole. That was... way easier than I thought. Looking at his name tag as I dropped him into the waste paper basket by his desk, I saw his name was Kalvin. 

"So, uh... I have an appointment" said Ben. 

Kalvin pressed three buttons on his keyboard, and then reached under his desk and dumped what looked like a crate of milk bottles in front of us. 

"Um... what?" I said, puzzled. 

"There you go" Kalvin said, his eyes flicking back and forth from the security camera above his desk. 

"Explain, you wet flannel" I demanded 

"Oh, do you want me to actually organise a boxing match with you that I will totally train for and turn up to?" he spat back at me.

"Listen, Mr Inferiority Complex, I'm not a tween non binary TikTok user with no fight experience and less than a third of your testosterone, you're not gonna lay a finger on me you fucking pathetic clown cunt, even if there was someone who would actually take you seriously enough to organise a fight sports event for a sack of shit like you, you wouldn't even train properly for it you baton-wielding prick, so stick to your little games of lacrosse where you get ten times the protective gear you do in boxing anyways and explain why you've just put this in front of me before I fucking wrap the front door around your skull, alright you soft little sugarplum fairy wannabe tough guy dickhead?" I said, while menacingly flexing my muscles under my floral blouse.  

"Its testosterone" said Kalvin, on the verge of tears after being stood up to by someone his own size. 

While I was baffled that anyone actually found a sensitive little softie like me intimidating, now I was even more confused.

"But I didn't come here for testosterone, I came here for top surgery" said Ben. 

Kalvin leaned in, beckoned us closer, and whispered to us:

"Listen... I know this makes no sense. Literally no clinic anywhere gives out cross-sex hormones this fast. But thats not what *they* believe, and if *they* see me making realistic choices when dealing with trans clients, they'll stab me" he whispered in a shaky voice.

"You are beyond useless. Why are you even doing this?" Said Ben.

"Look, I get it, I'm trans too, I know I'm full of shit. But what matters is that *they* think I'm normal." he replied.

"Who's 'they'?" I asked

But before I could press him further, Kalvin backed off and said loudly "Anyways... since you're a girl, we can't give you the surgery. You girl. Stupid, weak, pathetic girl who listens to people on the internet. But we're libtards, so we're gonna give you the surgery anyways, because we like blending children!" he obnoxiously yelled, winking at the nearest camera.  

"Oh, Kalvin..." said a nearby voice in an Italian accent. "You know there are laws preventing people from getting hormones within 24 hours. You know that nobody is stealing your resources. And you know that gender expression and gender identity are different things. I thought law students were supposed to be smart."

We all turned around to see the man with the newspaper stand up, only to realize it was...Guiseppe? 

Mama mia! What a plot twist!

"G-Guiseppe??" Kalvin gasped. "But... I thought you were dead!"

"Oh Kalvin, sending a few angsty teens over to spam in my comments may be enough to defeat a child, but I'm Guiseppe. I'm not even supposed to be here." 

Then he turned around and left, after slapping Kalvin with his newspaper and starting small fires in each and every chair in the room. 

"Arriverderci, bitch" Said Guiseppe, flipping us all off and walking straight through the glass door, leaving a trail of blood down the street as he tossed bricks of cheese at the police officers chasing him. 

After that weird little episode, Kalvin ushered us down a corridor and into another room where a nurse put Ben into a hospital gown, which offended me because I wanted her to touch me instead, and then told us to wait. 

Then the doctor came in. And hooooooly smokes... Chad who??

"Hello there, I'm perfectly normal doctor Blaire and I believe I'm performing a top surgery later today? " She said in a voice that turned my legs to jelly. 

There was something about this woman... something that just made me obsessed with her. Something that just made me want to grab her and stuff her in my tighty-whities. I just couldn't get over how hot I found her. 

"Uh, yes, thats right, on me." Said Ben. 

"Nervous? You fucking should be, you she-girl" responded the doctor

She just misgendered my boyfriend right in front of me, but I didn't care. I was pitching a tent like my shorts were a homeless colony just from looking at her. But... why? She looks like literally every popular girl that struggled to stay popular after graduation. Like, I could scrape a carbon copy of her off the streets of LA. Why do I find her so attractive??

"But yeah, anyways, don't worry, I totally care about you, you're gonna be fine. I'm trans too, so I definitely understand the struggle." she said with a definitely not fake smile. 

Then it hit me. Trans. That was it. Thats why I was feeling such a desperate urge to squeeze one out then and there right in front of her. All over her definitely not disingenuous face. 

She walked out of the room, and I finally took a breath. Then, ten or so minutes later, the nurse came back wheeled Ben into the operating theater. 

The walls were very clearly made of cardboard, and the doctor's desk was shoddily thrown together. Thats when I noticed... there was a picture with her and a man on the desk. 

"Hey, I know him!" I said. "Isn't he a member of the KKK? You seem pretty cosy with him. I mean, nothing he does really effects me, so in order to appeal to people in the same boat, I can't say anything about him, but thats a very nice picture!"

"Oh, yeah, totally" said doctor Blaire, adjusting one of the sixteen security cameras in the room. Seriously, what is with those cameras? 

"Now, Ben..." she said, walking over to Ben, who was looking like a stupid little fucking sardine in his hospital gown. "Do you want the regular top surgery, or the really good conservative top surgery?" 

"Conservative...top...surgery?" said Ben, raising his shitty eyebrows. Bitch needs some work done, fr fr. 

"Oh, yes. Its really really good. I promise. Its just as good as the regular one." 

She seemed to be shaking and stammering, so I spoke up. 

"Okay, this is weird. Like, seriously weird. Why are there so many cameras? Why is your office made of cardboard?" 

"Ah-ah!" She said, moving closer to us. Then from under her doctor coat, she pulled out... a gun?!?

"You want the conservative top surgery, riiiight?" she said, doing that stupid fucking fake smirk she does. But make no mistake, I'm a chaser, I give zero fucks. 

"Y...yes!" squealed Ben. 

"Thats right. At least I can tell who the top is here." she said, gleefully. 

"Its me" said Ben

"Oh, right, yeah, sure" said Blaire. 

Thats when I noticed... the poster on her wall that I previously thought said 'live, laugh, love' actually said 'If he ain't aryan, I ain't marryin''. And in the desk drawer... was that... a confederate flag?? And a badge that says "I'm latina and proud"??? This bitch is CRAAAZY!!

Before I could call her out, she grabbed both me and Ben, pulled us close, and spoke as if she was terrified of something. 

"Listen... I'm here to sell you out. Yeah. I'm trans. But thats some scary shit. I need to get as cosy as possible with the far right so that when they kill trans people, at lease I MIGHT survive. Yeah, I'm a sellout, yeah, I'm a coward, and yeah they will most likely hurt me anyways, but I don't care. I'll be their token invite. I'll lick their boots. They taste great. I love it. The attention feels great. I've lied, cheated and betrayed my people to save myself, but so what? Terfs are very supportive when you're on their good side. So sit there like a good little twink and fucking enjoy the surgery."

Quick as a flash, she glided over to a nearby cupboard and pulled out... a lawnmower?? 

"ALRIGHT! THIS IS A PERFECTLY NORMAL SCHEDULED TOP SURGERY THAT WE DEFINITELY DO TO CHILDREN! LOOK!"

And then the machine descended onto Ben's chest. 

"IN THEORYYYYYYYYYYY-" Ben screamed, as he was blended like a milkshake in a diner. After a few seconds, the surgery was over. all that was left of Ben was a perfectly presented bowl of spaghetti bolognese. 

"Wow, for once in his life, he actually looks kinda delicious..." I muttered

"YOU SEE? THIS IS WHAT THEY DO TO CHILDREN! YOU WERE RIGHT!! LOOK!! I'M NORMAL!!! I'M ON YOUR SIDE!! THE ONLY WAY TO SAVE THESE PEOPLE IS TO TAKE AWAY THEIR HEALTHCARE RIGHTS!!!" screamed Blaire, into one of the cameras. 

Thats when it happened. 

The walls... they collapsed. Revealing a huge audience of thousands and thousands of people. All of them, screaming like animals. MAGA hats, confederate flags, and inbreeding as far as the eye could see. There was so much stupidity in front of me that I forgot my own name. Sven? Sven Coward? Sven Chaser? Ah fuck it, who cares, I'm just a hilarious embodiment of a venomous content genre anyways. My boyfriend is a dinner. I'm surrounded by idiots. Life is good. 

"Do you see? I'm just like you! Please don't hurt me! I'm one of the normal ones! Please, use me as your scapegoat!" the doctor continued to screech. 

But her cries were in vain. The mob of zombies were upon her in seconds, devouring her while ensuring to use proper cutlery, because they might be transphobic, but at least they use a knife and fork. 

And that was it. That was what happened. What the hell was that? 

[spades4cards]

𝐂𝐡𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐚𝐧

3 Hours Earlier

Sunlight seeped through the windows and roused me from my sleep. There was something warm beside me and when I looked down, it was exactly who I wanted to be there. Y/n lay there, a puddle of drool beside her mouth as her hair fell in messy circles around her. The image of her in my bed made me remember last night, which I regretted doing when my morning wood got even worse. Having your secretary get you hard was not a very good trait of a boss, but I would give up major investments for that sweet pussy again. I took an ice-cold shower to try to make it easier to ignore the horny bastard in between my legs and got dressed. Y/n is apparently a heavy sleeper because she didn't stir at all; her soft snores did hitch, though.

I looked over to where she was sleeping one more time before going to my desk and starting my work. The morning was filled with finding intel on the traitor. Meetings, data, evidence, extra security checks; whatever we could do to find them. We were going slow. Slow wasn't going to work. I was going to find the traitor, and I was going to make them suffer.

But who the fuck was it?

𝐑𝐞𝐚��𝐞𝐫

It was 8:45 a.m. and work started at 9:00 a.m., but I couldn't bring myself to care. I felt like I was in shock for an eternity. It's okay, it was just a one-night thing: I repeated the mantra several times until I mustered up the courage to wash my face and put on my undergarments. I didn't know where my clothes were, so I was going to ask Christian, but Christian was outside taking a meeting and if I came out of his bedroom, I was sure the employer could piece two and two together. His meeting ended around an hour earlier, but I only peered out of his bedroom door just in case.

I caught a glimpse of his side profile. His chiseled jawline was accentuated as he gritted his teeth (which meant he was frustrated), his masculine nose sloped and his olive skin shone in the sunlight. His whiskey eyes caught mine, and my breath hitched. He stopped gritting his teeth; it was a small action, one I wouldn't have noticed before if it wasn't for his words playing in my mind since when he spoke them:

"I liked you- no, I was fucking obsessed with you as soon as you stepped foot in my office and I swear to god hiring you was the biggest mistake because ever since I did it's only you running through my mind and blocking all my focus."

"You can come out now, y/n," It felt odd hearing his voice after last night.

I came out, clad in undergarments, and awkwardly walked to his desk.

"Um, where are my clothes?" I never thought I'd ask my boss that, but here we are.

"They're in my room folded in the first drawer of the left-side nightstand."

When I reached halfway to his room, the sound of his office doorknob twisting came from outside the room and I sprinted to the door. I tripped and fell after I reached inside which I would've been grateful for if my ankle hadn't hurt so much that I had to put my hand over my mouth to stifle my whimper of pain. I gathered the rest of my dignity and strength to crawl to the drawer and shimmy in my clothes. Of course, since life hated my guts, I got stuck putting on my blouse after I spontaneously convinced myself I could put it on without unbuttoning anything. Christian, who must've sensed something was off after I didn't come out, knocked on the door. I tried to say I was fine, but my voice was muffled by my clothes.

Creaaak...

Out of all of my embarrassing experiences, this was the top three. Christian came in, his presence taking over the room and making everything else fade into the background. I could feel him kneel in front of me and slowly push my blouse down. After my clothes were fixed and I could finally see I realized how close he was. His lips were only an inch away from mine, and we both gazed at how close they were at the same time. I cleared my throat, and the delicate moment shattered at our feet, reminding us of everything we did do, and everything we didn't.

"Why are you on the floor?"

I had been so caught up in the moment I didn't realize I was still on the floor.

My face turned hot, "I tripped and fell."

He stayed silent as he gathered me in his arms, my legs around his waist, and his hands on my thighs just like they were last night. The memory shot lava through my veins, and I silently prayed he didn't feel the wetness in my panties. He lowered me to my desk, and not even The Flash couldn't close his legs as quickly as I did.

"Thanks," why don't they show the awkwardness after sleeping with your boss in all the office romance dramas?

"Not an issue," he said before walking out of the office and coming back five minutes later with an icepack.

I gratefully accepted before he walked to his desk, and that was the most we spoke. The rest of the day was pure silence except for handing over schedules and files for meetings.

"The files for your eight p.m. meeting, sir- uh, Mr. Harper."

"After the meeting, I'm giving you thirty minutes to get dressed," he said so abruptly I looked around the room for prank cameras.

There were none.

"Dressed for...?"

"Dinner at The Monarch," he said so casually I almost overlooked that he was taking me out to dinner.

"What do you mean?" I asked, baffled at his directness.

"I mean I'm taking you out for dinner."

"What if I decline?" I shot back; who just takes someone out without asking them?

"You're going to decline dinner at The Monarch?" He questioned, but I knew he was just being a sly bitch trying to bribe me with food and goddamn was it working.

"Give me at least an hour to get ready," I paused before continuing, "And what if someone sees us walk out together?" I could practically see the receptionist looking at us as we left and the gossip spreading like wildfire throughout the office.

I imagined my privacy sprawled on a newspaper: A Secretary at Harper Security Seduced her Boss for a Paycheck. My stomach twisted into a nasty knot and all the blood drained from my face.

"We'll go from the back; I'll make sure no one sees us."

"Okay..." Guess I was going on a date with my boss.

But I knew it was more than a date; we both knew it. Last night wasn't just sex, and we knew that too. Our attraction that simmered below the surface finally got acknowledged, but what if we doubt it and it erupts, leaving us to drown in our faults? And how was I supposed to drown with someone I betrayed?

Something tells me I should've never sold Scylla's blueprint, and that that singular decision would end me in the most painful way.

[nottyourlover]

Doofus (pt 2)

summary: you and azriel go on a date to the amusement park.

warnings: vomiting (motion sickness).

word count: 1540.

pt 1 here

As the clock approached 5, the pacing around the room quickened. Your converse scuffed the floor with every step you took, and as you reached the mirror that hung on the door, you stopped to look yourself over, before resuming the pacing. Why were you so nervous? You had hung out with Azriel a million times before, but maybe the word date was just messing you up. 

Then you hear it, the sound of the doorbell.

Grabbing your bag and checking that the essentials were inside, you race to the door, heart palpitating.

Breathless, you open it. Azriel had been to your apartment before, but this time, it felt different, and you could tell he was thinking it too, as his eyes darted around the entryway. 

“Hey,” you say, taking in his outfit and the bouquet of flowers he was clutching. Even when going to an amusement park, of course Azriel would still be dressed impeccably. 

“Hey, yourself,” Azriel replies, looking you over, eyes lingering. “You look great.”

“You’re not so bad yourself, Az,” you smile. 

“I got you these. You told me they were your favourites.”

And they were. He remembered. 

