#i am a writer's wet dream

[pinkysberg]

i have like 10 full pages of notes that pertain to dutch van der linde's mental state and im being told this isn't normal ?!

[hauntedbyhedonism]

As much of a horny bastard that i am, i rarely have wet dreams. Last night I fell asleep reading a fic and had a dream about a guy friend (let's call him J) inviting a group of us over. The rest of our friends wanted to go shopping, but I wasn't up to the mall. J offered to stay back with me and told the rest to go on without us.

Once they left, J offered to hang out in his room, since the bed would be so much more comfortable to nap on than the couch. We slid under the covers and got cozy, each taking half. My brain started to wander, horny thoughts of what could happen here playing like a clip show. A jolt goes through my body, almost making me whimper.

We talked about our weeks, our friends, how jobs were going. All the while, I'm making the smallest hip movements I can and playing with my rock hard t-dick to try to relieve the overwhelming horniness.

A lull in the conversation happened right when I decided to dip my finger into my hole. J reached for something on the nightstand, passing me what looked like a small tenticle on a mechanical base. He tells me he's been feeling me shifting around the bed, hearing my breathing pick up as I hit a good spot. He wants to help. He doesn't want to cross any lines, but if it's okay he wants to listen to me cum.

I shyly take the toy from him and look it over. It's been made to move like an actual tenticle, and it's ready to go. I nod, and carefully I insert the toy into my cunt as fair as it will go, readjusting my underwear to hold it in place. He reaches over to flick a switch on the base, and I choke on a moan as the toy starts writhing inside of me. I roll over to fave him, grabbing onto his arms to brace myself. His eyes fly over my face, my body, everything he can see to take in as much as he can. I'm so wet you can hear the slick movements between my legs.

It feels so good, as the tenticle twists and turns against my walls, pressing every sweet spot within reach. I can't stop my voice as I pant out whines, barely hearing as J encourages me on. As good as it all feels, I can't seem to crest that hill to explode. J opens his mouth to suggest something else when the front door opens and we hear our friends pour back into the house. We jump apart, J launching up to go great the group. I stay in the bed, covering my mouth with my hand as the toy continues to move.

Eventually a couple friends come into the bedroom, wanting to check on me since J has explained that we just napped. They tell me about the mall trip, and excitedly showed me a few things that they bought. It's getting late, and the driver of our group tells us to start getting our things together and that we're going to leave in a bit. Everyone leaves the room, leaving me alone until J hurries back in and closes the door behind him

"Did you cum?" he asks quickly. I shake my head with a soft moan: I'm almost there but it isn't enough. J looks around fretfully as he looks for anything else that could help me finish before the others start the car, but sees nothing. Instead, he lays down flat on the floor and tells me to sit on his face if it's okay with me.

I'm so turned on that I don't give it a second thought. I yank the tentacle out of my cunt, the hole twitching and throbbing at the emptiness, and kneel down over his chest. The shyness suddenly makes me hesitate, and when I don't move J squeezes his hands on my hips and ass, urging me to scoot forward. I do until I'm right over his mouth, and slowly lower myself down.

His tongue immediately goes to work, lapping around my hole, in my hole, suckling my t-dick, anything he can do to make me explode before the friends knock again. A scream nearly rips out of my throat, the pleasure nearly too much too fast. I thrash in my position, but his hands lock on my hips, keeping them still as the rest of me tries to handle the sensations. My stomach tightens up, one of my hands finding a hold in J's hair while the other is shoved into my mouth. I feel my sanity slipping away. It builds and builds until I peak right as I hear the engine turn over.

I moan into my hand, my body both trembling and locking up, biting down as I feel slick gush out of me. J's tongue laps at any skin he can reach, drinking down any cum he finds and extending my high.

I come down still twitching, trying my best to roll off of J's face and land on the carpet while lightheaded. A knock on the door sounds and J bounds up to his feet. He grabs a towel from his hamper, wipes his face, and throws it over to me. While he tells our friend that I ate something bad and that I was just recovering for a second, I wiped myself dry and shakily got my underwear and shorts back on.

J comes back after assuring the friend I would be out in a minute or two. We both look at each other, red in the faces. He reaches out and gently wraps me in a hug, asking me if we were good. I hug him back, nuzzling his chest to say thank you, and that we better get to do this again.

[inkskinned]

yesterday while feverish i wrote about how boats can moor next to each other like pigeons, cooing with the gentle rap of water against their hull. you once said that that the way i see things - birds in the water, feathers in marina paint - was "childish and naive." you said i'd been misdiagnosed - "it can't all be adhd. you might be just kind of stupid and lazy."

i still do certain things like how you taught me - turn the pillow case inside out before putting it on. drive defensively. hate myself entirely.

the prompt for this poem is "mahler's fifth." i wish it wasn't, but mahler's fifth was our song. it ended up in my book. every person that knows your name has promised me they'll give you one swift rabbit punch, right to the face. dean read the book and showed up on my front porch, drenched in sweat from running the 8 miles at 4 in the morning. he was shaking. pacifist and gentle - he works with children - i'd never seen him furious. a punch isn't going to do it, he said, and then said i'm sorry. i had to come to see if you were okay.

mahler's fifth was mine first, like my girlhood. i like the way each movement piles onto the next movement, each instrument bleeding into the next. i like the horn version the best. before i met you, i danced to it on grass still-wet from sprinklers.

later you would tell me that the way you heard it was somehow better. you understood something in it that i couldn't quite wrap my fingers into. once, on our anniversary, you asked the classical music radio station to play it for us. we missed hearing it because we were fighting. one of the things people get wrong about abuse is that sometimes victims are, like, brutally aware of the stupidity of our situation. what do you mean that you thought i wasn't good enough for you? you? you're just... nothing.

sometimes people can pull the poetry out of your life. i watched my words become clothesline, and then thin out into kite twine. i watched you chew through every good syllable of me. so many good songs and places and moments were ruined. i am glad you didn't like most of my music - less to tie back to you.

but still mahler's fifth. the music swells, and i am 21 and throwing up in a bathroom on my birthday. a woman i will later refer to as lesbian jesus runs a cool hand down my back, her perfect pantsuit starch-pressed. she told me to leave you. she said - and this is true, and not an invention of rhyme or fantasy - i'm you from the future.

i am 22, and i got home from an award ceremony, and i remember you telling me - you act so proud of yourself when you're actually so fucking embarrassing. i took you to disney world. you took my virginity. i gave up visiting spain for a week with my family - i instead choose you, to spend the time just-cuddling. you called it "our fuck week." the music swells. it probably should have been a red flag that for about 3 years - i just gave up on crying. my grandfather died and you said nothing. my uncle died and you ghosted me for 3 weeks. you said i need to protect myself from your ongoing tragedy.

every so often i come back to the memory of one of our last afternoons in person. i had just told you that i wasn't going to law school, despite the free ride - i was going to join a creative writing program. master's in fine arts. i was going to finally do it - i was going to follow my dreams. this blog was already internet-famous. however reluctantly, i would occasionally refer to myself as a poet. i got into umass amherst's writing program for fiction authors. it is one of the the top 5 programs in the country.

wait are you seriously considering actually attending that? dumbfounded, you turned completely towards me in your seat. for the 3rd time in our relationship, you almost crashed the car. you actually want to be a writer?

the first time i went viral, it was for a poem i wrote about you:

he wants to say i love you but keeps it to goodnight because love will take some falling and she's afraid of heights.

every time i see that, i want to throw up. you weren't in love with me, you were in love with the control you had over me. a little truth though: i am afraid of heights. you caught a rabbitgirl and skinned her alive.

mahler's fifth still makes me sick.

give me that back. give me back music. give me back everything i had before you. give me back fearlessness. give me back bravery. give me back a scarless body.

give me back what you took from me.

[on-a-lucky-tide]

I am losing my fucking mind over this scene. The look on Price's face. The soft hum, the smile, the eyes, the "good to see you again, Simon". Not Ghost. Simon.

I had this in mind during the boxing fic. He wasn't joking. Lieutenant Simon Riley is his favourite. The history these two have. It's a fic writer's wet dream.

Also, the symbolism of Ghost taking off his mask? The trust, but also, he's part of the team. He's starting off where they are, as Simon, and they'll put the skull mask on together. As one. They're all Ghost now. The Ghost identity will protect them as it has protected him since he lost everything.

[mythalism]

Dude yeah Solas going back to the prison is so dumb to me. Like I assumed before seeing Trick’s post they he and the inquisitor were going into the fade itself to where he sealed the dreams or whatever. But instead I’m going to take my wife to my divorcee empty ass apartment where the ghosts of my past call me a wet loser? What?

JHGKEJRGHKERJHGKREJGH no ur right. i think it genuinely only works when you look at it from a mythological story perspective rather than the two of them as individual people... which is interesting because their whole stories are kind of about how they lose themselves to the myth that surrounds them... so i think its supposed to be the ultimate conclusion of that.

they are at once both finally free of the burdens of the myths and expectations that follow them as the dread wolf and the herald of andraste because they have left the mortal world that forced them into those roles and stripped them of their personhood, but they have also completely submitted themselves to those roles by submitting to the logical conclusion of the myths that they could not escape. for the dread wolf, it is earning his redemption through his willing submission to his own trap. its the logical, full-circle mythological conclusion to the trickster who trapped the gods, now trapped for eternity himself (allegedly, he will prob eventually break out... even loki gets his freedom during ragnarok...). for the inquisitor, it is andraste's herald finally sharing andraste's fate, choosing to leave the mortal world behind to ascend to the golden city alongside the god that she loves. both (presumably, for a lavellan) have tried to reject the myths attached to them over and over and over, but in the end they choose them willingly, and that choice at once binds them to those myths forever while simultaneously freeing them from the burden of them. its giving oedipal greek tragedy of attempting to outrun your fate and it finding you anyway, just when you thought you were finally making your own choice, but with a hopeful and bittersweet spin. its actually fucking insanely brilliant when i think about it this way it makes me genuinely foam at the mouth.

however the major caveat to this is i do not think this is presented nearly clear enough in veilguard. the only reason i am able to create such wonderful, deep meaning from this is honestly because my bachelor's degree is in literature and i literally have formal academic training analyzing storytelling. and it took me like a week to actually sift through all this in my brain and go back and sift through lines and images in the game to support my analysis. it should not take that much work, it should have been more clear. because yeah, the first time you play it it absolutely feels like your girly pop lavellan is making the WORST, down-bad delulu decision of her life while the rest of the world is screaming GIRL DUMP HIM!!!!!!!! and im not suggesting im smarter than anyone for looking at it “the right way” or anything like that. im saying that i think in order to get the meaning from it that the writers intended, you have to look at it through a very specific literary lens, and that is something that most people are not going to default to… because why would you? the story should lead you there on its own. there shouldn’t be a niche prerequisite to enjoying the ending. a few more lines about people made into myths, much like those we got throughout inquisition, could’ve helped facilitate this. they did a great job of hammering in the regret and choice themes to the point it was like beating a dead horse with a stick. and there are a few good lines that kind of give this vibe (“you’re not JUST the inquisitor, right?” “they call me the dread wolf, what will they call you when this is over?” “there is no fate but the love we share,” a codex from felassan about solas being forced to play into the dread wolf persona, etc.) but they probably could’ve added a few more to talk about mythological apotheosis and choice in the context of fate rather than just in the context of regret, and it would’ve helped at least a bit.

so i fully understand peoples discomfort with the ending as a result. i think it’s a logical conclusion to come to based on how the story presents itself. however im pretty confident that this mythological vibe was tricks intention, based on a lot of their comments about their writing process and inspiration for solas, and the way they have written him overall. @corseque has a lot of amazing posts in her solas tag that talk specifically about the very deliberately mythological way that weekes wrote solas, and i think this is essential context for understanding the ending that the game simply does not sufficiently provide. it also definitely invalidates a lot of people's perceptions of not just their inquisitor, but the solavellan romance as well. however i hope me blabbing about how it can be absolutely brilliant when viewed through a specific lens might help people feel more at peace with it <3

[anotherfcknschlattsimp]

Kinktober Day 2

one bed trope

let's go

schlatt

jokes about taking the bed and you taking the couch, but overall wants to share the bed “for comfort’s sake toots”

very upset about it (or so you think)

tries to stay a respectful distance from you

dreams about you nonstop in more and more lewd ways. wakes up in the middle of the night with a b o n e r i tell you what

he had to fix that shit NEOW 

hopes you wont wake up while he’s desecrating the close friendship you two have built on trust

aka, jerking off next to his crush and best friend while in bed with them after dreaming about fucking them

gets VERY scared and insecure when you wake up and catch him, ready to flee

ted (im realizing i am not a ted writer)

offers to take the couch

you say you’d rather have him lay with you than sit in the cuck chair all night, his spine would be ruined and mess up his attitude for the next day of shooting

doesn’t take all that much convincing 

offers his arm for you to cuddle him if you wanted

also one to dream of you while trying not to think about how close and warm and pretty much perfect you are, pressed right up to his side

you wake up in the morning with ted spooning you and with something uncomfortably poking your ass

ted doesnt seem to be awake yet so you test a theory by rubbing yourself against him

he moans out your name among choruses of swears as he finally cums his pants

you can feel the wet patch but dont want to clean up before he wakes and has to deal with the fact that he did that

read: fuck you how he did in his dream

charlie

insists on taking the couch

i mean INSISTS

you have to drag him to the bed

you dont give him a chance at distancing from you, pulling him into a cuddling position

“cuddle me char-char” you say in an overly innocent tone

he finally sinks into the embrace and rests his eyes for the night, still nervous about what might happen

he’s had naughty dreams about you before and just prayed that it wouldnt happen tonight

you wake up and notice your hand drifted south to charlie’s hard cock

when you realize, you give a couple experimental strokes which were greeted by him humping your hand and his pretty little whimpers 

you make a hard decision (to wake him up to you sucking him off or you riding him)

taglist @xoxoave @jschladderall @manticore-fangs @ezraholmes @honeymochii @ratqueen06 @haceroo @ev3-sb @0miamor0 @miniminkis @lover-girl-for-life @jaytalksnonsense @baadkiitty @adriixboo @caiterculy @ratsatemyson @xplrmyguts @littleskeletonprincess @morgan-getty @britishscum @babies-blues @jay-cosplay-bin @vigari @bigbuvkybarness (still broken)

[reidsaurora]

Your event is so cute!!! Could I get a sun kissed Malibu dream house with Aaron?? 🥹 in need of some fluff with him hehe

i am so so sorry this took me so long to write! writer's block these past few months has been kicking my butt. but, thanks to my awesome betas, i think i wrote something you'll like! hope you enjoy!

"Summer Lovin" ~ A. Hotchner

Summary: As the start of summer arrives, you and your friends at the BAU find yourselves feeling a bit reminiscent of the summers before. Along with that reminiscence, you start to miss the days when you and Aaron had little babies instead of big kids…

Pairing: Dad!Aaron Hotchner x Mom!Reader

Word Count: 2,019

Content Warning: lots of talk of babies/pregnancy, sexual humor, kind of fade to black smut if you read between the lines lol, small mention of food, lmk if i missed anything!

Extra Notes: i'm so sorry this took so long, i had a very hard time writing this and def meant to post it sooner. however, in the spirit of my city being under a heat advisory today, this feels appropriate to post 😂

Originally Written: 06/04/2024 through 06/25/2024

Beta Read By: @dungeons-are-too-cold and @virtual-vivi 🫶🏻🩷

Criminal Minds masterlist can be found here!

Summer Celebration info can be found here!

Sun Kissed - fluff requests

Malibu Dream House - domestic!au

Aaron tossed off the blanket, letting out a small sigh of relief. “When did it get so hot?” he grumbled, his morning voice prominent. As he rolled over to his back, you spotted a big wet spot on the front of his tee shirt from just how much he was sweating.

Still, you scooted closer to him anyway and tossed an arm over his abdomen, his familiar scent filling your senses. “News said there’d be an excessive heat wave today.”

“It's probably ninety degrees already,” he complained, “and it's not even 9:00 yet.”

Rolling onto your side to face him, you left a trail of kisses along his jawline. “Hey, Mr. Grumpy Gills,” you giggled, referencing one of your kids’ favorite movies. “When life gets you down, you know what you gotta do?”

“It's sweltering! How in the world could you possibly want to cuddle right now?” Aaron ignored your attempt to brighten the mood, instead opting to toss a pillow over his head and groan into it.

You just pulled the pillow away and left another peck on his jaw. “Because I love you. And because our children are gonna come in here any minute to take you away from me.”

He noticed the small pout that followed your statement, the expression enough to soften even Aaron Hotchner, king of stoicism, up. “Alright, fine. I'll allow it. But only because you drive a hard bargain.”

Your pout was replaced with a smirk as you snuggled closer into his side. “Mmm, that means a lot, coming from an ex-prosecutor. Maybe I should've gone to law school with you.”

“You're too sensitive for the big house, or whatever they say,” Aaron snickered. After noticing your look of offense, he quickly covered with, “I didn't mean it in a bad way. You have feelings. It's a very nice thing to come home to after dealing with emotionless psychopaths all day.”

“I think you're trying to compliment me. I'll take it.”

His lips met yours for a quick peck before saying, “I have nothing but compliments for you, my love,” Then, he met you with a second, much longer kiss, and while he tasted like morning breath, moments like this were so rare that you were willing to look past it.

One of his large hands met your leg, his calloused fingertips trailing along your bare skin. It felt like a lifetime since you'd been like this, with two children always needing your attention and the FBI always needing Aaron's. Just a simple touch of his fingers had you forgetting about the outside world, if even for just a moment.

Your lips met his neck, his stubble scratchy against your skin. He'd been away on a case in Seattle for about a week, and you were certain he hadn't shaved the whole trip. You liked it that way anyway.

His hand traveled further up under your nightgown, settling on your thigh. He squeezed the supple skin, a gesture of both affection and want.

“Are you trying to go for number three?” you joked before kissing his neck once more.

“Believe me,” Aaron chuckled, “if I knew I had enough time, I'd certainly try.”

As if on cue, four scurrying feet came stamping across the hardwood floor into your bedroom. “Good morning, Daddy!” both of your children yelled in sync, climbing onto the edge of the bed.

“That's why you're not allowed a third,” you mumbled into his ear. “The ones you have don't even appreciate me.”

“They love you, I promise,” he whispered, kissing your cheek. To the kids, he said, “Good morning. Don't you have anything else you want to say?”

They both turned to you, sheepish looks coming across their tiny, adorable faces. “Good morning, Mommy.”

“That's better,” Aaron said, gaining him a snicker from you. “Now, may I ask why the two of you are up so early and you're already in your swimsuits?”

It was then that you realized he was right. Jack, the older of your children, was sporting his favorite Spiderman swim trunks, while his little sister, Libby, had managed to dress herself in a cherry-print swimsuit she hadn't quite grown into yet. They made your heart melt.

“Daddy,” Libby sighed, clearly exasperated with her father, “don't you know what day it is?”

It happened to be the day your kids hadn't stopped talking about for weeks: the beginning-of-summer pool party you and Aaron threw every year for your friends and his coworkers at the BAU.

Aaron tapped a finger against his chin, his brows furrowing as he thought. “Let's see… it's not Libby’s birthday, and it's not Jack’s birthday, it's not my birthday, and I don't think it's your mom’s birthday,” his last comment earned him a sarcastic look from you. “Hmm, what day could it be?”

You joined in on his little game, tapping against your chin as you pretended to think. “Perhaps it's Christmas?”

Jack narrowed his eyes at you. “It's too early in the year for Christmas,” he said matter-of-factly.

“You're right.” As you continued tapping your finger, you shot Aaron a knowing look, which he gladly returned. He could tell by the gleam in your eye exactly what you meant with that look. “Is it…”

Each of you grabbed a kid, tickling and eliciting little squeals and giggles. “Pool party day?!” the two of you shouted in sync.

Libby thrashed around in your arms, laughing and squirming, while Jack attempted to escape his father's arms. Moments like these were almost as rare as the ones with just you and Aaron, so you had to take advantage of them while you could.

“It's pool party day!” Libby squeaked, while Jack was laughing so hard, he could barely breathe.

Their smiles and laughs pulled at your heartstrings. You wondered when the universe decided to make your babies grow up, since it seemed like only yesterday when you had a newborn and a two-year-old.

Bringing yourself out of your nostalgic trance, you pulled yourself out of the bed, grabbing each kid by the hand. “Who wants to make pancakes while Daddy’s in the shower?”

—

Soon enough, all your friends had arrived and it felt like summer had too. Penelope and Spencer were currently entertaining all the kids, while the other men were crowded around the grill and the rest of the ladies were sitting poolside and working on their tans.

“You ever wonder if either of them will have kids?” JJ asked, nodding toward Penelope and Spencer.

“Spencer, a hundred percent,” Emily answered, like her statement was a fact. “Penelope, I'm not so sure.”

You were next to jump into the conversation, not even bothering to look up from your magazine. “Why do you ask, Jen?”

JJ let out a longing sigh. “It's been so long since we've had a baby around here.”

Putting the magazine down, you looked over to her, eyebrows creased. “Henry's only three. It hasn't been that long.”

“You don't miss having a baby at our get-togethers? Emily, where do you stand?”

“Don’t look at me,” Emily said with wide eyes. “If I didn't have to change another diaper for a lifetime, it still wouldn't be long enough.” She was the one person in the group that was rather indifferent to children, but babies, she'd rather not talk about or be around.

“Yeah, babies are nice,” you said, “but the pregnancy part? That's what I'd rather go a lifetime without.”

“Well, I'm sure there's one thing we can all agree on,” JJ snickered. “At least making the baby is fun.”

Emily tossed the pillow behind her back in the direction of her coworker, giggling all the while. “Jennifer!”

“What?” she laughed as she swatted the pillow away. “Am I wrong?”

You let out a small snicker yourself, shooting a glance in the direction of your husband, who was currently taking his turn in manning the grill.