“They’re gorgeous, Azriel. Thank you.” you smile sweetly at him, smelling the flowers.

“You’re gorgeous.” Azriel replies quickly, his cheekbones flushing.

“Not even through my door and the flattery has already started?” you tease, feeling a warm sense of happiness through your body. “Thanks Az. Let me put these in a vase and then we’ll go, come inside.”

You hold the door for him and hum as you bring a vase out of the kitchen cabinet under the sink, registering him lean against the kitchen island, watching you. The vase was dusty from being unused and after rinsing, you filled it with water and the plant food before arranging the flowers just so. 

”I know how you are with plants. Try not to kill it too quick, y/n,” Azriel said, eyes still on you.

You laugh. “No promises.” This was by far the quietest the two of you had ever been while hanging out together, so maybe the nerves weren’t only affecting you. 

As per tradition, while in the elevator you snapped a quick picture of the two of you, reflected on the wall. Azriel crouched down, head on your shoulder while you beamed. 

“Look how adorable, Az,” you teased, zooming in on his face.

Azriel brushed a curl away from his forehead and rolled his eyes, wrapping his arms around you as you exited into the chilly night air. 

After that, the conversation flowed like normal. You got into his car, a Jaguar XE, and turned on his radio, the two of you singing along. Soon after, you were breathless from laughter, gazing out the window by Az’s head.

“You are too, you know?” you said suddenly.

“I’m what?”

“Gorgeous. You’re so pretty, Az, honest,” you smile at his side profile, admiring his chiseled bone structure and shining hazel eyes as the lights on the road reflected in them. 

You could’ve sworn his tan skin flushed, and you smiled to yourself, knowing you made him feel like that. Usually he was the flirtatious one, throwing bold comments around, but tonight felt different. 

The two of you joked about how nervous you were before but you promised mentally that you’d try your hardest to make it work, because god, you wanted to make it work. You talked about your parents, Azriel’s brothers, his grandmother, and how he’d been telling her about you. 

You’re a little shocked. “Your grandmother knows about me?” 

Azriel’s muscular arms grip the steering wheel tightly as he turns and you stop yourself from ogling further, it hadn’t even been 15 minutes since the date started!

“Of course she does. The day I met you, she said I looked like I had seen an angel, and she wasn’t far from the truth,” Azriel smiles softly. 

It used to baffle you, how he could just pull smooth lines like that out of nowhere, but it made you happier than you could admit, for you joked that his ego was big enough. 

You look at Azriel’s hand resting on his leg, and you crawl your fingers towards him, interlacing them, his thigh warm under your joined hands. You were on a date, you could do this now. 

“Your grandmother sounds lovely, Az. I told my friend Feyre about you, and she said she volunteers to be the preacher at our wedding,” you laugh, hoping the mention of marriage wouldn’t ruin the moment you were having.

To your delight, Azriel laughed loudly. You watched his Adam’s apple bob, his jawline, and your heart tugged. You couldn’t believe you were finally going out with him. 

A few minutes later, you were at your destination. Azriel expertly maneuvered the car into a tight parking space behind the amusement park. You could hear the shrill laughter of children, the sound effects from the games, smell the aroma from the food trucks, the sweet cotton candy. 

“Stay there,” Azriel said, getting out of the driver’s seat before walking around the car and opening your door.

“After you, princess,” he smiled, holding out a hand for you to grab. 

“Thank you,” you replied, your lips tilting up. 

Under the dusty pink sky, the two of you had the most fun in a while. You went on the Ferris wheel together, ate greasy burgers and buckets of fries, shared a massive cotton candy. You even won yourself a big turtle plushie, but its lopsided eyes and creepy mouth made both your stomachs hurt from laughing. Obviously, Tyrone the Turtle was your new favourite thing.

Afterwards, the two of you walked around the stalls, looking at the novelty prizes and taking in the other sights and sounds. 

“Oh yeah,” Azriel said, stopping abruptly. 

“No Az, no. No way.” Your eyes widened after seeing where he was pointing, grabbing his arm to tug him in the opposite direction, but to no one’s surprise, he didn’t budge. 

“Oh yes, y/n. I bet it’ll be fun!” His eyes lit up like a small child’s upon seeing the Haunted Horrors Mansion. Whose stupid idea was it to put up a haunted house in April anyway? 

“I bet it won’t,” you grumbled. “Since the Great Clown Catastrophe of 2011, I’ve sworn off haunted houses, you know this.”

“Ah, but back then you didn’t have me there to save you,” he flashed a grin, pulling you toward the entrance door.

***

“Well, that was traumatic,” you say drily. 

“It was,” Azriel agrees. “The worst haunted house I’ve ever been in.”

You glance at each other before cracking up.

In between laughs, you say, “I can’t believe the guy actually fell over trying to jumpscare us, Az.”

Azriel laughs louder, “He tripped on nothing! I bet I could be a better fake serial killer than him.”

“By charming pretty girls before luring them to your cabin in the woods? Sure.”

“How’d you guess?” 

“Because that would be my tactic too. Okay, well now we’ve done your thing so let’s do mine,” you smile deviously.

“Y/n, please tell me it’s not that crazy upside-down ride we saw,” Azriel pleaded.

“We’re going on the crazy upside-down ride!” You cheered. 

*** (tw: vomit)

The two of you stumbled out of your seats, collecting your bag. Going down the stairs felt like a mission.

“Az, that was traumatic. I didn’t think we’d be dangling for so long!” you say, clutching your stomach. 

Azriel steadies you, looking only half-sympathetic before asking, “With a name like Airtime, you thought it would be mellow?” 

“No, seriously. I think I’m going to be sick. Hold this!” You stuff your bag into Azriel’s arms and dart for the nearest bush. Azriel stays 5m behind you and winces when he hears you retching. Settling your stuff on a bench, he runs up to hold your hair back for you.

It was gross. The feeling of vomiting, your throat closing up, that awful smell, but you were glad Az was there. He cleared his throat, rubbing circles on your back with his free hand, muttering “good girl, you’re okay” and “take your time”. 

When you straighten up, he tucks your hair behind your ears, eyes scanning yours for any sense of remaining discomfort. 

“Poor plant,” you sniff.

“Yeah,” Az agrees.

Your smile is shaky, “Well, that was romantic.”

“You bet. You feeling alright now? Have some of my water.”

You take massive gulps, gargling the taste from your mouth. Eugh. Walking back to the bench, you pop a mint in your mouth and offer one to Azriel, who surprisingly takes it, though supposedly hating the taste. The two of you sit there in silence for a few minutes, taking in the moon’s glow, listening to the sounds coming from the carnival behind you. 

“What a way to end a date,” you say, smiling at him. 

Azriel smiles back, hesitating before asking, “The date’s over? I was hoping to get a kiss.”

“How can you even think about kissing me right now?” You gesture vaguely at the bush, turning your head so he doesn’t see your cheeks heat. 

Azriel answers honestly. “I always want to kiss you, y/n.” 

He leans in, and your lips meet. 

[stoptellinglieslois]

Principal of pleasure part 7

Spending time together Dick starts to have doubt about what he is doing with Clark which path it would them.

Superman and Nightwing Pairing

Dick

As I was on top of Clark I couldn’t believe I was having sex with him which it makes this moment ten times more intense.

I kissed him fiercely his mouth and lips tasted so good I needed his taste everyday.

The bed has been everything since I arrived all we did was have sex.

He was inside of me he is so big I had to take him I had no choice that’s what I agreed his dick is part of the package.

“God all I want is to be inside of you from the moment I first met you years ago.” Clark confesses while he was pumping inside of me, His words are music to my ears right now he wanted me for the longest time and that made me feel alive.

“Clark Yes me too I wanted you to.” I panted out my orgasm building up inside of me I rolled him on top of me now. 

As he bit my neck I moaned deep and desperate he knew my weakness now I couldn’t keep up with him I wanted him to ruin me. 

As his pace started to quicken I wouldn’t last either I came first all over my stomach. 

Clark came inside of me and we broke apart from each other and rolled on either side of the bed.

As I calm down I breathed and thought about how I didn’t tell Clark that Damian knows about us.

But I didn’t want him to be in the dark so now it’s two people how knows about me and Clark not good.

But I didn’t want any surprises for Clark if he ever met Damian face to face this was not good at all so he it’s better that he knows.

“Damian knows about us he texted me earlier and asked me where I was and how I was with and he sent a picture of my apartment, He knows it’s you he saw us last month at you’re place and he had on look his face and I knew he suspect something.” I said in one go and looked over at Clark his side profile was majestic all strong jaw and masculine bone structure like a chisel statue from a time long ago.

“But you assume he knows or he just flat out knows about us .” Clark's arms cross anger in his expression jaw tighten.

“He knows about us Clark I’m not assuming anything.” I said watching him I knew this would happen someone would find out about us but I was hoping it was not Damian.

“Let me call him.” 

“What no don’t call him he’s a kid look I don’t want to drag him into this I’m already hurting Barbra.” That triggered something inside of him like a switch as soon as I told him about Damian the switch went off.

“Listen I want to know what he knows we could just see if he will say anything to Jon or Lois Barbra this could be fixed but just let me talk to him.” I shook my head no. “This is out of the question Clark this would put more gasoline to the fire that we started.” I told him getting up wrapping myself with my burgundy towel feeling to hide myself.

“We need to fix this and we need to do it fast and the more you don’t let me talk to him the worst it is.” I didn’t like we’re this was going at all.

“Stop insisting on calling him this won’t help the issue I want to just not go there right now it’s fine let’s just drop the subject.” I said and walked over to the fireplace watching the amber flames dancing about.

“What if he says something to my son,” I turned to him. “You know I was gonna tell Barbra about us and break the engagement with her. But would you leave Lois for me that’s what I want to know.” I said looking at him anger rose inside of me like the flames from behind me.

He got up off the bed still naked. “I was gonna tell Lois about us but this kid is going to ruin everything.”

“This kid Clark we are ruined already before Damian knew about us.” I said to him I was angry because something about Clark that I didn’t notice before and I would have never seen it in him but I don’t think he would tell Lois anything and would be his side piece.

“I just want to do the most damage control possible.” He raised his hands. “What if he tells Bruce about us there’s no damage control Clark we can’t continue down this road it would destroy us.” I moved quickly and got my bag off the floor and grabbed my clothes off the floor and started putting them on.

“What are you doing Dick.” Clark advances towards me grabbing my duffle bag out of my hand holding it in his hand. “I’am leaving going back to Bludhaven this was a mistake.” I said zipping up my pant zipper and putting my shirt on next.

“I told you not to regret anything we did here and here you are regretting me why because of Damian don’t do this.” As he said this he floated away from me so I wouldn’t be able to get my bag.

“Fine Clark keep the bag just keep it ok you wanna act like a kid fine.” I grabbed my car keys from the small counter and went for the door he blocked my exit.

“Then what will you do go back to her you can’t be serious Dick. Look I won’t bring this up again don’t go Dick don’t do this you will regret it ok please don’t leave.” Clark said not budging from my exit I knew I wanted him but I can’t do this if it would hurt us I don’t want to see Clark hurt or me or others get hurt.

“Let me go Clark I wasn’t supposed to be here with you we need to end this.” I said to him crossing my arms not looking at him he sighed and handed me the bag.

“You will come back because you have feelings for me they won’t go away they will stay there and I swear to Rao I won’t let this go.” Clark moved aside and watched me leave the weight of his gaze on me till I went in the car and left.

I drove and I couldn’t believe it though all of this was going to lead me down a crazy path and it’s best if I let this go.

The end of part 7 next is part 8 

Thank you for reading

[favoritejohn]

a sight to behold

[itsjustdesire]

Tour

Anticipation lingers amongst the colossal crowd, as mist pours over the barely lit stage. Though he has yet to appear, they wait for him; lights blinking, as well as flickering all around the stadium, an open space of excited bodies, and motionless, buzzing equipment.

Then, with clenched fists, there he stands, fixed, confident and tenacious; intensely staring out into the crowd of screaming fans; His dancers posted up next to him, awaiting their queue. Though his pause is unwavering and sustained, the fans are submissive. His presence alone creates solace for them in an unrelenting, menacing society; a world existing outside the boundaries of the show.

Then in an instant and without warning, BAM

The show begins

His fist punches out as music starts thumping, blaring through bulky speakers. The heavy, booming bass activates the audience, while the synchronized motion of him and the dancers' cuts through the misty smoke that envelops the stage.

The admirers are intoxicated, their souls launched into the sprightly performance, eyes glistening from the flashes that emanate from the glitzy, prismatic stage lights that illuminate the vast darkness of the abounding field.

His face is drenched in sweat that slides and drips from his chiseled jaw the more demanding his dancing becomes; Curls damp and thick, bouncing as he jumps and hops to an upbeat, pulsating tune or dangling from atop his forehead as he passionately sings a pensive and fanciful ballad. Wavy rivers of swirly, twisted and coiled tresses; deep ebony and medium length, tucked delicately behind his ears at times, or wild, free and unassuming in others, draping across his shoulders and cradling the back of his neck; his baby hairs slicked down, adhering to the tip of his forehead, down to the sides of his sculpted profile.

Hands burly and strong, with tender, elongated fingers, tightly clutching the microphone; never letting go until he props it up atop the mic-stand.

The light, shimmering material of his sparkly, silver jacket sticks to his chest, arms and torso, while his smooth and velvety black slacks that touch ever so slightly above his feet, hug to his whispy legs. With studded, leather straps that cling to his thighs, wrapping around his lower half.

The slim and tight, strong yet delicate nature of his slender body is quite evident, the lustrous top creating ripples in the material as he bends and dips; the bottom, rigidly grasping his taut derrière

Hips swinging from side to side, back and forth as his shiny, sterling silver belt pops with each thrust of his pelvis, initiating exciting momentum among the ocean of spectators

More agile than the most graceful ballet dancer, his durable, swift feet slide and glide smoothly across the surface of the stage; the torn, stretched, vintage leather of his Florsheim loafers cradling comfortably to each foot as he stomps, jumps, and shimmies across and atop the smooth, hardened surface

Face focused, jaw clenched, eyes sparkling and sometimes intense, eyelids shut tightly and lips curled and wide as he sings each and every note with ease. 

The fluttering, stuttering, stammering, fleeting, joyous, and enticing confessions, exclamations and manifestos of his voice, serenading the patient, loving and watchful eyes of his audience. 

His sweet, sensual vibrato seducing the minds, bodies and souls of the fans.

Whether he peers out into the wide, screaming, crying, pleading sea of his most beloved and loyal ; or gazes up towards the heavens, as him and the god of all creation become one, he's at peace.

Onstage, He's home.

The ethereal space; his convivial place

During his most alluring ballads, one of the select few is summoned; an exuberant female fan, whose wish is granted if only for a moment, as she shares the stage with her hero, her love.

As the rest of the crowd gawks closely behind her

Some yearning to be in her place; others exuberant that one of their own has been called up by the king, her eyes widen as she listlessly jaunts towards him, his arms spread out ever so slightly, welcoming her into a tender embrace. His luminous, broad and cheeky grin, causes her to melt in his assuring grasp.

He utters the melodic words so elegantly, yet distinctly in her ear.