Neither of your friends missed that look, both their mouths falling agape at the expression. “Spill!” they squealed in sync.

Penelope made her way over from the edge of the pool, her face overtaken by the brightest smile known to mankind. “I heard the ‘Someone has beans to spill’ variety of squeals and giggles. What am I missing?”

“Nothing,” you insisted with an eye roll.

Emily patted the edge of her chaise, welcoming Penelope over. “Come sit, we're gonna get it out of her. After all, two out of three of us are profilers.”

Your eyes narrowed at the brunette. “Do you forget that I also used to be a profiler before my kids came along?”

“Stop changing the subject,” Penelope said with a swat of her hand. “Spill your guts. What did I miss?”

“Well, we were talking about how it's been so long since anyone on the team, past or present, has had a kid,” Jennifer explained.

“And someone looked at her husband with that look,” Emily further explained.

You scoffed. “It was not that look.”

“It totally was,” your friends spoke in sync.

Penelope's face lit up like a child in a candy store, her mind clearly running rampant with ideas of what the look meant. “Oh my God, are you-”

“No!” you quickly interrupted, knowing exactly where that question was headed. “Not yet anyway,” you mumbled under your breath.

The three of them practically jumped out of their seats and gathered around you, all screams and smiles.

“We haven't even had the conversation yet!”

“But you're going to!” Penelope insisted.

You rolled your eyes, but internally, you couldn't be happier for the gift of friendship from these three women. Jennifer, the mom friend in more ways than one. Emily, the voice of reason who not-so-secretly had a funny side and always knew how to make you laugh. And Penelope, the perfect shoulder to cry on and perfect soul to confide in. Lucky didn't even begin to describe how you felt about knowing these women.

Suddenly, you found yourself— as Penelope had said— spilling your guts. “I don't know. This morning just felt… different. Like, maybe it wouldn't be so bad to have another baby around.”

The three of them flooded you with comments of love and support, hugs wrapping around you from each direction. Having another baby would be different, of course, but your friends were making sure that you knew it would be a good kind of different.

“I still have to get Aaron on board, so no one get too excited,” you reminded them.

JJ was already way ahead of you. “We've got the kids, Rossi and Derek have the grill. Don't worry about anything out here. You and your man deserve a moment of free time.”

“Just so we're clear,” you said, pointing a finger as if to further prove your point, “we are just going to talk. No funny business.”

Emily snickered. “Yeah, the same way you guys used to ‘talk’ on the jet?” Your cheeks heated to a bright red shade at her comment.

“Ew, Hotch is in the mile high club?!” Penelope practically screamed. Luckily, everyone else seemed too engrossed in conversation to hear her, but you were still mortified nonetheless.

“Okay, scratch what I said. I'm actually going inside to give myself a lobotomy.”

And with that, your friends were shouting in sync different variations of “Have fun!”

Then, with a smile on your face from both the joy of friendship and the love you had for your husband, you found yourself heading over to the grill and pulling Aaron away. His reaction was nothing short of laughter as you practically dragged him toward the house, his shirt nearly coming off with how hard you were tugging it.

Lips met skin as you closed the back door behind you. Aaron let out another chuckle, though he surely wasn't protesting your affection. “Woah, that look in your eyes tells me you're the one thinking about number three,” he commented, referencing your words from that morning.

“Well,” you said as your fingers started to trail under the hem of his dark gray tee shirt. With another kiss to his neck, you continued, “About that…”

taglist: @1234-angelika @lowsodiumfreaks67 @drayshadow @alexxavicry @cordyandbilliehavemyheart @the-lucky-ones311 @mercuryvapours @darkloverfox @sammyrenae68 @cherrycandle @asgardprincess97 @gh0stgurl @esposadomd @randomwriter1021 @eddieharrington @paintlavillered @lavhoes @rhyanishere @danielle143 @handsupforamiracle @ah-blossom @reidselle @dungeons-are-too-cold @louderfortheback @reidsbookclub @cwritesforfun @lover-of-books-and-tea

[gemissleeping]

Sea Foam | Chapter Four

Theodore Nott x Siren!Reader

Read the other Chapters here.

Summary: After a moonlit swim, you find Theo in the Common Room. Half asleep and buried in a book.

Length: 2.2k

Notes: This is so late and I am so sorry. I really struggled with this chapter, but I hope it was worth the wait! NSFW ahead, minors dni. Soft Theo, Sleepy Theo. First time smut writer and it is relatively soft, not super spicy sorry. It might be bad oops <3

Beams of moonlight broke through the slick of the surface, cutting down to the bottom of the lake. There was a soft current pulling at you, kelp licking at the skin of your back. Arms outstretched towards the rays, fingertips dancing through them curiously.

It was these nights, weightless and floating through the darkness, that you almost found yourself enjoying it all. No full moon to shatter your mind, to cause you to betray yourself. It brought a kind of quiet you were certain you’d never felt anywhere else, and never could.

Theo’s words were heavy on your mind, threatening to sink you with their weight. You’d tried to brush him off again, to pretend that the last few weeks had been easy for you. But it wasn’t the truth. In his absence you had only grown wanting. Finally settling on the undeniable truth of who he was to you. Who he had always been, even when you had tried so desperately to push him aside, ignore the way your eyes found one another in every room. Every breath becoming so unbearably conscious when the other was near.

It was past midnight when you found him in the common room. Tucked into the nook of couches by the window. Your hair still doused in salt. Wind-bitten and bone-tired as you pulled your clothes tighter to your skin.

You’d known he would be here, though you pushed it to the corners of your mind any chance you got. Only watery ribbons of moonlight accompanied him, splayed across his skin. Ripples of light swimming against the marks that dotted the skin of his neck, his cheek. His eyes half-drawn with the need for rest.

A book was strewn lazily through Theo’s hands as he leant back. Head resting against the lounge’s spine, losing his fight against the pull of sleep.

You couldn’t help but smile at the sight, unable to recall ever having seen him so disarmed before. His chest rising and falling with each gentle breath. It was a brutal thing, to see someone so themselves. To see what they might’ve been like if they’d been left completely unbruised and unburdened. It wasn’t something you allowed yourself to linger on for long.

You drew yourself closer, still engulfed by the dips of shadow that traced the candlelit walls. You came to rest by the high arched window, just a few heartbeats away from him. Wet hair curled, water running down the backs of your arms and onto the windowsill as you lazed into it. Head tilting, trying to catch the title of the leather bound book in Theo’s hands.

Curiosity was biting at you, and so you found yourself leaning towards the boy. One tentative hand on the lounge’s arm as you studied the page Theo had stilled on. It should have come as no surprise when the the candlelight flickered across it, revealing Sirens, Sea Creatures & Other Secrets of the Depths. Fondness licked at your chest, your eyes flickering from the book’s open page to Theo’s dream swept expression with a soft smile.

You turned back to the book, intrigue sinking it’s claws in deeper as you skimmed the inked paper. Reading on in a gentle trance until sleepy fingers brushed your wrist.

Theo gazed up at you through lidded eyes. Unsure if he had truly woken up, or if the dream he yearned for each night had finally come to visit him. His hand encircling your wrist surely, ensuring you would stay right where you were. Right where you were supposed to be.

“Your hair’s wet,” Theo mumbled with a barely-there smile. Your cheeks stained with the heat of being caught as his thumb ran taxing circles over the delicate skin of your wrist. “You went for a swim?”

His tired eyes lifted with question as you glanced down to the water dripping from the ends of your hair. Collecting across his forearm and sliding along the shifting muscles beneath. But he didn’t care, eyes still floating across your face as though he’d finally found his resting place.

“Sorry,” you breathed, reaching out to brush the water from his skin. But his fingers collided with yours, guiding you to a halt.

“Your skin feels like ice,” he murmured, tangling your fingers, only to bring them to his lap. Resting your joined hands atop his book and drawing you towards him, “come here.”

Theo shuffled over, guiding you down softly beside him, his hand still firmly wrapped in yours. You let him direct you, fitting snugly into the couch’s corner. He looked to you, an unguarded affection in his eyes as he watched you settle in.

Once he could feel you beside him, was certain you wouldn’t disappear if he blinked, he peeled off his sweater. Pulling it over his head, making a further mess of his already sleep ridden hair.

He held it out for you, easing it over your arms, your head. Enveloping you in something that was so completely his; the way he wanted you to be. Hands lingering at the sweater’s edges with sincerity, pulling it down until he knew you would be warm.

You smiled at the unexpectedness, settling back into the couch, his hands steering you back. Head lolling against the cushions as your eyes found his, the way they always did. He looked back at you with equal surrender.

“You’re reading about me,” you whispered. Eyes delirious under the candlelight, drinking him in. Softness spilling through your chest.

“Trying to. I like to be familiar with my favourite topics,” his shy smile grew. Head sinking further into the couch as he turned to face you properly. Watched you for a moment; the cold sting of wind across your cheeks thawing at his words. His usually guarded eyes faltered. “Have you thought about it?” he whispered, sounding much braver than he felt. “What I said last night?”

You nodded, eyes drifting from him. Going somewhere deep within yourself. He wished you would take him with you, let him see it for himself. He could’ve well done it, but he hung back, knowing it was wrong. Knowing that at least something between you needed to stay sacred to one, without belonging to the other.

“I don’t want anything to happen to you because of me,” you returned after a moment. The path of Theo’s thumb against your wrist drawing you back to him once again. But still you wouldn’t look at him.

“You won’t hurt me,” he assured, fingers trailing down to brush yours.

“You don’t know that,” you countered, looking down at your hands. The way his fingers danced across the top of yours. How you reached for his even when you wished you wouldn’t.

“Neither do you,” he answered. Knowing he was right when your eyes finally lifted to his once again.

“And if you’re wrong?”

He could see how afraid you were; for him, of yourself, losing the both of you along the way. Every jagged edge that was keeping you away from him. How deeply your care ran. He knew it then; that he would follow you down there, of his own accord. Even if it was foolish, even if it doomed him. He wouldn’t close his eyes, he wouldn’t struggle. Not if it meant his last breath would be yours to keep.

“Then it will be my mistake to make,” he decided. One hand leaving yours, reaching to tuck a loose strand of damp hair behind your ear. Relishing in the way you hugged his sweater tight to your bones. “You can’t decide if I get to love you,” his eyes didn’t dare stray from yours, “I've already made up my mind.”

His words demolished any of your lingering doubts. You fell into him completely, sinking in the sureness of it all. The unwavering way in which he let it leave him; that he wanted to love you. Perhaps even already did. He watched you carefully, a satisfied smile pulling at his lips, fingertips trickling down your neck.

“I’m yours, if you’ll have me.”

That was all it took for you to leave it all behind. Everything you had resisted these past weeks, every part of him you’d stopped yourself from touching, basking in. You felt as though the moon had made its path early. Utterly consumed by him as you nodded, nose brushing his as you suddenly grew aware of just how close you had become.

“Please.”

His lips fell against yours within an instant, hungering for you. It almost broke you, caught you alight. Fire spreading from his lips and igniting you after weeks of kindling touches, glances. Hands threading through your hair as he drew you into him. The two of you barely able to breathe from the unbreakable warring of your lips. Your hands flying to his jaw, pulling him closer to you.