Her eyes engulfed in tears, she feels copious amounts of utter bliss

And her heart flutters as her and the enticing angel become one, swaying from side to side, holding onto each other firmly

In that moment, though it is evident that his attention is cast on everyone, to her this wispy, fluttering ballad is all about her. It's dedicated to her

Only her, and no one else as in that uninterrupted moment, He has her heart and she has his.

This is the grandest form of ecstasy that she's ever felt in existence.

For a moment, her fantasy had become a gratifying, enchanting reality before she is ushered away from him. And although her time with him comes to an unwarranted end, she's satisfied.

Satisfied with the fact that she was near him,

With her body pressed up against his while he serenaded her

She has experienced heightened exuberance

Forever dreaming of the short time she shared with him, experiencing his aura.

The fans

His most cherished family

They adore him; live and breathe him

He's as essential to them as the air in their lungs

Hearts racing and pounding briskly for him

Tears flowing from glistening and intense eyes, with faces twisted and sobbing, which show just how much he means to them

Chanting his name, screaming exclamations of adulation, devotion and yearning

A roaring crowd that's full of life, giving their undivided attentions to him.

Whether wild, and erratic, shouting their hearts out and fainting, or calm, complacent and in awe, they react to him

To every jolt of his body 

To every whimsical stammer of his voice

For them, it isn't merely a show

It's an escape

A promising ray of light in a bleak, merciless world

A rainbow, daintily permeating through the jilted darkness.

[holdyourwine]

Pray, Dear Husband. For How I Should Handle This?

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ featuring Poseidon and named OC, implied NSFW at the end, do read it wisely. it is continued to this one.

YOUR FONDNESS, LORD POSEIDON ; masterlist

(.n) Hear her soul speak. Of the very instant that she sees him, does her heart fly at his service? To every abundance, does her heart meet his satisfaction? For she certainly cannot say what greater blessing there can be for any woman to have the right to love and to be loved.

This is what no one can ever tell in words formed on the tip of their tongue. Nor does Nessie can in presence of her greatest love, as do her lips leave in no words yet a loveable smile that brings more beauty in a face of a lady who is smitten, who is purely, madly, truly in love.

Skin against skin, lingering on fiery trails leaving under her fingertips upon his bare chest, Poseidon can perfectly feel her shady gaze drilling its direction onto his side profile— to even her serene yet rapid heartbeats drumming on his left. His thick fingers running along her black strands of hair, simply giving her soft touches in the form of his unspoken affection as his chiseled arm lays beneath her neck.

She lets her hand caress even more, cradling his strong jaw, feeling the soft skin of his cheek lovingly. The unthinkable amount of butterflies that break through her lower stomach urges her to cry out her feelings, as for the Goddess herself chooses to bend her body to her own desire; howsoever, she is too much in love with the sea God.

“I love you.”

For a second, his fingers’ movements come into a halt. “I have my whole heart, and I did give it to you.”

Her continuous words pull his face to the direction of hers, ocean eyes meet with those shimmering black orbs that screams so much devotion, most of these, sincere love. He remains stoic, as he always is, yet what makes it different is, doubtless, how the blue in his eyes almost gets consumed with the black. Those eyes of hers glance down to his soft lips, back to his gaze, with a wider gentle smile decorates her own lips.

“What did I do to deserve such a heavenly love of yours? May I be of worth to mingle in your life, claiming your heart?” It comes in a whispery sound, trailing in her honey-like voice. Her fingertips brush his temple, tingling themselves with the silky fair strands.

Crease starts to show itself upon his forehead as his sight catches how the clear liquid falls freely from her eyes, betraying the soft smile adoring her lovely face. His much bigger hand joins her hand upon his face, granting it a small and soft grasp. “Are you crying?”

His words come out in an unbelievable tone, as he always is in each rare time she sheds that liquid off her beautiful eyes; yet it means no harm, it doesn't even mean he claims her tears are a sign of weakness— or maybe he did. It is morphing to a blessing he starts to admit, a blessing within her frail and loving heart that chooses no souls, whether good or bad, worthy of her sincere feelings.

Her brows are twitched, lips trembling as she parts themselves open for her tongue to let words slip out; yet nothing gets produced. Nessie remains silent in between her cries, the river surges harder in each wide smile she provides his sight. Poseidon lets out a soft sigh, bringing her palm to his plump lips, letting its softness peppers kisses down to her warm area on the wrist— where life runs within.

He was someone that she could not imagine to marry with; let alone meeting those magnificent blue eyes. It is surely nothing going to be greater than the blessing for herself— that she is the one whom he loves, who loves him dearly. Never does one seconds pass in her life she does not think of the sea God, ought to keep his name inside her heart, yet little Nessie did not know it brings herself deeper into an intimate attachment with a mighty God.

“What am I staring into these very seconds, my dear husband?”

“I do not know, do I?”

The countenance which latched upon her lovely face grows softer in his answer. “The closest thing to Heaven— Oh, pray dear Poseidon, to live with thee at all times for eons is what I dream for.”

The Goddess has not realized since when her God husband moves his arm, letting his elbow to be his pedestal as those gold strands of hair fall; framing his handsome feature above her. Shaky breath leaves her lips as her blurry vision gets clearer as a stream of tears falls down her cheeks for another one time— eyelids flutter close in content as Poseidon brushes his backhand upon her wet cheek, face leaning close to his touch.

What brings such great to even greatest love for Poseidon, to her being? It is suffocating, that she is never in her days to cease the feeling, let alone leaving it in boredom.

My, she holds back a giggle when her heart says, “Will you not wish to be always with him in every lifetime you yourself have?”

She shall. Heavens know their names, that she is well confident with the scarce treasure a deity couple can share, in any lifetime, they shall reunite again as one love.

Just like it is when he vowed his oath as a husband. It is a promise, not just of the sacred commitment that they are making to one another, but a sacred love.

As may it looks like for any passing souls if there are, the stoic visage of his shall tell how devoid he is with emotions, to even in presence of his own wife. Still, it is only a blessing for her eyes and mind to embrace, the graceful and richness within the sea God which he only bestows to his one and only darling. And it shows within those dilated galaxies amidst the blue irises. Poseidon was never a man with feelings. Poseidon was never a man who lets a woman stare up at him in no lessening respect whilst the love pours its spring in each sweet smile and laugh.

He may never admit it under the tip of his tongue, but his heart speaks itself to his mind, to his entire being. That he, too, loves her, as much as she does, sincerely, honestly, lovingly. He too has his whole heart solely for her to grasp within that delicate touch, which Poseidon himself still feels unknown for how he can be met with such dizzying feelings.

Just, he will admit one thing. He wants her love to adhere always with her presence, and he too wants her presence to abide with him for always, for evermore. He not only wants the Styx oath to keep their bond together but he desires the richness within her that keeps him alive, allowing him to feel such emotions.

“Nessie,”

His thumb swipes under her eye, down to her cheek. “Look at me.”

She slowly reveals the shimmering black orbs, wet eyelashes shading her gaze as she looks into those blue eyes; staring at her only with something she is sure equal with any loving words exists. “Yes, my husband?”

He drinks the feature in front of him, devouring every bit of affection trailing in her glance before Poseidon closes the gap in between; he devours every bit of affection, latching on her sweet lips, softly speaking his love in each nibble he grants her. His firm hand grabs her side face gently, keeping her in place as his head tilts to the side to give him more access. Her hand starts to creep on his bare bicep, up to his thick neck to circle her arms around.

For a moment, he pulls off the attachment, still not so far for their nose to collide each other. Poseidon can feel those hands start to cradle his face, as he keeps both of his arms on each side of her body to make his larger body above her. “I love you, Poseidon. So much. Too much.”

He swallows the end of her declaration, heart flutters in the most delicate way as he finds himself going practically drunk under her sweet voice, soft touches. Every so often, Poseidon himself feels his firm legs willingly drop upon her, or when his heart gets cradled in her affection. Those are the times he will always cherish in silence, for how he actually keeps a deep fondness for his only, darling wife. Poseidon loves Nessie, too, as much as she does, too much. He loves her with every deity being of his, the thing he shan’t bestow to any other soul.

His tongue may not give a time for him to pour the same loving words, but his soft lips speak louder upon her skin. His much bigger hand crawls on her warm wrist, claiming her fingers in between his, as he deepens the kiss he performs; it is slow, sensual, enough to tell her how blooming he is under her fluttering words and touches. Their legs beneath the blanket are entangled together, he can feel her toes grazing his calf at the same time as he softly bites her lower lip.

After a minute and half, he divides the lips attachment, has not yet to end it, Poseidon is about to rest those plump lips of his upon her swollen pair for once again before his wife places her soft hand on his cheek. A tiny frown can be seen on his forehead, yet no words leave his mouth; only his lips planting another chaste kiss upon her palm. His blue eyes take a liking upon the sight of her loving smile, wet orbs staring into his ocean pair in tremble.

“I am sorry if I ever burdened you with this feeling of mine.” It comes weak, fanning her warm breath upon his lips.

“Never.”

Eyelids flutter close, the sea God drops his head on her small shoulder, thumb gently caressing her skin within his hold as he finds himself snuggle close to her pulsating neck. A relaxed sigh leaves her lips, other hand flies to his fair locks to stroke his hair lovingly whilst her husband starts to continue his kisses upon her collarbone. The big luxurious room where the prominent deity of Greek and his loving wife rest is only filled with the sound of his lips detached from her skin, pulling a popping sound before he smears it to another side— he makes sure to have no inches left untouched by his affection.

He uses his teeth to slightly pull down her nightgown, searching for access so that the subtle breast of hers shows its milky soft skin— not to mention how his other hand sneaks down the blanket, tracing its finger on her thigh, feeling the texture of her skin, up until that silk white nightgown reveals her hips. A surprised gasp he earns as Poseidon divides her legs, placing himself in between; placing his crotch upon her sex.

“Po?” Her hand caresses down to his strong shoulder, feeling confused but astonished at the same time. The God of the sea only lets out a soft humming amidst his moment of sucking her flesh, his chin grazes her perky nipple underneath the fabric that he has not managed to pull down until.

With his godly strength, he can easily lift her hips off the bed with his only muscular arm, his right hand which in hold with hers leaves her for he to pull the fabric up to her chest— before his left hand traces up her bare back to her shoulder so that he can pull it off completely. He watches the way her strands of black hair go disarrayed upon the pillow; the way her body shows its glory nakedness only for her husband’s eyes.

Eyelashes shady those beautiful eyes of hers as she glances at Poseidon; who lets his head low for once again on her chest, messy kisses across her supple breast as his hand kneads her other one. A soft and low whimper starts to leave her lips, feeling so soft under his gentle act. Poseidon drags his lips in the middle of her chest, those much bigger hands slowly meet the skin of her each side— as his kiss goes down and down to reach her tummy, his hands do not leave the curves of her body, to caress her.

“Stop— where are you going?” Her breathy words cannot stop his lips to pepper its touch upon her hips, face only being parted in inches with her womanhood.

“Can’t I?” He shoots his soothing gaze up to her, bringing her legs to rest on his shoulder as he plants a kiss upon her clitoris, earning a shock from her tense body.

Poseidon acts as if her weak grip on his shoulder is just a feather brushes his skin, as he continues swirling his tongue upon the nerves bundle, making her back arches— hips sinking on the bed like she is trying to run from his abusive mouth but no, once Poseidon is up with his intention, he will finish it. He closes his mouth around the sensitive part of her sex, sucking softly before he gives another swipe with his rough textured tongue.

He not only devours her arousal, but he also drinks all of her sweet moans, taking pride on how her thighs grow tighter around his head, chest up as her hands are curled in fist upon the bedsheet. He has a strong grip upon her subtle thigh as her toes grazing his muscular back, solely working his way to bring his darling a wave of euphoric pleasure.

Eventually, Poseidon adds his thick finger, slipping in slowly before one more joins; gently caressing the g-spot as those two fingers are curled within her lower body. His satisfied hum has concealed with her womanhood when he sees the jolt upon her body, choked gasp leaves her ripe lips deliciously.

He lets his other large hand crawl back to her stomach, up to the middle of her chest— feeling the fast drumming of heartbeat under his fingertips. At last, that warm hand of hers meets the soft texture of his backhand, grasping it weakly before Poseidon turns his hand around, simply letting his darling hold him for her dear life.

Every soul exists ever knowing that Poseidon shan’t lower himself, let alone caring for such a thing as how he wants to please someone. Yet here he is, every so often using his touches to channel his genuine feelings; his love when he is still being a person himself, not so expert in words of how to return her sincere demonstration.

One orgasm, two orgasms, three orgasms. The Goddess has lost her consciousness over the time as for her head is clouded with the well-provided ecstasy under her husband’s touch; she does not sure what he is doing down there but, Heavens, every time it hits, it does send a shocking wave of pleasure to her body. The atmosphere that hugs the room just starts getting heated in each passing seconds, with only the sound of her sweet weak moans and his tongue, his fingers make. Just, that is how the night ends, simply yet lovingly being cradled within his arms.

Poseidon never cared about anyone’s pleasure let alone leaving his own desire to please someone, but in the presence of his greatest love, how could he?

[] author’s note: EWWWIEJWNE IDK I BEBER WROTE NSFW BEFORE— ik it’s weird don’t laugh or wrinkle your nose at me!!! /hj

btw, come read the continuation!

[wiypt-writes]

Thnks Fr Th Mmrs

A Frank Adler One Shot.

Summary: It’s Frank’s wedding night… but you’re not quite ready to let him go just yet.

Warnings: Bad Language words. Smut (NSFW, 18+) allusions to cheating…

Pairings:  Frank Adler x Reader

A/N: Just a little smutty one shot featuring everyone’s favourite Dirty Boat Daddy. Written for @onlyjamesbarnes 1.5k Follower Challenge. Prompt in bold. Congrats babe!!

Lyrics from Fall Out Boy- Thnks Fr Th Mmrs

Frank Adler Master list // Main Masterlist

❤️💔♥️💔♥️💔♥️💔♥️💔♥️💔♥️💔

I'm gonna make you bend and break,

Say a prayer, but let the good times roll

In case God doesn't show…

Frank had always been powerless to resist you. He was a moth to your flame, but like always, you play with fire and you get burnt.

But now, you were the one burning, burning hotter than the sun.

With a groan, you ground your hips down as you leaned back, rolling and rocking down onto him. That face, sharp chiselled jawline covered by a slightly nearer than usual scruff looked back at you, his perfect profile silhouetted against the moonlight which drifted through the curtains of the hotel room.

How could something that wrong feel so fucking right?

And I want these words to make things right, But it's the wrongs that make the words come to life.

"Who does he think he is?"

If that's the worst you've got, better put your fingers back to the keys

He shouldn’t have let you in, but you knew he would as soon as he fired you the message with his room number. Your signature knock had sounded across the plush suite he was spending his last night as a ‘single’ man in, and like a sacrificial lamb welcoming its slaughter, he’d opened the door.

“You shouldn’t be here.”

“I wanted to see you.” You blinked up at him. He was still in his slacks and dress shirt, from the rehearsal you’d sat through, tie discarded, collar open. He cut a stark contrast to the boat greased and oil stained, salty air cured man you were used to.

He held the door open for you, stepping back and allowing you in. Without a word you walked over to the grand windows the space provided, offering a look at the shoreline outside and below. The view was breathtaking at night, the moonlight shining off the waves as they lapped at the shore, mere metres away from where tomorrow he would take his vows.

Through the reflection of the window behind you, you could see him just as his hands gripped at your waist. You turned on the ball of your foot, manicured fingers running up his chest from his strong pecs to his collarbones and over his shoulders to around his neck, your lips quickly on his. Your tongue slipped inside, tasting a hint of scotch, a half drunk glass of which sat on the small coffee table to the right. Frank moaned against your mouth while your fingers slipped through the neatly trimmed hair of his neck.

You pushed against him slightly with your body, the back of his legs hitting the chair besides the coffee table and he took a seat, breaking your kiss.

“This shouldn’t-“

“Shhh.” You shook your head. “Just give me tonight, please.”

He stared at you with lust blown eyes, different to the playful glint he normally possessed when he used to look at you, as you thought for a second about your next move, bottom lip already swollen from his kiss between your teeth.

You knew he was a goner.

"Y/N," he managed to croak out as you straddled his lap, seating yourself over his now hard cock, the rough fabric of his dark dress pants constraining him, giving you just enough teasing friction agasint your sensitive inner thighs. His large hands slid up your thighs and under your light coloured, flowy dress as you moved your lips over his again, giving him access to your ass, finger tips grazing the barely there material of your panties.

You ground down against him, your hips rolling in a circular motion as he growled into your mouth, squeezing your cheeks with his hands. You kicked off your sandals, making a thud as they hit the plush carpet. A sound that matched that of your heart. A heart that squeezed in your chest, as if someone had wound and elastic band around its middle knowing that tomorrow you’d watch him takes his vows.

And everything would change.

Frank broke away from your lips, to lick and nip at your jaw and down your neck, tongue rolling against your sternum. His face drilled between your breasts, inhaling your scent.

Your fingers found the buttons of his shirt and plucked them open skillfully, French manicured nails raking across his chest, causing him to shudder and groan. You reached for the buckle of his belt, undoing it with little trouble, lifting your hips slightly, showing a strength in your thighs as you lifted away from him, to undo his flies. You adjusted yourself, pushing up on your knees just a little to allow the room you needed to dip your hand just under his boxers waistline, gently gripping at his dick.

“No, not here.” He growled, teeth nipping at the shell of your ear. “I want you in the bed.”

The bed. Where he would spend his first night as a married man.

It was so wrong.

Yet you happily obliged.

It was a well practiced tango the pair of you had danced over the years, and now here you were, him keening underneath you with a desperation you’d come to know well.

You could feel his cock pulsing against your walls and it gave you the chills. You held the power and control as he struggled to keep his.

With a quick movement, Frank sat up, pulling you flush against his chest, the angle hitting you just at that pleasurable spot he always managed to hit within you. His head dropped, lips and teeth gently teasing your nipple, large hands splayed agains your spine as he lavished you with affection.

You started grinding down harder, looking for that clitoral stimulation you wanted and as you found it, he moaned deeply into your ear.

“I’m close, but I don’t wanna… not yet.” His words were a plea, a plea that he wasn’t ready to end, and you knew he didn’t simply mean tonight.

But it had to. There was no way around it.

One night and one more time, thanks for the memories, even though they weren't so great

"He tastes like you only sweeter"

"Just...let...go," you purred against him.

"Oh fahk," he ground out as his feet planted firmly into the mattress and his hips thrust upward. It didn't take much, a few strong and hard drives and you were crying out his name, your head thrown back in ecstasy as you came around around him.

"Jesus, fahkk, I'm gonna fahking.... Oh fahk," he swore vehemently, his old Boston drawl thick as he drove hard into you for a final time, exploding his load deep into you, spraying your walls with ribbons of white cream.

The pair of you collapsed onto the bed, utterly spent. Frank kept you held to his chest as you both drew ragged, heaving breaths. After a moment, Frank pressed a kiss to the crown of your head, no words needed.

And you blinked back a solitary tear.

*****

I'm looking forward to the future, but my eyesight is going bad.

And this crystal ball, it’s always cloudy except for when you look into the past

One night stand

Frank had fallen asleep with you in his arms, not quite ready to let you go. But you were long gone by the time he woke the next morning, the only evidence you’d been in his room was a scribbled note on the pad on the night stand.

“Here’s to the first day of the rest of your life.”

He’d folded the note up and slipped it into his breast pocket, not quite sure why. Maybe it would keep you close to him in those moments he needed to feel you, who knows.

Who knows why any of this had started in the first place.

He watched Mary walk down the aisle first, her bouquet in her hand had been dropped as she had leapt into his arms for a hug, laughing as she told him how excited she was. He’d kissed her cheek and placed her down and she stood by his side, watching as his bride and her father started towards him.

It was then Frank’s eyes had found yours as you watched him, and he swallowed, his chest contracting.

He could still feel your eyes on him and he couldn’t get the image of you bouncing on top of his cock out of his head. He blinked as someone said his name, and he looked at the officiant, clearing his throat.

“Sorry, little nervous.” He apologised, flashing a cheeky grin before he took a deep breath.

A couple of I-Dos later, he was told to kiss his wife. So he did.

And all he could taste was you.

Man and wife walked hand in hand down the aisle to applause, and at the end they stopped and the new Mrs Adler peered up at Frank, a soft smile on her face.

“You happy?”

“Of course.” He smiled back.

“Good, because choosing me to spend your life with, well, I actually think it’s the second best choice you’ve ever made in your life.”

Frank blinked as he heard the click of the photographer's camera. “Oh? The second? What was the first?”

“Letting me into your room last night.” You grinned, your hand sliding up his tux, the diamond studded band catching the sun, glinting in the bright light.

Frank grinned at you, before he arched his eyebrow. “Time will tell if it really was bad luck to see my wife the night before.”

“Didn’t feel like bad luck to me,” you smirked, you hand gently tangling in the hair at the nape of his neck as he dropped his head to kiss you, the cheers and applause once more chiming in your ears.

One night and one more time, thanks for the memories

[bnhabadass]

Pairing: Shinsou x Reader Genre: Angst with happy ending, NSFW Word Count: 4,049 Synopsis: Shinsou is sick and tired of seeing you go out on all these disappointing Tinder hookups, especially when you always seem to ask him to satisfy you afterwards. But there must be a reason why you keep going on these dates, right? A/N: This is my piece for the bnharem roommates collab. I always forget how much I love writing Shinsou’s character but this definitely brought my spark with him back. Make sure to check out everyone else’s collab pieces on the masterlist!

Another night of tinder swipes. Another night of late night walks through desolate and windy streets. Another night of sleepy dinner and listening to the same old boring stories that every date has to offer. Another night of disappointing sex as he can’t seem to find the hole and his finger nails are sharper than they need to be. Another night of two pump chumps who ask, “does that feel good baby?” and another night of lying through your teeth as you fake moans and count the seconds before you’re allowed to leave.

It’s just like any other Saturday night where your toes are crushed in the tips of your heels and you shiver as you walk back to your apartment, keys clutched between your fingers just in case someone tries to pull something and you need to think quickly. You have your routine ingrained in you, like second nature.

The walk back home is cold and clammy. You can’t shake the feeling of the little hairs on your arms and legs springing up like a cat in shock as the wind pushes right past you. The only thing you could think of to keep yourself from toppling over from exhaustion was the heat that would be coming from your room back home, the fuzzy blanket you’d lie under, and the man awaiting your return to greet you with surprises like no other.

When you did open the front door, heat wafted towards you and your achy muscles began to relax.

“Rough night?” The voice from inside cooed.

“‘Oh baby do you like that?’” you mocked. “‘Does that hurt so good?’”

The person sitting on the sofa with a book covering their face laughed. “Please tell me he did not say that.”

You kicked off your heels and rolled out your ankles. “Shinsou, I swear to god, you have to meet some of these people. This one guy was ridiculous. As I was sucking him off he told me I reminded him of his mother.”

The purple haired young man gagged. “And you still sucked his dick?”

“That’s the best part,” you laughed. “He finished right after he said that.”

Shinsou grimaced. “Why do you keep going on these dates when everyone you end up sleeping with sucks.”

You collapsed on the couch next to him. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s because a certain someone always ends up taking care of me after.” Laying your head in his lap, you smiled up at him.

Shinsou gave you a lazy smirk back. “So that’s it, huh? I actually know how to use my tongue so you’re purposefully coming home unsatisfied.”

“I wouldn’t say purposefully,” you said with a mock offended tone to your words. “If there ever is a man out there who did know how to please me then I can guarantee I wouldn’t be coming home every night I have a date.”

He propped his cheek up against the palm of his hand. “But that hasn’t happened yet, has it.”

You loved this, the flirty and dangerous aroma in the air. It was intoxicating and you craved every bit of it.

“So what are we going to do about it?”

You leaned up and kissed him, and then that kiss led to another. Soon you had gotten up and moved into Shinsou’s bedroom. Your tights had been stripped down and your dress was pulled up over your ass.

Getting onto his elbows and knees, Shinsou readied himself to lick his first stripe along your folds and make you melt beneath him.

The week went by, like usual, and your relationship with Shinsou remained the same, just like usual. You’d each come home from work, him tired from training and patrols and you exhausted with paperwork and having to deal with bothersome coworkers taking up all your spare time.

Nothing happens during the week. The two of you laugh and joke around like best friends, like neither of you have seen each other naked, and you’re sure you’re happy this way. That’s what Shinsou keeps telling himself anyway.

You never seem to notice the way his eyes linger on you for a split second too long or the way he glares at your phone over your shoulder as you swipe left or right on dating apps. You’d think that if he was jealous he would try to distance himself, to back away from the trouble you might get in and the disappointment you’d find after each hookup. But no, Shinsou cares too much about you to let you go out on your own without knowing who, where and how you’re setting yourself up for disappointment.

“Hey Shin,” you call from the couch on Thursday night. You’re lying down with your feet propped up against the arm rest. Shinsou has to move them out of the way before plopping down himself.

“What’s up.” His large palm rubbed up and down your legs as they rested on his lap.

“I think I matched with someone who won’t be horrible in bed.” You showed him your phone, and as he scrolled through his profile you could feel the itchy heat of embarrassment rising to your face.

Shinsou’s heart seemed to stop. His eyes widened when he read the words “pornstar” and “Onlyfans'' in the dude’s bio. Handing your phone back to you, he kept his eyes trained on the floor. “That’s great. He seems like he knows what he’s doing.”

“Yeah.” You took the phone back and resumed looking through his photos. “He messaged me earlier and we have a lot in common too.”

Shinsou nodded. Why did he feel so weird? He knew that not every guy you matched with would be a disappointment. He had been telling that to himself for months now, but watching the nervous smile that crept up your face as you received a new message from this guy made Shinsou want to scream. “I’m gonna go for a run,” he said, lifting up your legs to stand up from the couch.

“Really? It’s dark out. Are you sure you want to go running?” You didn’t look up from your phone.

“Yeah I’ll be fine.”

“Okay, stay safe. Oh! Did you still want to watch a movie tonight?”

Shinsou froze. “Um, maybe not tonight. I’m not sure. I’ll see if I’ve cooled down a bit after my run.”

You looked up from the screen, slightly deterred. “Oh, okay. Have a good run.” You weren’t exactly sure what he meant by that. He hadn’t seemed to be bothered by anything earlier, so why was he acting weird now? You were sure you hadn’t said anything to make him upset and when he told you about his day, he didn’t seem bothered by anything that happened at work.

Rolling over on your side, you continued texting this new guy, a new sense of nervousness clouding your vision.

It’s Saturday night and you’re putting on your makeup. Your hands which have never been shaky before have fucked applying your eyeliner three times now. You’re not sure why you’re so nervous. You’ve met up with guys every weekend for months now. Could it be that this guy is different because he knows what he’s doing? Yeah, that must be it. You’re worried that you won’t be good enough for him, right?

Still, that didn’t seem like that was it. You were so excited talking to him at first. He made you laugh and you wanted to meet up with him so bad, to see his charm in person. But then you showed his profile to Shinsou and things started to feel different, like somehow they were falling apart.

You haven’t spoken to your roommate much in the last couple days. His usual pokes and prods at the men you tend to meet up with were replaced with silence. You haven’t joked around like usual or spent time together unwinding after work, and you were worried. It hadn’t been this distant between you since one of your female friends told you about a guy she knew who was looking for a roommate and the two of you met for the first time.

Since then, you haven't gotten anything but closer. You began your weekly rituals of getting takeout and watching movies and getting drunk after particularly rough days at work. Living with Shinsou was the happiest you have been in a long time. So why did that change?

Stepping out of your bedroom, makeup incomplete and dress unbuttoned, you peered into the living room where Shinsou was working.

He sat shirtless on the couch, legs propped up on the automen with his laptop balanced on his legs. His wild purple hair, which had gotten longer since the two of you met, was loosely tied back with a hair tie. His gray sweatpants were untied and you were sure that if he were to stand up they would ride low on his hips.

As you stared at his profile, you couldn’t help but admire how his chiseled face, adorning a pair of reading glasses, looked so serene as he stared at the work ahead of him. He looked calm, calmer than you’ve seen him in a while, and that made his face more youthful. Shinsou stretched out his arms and you could hear his corded back crack before he went back to typing away.

You ran back into your room and slammed the door. Your face was hot and flushed. Beads of sweat permeated on your temples. How could such a simple act of stretching make you feel so hot and bothered and worked up and oh no. How is it that you were so blind? You were in love with your roommate.

Shit shit shit shit shit.

You paced back and forth, rubbing all of the makeup off of your eyes in the process. You stared at your blackened fingers and rubbed them on your dress, not caring that it would dirty. Thinking back to all the moments you cuddled as “friends” and all the times you would lay together after a disappointing date, you were able to pinpoint each exact moment where your feelings grew.

You sat on your bed and watched as your hands shook. You couldn’t go on this date now. You don’t care about the guy, no matter how good at sex he might claim to be. The entire time, you’d just be wishing you were on a date with Shinsou. Granted, every date you’ve been on, a little part of you has wished it was with Shinsou. Every week you couldn’t wait until it was over so you could be enveloped yet again in his flirty aroma that was so, so addictive.

So that was it, you wouldn’t go on the date and things would go back to normal between the two of you. But would they really? What would you say if he asked why you cancelled? All you wanted were things to go back to the way they were. You wanted to bask in the flirty air and feel Shinsou hold you close and caress every curve of your body with so much love and tenderness.

You stood up and looked at your blotchy face in the mirror. Surrounding your eyes was a mix of black and shimmery gold swarming together. You wiped them off along with the rest of your makeup. You won’t be going out tonight so there’s no point of dolling up.

What am I going to do?

You slid off your dress and slipped into a pair of pajama bottoms and threw on a tank top. The least you could be is comfortable in such a stressful situation.

I can’t act the way I used to, knowing how I feel now.

You may have been an idiot for this, but you decided to face your situation head on. Without doing so, who knows how you wouldn’t go crazy living under the same roof as the man you’re in love with.

You stepped into the living room. Shinsou was still typing away and looking over reports, so you cleared your throat to get his attention.

“Hey, you about to go out?” When you didn’t respond, he looked up and his face fell. “What’s wrong? Why aren’t you dressed?”