You were tired of resisting him, denying both of you of what you wanted most. It wasn’t long before he had hooked his hands beneath your thighs. Pulling you across his lap as you pressed into him, feeling all of him beneath you.

Your desperation was only mirrored in the ferocity of his kiss. A chain left from your lips to the corners of your jaw. Rough kisses smattered across your skin as his hands began to roam. Pushing up the hem of his sweater, curious fingers tracing your sides. You shivered against his touch, your hands travelling the soft skin of his neck. Drifting up its back to tangle through his hair, pulling him inconceivably closer.

In a matter of minutes you found yourself in an abandoned wing of the Slytherin dormitories. Being set down softly atop the bed as Theo hovered over you. The room utterly devoid of light save for a sliver of moonlight from the lake’s windows.

“You’re sure?” Theo asked against your lips. Though from the rasp in his voice, he was barely holding it together to be able to ask the question at all. You could feel him pressing against your thigh, the sensation dizzying as you gasped against him.

“I'm yours.”

Theo groaned at the tremble in your voice, the restraint from the past month dissipating nearly completely as he made quick work of your clothes. Your hands flying to his belt as he pulled his sweater over your head. Lips refusing to leave each other’s, fingers working blind. His hands greedy as he trailed the new skin he’d yet to touch. Both of you driven to madness until nothing remained between either of you.

Sweat and skin pressed against one another as he rolled his hips into yours. Each rock of his hips drawing a gasp from you as you struggled against him, wanting nothing more than to build the friction.

Theo only simpered, enjoying how badly you needed him after denying the both of you of each other for so long. How unashamedly you clung to his arms, the muscles straining as he held himself above you.

The length of him almost tore you apart as he pushed himself into you. Bottoming out as both of you inhaled sharply against one another. A pained sound leaving you in the rush of air from your lips, he faltered.

“Are you alright?” Theo’s eyes flickered open, blinking away the lust that had consumed them as concern overtook everything else. You nodded, adjusting to his size as his eyes softened for a moment, his hand coming to rest against your cheek.

“I won’t move until you tell me to,” he breathed, his eyes falling closed as he rested his head against yours. The pad of his thumb tracing the slopes on your cheek, your jaw.

“I know,” you whispered against him.

A tender kiss pressed to your lips as Theo gave you time. Your hands tangling in his hair, bringing him down to you for a while until he pulled back for a moment. Watching as the moonlight fell across your cheek. Tracing it with his fingertips. Wrapped up entirely by how beautiful you looked beneath him. The light spilling across your skin, catching in your eyes.

You nodded tenderly, his lips pressing against the corner of your own. His eyes flicked up to yours, as he continued to press his lips along your skin.

“You’re all I want,” he breathed, smoothing his fingers through your hair before he kissed you once more.

His lips strayed again, wandering down to the skin of your neck. Hips pressing into yours as he pushed himself deeper. Heat erupted from where he buried himself within you, the sensation buzzing through your body in waves. Pushing the air from your lungs, making you choke on your own breath. Your head falling against Theo’s shoulder, lips parting soundlessly at the fire erupting across your skin. Unable to remove yourself from where you hid in his neck. Each roll of his hips only deepening the feeling.

His hand found the side of your neck with tender fingers. Trailing up to the underside of your jaw as he brought you back, guiding you to look at him. Pulling you into him further while you shuddered against him. Lips still parted and struggling to meet his eyes.

The sight was enough to send Theo over the edge, his pace growing irregular as his thumb brushed your bottom lip. His eyes completely misted at the sight of you before him; of what he was doing to you.

And as you tangled yourself into him, pulling him suffocatingly close, you tried to drown it out; that feeling.

That you had tried, and failed, to save him; and now could only love him.

Keep an eye out for Chapter Five here, or comment to be added to the tag list for future updates <3

Taglist: @hemlockmuncher @hoeforvinniehackerrr @moonlightttfae @thecraziestcrayon @itssomeonereading @weird123abc @dulcesfolklcre @amongemeraldclouds @mrsriddles-blog @cumberbitchhhh @rabbitholeee @diorandcigaddict @lovelyygirl8 @elsie-bells @thegirlwhosimpstoomuch @camille-1019 @simping-for-marvel @slytherinboysappreciation @leona-hawthorne @liaaanie @not-so-bad-ass @wildestdreamslover @nat1221 @melllinaa @aykxz98 @chgrch

if i missed anyone please let me know!

[savannahsdeath]

hii i love ur stories, and i was wondering if you could do a one-shot where ellie won't admit it, but she LOVES being a sub and just listening to you 🫣

SUB!TOP!ELLIE WILLIAMS X READER

mdni please<3

warnings: 18+!! sub!top!ellie, oblivious!reader, making out, a liiiitttleee of thigh reading, js smut

writers note: im a sucker for dom!ellie but my first req was sub!ellie and now it just has a separate place in my brain.. yeah, i need both. switch!ellie lover i guess💪💪 also this ones sub!top!ellie because im soooo in love w her like awshhzhsv

you always saw ellie as the firm, rough and confident one. as the 'don't tell me what to do' one. and definitely the straight-forward one. you wouldn't even think it's the complete otherwise, especially not while grinding on her lap. your lips were connected for a few minutes now, and everytime you pulled away to catch your breath a line of saliva built a bridge between you. you were needy, ellie desperate and the whole situation really messy. quite a combo.

"ellie..." you whined after freeing your tongue.

she pulled you back into her, holding onto the back of your neck. "what is it, doll?"

"mhh-" a week sound escaped your mouth, as you struggled to calm down and not act as if you just ran a marathon (because you didn't, of course, but that's how you felt). "touch me..."

you didn't realize she kept her hands only on your head because she was shy. you never thought she could be shy at all. your request, though, awakened something in her. she hungrily slid her slim fingers beneath your shirt, where they rubbed soothing shapes into your skin.

"like that?" she laughed, or at least you guessed she did, because the sensations made it hard for you to tell.

your answer was a one word, but a keyword. "more."

with that, her hands unfastened your bra and threw it somewhere on the ground. she turned you around, making you lean your back on her chest. your shirt covered the scene - her playing with your hard nipples, that didn't feel so sensitive until now. her hair fell on your face, slightly covering it, as she bowed her head to kiss your neck. your pussy sent a needy impulse through the rest of your body, signaling you this is what you needed, before the pulsating changed it's message to a 'not enough'. ellie seemed to notice it, and one of her hands untied the knot of your cute pyjama-shorts. the elastic at your hips widened to make room for her hand, and it carefully slipped underneath the waistband, though stayed on top of your underwear. she followed the wet path with her middle finger, arriving to it's source. she didn't put any pressure onto your body, leaving you unsatisfied.

"please- please, do it." you nodded, fighting the urge to press her hand towards you.

she was more than happy to do it, her hand avoiding now also your panties and making contact with your bare body. you shuddered at the coldness she brought with her, but things quickly got heated.

your head found support in her shoulder, resting on it, as her pointing finger rubbed your clit and the next two lazily waited at your entrance, collecting everything that came out of it.

"do you want me to do it?" she asked. it wasn't the taunting, teasing, playful tone. it was a concerned, shy and hesitating one. one you weren't used to hear from her.

you frowned, wiping your wet, drooled mouth with the palm of your hand. "are you... really asking me that?" you wanted to add '...or am i dreaming?' but that was too much for you now, and your throat refused to work.

"i only want to do things you want me to do." she whispered, sounding almost ashamed about admitting that.

she continued the trail of sappy little kissed on your neck, somewhere where the vocal cords are, and you thought that's the main reason they're not working.

you couldn't hide your surprise but stayed quiet, though not really by choice. she thanked god you couldn't feel her own wet spot, which was probably bigger than yours and still growing each time you asked her to do something for you. even if your commands weren't out of your dominance, even if you had no idea how they turn her on, she only waited for you to ask for more, or less, anything would satisfy her, as long as she can satisfy you.

[acid-ixx]

update !

a/n: yall im incredibly sorry for the extremely long delay for chapter 3, it's literally exceeding 7500 words and it's not even finished 😭 im also adding in the fact that writer's block is really kicking my ass and i cant for the life of me focus much nor am i ever satisfied with my countless drafts (literally had to rewrite so much). i swear im not losing interest in dc (or the series) it's just these days have been really hard to me hehe

uhm if u guys want a teaser, then look below !!! (spoilers duh)

the wayne manor, in all its glory, is truly just an empty palace that houses buried memories.

with walls that cover the cries of one lonely child; a child who yearns for the unreciprocated love of their family. it was a cage for a child who stalks the frigid halls without any company, who sleeps in a room too small for their age, who cries for anybody to notice the pain that they had hidden with rose colored tints for so long, who yearns for a warmth that could never be provided in the spaces of harsh, black wallpaper and harsh winters.

it will always be innately lonely, and cold.

yet it's even more sullen now, an atmosphere so empty nobody could pinpoint.

no more was the voice that sings of the butler's splendid cooking. no more was the etching of ballpens on smooth paper on an intricately designed diary that stores all the rants of one's daily life. no more were the strokes on colorful canvases that paint dreams of a different life. no more was the humming of multiple tunes every morning. no more was the presence of the ghost who water the plants every afternoon. no more were the footsteps that thud in the kitchen and the hands that opens the fridge.

and most importantly—

no more were the hushed cries of the kid who resides in the smallest room of the wayne manor.

a house could be described as a building where a unit, moreover a family, lives in; but a home is what represents comfort, a place of belonging and safety.

it was a place encased with deep, historical roots.

but right now, encased in a field of damp grass - wet from heavy rain - and the overwhelming scent of petrichor— the manor is simply a house.

for it could never be complete without the presence of the very lonely child who cries for a love never to be attained.

the wayne manor, in all its worth, would never be the same without (name) wayne, a child who had always belonged, but at the same time, always wronged.

[g1rld1ary]

hope your requests r open! lockwood x reader where lockwood think reader likes george (but she doesnt) and reader thinks lockwood likes lucy (he doesnt). basically just a whole bunch of misunderstandings with angst and a happy ending please <3

miscommunications - anthony lockwood x fem!reader

wc: 6316

cw: swearing, angstish, series typical injuries

i am SO sorry this took so long lovie i had the biggest writers block but i loved loved loved this request so thank u for sending it in i hope i did it justice!!!! love u xoxo

Lockwood and Co was absolutely the weirdest psychical detective agency you’d ever been a part of. Not only were the actual case methods… unusual, but you were a bunch of kids. You didn’t know anything about running a company; the logistics of managing four teenagers and trying to be responsible whilst also experiencing hormones and teen dramas, all while living in the same house with no adult supervision. But it was great, most of the time at least.

However, even teen psychical detectives weren’t immune to the trap of cliques and you often ended up spending much more time with some members than others. For example, it often ended up being Lockwood and Lucy, and you and George.

It wasn’t necessarily a conscious decision or something that happened because you didn’t like the other two members of the agency, it just tended to be the easiest decision. Lockwood and Lucy were undeniably in perfect sync on the field, and you and George worked better in the research department, so it only made sense that those pairs spent more time together.

The only problem? You were totally in love with Lockwood. And you were pretty sure he was basically fucking married to Lucy Carlyle. They were the dream team on and off the field, you were half convinced they could actually read each other's minds. Plus, they were both genuinely amazing people. Lucy was your best friend and roommate at Portland Row, and you loved her with all your heart. And Lockwood? Well, there were a million and one good things to say about Anthony Lockwood. So who could blame you if you spent more time with George? It hurt less than watching the love story unfolding in front of you, and George was good company anyhow.

You couldn’t avoid them though, nor did you really want to, so life was testing your limits as to how much Locklyle you could handle at once.

You and George had been cooped up in the library most of the day looking through archives and research for the agency’s next case, so you’d been glad to get home and have a long warm shower in the evening. Lockwood and Lucy were off on a smaller case together so you’d had the bathroom all to yourself while George was cooking; a small luxury when living with three other teenagers.

Your hair was still wet as you sat down at the dining table in the kitchen, droplets sinking into the paper of the thinking cloth. It was a lovely dinner with George, he’d made your favourite meal upon request, the most glorious dish of butter chicken you thought might’ve ever been made. Everything should have been perfect, except that it was just the two of you. Again. It seemed like you never had family dinners as a four anymore, you and George stuck eating across from each other amongst empty chairs and untouched plates.

“So, anything new?” You made conversation in decent humour, picking at the chicken you weren’t quite as pleased to be eating anymore.

“Anything new in the twenty minutes we’ve been apart all day?” George replied in his characteristic dry tone. You rolled your eyes, trying to stay playful.

“Just checking.”

You took the cleanup after George did all the cooking, switching on the radio as you stood in front of the sink and washing the dishes in peaceful quiet. It was past midnight when the door jingled and creaked open and you could hear Lockwood and Lucy’s tired chatter floating through the old house. Even their damn voices belonged together, making the perfect cadence. You calculated whether you could get away with running up the stairs and pretending to be asleep before they really made it inside, however, agents are known for their speed, and you could hear boots hitting the floor before you could move.

“You’re still up?” Lucy asked as a greeting, stretching out her arms with a sigh. You smiled, shrugging as you began pouring hot water into the mugs you’d prepared earlier, making you all tea how you liked it. Lucy took hers gratefully, adding in the sugar as she pleased, but you were still yet to see Lockwood, taking the initiative to prepare it for him.

He came in a few minutes later, smiling softly as he looked at you.

“You’re a godsend.” He took the mug gratefully, visibly relaxing as the heat penetrated his body. You just smiled, turning back to the dishes.

“Thanks for the tea, I’ll head up to the shower,” Lucy said, patting you gratefully on the arm as she passed. That left you and Lockwood in the kitchen in careful silence.

You talked about nothing for a while, Lockwood filling you in on the tabloids he’d read the night before, and you told him all about the music and news you’d been listening to on the radio.

“How was the research, how’s George?” Lockwood was beside you now, taking a few of the plates you’d finished drying. His tone sounded almost bitter, but you figured it was his exhaustion taking hold.

“It was fine, I think we’re pretty much good to go for this weekend. Oh, you should have seen it! George absolutely stacked it on the steps of the library earlier. He’s fine, of course, but I nearly pissed my pants laughing, it was so funny.” Lockwood managed an unenthused chuckle, turning away to put the cutlery away in the drawer. “How was the case?” Lockwood made a noise of affirmation, coming back next to you, your shoulders brushing lightly.

“As well as cases can go,” He said, smile back on his face. You listened to him tell the bloody details of the case, illustrating his own heroic moves with a full production of actions and impressions, drawing giggles from you as he fought around the room. “And of course, Luce was brilliant as always, saved my arse for the millionth time.”

Fuck. Of course Lockwood was singing Lucy’s praises again, right in front of you! You couldn’t catch a break. You finally got a moment alone with the boy you had a massive embarrassing crush on and he was talking about your best friend! You could feel your smile fading fast, jealousy bubbling in your chest as you imagined them out on a case together, all quick banter and soft touches while you were at home. With George.

You tried to stay obliging, giving him a small smile and finishing up the drying quickly.

“Well, I should be off to bed. Goodnight, Lockwood.”

“You’re not gonna read with me?” You could have sworn that Lockwood had disappeared and been replaced with a kicked puppy the way his eyes were making your insides twist with guilt. You often sat up in the library with Lockwood; he could never sleep and you often made up for the late nights in the mornings, starting your days hours after everyone else. You held eye contact for a moment, willing yourself to be strong.

It didn’t work, and you found yourself back in your familiar spot in front of the fire, digging into your novel as he flipped through a magazine. When your eyes began to strain in the low lamplight you closed it softly, chancing a glance over at Lockwood. He looked almost perfect in the moment, yellow light illuminating the highlights in his face, his eyes glinting as he found humour in the dramatised tabloids.

He looked up suddenly, his senses evidently alerting him to your staring. His head tilted almost imperceptibly, curiosity seeping from his features. You smiled softly, unable to give him any explanation, so you were glad when he returned it in a way that made his whole face light up. You looked away first, studying your hands intently as you heard Lockwood breathe a subtle laugh.

Another case later, you were going crazy. You’d hit an obstacle (of course) and the case had started going awry. A few relicmen interfering with the site threw you all off your game, the original case put aside in favour of your lives. You and Lucy had been together when the ambush happened, both fighting as a team to protect yourselves. Admittedly you weren’t as fluid as her and Lockwood, but you blamed that on the lack of opportunity. You were doing pretty well for yourselves, all things considered. Still, you were grateful for the two boys to come bursting in like heroes, rapiers at the ready. What you didn’t appreciate was the way Lockwood immediately leapt to Lucy’s side, falling into their familiar rhythm. That left George to help you, the both of you sharing the quickest of looks, your eye roll lost to the fight.

You’d all made it out alive but were severely battered and disheartened. You’d all sustained a few cuts and bruises, you knew you were bleeding from somewhere in your midsection, but the adrenaline hadn’t worn off yet so you pushed through.

You also weren’t particularly glad to see Lockwood looking at Lucy like she’d hung all the stars in the sky in the cab on the way back. He hadn’t spared you a glance.

“I know this wasn’t exactly what we planned,” He said, still not making eye contact with you, “But we’re all okay so I think that’s a win. Luce, good job on the defence and keeping the relicmen at bay. George, brilliant catch with the source, mate, you saved us all. And, uh, good work.” He looked over briefly, but you thought he was looking slightly above you still. He didn’t even care enough to look at you on the case! It was absolutely maddening.

Sometimes, like now, you wondered why you even liked him. He was obsessed with another girl, barely paid you attention and had you begging for crumbs of affection. And yet, sometimes you were sure he liked you back. The soft smiles, the time together in the dead of night, the moments he showed you such gentle care. Lockwood was a puzzle you just couldn’t solve, but you were really, really trying.

You weren’t in the best mood when you all arrived home. Your case had been compromised, you were injured, and Lockwood was basically ignoring you. The night was not looking good. And, on top of all that, George called the first shower so it was unlikely there’d be any hot water left by the time you got in. Silently, you peeled off your overcoat, hanging it on your designated hook before discarding your rapier in the umbrella bin. The cut on your side was beginning to sting, the adrenaline having worn off in the cab, but you powered through, figuring you’d take care of it when you had privacy in the bathroom. Instead, you followed Lucy into the kitchen, chatting away as she made some toast.

She’d already left when you got up from the dining table, motivating yourself to make some tea and something to eat. Your body was starting to ache though, and you really didn’t want to be moving much longer. It was all mostly fine, though uncomfortable, until you were reaching up for the sugar for the tea. It was a little out of your reach up on one of the higher cupboards which usually wasn’t so much of an issue — you were a high jumper — but raising your arm above your head was making it feel like your cut was splitting open, pulling a strangled hiss from you.

“What is that?” Lockwood’s voice made you jump, the harshness unfamiliar. You turned slowly, folding your arms across your stomach in vain.

“It’s nothing, I was gonna look after it in a bit.” It was the first time you’d made proper eye contact with Lockwood all night, and he looked pissed.

“Bullshit,” He argued, gaining proximity, “Sit down.” You weren’t typically in the habit of being bossed around by a man, but you could tell Lockwood was serious so took a seat. He stomped around the kitchen rather dramatically, tossing you an ice pack from the freezer. You placed it tentatively over the cut, groaning and throwing your head back when it stung. Your breathing was shallow, erratic as you waited for the icepack to do its job and start numbing the pain.

When you unscrewed your eyes Lockwood was standing at the kitchen bench, aggressively buttering your toast. You watched him put together the meal you’d started, all with deep furrowed eyebrows, ending with him placing it in front of you, looking at you expectantly. You smiled at him despite the pain in your side, pulling the mug of tea closer. He’d made it just as you liked it, too much sugar and a bit of honey. You sipped it pathetically, tension bubbling between you and the boy in front of you.

“What’s new?” You asked in what you hoped was a lighthearted tone. Lockwood wasn’t impressed.

“Eat,” He urged, “You’ll already be weak from blood loss, don’t let yourself get dizzy from hunger too.” You took an exaggerated bite of the toast to appease him, melting into a moan when the food hit your mouth. Somehow, it tasted better than all the millions of times you’d made your own. Lockwood had found the perfect balance of butter and bread, soft in the middle but the crusts were still crunchy and satisfying. The corner of his mouth flicked into the smallest smile seeing you enjoy the food he’d made you, but it was clear he still wasn’t happy with you.

You continued to eat as he got up from his seat, disappearing out into the hallway for a moment. He returned with the first aid kit and you groaned. This was going to suck. Lockwood, ever the gentleman, asked for your permission to start helping you, lifting your already cherry red case shirt up to tuck under your bra, out of his way as he examined the cut. It wasn’t too deep, you didn’t think you’d need stitches or anything, but it was long, wrapping halfway across your stomach.

“This is going to hurt,” He said simply, but you could have sworn there was some gentleness there. Lightly, Lockwood began to clean your wound. Initially, it wasn’t so bad as he cleaned what had already spread and dried away from the cut which lulled you into a false sense of security. You cried out as he touched the wound itself for the first time, grabbing onto Lockwood’s shoulder for stability, though you were already seated.

“It’s okay, I’ll be quick. Promise,” He hushed you, offering his hand for you to grab instead. You clutched onto it for dear life, squeezing until both your fingers were turning white. Lockwood never uttered a complaint, working away at cleaning and treating the wound one-handed until it was done, stopping every so often for breaks when he thought you needed them.

When he was done he looked up at you from his position on his knees and it suddenly felt like the world around you was quiet. Lockwood’s eyes were so pretty. You’d always thought so, but it was particularly relevant when he was only inches away from you, sparkling in the amber light of the kitchen. Neither of you spoke, staring into each other’s eyes. You weren’t sure what to do, you didn’t want to end this moment between you but you didn’t know how to make it last. Well, you did, but that was highly inappropriate given Lockwood was in love with another girl.

“Thanks,” You settled on awkwardly, cringing as Lockwood seemed to realise where he was and what was happening.