You couldn’t look him in the eye. As soon as you heard him speak and the amount of concern in his voice, you just wanted to cry. The sting of acidic tears and mucus welling in the back of your throat made you want to throw up.

“Did something happen?” He took off his reading glasses and scooched over, letting you take a seat beside him.

But you didn’t move, just kept staring at your cold feet against the hardwood floor.

“(Y/n), talk to me.”

You looked up at him and tears began rolling down your face. You felt so pathetic, that you would be crying over love of all things. Love was supposed to be magical, right? Not embarrassing and tear-ridden. “Can you,” you started, but you needed to take a step back when you heard your achy throat cracking as you spoke. “Can you give me a reason not to go?”

Shinsou adjusted himself. He was clearly trying to make out what you were saying. “What? If you don’t want to go then don’t. No one’s forcing you to go on this date.”

You couldn’t help crumble at what he said. If only he knew what you really looked forward to after each date and what you were really thinking about when you were out with these other guys.

Shinsou stood up as you crumbled to the ground and squatted down next to you, wrapping his arms around you. You sunk into his chest and sobbed against him. It felt so unfair that with his arms around you, you felt whole, like you were two pieces of a puzzle.

“Why do you need a reason not to go on this date? Is he pressuring you or something?”

You shook your head against his chest. “I don’t want to go on a date with him.” On one hand, you thought your subtle hints would get through Shinsou’s thick skull, but it seemed as though they were a paper plane trying to penetrate a brick wall.

“So find some other guy.”

Why was he being so dismissive? You didn’t want just some other guy, you wanted Shinsou.

“Look, you’ve found plenty of other dates in the past, just because you don’t want to go out with one guy doesn’t mean it’s the end of the world.” He kept rubbing circles in your back. “Why don’t you call up a past hookup or something?”

You pushed away from him. “How could you say that,” you whispered. “I don’t want to go on a date with one of them.” Your voice began to raise. You had never raised your voice at Shinsou before. “I want to go out with you, you idiot.”

There was a moment where all you could hear were the little noises throughout the apartment like the ticking of the clock in the kitchen or a fly buzzing close by. Then, you slapped a hand over your mouth. You didn’t mean to say that outloud. You didn’t mean to raise your voice or push away from him. But you did blurt it out, and Shinsou looked at you with wide eyes and a slack jaw.

The hair on his arms and the back of his neck raised up like static. He didn’t know what to say. He didn’t know if he should look at you with shock or look away in embarrassment. He was completely and utterly confused.

“Shit,” you whined from behind your hand. “Forget it.” You rubbed the tears under your eyes away and went to stand up. “I’m gonna go to bed.”

“Wait.” Shinsou grabbed your hand before you could fully stand up. You had never realized how small your hands were compared to his until now. “You can’t just say that and then walk away.”

He was right. You sat back down on the ground, his hand still grabbing onto yours, playing with your fingers. “Okay,” you mouthed, knowing you wouldn’t be able to get any sound out if you tried.

“Why do you go on all of these dates?”

You thought about it for a moment. You were never really sure why you bothered hooking up with so many people, but sitting on the ground with him, you had a pretty good idea. “Because we’re roommates.”

“So?”

You kept your eyes on your fingers intertwined with Shinsous. “Because realizing you’re in love with your roommate is shitty, so the least I could do is hope that after an unsatisfying night of sex, you’d be willing to provide.”

He stopped playing with your fingers and instead, squeezed your hand. “And I hated seeing you with these different men so much that any chance you gave me I ate up.”

You blinked once, twice in confusion before meeting Shinsou’s eyes. “You...”

“Mhm,” he nodded.

The heavy weight of tears on your chest finally lifted. You could finally breathe freely. There was silence among you before the two of you burst out laughing. You rested your head on his shoulder as your chests heaved up and down. When you took your head away to look him in the eyes, he leaned in and kissed you. You didn’t hesitate to kiss back and wrap your arms around his neck.

Shinsou dragged your body closer to him, so you were straddling his lap, and weaved his arms around your figure. He was a good kisser, which you already knew, but you had never taken the time to feel his passion until now. Shinsou made sure to tease you with a darting tongue and hands which traveled down your figure and stopped at the base of your hips.

You weaved your hands through his soft hair and pulled his hair tie out. His fluffy purple locks were so fun and tempting to tug on. Kissing him with this amount of love and emotion enthralled you, and you felt a little disappointed when he pulled away.

“Would you like to move this to my bedroom?”

And you bit your bottom lip before nodding, a smile creeping its way up along your face. You stood up and followed him into his bedroom eagerly.

After Shinsou closed the door behind you, he turned around and snaked his hands up your back. You giggled at the contact and let him pull the shirt over your head. You weren’t wearing a bra, so Shinsou immediately leaned over to take one of your nipples in his mouth. He sucked it until it puckered and let it go with a loud pop.

“You know,” he said, backing you against his bed. “I’ve never been able to say until now how truly beautiful you are.”

“Shinsou,” you sighed, taking a hold of his purple locks. You collapsed onto the bed and let him kiss his way down your front side. His kisses were rough but full of love, and you know they would leave bruises behind.

He slid your pajama bottoms and underwear down your thighs until they pooled on the floor at your ankles. “Everything you do is gorgeous, even the way you’re sprawled out under me, under my command just waiting for me to touch you.”

You could feel your pussy clench at his words and your thighs shook in waiting.

He kissed the top of your pussy and trailed kisses around your thighs. You watched as he hiked your legs over his well muscled shoulders while keeping eye contact. His long tongue darted out and he licked one long stripe between your folds and suckled on your little sweet bud.

You arched your back and let out a choked moan. Out of all the nights you’ve slept together, this was the first time you really saw him for all the love he gave you.

Shinsou kept his face right in front of your dripping hole just for a moment and let his hot breath tickle your needy clit. He chuckled at your squirming form and teased you even further with kitten licks and hands that reached up to squeeze your breasts as he dove in to lap up your juices.

Your hands grasped at his, keeping them firmly clenched onto your chest as he delved in deeper and deeper into your wonderful taste. You could feel your orgasm quickly building up. Your toes curled and knees jerked up, hips bucking your clit further up into Shinsou’s mouth. You let out a loud moan and sigh of relief and surprise when you could feel your juices spraying onto Shinsou’s face and watched as they dripped down his chin.

You had never squirted before. You could feel a calm wash over you as you settled down. Shinsou wiped his hand down his chin. “That was fucking sexy.”

He kissed your lower lips one last time before standing up and allowing you to scooch further up on the bed. You were exhausted but it didn’t matter. Watching Shinsou strip down and seeing his cock spring to life only made you want more of him.

He crawled over you and kissed your lips. He tasted like a mix of your juices and honey, probably from that tea you saw him drinking not too long ago. Whatever it was, it was addictive. “Are you ready?” he asked as he positioned the head of his cock in line with your opening.

You nodded, heaving up and down and running your hand along the side of his face. “Yeah, I’m ready.”

Shinsou was thicker than most of the people you had slept with, and you always felt the stretch of him penetrating you every time he pushed himself in.

Knowing that it probably hurt a little, the stretch of it all, he paused every so often and kissed your face, allowing you to warm up before he bottomed out inside of you. You were just so tight and welcoming, it took all his strength not to pound into you immediately, to take it nice and slow as he rubbed against your clit with his thumb.

Your face was hot. It was odd to you that it had never felt this way before, that until now you had never been this nervous to feel his cock pulsing inside of you and to feel his mouth nip at your clit and nipples. You had closed your eyes and focused on your breathing.

Shinsou reached over to tickle the palm of your hand. As you looked up at him, he cupped your face and smiled down at you before he started to thrust his hips.

You squirmed and writhed around as he bucked deeper in and out of the hole that seemed to suck him in further and further.

He felt it was so unfair because he never seemed to last as long as he wanted to when he was with you. The way your aching pussy clenched around him so tight was euphoric. He wanted to let his dick bask in your warm, gushing cavern forever.

“You’re beautiful,” you heard him whisper as he sped up, his orgasm fast approaching. “You’re perfect.”

And again, you squirmed around as that cord built up inside of you and snapped, leaving you gushing around Shinsou’s cock and heaving up and down underneath him.

Shinsou didn’t last much longer. He came almost immediately after you did, feeling your walls clench around him oh so tight. He rolled over next to you and laid his head in the crook of your neck. His hair tickled your nose as you nuzzled into him.

“We should clean up.”

“After snuggles,” he yawned.

You laughed. He’d never been this clingy until now. He had never praised you so much until now. “What does this mean?”

“Hm?”

“For us?”

Shinsou rolled over to look at you. “It means you’re gonna sleep in this bed with me tonight, and tomorrow morning I’m waking up early to make my girlfriend a pancake breakfast. Okay, kitten?”

You had to keep yourself from squealing at the nickname. Instead, you closed your eyes with a goofy smile on your face. “Okay.”

[formula1squids]

so is charles even more prettier in person like I've heard other people say? 👀

Hope u had a great time at the gp btw xx

he’s sooo beautiful. i wanted to run my finger down his nose and also poke his dimples. his side profile is insane. u know when god hand-chisels his favourite sculptures. and he smells SO GOOD. so so so so good.

edit: i forgot to add he has such animated expressions. first time i saw him he kept getting stopped by rando italians for conversations and he would make the funniest faces. so surreal seeing them irl

also he’s tiny. very compact and narrow. i’m 1.73m so that must have something to do with it but he looks like i can put my hands around his hips and lift him up

results aside it was very fun!! i made a few new friends and hung out with @pinsaroulettes so that was very cool! i attended alone but did not feel alone at all ❤️

[navegandoaciegas]

A long way

Kinktober 7/31: creampie

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: trucker!bucky, hitchhiking, smut, explicit language, unprotected sex, creampie, biting, hair pulling, one slap on the face, oral sex, alcohol consumption, degradading praise kink.

Summary: A broody and rough truck driver stops for you when no one else does. What happens when you spend a few days together?

A/N: day 7 of @itgetsdarksometimes35 spooky challenge + Kinktober. Thank you @buckycuddlebuddy for inspiring this and helping me out, ily baby!

You suppose he’s a nice guy under all the brooding, frowning, glaring; there must be some gentleness buried underneath all the roughness, some kindness hiding behind his steely eyes.

He’s got a hard exterior for sure, with his burly body and intricate tattoos, but he’s the only one who’s pulled over for you, all soaked, crying and alone on the side of the road, while other drivers sped past you, hitting potholes and splashing even more water and mud over you.

You have to admit, you would have done the same, because who the hell stops for hitchhikers in the middle of a thunderstorm? Bucky the trucker, apparently. At the same time, who in their right mind hitchhikes in the 21st century? Someone desperate enough. You.

The 70s and the Santa Rosa murders haven’t taught either of you much, it seems.

So either he’s a serial killer, or a sullen good samaritan.

“I’m gonna pull over in a couple miles, I need to rest a little.” he announces, voice flat, tightly gripping the steering wheel of his truck.

You have a feeling he doesn’t particularly like you. Nothing specific about you, just that you’re in his space, in his clothes, breathing his same air, and he can’t sulk on his own like he’s probably used to.

“It’s okay for me.” you mumble, fidgeting with the sleeves of his thick, grey sweatshirt. It wasn’t a question, but what else were you supposed to say?

He doesn’t acknowledge you.

Despite his murderous looks and apparent annoyance, you trust your gut feeling.

The guy could split your skull in half like a pistachio, but he doesn’t seem like he’ll actually go through with it, unless you change the frequency of that radio channel he’s listening to, or move around the pictures on his dashboard. Both of which you don’t intend on doing.

You observe his side profile, the delicate slope on his nose, chiselled jawline, high cheekbones, buzz cut chestnut hair, the tattoos snaking from his arm to the side of his neck, ending just below his ear.

He’s hot and menacing, and the idea that he could bang you like a screen door in a hurricane and kill you with his bare hands makes a shiver go down your spine and straight to your core.

You squirm in your seat, clenching your thighs, cursing you and your horny brain for the dirty images you’ve conveyed.

“You alright there, sugar?” he asks, and you think you see a little smirk dancing on his plush lips, “You seem a little bothered.”

The endearing name and the teasing are a new development, one that you don’t mind.

“Never been better.” you grumble, shooting him a glare of your own.

10 hours in his truck, and his mannerism is rubbing off on you already.

-

It’s a long way from Oregon to Florida when you have no money on you and you depend on a trucker’s route, a trucker you’ve been bickering and flirting with for hours.

45 hours later, you find yourself at a truck stop a long way from home, your feet propped against the dashboard, the seat reclined slightly.

It’s not the best setting, you’ll be honest with yourself.

Take out containers are littered around you, and Bucky keeps digging in the fries propped on your lap. You smile lazily at him, tipsy but still conscious on your second beer.

45 hours together is a long time when you spend it with the same person, in a small space. He’s still brooding, just looser. And drunker.

“So I said, fuck you and that two faced bitch, and spilled a wine bottle on his suit.” you hiccup, a hysterical laugh bubbling in your throat, “Red fuckin’ wine.”

Well, maybe you’re not as sober as you thought.

“No way.” he deadpans, taking a sip out of his beer. “Is that why you looked like a drowned rat hitchhiking in the middle of the night?”

“Mean, but yes. That cheating asshole. I hope his dick falls off. Not like he knew how to use it anyways.”

That seems to catch his attention.

“He didn’t?” he hums thoughtfully, with all the seriousness a drunk man can muster.

“He never got me off. Had to lock myself in the bathroom and do it myself.” you slur, “Never ate my pussy either.”

“God, suga’, that sounds tragic.”

Your lips twist in a disgusted expression, but you giggle when a thought stikes you.

“What about you? When was the last time you got any?”

He winces when he thinks about it, the frown on his forehead permanently etched there.

“A while ago.”

It’s silent for a moment, and maybe it’s the sexual tension that’s been building for a while, or the heat in his steely eyes, but you feel yourself grow warmer.

Your itch to touch him, taste him, feel him inside you. On your tongue, in your cunt, everywhere.

“Tragic.” you mumble, eyes boring into his.

It’s a rebound, or maybe it’s just that he’s hot and you’re both adults who can do whatever the hell you want.

It doesn’t make sense, the way you jump on him, slanting your mouth against his like you’ve never done before. The way his lips mold against yours, his tongue moves in sync with you, his hands on your body leave you feeling scorched. Your clothes and his sweater are discarded somewhere.

He tastes like beer, and tobacco, and his beard grazes against your skin, making you feel ticklish and giddy.

You’re drunk, and not on alcohol.

His touch is bruising, possessive, controlling. His teeth bite on your skin, he pulls on your hair, kneads the flesh of your ass, rolls and pinches your nipples.

Rough, just like him, and if the slick leaking out of you is any indication, you like that a lot.

“I’ll fuck you all the way to Florida babygirl, fuck you so good you never want to leave this fuckin’ truck.”

It’s embarrassing the way you’re panting, debauched already. Heat is pooling in your lower belly, and you want nothing more than for him to go feral on you.

“God, Bucky, I need you so much, need you inside me.” you whine, palming his cock through his denim jeans, feeling how hard and throbbing he is for you.

“Fuck.” he groans, quickly undoing your belt, freeing his cock.