“Any time,” He jumped up, backing up towards the sink and busying himself with pouring his own cup of tea.

You left the kitchen shortly after, unwilling to sit in the awkwardness any longer. The first step was to get out of the soiled clothes and clean yourself up a bit, the second was to flop back onto your bed, staring up at the ceiling of the attic.

“I’m going to die alone,” You said to the roof, catching the attention of your roommate.

“Don’t be stupid,” Lucy said simply, “You’re hot, anyone would be lucky to have you.” That pulled a smile from you, tilting your head back to look over at Lucy on her bed.

“Thanks, Luce. You know what I mean though.” Lucy rolled her eyes with a soft smile.

“If Lockwood can’t see all your brilliant, attractive qualities then he’s a prat.”

“I’m sure he sees many of my great qualities — he hired me. The issue is that he’s blinded by your brilliance.” It was a conversation you’d had countless times before; you decreeing Lockwood’s love for Lucy and Lucy being disgusted by it.

“You know that I have zero interest in Lockwood. Like, zero. Honestly, I’d sooner get with you than him.”

“Alright, alright, I get it. I have terrible taste in men,” You laughed, mostly cheered up.

Lucy flicked off the lamp, putting you to sleep with a story from before you’d joined the agency.

Lockwood had a similar conversation with George a few weeks later. It was after another case, all had gone well and the four of you were strewn about the house, tending to various chores that needed to get done. Lucy was mopping the floors, you were organising and putting away the mountain of books that had been used over the case, and Lockwood and George were both in the basement, tidying the store room and going over paperwork.

Lockwood looked at George, hunched over the form he was filling in, and wondered how to broach the subject. He thought you might’ve been avoiding him lately, which wasn’t exactly wrong, and thought it might be because you were trying to make your feelings for George known. In fact, it had nothing to do with George and everything to do with Lockwood. You figured if Lockwood hadn’t noticed by now that you liked him he never would, so you’d started the mountainous task of getting over him. It was unsurprisingly extremely difficult, given you lived and worked with the man. Still, you were doing the best you could.

“So, gone on any, uh, dates recently?” The sentence was awkward and Lockwood cringed. It was so unlike him and George to talk about anything emotional, especially romance.

“What are you on about?” George didn’t even bother looking up, figuring it was just one of Lockwood’s moments that he’d move on from soon enough.

“It’s just, you’ve never really dated anyone, at least while living here, so I was just asking. Um, maybe there’s someone in the house you’d like to take out?” George looked up, turning his wheelie chair to face Lockwood, resigning himself to the conversation he knew would follow.

“Yes, Lockwood. Can’t you hear Lucy and I having loud, passionate sex every night?” Both boys rolled their eyes.

“That’s not what I meant,” Lockwood grumbled.

“Then say what you mean. You’re trying to figure out if I like her because you do and you’re too scared to say anything about it.” Lockwood was silenced, caught out with his true intentions. “Let’s face it, you’re about as subtle as a car horn; you moon over her. She’s the only one who hasn’t noticed.”

“It doesn’t matter anyway,” Lockwood mumbled, “She likes you.” George burst out into uncharacteristic laughter, wheezing and gripping his stomach.

“God, you’re daft!” He laughed, “The two of you are perfect for each other, you’re hopeless.”

Lockwood made an excuse to leave, something about folding his laundry. George watched him go, rolling his eyes before turning back to his paperwork. If the two of you weren’t going to get his exceedingly obvious hints, you were going to have to work it out between yourselves.

Your angst was bleeding into the company. You were trying (and failing) to get over Lockwood which was not only making you generally miserable, but it was impeding your ability to be a good agent.

You were on a relatively easy case, and for some reason you’d been paired with Lockwood, a rarity. Lucy and George were on the second floor of the house scoping out where the source may be whilst you and Lockwood were on the ground floor, preparing your defences and putting on the tea kettle. It was extremely awkward. Lockwood was trying to make conversation and you were trying to keep it as short as possible. If you fell into conversation you’d be reminded of Lockwood’s many wonderful qualities, and it would just get harder to get over him.

“Did you end up finishing that book?” He asked as you pulled the chains out of their duffel bags. You perked up for a moment before forcing yourself to relax. You had finished the novel and absolutely loved it, you wanted nothing more than to talk about it. Still, you controlled yourself, shrugging off the question with a “Yeah, it was pretty good.” Lockwood hesitated, caught off guard by your answer. Usually you were keen to discuss what you’d been reading, especially if you liked it.

“Are you alright?” He asked, softness in his voice and eyes. Your heart clenched for a moment, you didn’t want to worry him.

“I’m fine, Lockwood, promise.” You busied yourself with arranging the salt bombs but you could still feel his eyes on you.

The case progressed, all four of you ending up on the second level of the house to confront the visitor, each splitting up to cover the different rooms. You were in the master bedroom when the en suite bathroom caught your eye. You could have sworn you saw movement near the shower and crept towards it, trying to stay focused and address the urgency on hand.

You were immediately distracted by the similarities between the en suite and the bathroom in Portland Row. Set out almost identically, it was almost scary how similar they were; George’s soap (fancy and way more expensive than the one the rest of you bought) was on the ledge of the shower, and Lucy’s blue hairbrush sat by the basin.

It wasn’t necessarily surprising that either of those items were there, they were both bought for cheap at a grocery store so ought to have been common, but it surprised you nonetheless. You’d been so distracted by the weird similarities that you didn’t notice the figure floating through the shower curtain until its translucent hand was beside your face. You panicked, the only thing you shouldn’t have been doing, and flailed about in the tiny room, rapier knocking bottles off shelves and creating a general racket that was not pleasing the ghost.

You stumbled on the tiles trying to get your footing and get the fuck out but slid on a slippery substance — probably conditioner from the bottle you’d sent flying to the ground. It was a comedy of errors you would have quoted as impossible in an old slapstick comedy, but there you were, and the consequences were infinitely more dire than those faced by Charlie Chaplin.

The proceeding moments vanished from your memory; a violent fall, a sickening crack and an overwhelming darkness. Three more moments of light where you caught visions of the ghost, Lockwood, and aggressive flashing lights.

You woke up in hospital. You wished it was the hazy, unsure innocence that you saw in movies, but the incessant beeping and sanitised smell had you groaning as you gained consciousness. Lockwood was slumped over in the chair next to your bed, breathing uncharacteristically calm as he slept.

You watched him sleep in the least creepy way you could manage, admiring his features when they weren’t scrunched up in worry or stress. He must’ve felt you watching him as his eyes fluttered open, doe eyes overflowing with relief as he saw you awake.

“You’re up, thank god,” He said, pulling his chair up even closer to you.

“Why am I here?” You asked, examining the various wires and machines you were plugged into.

“What aren’t you here for?” Lockwood joked and you tried for a smile. He straightened himself out and continued, “Linear skull fracture, concussion, scary-looking cut on your forehead. We think you slipped and bashed your head on the countertop.” You grimaced, the pain of the fall manifesting in your head.

“That would be right,” You agreed sheepishly, shifting uncomfortably in your hospital gown, “And the hand?” Your left hand was bandaged up so thick it looked more like an oven mitt than a hand.

“Ghost touch.” Lockwood didn’t sound so happy and casual now.

“Oh.”

“What happened? It’s not like you to put yourself in danger like that; it was stupid and reckless.” You didn’t understand why Lockwood was getting so angry. Clearly, you didn’t intend to get injured, it was an unfortunate accident that you would have avoided if you could.

“As opposed to you, who never gets injured and always sticks to the plan?” You couldn’t help the venom seeping into your voice but you detested being criticised by Lockwood when he was just as bad, usually worse.

“This isn’t about me,” He said through gritted teeth, clearly trying to keep his cool while you were vulnerable. You were angry though and didn’t want to back down.

“Of course this is about you, Lockwood! You wouldn’t blink an eye if it was you who’d ended up here, or George or Lucy. It was an honest mistake, why are you being such a dick about it?” You were raising your voice but you couldn’t bring yourself to care, the tension that had been bubbling for weeks coming to the surface.

“Because you could have died —”

“So could any of us, that’s the job! I still see you jumping head-first into danger.”

Lockwood groaned your name, hands in his hair and pulling in frustration. “You’re misunderstanding me, I just don’t want to watch you get hurt—”

“Then close your fucking eyes, Lockwood. I fell and I got injured. It happens and I resent having you treat me differently than the others. Fuck this, I want Lucy here instead, or George.”

“Of course you want George here, why wouldn’t you?”

“And what is that supposed to mean?” If you could stand you would be shoving past him and out the door, but you were at a significant disadvantage being hooked up to so many machines, stuck in your place.

“You know what I mean, you and George are such a close pair, aren’t you? Always working together and laughing about your own inside jokes,” He spat and the burning anger only got hotter.

“Are you fucking crazy right now? Or are you forgetting that you’re the head of this company and therefore you’re the one pairing us together in every case? Or are you so fucking busy making heart eyes at Lucy that you don’t even notice that we’re actually getting work done? Forgive us for trying to make ten hours of research bearable!”

“Heart eyes at Luce? You’re the crazy one, she and I are just friends, I swear. But you and George will make a great couple, I’m sure.”

“George and I couldn’t be less interested in each other! And if you could see past your own nose for once maybe you’d see why!” You all but yelled, surely alerting the whole floor of your argument, “Leave me alone, Lockwood, I don’t want you here anymore.”

Lockwood looked as if he was going to dispute that statement as well but a nurse came to your rescue, clearly hearing the disagreement from outside. She ushered him out, claiming it wasn’t good for your vitals to be getting angry and that you could continue the fight when you were discharged in a few day's time.

Alone in the sterile hospital room, you felt yourself beginning to cry, fat tears rolling down your cheeks and landing on your embarrassing patterned hospital gown. In a perfect world, that conversation would have gone completely differently. In a perfect world, Lockwood’s eyes would have softened when he saw you were awake. He would have confessed how worried he was about you and how much he truly cared for you. He would have brushed his lips across your hand that he was holding, then pressed them again against your own as he admitted how he’d always been in love with you. You didn’t know that it was your own defensive nature that had stopped that from happening.

But it wasn’t a perfect world and you were alone, overwhelmed by the various noises and movements going on around you. You did eventually fall back asleep, a fitful, unsatisfying nap that had you groaning and exhausted when you woke up. You weren’t alone though, which did make you feel better. George and Lucy were sitting next to your bed, deep in a whispered conversation.

“Hey,” You said, shimmying up to a sitting position. They both stopped talking immediately, turning to face you with small smiles on both their faces.

“How are you feeling?” Lucy asked, pulling her chair up to be right next to your bed.

“I’m alright now, just tired and worn down.”

“You scared us,” George added, characteristically stiff but clearly trying to be sensitive.

“I’m sorry,” You admitted, “I really didn’t mean to. And believe me, Lockwood’s already yelled at me enough for it, please just forgive me.” They looked at each other, communicating non-verbally.

“We heard,” George said, “He basically punched a hole in the wall trying to recount it.” He let out a clipped laugh before Lucy shoved him, signature glare working its magic.

“You should really apologise, he’s cut up about it.” Your mouth dropped open as you stared at Lucy. How was this your fault?

“I’m not apologising, he was the one who got angry. Right, George?” You pleaded with him, praying he wouldn’t let you down now.

“I… I don’t think it has to be right now, but you two should get over it after you’ve cooled down a bit.” Ok, it wasn’t exactly what you’d hoped he’d say, but it was better than nothing. And better than the moral lesson you knew Lucy would try and impose — what a hypocrite.

“But he was so mean!” You whined, “I seriously just had an unfortunate fall, I didn’t die.”

“But you could have,” George quipped and you rolled your eyes.

“You know it’s because he really cares about you, right? He’d never forgive himself if something happened to you and he couldn’t save you.” You couldn’t tell if Lucy’s statement was making you feel better or worse.

“Yeah, really felt like it when he was yelling at me,” You grumbled, fidgeting with the hem of the scratchy blanket.

“Well, you know Lockwood is emotionally constipated,” George added and you couldn’t help but burst into laughter — what a statement to come from George.

“OK,” You agreed finally, “I’ll apologise when we get home. As long as he stops being a massive prick.”

You were discharged a few days later, healing nicely. It would have been sooner, but the head injury worried your nurses and kept you there, not trusting you would stay on bed rest. Lucy came to your rescue, posing as a very concerned caretaker who would ensure your safety.

In fact, it wasn’t Lucy who was enforcing your bedrest. It was George who was cooking every meal and Lockwood doing all the other motherly fussing. You hadn’t discussed your fight yet, both too exhausted and too awkward to broach the subject. You hoped your six-to-eight-week recovery time wouldn’t consist of the same heavy tiredness, but you figured it would improve once the concussion had faded.

The rest of the company had started doing two-man cases so that someone was always home to supervise you. It was a little stifling but you appreciated the effort. It also shook up the status quo of the company, Lockwood and Lucy’s perfect partnership being disrupted by no one wanting to be left at home each time, which was both a blessing and a curse.

In your first few days of being back home at Portland Row, Lockwood was home with you, helping wash your hair. You’d whined so much about how gross it felt, still blood-stained where you cracked your skull open that Lockwood gave up and told you he’d wash it for you. Of course, you’d protested, saying it went way beyond what you could expect of a friend or coworker, but Lockwood would not take no for an answer, justifying that it would be more dangerous to let you do it yourself since you could mess with the stitches since you couldn’t see the back of your own head.

You sat awkwardly in the bath, dressed in an old t-shirt and bikini bottoms to preserve what dignity you could. Lockwood stood outside the bath behind you, preparing the bottles of shampoo and conditioner to his side. The anticipation was destroying you, becoming fidgety and uncomfortable even in the perfectly warm water. The second Lockwood’s slender fingers threaded through your greasy hair you felt your body soften, relaxing into the feeling with no opposition. The feeling was heavenly, the careful but thorough massaging of your scalp could have sent you to sleep in three seconds if you weren’t simultaneously on edge at the proximity.

You sat in peaceful silence for a few minutes, your head lolling back subconsciously against Lockwood’s forearms, drawing a small chuckle from him.

“I’m sorry for arguing with you the other day,” You said out of the blue, your voice cutting through the radio that was sitting next to the basin.

“It’s no worries, just forget about it,” Lockwood replied instantly, continuing his labours.

“No, I want to take this seriously. I said some terrible things I didn’t mean and I want you to know that I’m sorry for it. And, as I understand it you think I have some big crush on George which I would just like to disprove. I don’t. Like him like that, I mean.” Lockwood paused for a moment, hands going still in your hair.

“Oh,” He said after some time, “Well thank you for the apology but it is completely unnecessary. I started the argument and I was way out of line, I didn’t mean a word of it. What I meant to convey was that I was worried about you getting hurt because I… care about you. A lot.” You knew that was hard for Lockwood to say, vulnerability never coming easy to him. You turned to face him in the tub, knees pulled up to your chest as your just-rinsed hair dripped down onto your t-shirt.

“I care about you a lot too, Lockwood,” You smiled sweetly, glad you were finally getting over the weird tension that had been between you. Lockwood didn’t look as satisfied.

“No, it’s, fuck. I care about you in a different way than the others. I really like you, like, romantically.”

“Shut up,” You said quickly, not wanting to wake up from a sick dream. There was no way that Anthony Lockwood, after all these years, was telling you that he liked you. Lockwood looked lost for words. Obviously it wasn’t the impassioned reciprocation he hoped for, but it also wasn’t exactly a rejection. What was he supposed to do?

“I, uh, understand if you don’t—”

“Shut up,” You affirmed again. “I have been madly, foolishly in love with you since I started here, and you’re telling me this now? After we’ve screamed at each other and been moping around?” After a moment of him processing your statement, he began to laugh, mouth breaking into one of his light-up-the-room smiles.

“I guess so.” You joined in his laughter, admiring the way his eyes crinkled and his nose scrunched as he did it.

“So what now?” You asked once your giggles had died down, leaving you two looking at each other across the edge of the bath.

“Well,” Lockwood inched closer, “We could try this?” He leant in for a soft kiss, pressing his mouth against yours lightly. You subconsciously followed his mouth as he pulled away, unwilling to open your eyes just yet.

“Mmh, maybe we could try that one again?” Lockwood laughed at your daze and happily obliged, swooping back in for a longer, deeper kiss that set your nerves on fire.

And if Lucy and George returned from their case to find the two of you still in the bath fully clothed, that was none of your business — and neither was the ten pounds that George reluctantly handed Lucy.

[sugarygetoo]

divine.

-> pairing: nanami x fem! reader

-> summary: the moment you walk down the aisle, nanami realizes just how deeply in love he is with you.

-> cw/ tw:  nothing (suprisingly lmao).

-> wc: 430 (dang, i fell off T-T)

-> song inspo: die with a smile - lady gaga, bruno mars.

-> an. suprise! it's yena! yes, i'm alive, yes i wrote this, yes, this sucks. i suck at writing fluff, but what are you expecting from someone who's 20 and still never even held hands with a boy romantically (please help me, i want to stop being single PLEASE)💀😭

starting a new masterlist for certain fics that were inspired by certain songs, so make sure to keep an eye out for what is basically my way of giving out song recs lmao

apologies about not writing more often, i'm just much more of reader then i am a writer so I've just been reading a crap ton, so I'm sorry!!!

forgive me, i'll write more angst i promise 🙏

main masterlist. | yena's playlist.

✎ xoxo, yena.

“i, i just woke up from a dream. where you and i had to say goodbye. and i don’t know what it all means. but since i survived, i realized wherever you go , that’s where i’ll follow.”

there were no words to describe the feelings that nanami feels in his body right now. 

you are so, so beautiful. 

as he watches you walk down the aisle towards him, he feels as if everything around him has disappeared, all he could see was you. from the way your hair was done to how you look divine in that pristine dress as if it were made solely for you. 

his heart is beating so fast that he’s sure he might not even make it through the rest of the event. his hands are shaking from nervousness and wet from sweat. every step you took felt like cupid’s arrow shooting him in the heart over and over again, and everytime time he made eye contact with you felt like lightning shooting through his entire body.

you were everything that he’s ever wanted and more.

“nobody’s promised tomorrow.”

by the time you arrive right in front of him, nanami is sure he’s no longer breathing. you looked like the epitome of an angel and he couldn’t believe he was gifted the opportunity to stand in front of you and declare his love for you. 

holding his hand out for you to take, he couldn’t help but tighten his hold on your hand. the heat radiating of from it reminds him that this was real.

that this was all, very, very real.

he was getting married. to you.

“so i’m gonna love you like it’s the last night, like it’s the last night.”

he felt like crying. 

being able to hold onto you like this and stare into those eyes of yours that he loves so much. he’s sure his heart is beating loud enough for everyone in the hall to hear, but he couldn’t care less. 

not when you stare at him as if he was the most precious person in the entire universe. not when you wrap your warm, comforting hands around his. not when the biggest, sweetest smile blossoms on your face as your eyes slowly turn red.

nothing else mattered. 

nothing, other then you.

“if the world was ending, i wanna be next to you. if the party was over, and our time on earth was through. i wanna hold you, just for a while.  and die with a smile. if the world was ending, i wanna be next, to you.”

@ sugarygetoo, all rights reserved.

[honeyedmiller]

fic recs 2.0

*cracks knuckles* its been a minute since i've put one of these babies out, so here we are. this is a compiled list of one shots and series that i’ve read over the past couple of months, with joel and javi intermixed. each and every one of these writers is beyond talented. go show their work some love!

please mind the warnings and tags each writer has marked above their fics. most of these are 18+ nsfw.

honey-do by @kiwisbell

deja vu & tear you apart by @ilovepedro

a matter of time by @cupofjoel

sundown by @bageldaddy

have you ever seen the rain by @psychedelic-ink

never enough & you miss me? by @amanitacowboy

daydreams by @morning-star-joy

flowering by @tinycozycomfort

what you need by @endlessthxxghts

i am a nightmare, you are a miracle (series) by @party-hearses

grab the bull by the horns by @proxima-writes

every inch by @javierpena-inatacvest

vs (part 1 of mall rats series) by @strang3lov3

truth or dare by @joelscruff

home by @brighttears

wet dream & love me better, kiss me back by @bastardmandennis

dark angel by @chaotic-mystery

a safe haven (series) by @joelsgreys

thank you to all of these writers for giving us these amazing stories. big smooches to you all. 🖤

[1-800-cr33py]

WRITE A STORY WITH ERIC DRAVEN PLSSSSSSS

Of course, though I am going through a bit of writer’s and artist’s block, so i deeply apologize for the quality.

A/N: Angst w/comfort, reader is depressive, something quick might expand on this later though. Eric is…eric.

Hands a bit too cold to be considered normal traced the plain of your stomach, the skin warm beneath his calloused palm. Eric was many things, a murderer, spiteful, any name under the sun one could think of, but in the current moment he was envious. Envious of you, sleeping beneath the many blankets of his bed, practically a nest for the both of you now. He was envious of your warmth, your liveliness, your mortality. There may have been a time when he’d daydream of what his life could have been like in his older years, hair graying and fading and worn band tee shirts. But those days would never catch up to him, but you still remained. Fuck if you didn’t stay glued to his side. He remembers seeing you after he was brought back, the black tears staining your cheeks as you tried to look through him, trying to rationalize the sight before you.

You sat upon the brick wall of what was once a shared apartment, bottles and cans thrown haphazardly around the creaking floors. You, a husk of the person you used to be, in the middle of the mess, eyeliner running down your cheeks and eyes hollow, eyes once so full of life and contentment, now dull, sharp even. If his heart could, it would break at the sight of you. He stalked you from his shadows, not yet ready to face you. Oh how he longed to hold you, to remind you he’d take care of you like he promised so long ago, to simply feel your skin against his would be enough. But Eric remained still, continuing to watch you gulp down more cheap vodka like it was water. Erin grimaced, he didn’t like the sight before him. He saw himself lingering within your behavior, saw his influences in your mannerisms. You, none the wiser to his position before you, didn’t even jump when his footfalls fell upon your ears. Maybe you were to drunk, or maybe it’s because you were to far gone to care.