It springs out of his briefs, standing against his stomach. He’s thick, and leaking with pre cum.

You bite your lips, shooting him a mischievous smile as you lower your face to his groin, ready to suck him off.

“No, I want to be inside you now.”

He grabs underneath your arms and lifts you up, maneuvering so that you’re straddling his lap.

You’re tipsy, about to let a man you barely know raw you in his truck, surrounded by containers of junk food.

It’s trashy, maybe, but who cares. Fuck trashy, and fuck your ex too.

You feel like all your breath has been knocked out of you when he pushes inside you, his cock stretching you out almost painfully.

“Fuck, you’re so big.” you whimper, steadying yourself on his broad chest, nails mapping out the outline of his tattoos.

“God baby, you’re so tight, I can feel that pretty pussy of yours squeezing me.” he moans, hands tightly gripping your hips, “Why don’t you show me how good you can ride my cock, yes?”

You grind yourself on his groin, rolling your hips in circular motion, feeling his cock hit all the sweet spots inside you. He suckles on your nipples, sending shivers down your spine.

Your pussy flutters around him, clamping down hard each time a wave of pleasure hits you.

“Look how good you’re doing, taking my cock so well like the little dumb slut you are baby.” he grunts, and his words shoot straight to your cunt, “Pretty cockdrunk whore, aren’t ya?”

You feel lightheaded.

Bouncing your ass up and down his cock, you feel yourself get closer.

“Fuck Buck- I’m-”

He cuts you off, swallowing your moans as you cum.

Your body shakes, your head spins and every nerve ending on your body is on fire, but he doesn’t give you time to come down from your high.

You slump against his bare chest, and he starts pounding inside you, holding your waist.

He pummels into your abused cunt, pulling one orgasm after the other out of you, until you’re sobbing. His sweaty skin slaps against yours, his balls against your ass. It’s so lewd it’s driving you crazy.

Tears and drool stream down your face.

“Look at you, messy girl, so eager for my cock. I can’t wait to fill you out with my cum baby, watch it drip out of your cunt.” he groans, balls getting tighter, thrusts messier. You feel him swell inside you. “I bet you’d love that, wouldn’t you? Being filled with my cum to the brim.”

You’re lost in your own pleasure, and don’t answer until he slaps your face. Hard.

“Yes, please Bucky, I want you to fill my pussy, fuck-”

He bites down on your shoulder as he cums, painting your walls with his hot load as your pussy milks him dry.

“You did so good.” he hums, holding you close to his body as he comes down from his high, “Think you can give me one more?”

You nod, and lie on your back on the seats.

He watches entranced as his cum drips out of your cunt, and pushes it back inside with his fingers, smiling at the small noises you make.

He surprises you, latching his mouth around your swollen, overstimulated clit, sucking hard. He delves in your folds, circling his tongue on your bud, slurping up your juices and his, enjoying your taste mixing in with his as he keeps pumping his thick fingers inside you.

You’ve never felt this amount of pleasure before, and when you cum, your vision blacks out for several seconds, and you don’t know if it’s the alcohol or just the best orgasm of your life.

You clamp down on his fingers, your release gushing on his mouth as the pressure in your cunt finally snaps.

He looks up at you, face covered in your slick.

“Don’t think I’m done with you baby.” he smirks, “I’ll never get enough of this sweet pussy.”

You grin, and pull him down on you, ready to start all over again.

It’s a long way to Florida, and you’re not sure you ever want to reach your destination, after all.

—-

Not proofread bc i like living on edge like that. Please leave some feedback!

You can add yourself to my taglist on my pinned post 💓

[qslovebot]

KISS FOR YOUR LIFE: SPENCER REID

Summary: A BAU case leads the reader to take on an undercover role to flush out a ten-person mafia. Before the work can begin, things go awry and the reader has to improvise and pretend to seduce Spencer to keep her cover and arrest the real unsub.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Warnings/includes: talk of murder, mentions of sex, suggested past experiences with misogyny, suggestive jokes, unsub is a radical feminist, swearing, arrests, guns, making out, sort of fluffy end.

Word Count: 4159

A/N: Written like an episode. I removed Rossi so... AU? First actual fanfic on here, tell me what you think?

Today was your first official day at the BAU, switching from two floors down as an underestimated agent to upstairs, with the Big League. Agent Hotchner decided he needed new, young-minded blood. He was notorious for picking the best of the best and after an intimidating interview with him and his brooding questions, he decided he wanted you on his team.

You had been here before, of course. You frequently visited the ever-chatting Penelope Garcia for lunch, sometimes in her office, sometimes heading downstairs for a slice of pizza or a salad. She vented about her issues, while you talked about the constant misogyny that ran through the men on your floor. She was five years older than you and decided that as your 'elder' she would put on the angry soccer mom look and kick their asses. But, lucky for you, two floors upward, the men didn't act like children on the job, so Garcia could keep her regular look.

Here it was, glass entrance, high ceilings. The air smelled like paper and was filled with a fresh sort of low mumbling and the small clicks of the keyboards. A semi-fresh start. Today you would organize your new desk, sort files, meet the others...

"Agent (Y/L/N), we have a case in Boston, we will be briefed on the jet. Get your things ready, we leave in twenty-five minutes," Agent Hotchner said as he walked by. He didn't stop for a single second, those dark dress shoes clomping heavily to the desks of your new fellow agents to inform them as well. So much for your plans.

Not wanting to appear unready, you rushed to set your things down and grab the few things you needed for the case. Hotchner had said always bring three spare outfits rolled to the smallest packing size possible, toiletries (toothpaste, toothbrush, hairbrush, and feminine hygiene products) as well as one extra pair of shoes. Those were already packed into a small bag, so in with those went your notebook, pens, and highlighter. You came prepared, so in no time, you were on the jet for the first time, exhilarated.

A hand was extended to you when you took your seat. It belonged to a man with caramel skin and a dazzling smile, "You must be (Y/L/N). The name is Derek Morgan." Anyone who used 'the name is' seemed like they felt superior in some way. It was used in the media to introduce someone of importance. 'The name is Bond, James Bond', ran through your head as you gratefully shook his hand.

"My name is Emily Prentiss and I... didn't quite catch your first name," a woman with a v-neck sweater also reached to shake your hand. "I think I may have heard it, but I must have forgotten."

"(Y/N)," you replied with a small smile. It felt nice to be greeted with kind eyes, rather than greedy ones. "It's not a very memorable name, don't worry."

Emily looked apologetic, but soon reverted to her previous smile. I was greeted by the blonde woman across the aisle, too far to shake my hand. "My name is Jennifer Jareau, I'm the media liaison, but you can call me JJ, everyone does. It's really great to meet you- for a moment I thought Penelope had made up a friend as a result of too many hours in front of a screen."

You laughed a little, ruffling your hair. She seemed outgoing, but I had already started profiling Derek Morgan and I wanted to stop there. Agent Hotchner sat down with someone I had never noticed on my visits to Penelope. I had noticed everyone else here on this jet at least once before, but... not him. How had you missed him?

He stood at about six-one, maybe six-two? He was thin, much the opposite to Morgan's greatly muscular arms. This man was calm-looking, quiet. His clothes said that maybe he was meticulous and orderly- he looked like the kind of person who didn't own a single pair of sweatpants. His face was chiselled, with a sharp jawline and cheekbones that carved the shadows on his face. His eyes, however, were much softer. Long eyelashes and dark eyes made them bigger, but they were slightly blocked by bronze-toned brown curls that at the end of his combed and gelled hair, wrapped around his jaw, neck, and face.

He was beautiful, if you were entirely frank with yourself.

And he didn't even notice you were there until Hotchner nudged his arm in a way that said 'say hello' the same way one would introduce two toddlers. You were sure you weren't a toddler and nor was this man, but it appeared you both may have been the youngest there.

When he looked your way, you wanted to look away, but couldn't. He seemed surprised to see you there and you were trying to play off the staring by introducing yourself. "Hi, I'm SSA (Y/N) (Y/L/N). I don't think we've met, it's nice to meet you." You extended your hand and he just shook his head no, his lips pressing into a tight line.

He didn't shake hands, you realized. Probably a slight germophobe. You cleared your throat, "I'm sorry if that was an uncomfortable gesture, I didn't know." Humiliating.

The tall man opened his mouth to say something, shut his mouth, opened it again but then turned a little pink and sat down immediately next to Hotchner and stared at his hands that were folded in his lap. You had thought you nailed pretty much every introduction, but this one? Fuck.

You reverted back to your business with a sigh, patting your knees. It felt like you had somehow lost something. JJ whispered to you, silently pointing to the tall man, "Dr. Spencer Reid, human encyclopedia, dictionary, and knows pretty much everything." You nodded a thank you and she nodded back.

Derek Morgan, however, tapped Emily Prentiss on the shoulder and mumbled, "Reid did his 'pretty-girl-freakout'."

Emily gasped, "Oh, he did!

The two seemed to have forgotten you were in front of them and they noticed your confusion in unison, both of them freezing up and chuckling nervously. You smiled an extremely awkward smile and left thinking about Dr. Spencer Reid for later as you got to the case.

This was about a female mafia boss who seemed to take on the personality, style, and characteristics of the taste of rich men and kill them after having sex with them. The woman was reported and seen by one witness to see her and that was the only person outside of this mafia who had seen her face, so they were working with the sketch artist and would have the picture ready and accurate upon our arrival.

Victimology was simple, she was after men who had too much power. She probably identified with being a radical feminist. She was after their money and had sex with them to dethrone them on the way. Possibly bordered on a personality disorder considering she seemed to be entirely all-in to her 'disguises'.

The funniest thing was the way they all looked at you when you announced those lines. Perhaps you would work yourself out of the 'child' stage faster than you thought.

The BAU hit the precinct in much less time than I had expected and on the ground, running. You were immediately given things to do and you were on top of it all, every order. That was until the drawing of the Mafia leader AKA 'The Seductress' was pulled up and the whole BAU gasped at how she looked EXACTLY like you.

"Do I need my cuffs?" Morgan joked. You had covered your mouth in disbelief and the rest of the room was doing double-takes.

You laughed nervously, "I swear... that isn't me, but oh my god..." Morgan was laughing and Emily and JJ whispering and had confused smiles. Spencer Reid stood in the corner, his hand on his cheek, seemingly studying the photo. He looked statue-like, borderline godly.

"Can this be used to our advantage?" Hotch launched back into technical thinking, brow furrowed. You looked at him, mouth open, but immediately shut it out of professionalism. What was going on in his head?

Reid spoke up, "If we position her just right and at the right time in one of the hotspots for that group, we can possibly get her to somehow trick the other members into some sort of turn-in."

Her. Indirect. Did you do something wrong?

"Or a simple appearance could start gossip and a possible flock to where she was spotted. As long as people aren't seeing double or reaching to do so, she can play as The Seductress." Emily said, looking at you. "Are you up to try, (Y/L/N)?"

All eyes on you. Your first day turned to chaos. But this was your job and you would prove your place here. So you agreed and in a whisk of an afternoon, you were transformed into the mirror image of The Seductress while you were talked through the plan through a radio. Turned out, so prove a professional place, you needed to make yourself look ridiculously unprofessional.

Pinned up hair, dark cat eye makeup, a dress similar to hers that happened to be on hand. Long, deep red, with a long slit up the side and your tits were practically falling out of it, but the dress fit and they were secure, so you dealt with it. There was no other space for a gun other than the side of your thigh where The Seductress kept hers knife. Now, you had to get going, meaning you had to face the BAU in the getup.

When you walked out, Derek Morgan hooted and whistled and Emily gave him a look that said 'oh lord' like an annoyed sibling. You smiled a little and essentially just kept walking, figuring if you moved, it would give them less time to stare at your tits.

Turning the corner, you noticed that Dr.Spencer Reid was much redder than he had been earlier on the jet. So maybe he really did think you were pretty. You caught yourself smiling at the thought, but shook your head free of any ideas. Professional! No crushes on Spencer Reid!

You arrived near the scene, dropped off by Hotchner. "You know what to do. Reid will be going with you to the crateyard, he will also be nearby when you head in. If you see The Seductress, do not make the arrest. If you can, lure her."

You nodded. Wow, first time in the field with the BAU and you had the leading role. No pressure, no pressure, just... everyone depending on you. But the pressure came back when you realized you had heard right and Reid was going with you, alone. You had done really well with the job so far today, minus finding the tall doctor extremely attractive. He came to stand beside you and since he was much taller than you were, you were sure he could look right down your dress without even trying. Not like anyone had to try, but he had the upper hand.

You ached to cover yourself, but that was a major risk. The Seductress was confident, she wouldn't cover-up. You got into the tinted car with Reid, him in the driver's seat and you in the passenger's seat. Silence crept up, but he turned the engine over and headed east to where the mafia was to meet up.

"Some first day," you mumbled nervously.

Reid seemed to think you had said something to him and he talked to you directly for what seemed like the first time. "P-pardon?" He had a stutter when talking to you and to be honest it was cute but there was no time to crush!

"Oh, I was just remarking to myself on how this is my first day and I'm already... so... out there." You sighed and pat your knees. The jitters crept up, but so did butterflies. "Nervous, I'm nervous."

He looked over and swallowed hard, so hard it was audible. Was he fighting the same urge to be friendlier or was he just fighting the urge to look at your tits like a twelve-year-old boy would? Either way, you were glad he was with you. He smelled like books, leather, and cologne and it was oddly calming.

You reached the other side of the crateyard in a few more minutes and he handed you your gun, which you shoved into the holster on your thigh. "You're going without a vest so... k-keep focused," Spencer said- and it seemed like he had so many words jumbled on the tip of his tongue, but refused to say them. You thought he was afraid to annoy you, as you knew he liked to give lengthy explanations. "I'll be behind, uh- the crates."

You smiled at him and watched him look away, his curls falling in his face. God, he was so gorgeous. If this went wrong, you were glad you would go with that shy look of his in the front of your mind. He pulled on his vest and you put out a hand and stopped him. "If they see you with the vest at all, in any way, they'll know what's happening."

He nodded, keeping his eyes from yours as he pulled on a plain black jacket over the vest. For a genius, he seemed to have his mind a little fuzzy tonight. In the dark of the night, the only lights were flickering lamps on high-beamed poles. Your heart was beating hard as you waited for the signal to begin to move.

"G-good luck," Spencer's words fumbled out of his mouth and I looked at him for a moment where he looked right back at you. He chewed on his bottom lip, eyelids fluttering as you tried to look anywhere else and there it was- the radio signal. The tension that was there in that brief moment defused. You gave him a small smile before opening the car door and standing tall, in the aura of The Seductress.

Spencer waited until you were out between the crates to leave the car. You heard the door shut gently behind you, but his footsteps were silent. Much quicker than you thought, there was a gruff voice that didn't belong to Spencer. "My lady, may I say what an honour it is to have you join us this evening." You spun to face a man in a dark suit. You didn't have The Seductress's voice, so you nodded in the most gracious way you could.

"Bernard and Lolita are waiting inside the abandoned building for the small exchange as well as the rest of us, but Mamacita... you're being tailed by the FBI." He said, pointing to the crate that hid Dr. Spencer Reid. Fuck, fuck, fuck. "I'll go kill him for you!"