“ Look dickhead, I don’t know what the fuck it is you want but I-“ your cold remark was cut short, far to short with a familiar laugh, a laugh you hadn’t heard in over a year, actually thats a lie. It was the same laugh that had been haunting your nightmares for so, so fucking long.

“ Such harsh words from such a pretty girl, you kiss your mother with that mouth pretty? “ Eric drawled, nearing you. You, bottle just an inch from your agape mouth. There he was, face painted a sickly white and black smeared haphazardly across his eyes and lips. It was like time stopped, only the two of you existing at once. Eyes welling with tears, you stayed silent. What could you do? You were there when they put him into the cold hard ground, there to pick up Sarah when her mother couldn’t give less than a fuck about her. You. Eric, now squatting before you, searched your face, for any sign of emotion, emotion he didn’t find. You wanted to scream, to hit yourself and down the rest of the bottle, telling yourself you were dreaming, but you couldn’t. His cologne had long since faded from everything that was left behind, but here now you could taste it. Mouth gaping akin to that of a fish out of water, the bottle fell, clattering onto the floor as your hand reached to his face. Just a touch. Just something to tell yourself this was real, that he was real. With a trembling finger, you pushed the wet stray hairs from his painted face, moving to trace his jaw. He was real this time, a tangible thing before you blessing your teary eyes with a pained smile.

That was a long while ago, he’d yet to find a real reason to pass on yet, though the Crow had quit trying to urge him now. The night was young, though the city lights didn’t make it seem that way, still, you napped, curled underneath the blankets. Eric let out an audible sign, cold fingers mindlessly tracing shapes onto your skin. He’d give anything, anything at all, just to fully feel the true extent of your warmth again, the warmth he felt when he was alive, not just a walking corpse. Eric longed to be the softer man he once was for you, but he knew as well as you did, that man was gone. But for now, he’d be content with this, relearning and healing alongside you.

[wilbursprincess]

helping soothousebur with a wet dream

this came in my head while making random words what should be in the dictionary

- 🎙 anon

“Why Don’t I Give You A Hand While You Tell Me About It?

Soothousebur x Female Reader

Warnings: Handjob, mentions of choking, humiliation but not really? Soothousebur being so whiny and needy <3

Hi 🎙 anon! Nice to see some more requests from you, as much as I love your little brainrots in my inbox <3 As a rather inexperienced person, I had to actually look up what a wet dream was BUT thanks to some lovely fic writers on this app, I have now figured it out and am fully prepared to write all the Soothousebur smut you could want! :)

Sorry for throwing in some choking, but you can’t tell me Soothousebur isn’t into that ;)

Fic below cut!

I’m dozing, Wilbur’s arm slung around my waist as I’m curled into him as the little spoon. It’s still pitch-black out, and I don’t want to open my eyes to look at the clock. It’s the first night I’m staying over at his house, and we both collapsed into his bed after an evening of every single dirty little thing we could think of doing to the other.

I’m about to fall back asleep, body so heavy and tired I feel like I’m melting into the mattress, when I feel him stir and groan behind me, something hard poking into the back of my thigh.

Eh, morning wood happens, I think to myself, tugging the covers over my shoulders and closing my eyes again. It’s not like he’s in charge of it.

Another whimper jolts me out of my sleepy haze, Wilbur’s arms tugging me closer into him as he starts to rub himself against me. Is this normal? I wonder, shrugging it off as him just moving around in his sleep.

After a few minutes, he’s so hard he’s throbbing, hips jerking even as he sleeps. Ok, that’s not ‘moving around in his sleep’ anymore.

“Wilbur,” I whisper, turning around and shaking his shoulder until he blinks open his eyes. “What on earth were you doing?”

He just whines, snatching his arm from around my waist and pawing at himself over his boxers. “Wet dream.”

“Even after what we did before bed?” I ask, amazed.

Wilbur nods. “It was… about you.”

“About me, huh?” I ask, gently stopping his hand. “Why don’t I give you a hand while you tell me about it?”

He’s nodding before I even get the words out.

Wilbur’s absolutely dripping with pre-cum when I stick my hand in his boxers, desperately thrusting into my hand.

“You’re so hard,” I say in awe. “Must’ve been a good dream, hm?”

He nods. “You were… riding me.”

“I was riding you?” I echo, twisting my thumb over the tip on my way back down. “What else was I doing, baby?”

Whining, he presses his face into my shoulder. “Pulling my hair… hand around my throat.”

“You like being choked, sweetie?” I murmur, hesitantly placing my hand on his bare chest.

Nodding, he glances down at the hand just below his throat. “A… little, yea.”

Gently, I press my hand into his throat, barely applying any pressure. “Like this?”

His eyes roll back in his head and he lets out a low moan. “Just like that.”

“What else was I doing to you in the dream, Wilbur?” I ask, smiling as he’s falling apart from my strokes. “Talk to me, baby.”

Wilbur moans, a sweet noise that makes me speed up my hand. “Bouncing… on me. Calling me a… good boy.”

“Aww, good boy,” I tease, shocked when he cries out and spills all over my hand the second the words leave my mouth. He rides it out for an impressively long time, face burning from how premature he was.

“…sorry,” he murmurs sheepishly once he gets his voice back. “Just… that was really hot.”

I bite my lip to keep from laughing. “Do you even have anything left in you after that? Jesus, Wilbur.”

Wilbur gives me an embarrassed smile in the dim room. “I think I have a praise kink.”

“I’m not surprised,” I chuckle. “How about we get cleaned up and go back to sleep? I’m happy to try out some of your dream with you in the morning-“

He groans. “Oh, please do. I don’t think I’ll be sleeping now that I know I’ve got that to look forward too.”

[saber-slutt]

i told you i'd see you later, one way or another (kinktober day 1)

"Who is this diva?" you ask. it's me. kinktober began and i rose from my summer hibernation. i'm still embarrassed bc i revealed i was gonna write for kinktober in my uni's music committee. Guilherme if you ever see this i am so sorry you had to hear that. guilherme is a cutie patootie i love him so much. he's like a journalistic writer. anyways, hello! i'm gonna take my fanfic writing seriously again. i'll be posting on ao3 too if that's more convenient. same titles as here, under the name mostlyajoke. I hope this one's up to par guys, sorry if it's not, im a bit rusty. any comments, criticisms, etc., are encouraged, so i can improve and also i love to yap. anyways day 1 for me on october 13th lets goooo

headers from djarrex

Day 1 - Wet Dream

He laughed your name breathily as he wished you a goodnight. Anakin was always a gentleman, walking you back to your quarters if he happened to pass by the créche at night, which had been happening more and more. you worked in the Jedi Corps at the temple, helping tend to the younglings. Yes, you loved the job because you truly enjoyed teaching and playing with the young Jedi, despite the war picking up in the galaxy, but also because you got to see him. Him. He made time to visit the younglings, never too tired to tell a story or practice basic force maneuvers with them. Anakin was especially never too busy to talk to you, to tell you you looked pretty today or to ask how your day had been. Maker, he was beautiful, with curly brown locs and piercing green eyes, eyes that would scan you when you told him anything, so you could tell he was listening intently. You loved these interactions, though you knew he was just being polite. After all, Anakin Skywalker was a Jedi, if not one of the most well-known or powerful by this point. He’d never have serious interest in you, no, he would never break the Jedi code.

         Still, when he walked you to your room, a part of you always longed that he would ask to take you somewhere, somewhere private, just for the two of you. Or that he would give you communication to his comm. But he didn’t, and as you would close the door behind you, you’d try to shake your schoolgirl crush from your thoughts. Today seemed to be another one of these days, or so you had thought, until as he turned down the hallway from your door, you heard him say, “I’ll be seeing you soon, beautiful.”

         You floated through the rest of the night, his words replaying incessantly. They were so bold, furthering you from the idea that he was just being polite. Still, you tried to remember that at the end of the day, he was a Jedi, and you were not. Even if you were, you two could never be together. But his words were on repeat, what did he mean “soon?” Your thoughts did not settle as you get ready for bed, and still did not cease as you tossed and turned into the early morning.

        “Mmm fuck…fuck,” you whimpered out, clawing at brown locs as a tongue drilled into your pussy. The man buried between your legs pulled back for a second to grunt a small “language” before dipping back down to lick hard and flat strips through your folds. “C-can’t help it, feels so good.”

         You could practically feel his smirk against your slit, his tongue only gaining more speed. His tongue toyed with your clit and your hole, neglecting neither. A sheen sweat overlaid you. You had never felt so warm, so comforted, even though you knew you were dreaming, it had never felt so real or vivid. Just then, a sharp sensation was felt between your legs, but then, euphoria. The man was sucking on your clit, hard. You wanted to see him, to see the man invading your dreams. You whimpered again, lazily stroking his hair. He got the hint and raised himself up to look into your eyes, and to flash you a smile.

         Anakin.

        “You’re beautiful” he whispered, lowering himself back down to your pussy, throwing your legs over his shoulders, “and sweet. And not just your personality too.”

         You moaned. In the back of your mind, you knew you were dreaming, but Maker, it felt so real. Anakin continued his attack on you, licking and sucking both your clit and entrance. With each passing minute, he tightened his grip on your hips, leaving bruises. His nose bumped into your clit, his long, curly hair tickled your thighs, and the wet sounds echoing in the room were filthy. You were euphoric. The man you loved was pleasing you, solely focused on you, like he cared for nothing else in the world. You were nearing your peak of pleasure, whines becoming sharper, and you gripped his hair again. He went harder on your pussy. His name began to flow from your mouth.

         “Anakin, please, don’t stop, oh maker, Anakin,”

         “Shhh, let it happen,” 

          Your back arched and you let out a guttural moan, raspy. Your pussy spasmed as pleasure spread throughout your stomach and beyond. Anakin slowed his assault, letting you ride out your high, but he still made sure to lick up every drop. He pulled back to look at you when you made noises indicating overstimulation. His lips were shiny with your juices before he licked them. You were breathless and blushing, wishing to form words but too sated to try. He crawled forward to kiss you deeply, comfortingly. Anakin fell to lay on his side, pulling you to his chest.

         “Good, huh?” Anakin asked.

         You nodded in response.

         “Sad it’s not real?”

         You nodded again.

         “Oh, poor baby. Don’t you remember me saying that I’d see you later?”

         You were still.

         “You’ll wake up in a minute. And I’ll be outside your door. Then you’ll let me in your room, and we’ll talk, and laugh, and I’ll flirt with you all night long. You understand?”

         “Yes.”

          You sat up like you were electrocuted. You rubbed your face with your hands. Maker, what a mean dream to have. It was like the universe was teasing you, giving you a taste of heaven just to take it away. And then it wanted you to believe there was a chance it could be real. There was no way.

         But it never hurts to check.

         You felt like a loser standing up; surely some life force out there was laughing at your naivety. Shame filled you as you made your way towards your door. It was overflowing when you put your ear to the door and heard nothing. But for one last hurrah, you pressed the button on the wall that would open the door.

         You were met with Anakin.