So flat out, he wanted to kill Spencer Reid, a rotting smile on his face as if it was an act of kindness. He knew Spencer was there, he saw... but you weren't busted? God, this man was stupid.

"No," you said, in a quiet, yet strong voice, grabbing the gruff man by the shoulder pad. "He is my kill."

The man grinned an evil grin and you did your best to smile evilly in return. You showed him your gun and he rubbed his palms together. "The gluck and Glock," he chuckled. "Can I watch?"

He thought you were going to fuck and kill Spencer. Your heart skipped a beat and you tried hard not to show it. Oh no... how to work your way out of this... Spencer couldn't help you. Or... could he?

You glared at the man, "No, but I know that his team is on the way. Get Bernard, Lolita, and anyone else in on the next killings from that abandoned building and run straight west. Do not stop. I will catch up to you once I'm finished with the agent here." You improvised the best you could and this stupid man bought it. Little did he know that the team was stationed Westbound.

"Got it," his face was dazed and malevolent. "But I'm not leaving until I know you've got this handled, my lady."

"You question my skill?" You shot back, still acting.

He looked scared for a moment, "No, not at all, I just... You're a lot shorter than I was expecting."

You stared daggers, "And you insult me?"

"Just wanted to know you had it covered... in case something is fishy here..." was he really catching on or was he confused and just running through the precautions?

Fuck, you had been so focused on the cover you forgot you were a profiler. This man was small-minded, probably brought into this ordeal through family ties. Since he was so stupid, he was trusted with less... hence why he was outside the building as the lookout, rather than in on the meeting.

Why he wouldn't leave- he was so incapable of proper interaction he had never had the chance to be with a woman. Watching was the only way he would ever see. He was stupid and he was stubborn. He was not going to leave until he saw the beginning.

The best thing would be to let him stay for proof. "Fine. But when I give you my look, you run and get everyone running straight West." You narrowed your eyebrows at him and he looked like he was going to sweat out of his skin. But... this meant...

You had a few seconds, you rushed over to behind the crate to where Spencer stood, his gun in hand. "W-what are you-" he questioned in a whisper-yell.

"He's onto me, I need you to go along with this- can I kiss you, Dr.Reid?" You whispered back. His eyes went wide and his cheeks flushed pink. Once again, being professional called for being unprofessional. You really didn't want to kiss him- at least not now, not like this. He wouldn't speak and the mafia man was coming. "Reid, if I don't do this, he won't flush the group West and we'll both be shot and if not shot, targeted by a mafia!"

"Y-yes!" he practically squeaked, his back to the crate he was hiding behind. This really was the only way- this other man would not be talked down, because he was taught to just shoot, rather than listen and understand. "I'm sorry if I-"

You cut him off by reaching up, grabbing the collar of his shirt and kissing him. It took him a moment, but he kissed back. You could feel the heat off of his cheeks. The first day on the job, you had embarrassed yourself, gotten dressed like a Mafia killer, played the part, and now you were kissing Dr.Spencer Reid in a crateyard... and he was surprisingly not a bad kisser. He was a little sloppy the first few seconds but moments later, he figured it out. His one hand went on your jaw, the other on your waist, both of them shaking. You could tell that the shaking wasn't because the man watching you both right now had a gun, it was you.

You were making out with him, hard. Your body was pressed to his tightly against the crate and Spencer was holding you there. Your hands were still gripping his shirt. Messy altogether but your lips met in every perfect way. It was good, but for work. This was when you knew to stop- you had convinced the other man. You pulled away, turned your head and mouthed to the mafia man, 'GO' and he ran.

Now things would be extremely awkward. You pushed yourself away from Spencer whose hands stayed on your waist and face until you were entirely out of his reach. You laughed anxiously and he stood there, hands behind his back. That was... that was wow, but... it was for the case. For the case.

It was time to get moving. Spencer knew it, you knew it. The real Seductress was on her way. You turned your head over your shoulder and he was moving slowly, head down. You fought off a small smile. He was entirely red, gun still held loosely in his hand.

You turned your head and were met by a sharp blow to the face. Both of you had let your guard down. Stupid.

"I don't like impostors," said the female voice that was the source of the blow. Hell, it was her. Spencer clocked his gun into place and you turned, elbowing The Seductress in the chest. She returned with another hard blow that you ducked, spinning around her and kicking the back of her leg. She recovered quickly and shot up, punching you in the stomach. You lost your breath for a second and she took the opportunity to punch you in the jaw and pull a knife.

"Put the knife down!" Spencer called. His voice was stronger facing a woman with a sharp knife than it was when talking to you alone. "I know who you are, you want what's right for women, correct?"

The Seductress narrowed her eyes at him like her next meal, leaving you on the ground. Would Spencer shoot if she threw that knife? Odd she didn't have a gun on her. She must have been relying on the others for more protection. You stood up quietly, watching her slowly advance on Spencer. He had your lipstick smeared over his lips, he looked rough, but he held his gun out in front of him and had the other hand up to reason with her. "Men like you think yourselves above women. You, FBI, you think yourself better than men and women alike because you're the authority. Tell me, how do you like your women, Agent?"

He gulped, eyes flickering to you. You pulled out your gun. "I think... I think I'm a weak man and I'm no better than anyone. I don't deserve women." Spencer said, looking at the evil lady. In person, she looked a lot less like you.

"Lies. It's the instinct of men to feel superior to women. You'll have a lot less instinct when you're dead!" She snarled, lunging at him with her blade out. You pulled the trigger, she fell to the ground. Not dead, but wounded to pass out. Spencer narrowly jumped out of her way, watching her knife clatter to the ground.

You looked up at Spencer, bewildered. You had done it. You saved the case, took down a murderous mafia boss. It was only when Spencer pointed at your face and said, "Y-you're bleeding, (Y/N), are you okay?"- that you noticed your cut lip and the blood pouring from your forehead. But you also noticed he called you by your first name.

He reached a hand forward but retracted it when you winced from the sudden pain. Adrenaline took the pain away temporarily, you supposed. There were still things to be done. Spencer called for backup and a medic and watched as you cuffed the woman. She wasn't going to die, but she did need help.

Once medics arrived, Spencer drove you both back to the Westward situation, where ten arrests had been made. You were in a state of haze, so how Spencer's jacket got around your shoulders was a mystery. When you stepped out of the car, you were greeted by the rest of the agents.

"Are you okay?!" Prentiss was the first to greet you both. She grabbed you by the shoulders and looked at the nearly-dried blood on your skin. "We got worried when you didn't follow soon after, you got her?"

"Yeah," you smiled tiredly.

She grinned back. "Fill us in on the details on the way back, okay? Let's get you two cleaned up."

But Derek Morgan found Spencer, "Hey pretty-boy, is that royal rouge you've got on your lips there?" he teased. Spencer panicked and looked into the mirror of the nearest car, seeing that he did in fact have your lipstick on his mouth. He tried to wipe it off with his wrist, but it still stained. You wiped your own lip with your thumb and Derek caught you. "Okay, Miss Newbie, I see you."

Your eyes widened and Emily raised her eyebrows at you, a teasing smile on her lips. "It was to keep my cover. It's what sent those guys your way, one of them has serious sexual issues." You made sure they knew it- to save yourself and to save Spencer. Derek Morgan spun away with a huge knowing grin, back to Hotchner who was conversing with the Chief of Police. Emily pulled you away to the other medics and you shot Spencer a smile as you went.

He smiled back, still wiping off his mouth.

-tags

@ellyhotchner @softhairedhotch <3

[random-imagines-blog]

Just in Your Heart {Taylor Swift x ChubbyMale!Reader}

Requested by: @lunchawx Wordcount: 2114 Summary: After five years of dating, you’re finally thinking of making it social-media official. Warnings: Fat shaming.

You weren’t the sort of person that most people would picture Miss Americana herself to date. Taylor Swift had gone out with some of the best looking, or at least according to the media’s standards best looking - men in the world. You didn’t need to go over them. The tabloids did that enough for you on a daily basis. But the point was that you were the opposite of a lot of these men. You weren’t in the entertainment industry. You weren’t rich. You weren’t famous. You didn’t have a six pack or a chiseled chest or that rugged jaw line or any of those things. You had worked your way up to being a curator at a Museum in New York - not one of the biggest ones, mind you, but big enough to where you always had a lot on your plate. You were overweight according to your doctor though you ate healthy and tried to get lots of exercise. And you had next to no social media presence, only followed by your friends and family - not even Taylor as for the most part, you both agreed on keeping you out of the spotlight, much as that sometimes hurt. But then again - you both had been together for five years now, and you weren’t being picked apart by the media. That was nice.

“Do you think that this is folded in enough? I always think of that scene in Sleeping Beauty where they actually fold them in,” Taylor laughed, snapping you out of your thoughts. When you had stopped at the grocery store to get the ingredients for baking night, you of course had seen Taylor on the magazines. Stepping out with new ‘mystery man’ it had reported. It was only her new bodyguard and would be forgotten in a week or so but it was still a bit annoying to be surrounded by rumors of your own girlfriend.

“Yeah, that looks good babe,” You’d say, looking into her bowl. It was cake night in your shared apartment. The whole quarantine thing had the both of you at home a lot more, though you did still have to go to work, so you were trying new hobbies. Baking had been Taylor’s idea, and it was something you had shot down at first considering your weight, but she was so insistant. She had given you those puppy dog eyes you couldn’t resist. Those baby blues had you saying yes every time. “No shells this time?”

“Oh my god, it was one time, let it go,” Taylor laughed, going for the next couple of ingredients. “I don’t think that you put enough chocolate in yours.”

“It’s a light chocolate cake, not a Devil’s Food Cake. I’m still watching my weight, remember?” You kept on whipping the eggs until they were light and fluffy, and then finally folded your own into the rest of the mixture. “This will probably be my lunch tomorrow,” You joked.

“I’ll make you something, don’t worry,” She said, putting a kiss on your cheek, transferring a bit of flour that she had on her nose onto your skin. You laughed and wiped it off. “What were you thinking about?”

“Saw you on the cover of another magazine today,” You said, slipping behind her, taking the chance to run your hands across her waist as you went to grab one of the cake pans you already prepped. “They’re thinking that Greg is your new boyfriend. It’s really throwing them off that you’re not out there dating openly anymore.”

“Oh, that’s hilarious. I’m sure his wife is going to love that,” Taylor laughed, not taking it seriously. Being in the industry since she was a teenager meant that she had to develop that tough skin. You loved that about her. You only wished that you had been able to do that yourself. “Oh, let’s take a picture before we pop these into the oven.”

Always the change of subject. But you gave in, as you always did, giving her a little nod. She pulled out her phone, turned the front camera on, and snapped a picture of her kissing your cheek while the full cake pans were waiting on the counter. You were grinning, you couldn’t help it. Every time that this wonderful, beautiful woman gave you attention, you were fawning for it. You couldn’t wait to make her your wife. Just a little longer. Just getting the ring sized.

And then the pans went into the oven, and you settled back down on the couch, looking for something to watch while waiting for the timers. Taylor went straight to Law and Order. Of course. You even bobbed your head to the theme tune. Her favorite show in the whole world. She cuddled up to you, hand and head resting on your barrel-like chest. When she touched you like this, it was hard to feel insecure. And the way that she looked up at you whenever the screen went dark between scenes - still made you feel like blushing to this day.

Once the timer went off, cake out of the oven, it was the only part of this whole baking thing that you really enjoyed. Decorating. Tongue in cheek, going over the layers with the icing that you had managed to make look tie-dye with different colors. “What do you think, fruit maybe? Some whipped cream?” You looked over to see what she was doing, only to see that she was literally throwing sprinkles on top of the icing. Making a huge mess, but it was cute to see her looking so joyous.

“Whatever you want,” She’d say, bending low, turning the plate to see the other side of the cake, and then threw even more sprinkles. One thing could be said for her method - she was thorough. There was hardly an inch on it that was untouched. You looked back at your own which was looking plain in comparison, and started chopping up some fruit to put on the top. At least give some semblance of it being healthy. That way you wouldn’t feel as guilty when you went to the doctor next and explained what you’ve been eating. “I can’t wait to try yours,” Taylor said, sticking a finger in your spare icing and dabbed some of it on the tip of your nose with a giggle. Her eyes were lit up from the inside out. She looked happy. Truly happy. “Can we take another photo?”

“Can I at least get this off of my nose first?” You laughed. She shook her head no, and this time in the photo, she was licking it right off of you, the cakes on full display in front of you. Your face was scrunched up from the attention on your nose, which made her laugh when she saw it.

“This is really cute. I might even post it,” She teased, tongue in cheek.

“Doubtful,” You chuckled, and grabbed a knife to make the first cuts.

“No, really,” She said, leaning against the counter, looking at the picture on her phone. “We’ve been together five years now and I haven’t really been able to tell anyone but our close friends and family.”

“Does anyone else matter?” You asked, eyebrows furrowed. “Everyone that I care about knows about you. Why does the whole world?”

“I just - I don’t want you to feel like I’m ashamed of you when I’m not. I’d love to start posting pictures of us, like normal couples do.”

“We’re not a normal couple,” You pointed out. She was pouting again, but this time it didn’t look like she was trying to get what she wanted. She looked genuinely upset. You watched her for a minute as she dropped a couple more sprinkles on spots that she missed, trying to keep her hands busy. “Okay. Fine. You can post one tomorrow if you really want. But can we just relax tonight?”

“Okay,” She said, tucking a long blonde piece of hair behind her ear and smiled. She looked happy again. And that’s the way that you wanted to keep her forever.

-

Your phone was left in your office for most of the day while you were working on the usual day-to-day activities of the museum. You had forgotten your little agreement with Taylor the night before, having settled back in for a night of watching Olivia Benson on the television solving cases.

So when you finally had a chance to sit down and look at your phone, you were surprised to see that it was dead. You plugged it into your spare charger only for it to turn on and have hundreds - maybe even more notifications. You had to quickly go into your settings and try to turn them off so that you could have a breath. That was when you remembered, and immediately opened up instagram. 2.6 million follow requests. Jesus. At least your account was on private, who knows what they would have done if they had been able to go thorugh your photos and comment on them.

You’d leave those for another time to deal with. The next time that you were taking the subway and had nothing else better to do. But for now, you went to Taylor’s profile, where you were one of her millions of followers, never anything special until now. The two pictures from the night before, kissing and silly icing on your nose. ‘#bakingwithboyfriend.’

Over three million likes. Comments galore. And most of them were not of the nice and supportive kind.

‘Oh my god, is this some body positivity stunt?’ 'This is literally like three of her exes put together, weightwise. ‘ 'Must be really rich or have great dick’

There were other ones that were much more rude, but you weren’t going to go through them. You couldn’t. You wouldn’t do that to yourself. You put the phone back down, face down so that you wouldn’t have to look at it, or at the very least be a lot less tempted.

“Mr y/l/n,” Your assistant said, poking his head into the office. His face was looking flushed, so that already gave you an idea of what was going on. He already knew about your relationship, but that didn’t stop him from having fan-boy moments whenever Taylor came in. “She’s here to see you.”

“She can come in,” You said with a nod. He popped his head back out and the tall, lithe figure of Taylor, as dressed down as she could be, walked into the stuffy room. She smiled nervously and sat down across from you in the spot where donors or assistants usually would sit.

“You saw those comments, didn’t you?” Taylor said. You simply nodded. “I already talked to my publicist and we’re going to be taking comments off all of my posts. It isn’t right. Any of it.”

“Can’t say that it wasn’t expected though,” You admitted, leaning back in your chair. “I’m not Styles or Hiddleston.”

“That’s why I love you,” Taylor insisted. “You’re not any of those men, you’re you. They’ve got nothing, nothing at all, on you.”

“But I’m apparently three of them,” You laughed humorlessly. “Look, I knew what I was getting into by falling in love with you. I can accept it. Just sucks that the day had come after all.”

Taylor was quiet for a moment, but then she leaned forward over the desk, and took hold of your hands, giving them a squeeze with her well manicured fingers. “You’re everything to me, y/n. And I just want to show you that. I want to show the whole world that.”

“I know. I know,” You breathed out with a sigh. “Were any of the comments good?”

“Selena is going apeshit in the comments. Or at least she was while I was on the way here. Threatening to fight some of the people saying the worst things but I already deleted most of the really bad ones. I have my publicist on it. Some of them were really positive though. You’re really handsome. Some of them are threatening to come after you when we break up.”

“Ha, like that’s ever going to happen,” You said, shaking your head. “You’re it for me, baby.”

“You’re it for me too,” Taylor said, raising your hands up to kiss the tops of them. Your unmusical hands. “So - are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’ll get over it. I guess. More incentive to go to the gym maybe. Gotta show your millions of fans that you can still get a buff guy after all.”

“Don’t change yourself too much,” She’d say, smiling. “You’re perfect. Completely and utterly ... perfect.”

[softkuna]

Sukuna || Interview || Fic

Part 1

Content   ║  Punk!Sukuna x reader. There is an oc version here.

Beauty wasn’t in the eye of the beholder, no, it is in the mind. Sukuna was enraptured. Addressed again, he shifted his posture, leaning into the arm of the couch as she did with her chair. The two were close in their cohort. An air of comfortable conversation lingered between them, much to his dismay. Her question wasn’t unusual. He’d been asked it in the beginning of his career and one where he had a planned answer.

Count      ║ 2,626 K

Consider ║ Swearing. Female Pronouns (she/her).

Creator   ║ This is the reader version. I took the name of the oc out. Hopefully the double post isn’t too weird? I did research on punk fashion, culture, and all which was really interesting. I knew some stuff about it before, but it’s really rich! I hope it’s not too information dense for you guys. Either way, Punk!Sukuna is now my comfort au and writing him is an absolute delight!! Also, Sorry for changing from ‘you’ to she/her ;v; it’s a lot easier for me to write/edit this way.

Sukuna had a lazy grin as he lounged back into a modern cream sofa. His arm stretched across the back of it, ankle crossed over his knee. Eyes staggered from the two cameras set up to the woman talking with some other chick. One held a small stack of papers, the other was grandly gesturing. He breathed out a short-stop breath, wishing they wouldn’t waste his time with bickering. Annoying as it was, it left a thick self-satisfactory lather over his ego.

  “-didn’t you say the band?”

  “Yeah, but this is better.”

  “Sure… but what happens if-“

  Quite frankly, he hated most press and avoided it, so to just have him in the hot seat was a double-edged blade. They didn’t get the whole band, but they did have The King himself. Whatever publicity he thrived off of were live shows, signings, fancams, tangible and real-time events. Interviews were a complete and utter waste of his time. He did a couple in the beginning, but found them pointless, callous even. They all asked the same shit. So, him coming alone was absolutely a note to pin to the fridge, even if it were a passive-aggressive post-it note.

  His head turned to the two going back and forth. It wasn’t until the third minute ticked by that Sukuna felt the flashpoint of his blood plummet, “Yo! We doing this or what? You’re wasting my time here, Eros.”

  The blogger whipped her head to the man with an indignant, “Excuse me?”

  “Eros. Known for being reckless and unreliable? Like your scheduling.” He leaned forward, elbow on knee and chin in palm. The aura of shit-eatery exponentially growing, “You’re not excused, sorry, not sorry Princess.”

  “I think you have the wrong God,” She quipped as she dusted off the front of her outfit. It was a smart look and an intentional one for an interview with a punk rocker. What would strike the best complement than a khaki academic outfit? It consisted of a white high collared button up, sleeves billowing before cinching at her wrists. The blouse was stuffed into high-waisted, cuffed khaki chinos, pleated at the center of each pant leg. Over top, a gray woolen sweater vest. Accessories included various silver rings, a black ribbon to tie under the folded collar, and small silver studs as earrings. Makeup remained that done-up natural with brow, liner, and mascara. Hair had been swept into something similar to a faux 1920’s bob, pulled loosely back. The overall silhouette made the perfect contrast.

    Sukuna wanted to peg her as your average superficial fashion bitch, he really did. Even at the concert, she dressed smartly despite the pathetic look on she wore on face. It wasn’t until afterwards when he saw the burn in her eyes, that he craved for her to prove him wrong.

  Black flats clacked as she approached her own seat, a matching armchair to the couch. She held a certain command once she walked in, instructing him on where to be, which camera to look at, and what the introduction would be. He listened, admiring how her small frame moved to and fro, fixing up last minute edits on a paper, chattering with who he assumed to be a videographer. It was a whole production. One that was hers. The set itself was practically out of a home décor magazine. It was a general space used across the publisher, but she was born to be there. Deserved to be there. Her calculated glee and deliberate positioning of each member made him feel as though he were looking through a mirror.

  The interview process began.

  She sat professionally, legs crossed and leaning on the arm of her chair closest to Sukuna. He was unmoving, that slit to his lip curling upwards as the cameras began. She introduced the blog, the channel, her social media handles. With a smile, she introduced herself, “With me in this special is lead singer of Two Face, the King of Curses – Sukuna.”

  The camera panned to his lazy wave, “Yo.” He looked to her, she looked to him and for a moment she thought she saw a flicker of interest. Maybe the man was meant for cameras after all.

  “After looking more into the punk scene, there’s a pretty interesting history behind it. Revolution, social discourse, poverty, violence, and unity. As someone in the scene, can you talk a little bit about what you know of the background?”

  Sukuna drank in her voice, smooth and warm like the steady strum of a bass guitar. For a moment, he wondered if she sang. He quirked a brow, “Sounds like you didn’t research enough to summarize it yourself,” Eyes flickered to her features, watching as slight annoyance crinkled onto her nose then smoothed, “Let me learn you, Daisy. Starting back from rock in the 50’s, take that, strip it, build it with shit you find in the backyard…” His wrist rolled as his harmonious voice sang on, lacking even a single stutter as he summarized the movement top to bottom, inside and out, “…So, people would make their own records, sell them in plastic bags, they’d scan and reprint photos to make their own ‘zines. Shit was hard to distribute without tech…”

  Much of his dissertation, she hadn’t even found on her own deep dive into the culture. Sure, the anarchist and nihilistic ideologies were well known to pretty much anyone who would listen, but the deep history and connection between communities was far beyond the surface scratched into.

  “There’s a crowd of sub-genres now. Fuck ‘punk is dead’ what even is that bull shit?” Sukuna scoffed, jerking his chiseled chin to the side, “Only thing that’s dead here is – ironically – peoples drive to change.”

  His interviewer sat in silence for a moment, mind spinning. He spoke in the way a well-educated University professor gave a dissertation to his peers, dripping in confidence from his storm of information. He was articulate despite the fowl language, even including a tie in to modern perception. Excitement curled into the recess of her mind. In a delightful turn of events, expectation and reality didn’t match up.

  She leaned forward slightly folding her hands over the arm of the chair, “That was comprehensive. Thanks!” She chuckled, causing the man before her to freeze and thaw with a nod. She continued, “With all of this mention of D.I.Y. culture in punk, let’s talk about Vivienne Westwood.”

  Sukuna kept his attention to her profile as she spoke to the camera, catching himself in the glow of her enthusiasm, “On Kings Road in England, she kickstarted the fashion movement into gear. Now, many would think that with a style such as this, it would’ve been hand-me-downs, pins, self-stitching, but contrary to this belief, many of the clothes in her store were expensive. Knock offs circulated, and seeing as much of it did have that hand-done finishing touch, many decided to take tailoring to their own hands…” Not that this was a competition, but she found herself trying to prove his ‘research’ comment wrong. Her ability to scour and exhaust her resources of fashion history is the furnace that kept her going and she would make it well known that she was not to be challenged.

  The approaching lurch of a stalemate stuck to the walls of the vocalist’s stomach. Something he didn’t think he’d feel for a while. Small stuff over here may not’ve known all there was about the cultural history, but he could feel the crashing wave of fascination washing over him as she spoke. Sure, some of it he knew. Some of it he naturally garnered from stylistic preference and others he learned for marketing, however there was just a certain target she aimed for with such precision that he bled a newfound admiration.

  Beauty wasn’t in the eye of the beholder, no, it is in the mind. Sukuna was enraptured. Addressed again, he shifted his posture, leaning into the arm of the couch as she did with her chair. The two were close in their cohort. An air of comfortable conversation lingered between them, much to his dismay. Her question wasn’t unusual. He’d been asked it in the beginning of his career and one where he had a planned answer. As practiced, “I ans-“

  “You’ve answered it already, yeah, I know. I saw the interview,” Her head tilted to the side, pleasant smile hinting at her trick, “but enlighten me for a second about how your natural style transitioned to what it is on stage. We’ll put up some of the photos taken from last night here,” her hand gestured to some empty space, “You basically turned chiaroscuro and made it a performance. It’s obvious in how each member contrasted with themselves and the stage.”

  The chick didn’t even know who he was a week ago, yet somehow watched every interview since the start? An answer tumbled from the tongue readily, “Punk is like a renaissance of music. Like I said before, it tore down the foundations of what was before and built something new out of it.” The words were succinct, but as her pretty lashes bat, he was goaded into continuing, “Contrast is important. I like art. I like plays. Just ‘cause it’s punk doesn’t mean I can’t have it look aesthetic? Or is that a word only snobby fashion journalists can use now?”

  “Hm. Change ‘journalist’ to ‘vocalist’ and you’re a word away from meeting the requirement,” It was a sour candy treat traded for his lemon warhead.  

  “Ouch. Miss Blog-Spot here has some sass,” His large frame leaned further into the armrest, cheek resting on that fist.

  “Mister Eight-Track here is some a–“

  The videographer clapped his hands, “We have sponsors, you know. We can at least censor him.”

  It was Sukuna’s time to laugh a loud, hyena-like cackle. A large hand smacked his leather-clad knee. She scrunched her nose again, biting back her tongue from childishly jutting out at him.

  As soon as the videographer clapped his hands again, she recollected herself, shuffled her papers, and continued on, “From what it looks like, you took a mixture of old and new high-trend brands and added a touch to them to keep with theme. Even now, you’re wearing a Real McCoy with cone spikes embedded. Is that custom made? McCoy isn’t cheap.”

  Part of him hated her keen eye, but reveled in her raw talent all the same. “I’m not going to bull shit you and say I dumpster dive for my clothes. I like high quality things. What’s the point in making money if I can’t spend it? What’s a bigger ‘fuck you’ than having your version of a top-brand item being worth more than the original?” With a proud glint in his eye, he rolled the jacket off, sure to make a grand display of strong, bare arms as he did so. The muscle tank he wore was similar to the concert before, white with a pocket, neckline was stretched and worn. It hung over the dense muscle of his shoulders and chest. Sukuna could feel the trail of her eyes on him. His chest puffed from her approval. He threw the jacket over his knee, flipping the leather inside out to show where the studs had been placed, “See this? Did it myself.”

  Manicured fingers touched the inside of the jacket, thumbing the connecting points that the studs were pressed in by and sealed. The work was immaculate. Sukuna leaned back, canines gleaming as he saw her mouth move in a silent ‘wow’. He picked the front of his tank top, snapping it up and allowing it to billow back to his body, “Embroidered this, too.”

  He waited for her comment, her praise. Why? Like he needed some two-bit Vanderbilt bitch’s validation. He chalked it up to being praised by a master of the craft. He hadn’t been prepared for her to take the fabric between her fingers and rub it, concentrated brows cinched like a corset. Well-toned abs flinched in response to her delicacy, but she didn’t notice.

  The embroidery was messy and chaotic, but it was obviously intentionally. The way the needlework was so clean, barely leaving a hole from the pull of the exceptionally soft fabric. It wasn’t floral like in the concert, but abstract stitching created crosses and streaks here and there, using the composition of the fabric as like it were a canvas. Experimentalist. It was like touching the work of Westwood herself.

  God, she hated how perfect it was. It squeezed her heart to know that he was so effortlessly multi-talented. She rubbed the fabric between her fingers once more, attention being stolen by his baritone voice. She could practically hear the treble in it, “Ey Princess, you think it’s okay to just touch me?” His breath caught under the arrogant teasing of his words. Not from the words themselves. Couldn’t care less about that. What choked him up was whatever resplendent emotion flared from them when she peered up to him.

  “Let me check the tag.”

  “What?”

  The blogger leaned back, cheekily snapping the shirt as she did so. “Your shirt, can I check the tag? I want to see what its made out of. Also, sorry.”

  Sukuna blinked twice, mouth stupidly hanging open before he leaned forward, “I’ll allow it.”

  He may have tinnitus, but he wasn’t deaf enough yet to miss the mocking ‘I’ll allow it,’ muttered under her breath. He wanted to laugh, but for the second time, the graze of chilled fingertips along his skin shut him up. Along the back of his neck, she fiddled to flip the collar and tug it. Her eyes squinted and a hum escaped her throat. Sometimes she wished she could read upside down. That’s when she sat on the back on the sofa and leaned closer, pulling the shirt to better read the small print. If Sukuna were a cat, he’d lean his head into her. The thought physically bothered him.

  “I knew it. It’s American Pima. Thanks for letting me check.”

  He missed the shiver her touch gave him as she sat back into her chair.

  “While I have more questions for you, this video’s gotten pretty long already, so we’ll have to cut it a bit short here,” She gave a closing statement, motioning for her guest to do the same. With a thanks, the cameras were cut.

 While the editor and videographer chatted together, She leaned heavily into the back of her chair, poised posture slipping into something more comfortable. Long lashes slid closed and a heavy drag of breath lifted her chest. Sukuna’s eyes trailed along her form, contemplating Eros once more.

  She exhaled sharply, “I do appreciate you coming on stage. It’s disgusting how talented you are.” She laughed, cracking an eye open to meet his, “I prepped a lot of questions thinking you’d be short with me. It’s a shame I only got to ask a few.”

  He was surprised himself. It was more than just her talent to make him talk - she may have been the first to see him as an opportunity rather than a commodity. ‘She would be the first and last reporter to see me as a meal’ was the thought he had going into this interview. He had every single intention to shut down her buffet, make it apparent that he was not to be dined on by a single soul. Yet, if his dish were ‘opportunity’, hers would be ‘intrigue’. He wanted to devour it, to know its palette and identify its spices. It was a compulsory urge to order, just to see why he craved it in the first place.

  “Film the next few concerts. Backstage.”

Tags:  @lovesakusa​