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cazshmere · 4 months ago

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Astrology Placements & Aspects that are likely to be stalked or attract obsessive people 🩸🕷️

(TW / MINORS DNI⚠️ : mentions of stalking and sexual content)

materialist 🔖

DEFINITION + DISCLAIMER : Stalking is persistent, unwanted attention or surveillance by an individual toward another person, often involving repeated following, contacting, or monitoring in ways that make the person feel threatened, harassed, or unsafe. It typically includes obsessive behavior aimed at controlling or staying close to the person, even without their consent. These are just my personal observations and are meant for entertainment purposes only; it may not resonate with everyone due to the nuances of astrology. Please respect my work and avoid copying or stealing it. Enjoy reading!! 🕷️🩸

🩸All Water Sign Placements (Cancer, Scorpio, Pisces): Water signs are deeply emotional and intuitive, often forming intense bonds with others. Their empathetic nature can attract people who feel misunderstood or who have obsessive tendencies, as they believe only these individuals can truly understand them. This connection to the water signs' emotional depth can lead to feelings of obsession.

🩸Neptune in the 1st House: Ahh I think everyone’s heard of how much of a blessing and curse this placement is. Neptune in the 1st creates a mysterious or ethereal aura around the person. This makes them hard to read, which can magnetize those who idealize or obsess over mystery. Their ability to project fantasies onto others can lead stalkers to feel as if they’re connected on a deeper, almost spiritual level. A lot of celebrities with this placement have PSYCHOTIC FANS💀.

🩸Moon in the 1st House: These individuals are extremely attuned with their surroundings and can easily empathise and pick up on energies. They may unknowingly attract others who become fixated on their vulnerability or nurturing qualities.

🩸Pluto in the 1st House: Omg this placement is scary ngl because people notice how much power and magnetism this individual possesses and people just can’t help but be amazed and intrigued by these individuals. This intrigue makes them want to know more and more about the person which then leads to obsessive tendencies, such as following them around, stalking their social media page or just keeping tabs on them. These individuals surely have a strong, sometimes mysterious presence that can fascinate or captivate others, leading to obsessive behavior from admirers or stalkers.

🩸Chiron in the 1st House: Chiron in the 1st house can make someone appear vulnerable or wounded, which can attract individuals who want to "fix" or control them. This placement often draws people who are compelled to heal or dominate the person’s perceived weaknesses.

🩸Lilith in the 1st House: Lilith represents our shadow selves and repressed desires. In the 1st house, it can give off an aura of raw power and sexuality, attracting people who are drawn to what they perceive as forbidden or unattainable.

🩸Pluto-Ascendant Aspects (esp harsh aspects) : When the ascendant comes in contact with pluto, pluto intensifies its characteristics. This could indicate that these individuals have something super striking about their appearance. Pluto is also the planet of mystery and uncertainty so these individuals exude a sense of mystery which attracts people to them because they want to know more about this individual. These individuals attract people who want to control, or “possess” them which leads to stalking tendencies.

🩸Pluto-MC Aspects (esp harsh aspects) : People can easily retort to stalking tendencies when it comes to these individuals as MC represents their public persona and people get obsessed with the way the individual portrays or presents themselves to the world. This reminds me of stalker fans that celebrities have that would go to any and every extent to see them or be near them because they are so fascinated with how they “appear” in public. If you follow kpop there’s a term for these type of fans called as sasaeng fans (please go and look it up, it’s actually so scary) who also possess obsessive and super CONCERNING qualities which resonate with how stalking and obsession can occur in respect to this aspect.

🩸Pluto-Moon Aspects: This aspect gives rise to others becoming emotionally obsessed, attached and dependent on the individual. This attachment or dependence leads to obsession as other people feel they NEED this individual in order to survive and this causes obsession. These individuals may attract obsessive or controlling partners who are drawn to their emotional depth and vulnerability.

🩸Pluto-Venus Aspects (esp harsh aspects): Omg individuals with this aspect, PLEASE PLEASE be really careful with who you trust or share your information with, especially when it comes to romantic relationships. Your partner could become super possessive of you and would want to monitor you 24/7, so creepy omg. These individuals also attract really insecure and possessive people. So please be mindful when you’re letting your guard down with others. These individuals attract obsessive partners who are unable to let go, often experiencing power struggles or possessive behavior.

🩸Pluto-Mars Aspects (esp harsh aspects) This aspect heightens the individuals sexual energy which in return tends to attract attention of A LOT of perverts or people who just want to sleep with you. They see you as a way to sexually satisfy their needs and they become obsessed with the fact that you might sleep with them and slowly start getting creepy and stalking you till you give in and sleep with them (PLEASE RUN AWAY IMMEDIATELY). If you have this aspect and feel like partners are just using you for sexual activities, PLEASE LEAVE because I’m sure when the attraction is genuine you will know it. This aspect induces a lot of LUSTFUL intentions in others towards you.

🩸Neptune-Mars Aspects (mainly the square and conjunction) : Oh god the amount of times people with this aspect get sexualised is so sickening. Literally people fantasise about you in their sexual scenarios and get obsessed with these scenarios and desperately want it to happen in real life. This desperation gives rise to obsession and stalking. TOXIC ASF.

🩸Venus Square/Opposite Saturn: Individuals with these aspects usually tend to have low self esteem so they can mistake obsession as love because they think this is exactly how love is supposed to feel like and this is all they’re going to get. This aspect also often suggests struggles in love and relationships, which can manifest as attracting partners who are emotionally unavailable or controlling. The difficulties in achieving healthy relationships may attract obsessive behaviour from others who know that the individual is easily controlled and can be manipulated. This power that these toxic people have over the individuals is what makes them obsessed because they just NEED to control and possess the native. Even if the native cuts ties with these toxic people, these people would stalk them and somehow try manipulating their way back into the natives lives.

🩸Scorpio Venus: OKAY this placement takes the winner title for getting stalked. Literally every single scorpio venus I have encountered has one or the other story of how their partner or someone who liked them OUTRIGHT stalked them. The people who are into these natives are SUPER possessive and observant over these individuals. They stalk their social media, probably have a secret folder of their pics and somehow “magically” appear in the same places as the native is in. I’ve noticed that sometimes people with this placement do enjoy this kind of attention, as long as the other person is respecting your boundaries and the actions in the relationship are both consensual, then it’s all good. If you guys have watched the show “You”, there’s this character called Beck and I feel like she probably had this placement and that’s why Joe was so freakin OBSESSED with her and the amount of times and the ways in which he has stalked her is crazy💀

🩸Scorpio Mars: These people attract ATTENTION everywhere they go. A lot of staring from others too because it’s hard NOT to notice these individuals. Their powerful sexual energy and ability to dive deep into relationships can attract obsessive or controlling individuals who want to dominate or consume them.

🩸Pluto/Scorpio in the 7th House: Oh god, these people can’t help but not attract intense and controlling people. Their partners have a need to KNOW every single thing about them - where they are, who they’re with, what they’re doing. Basically 0 privacy. A lot of intrusive partners are attracted. Well the native itself could possess these obsessive tendencies and sometimes they might enjoy a little bit of obsession from their partners side but eventually it gets toxic wherein it gets hard to cut ties with their partners and this obsession turns into something detrimental.

🩸Venus in the 8th House: SO MANY STALKERS, SO MANY SECRET ADMIRERS. Trust me if you think people aren’t watching you, THEY DEFINITELY ARE. For some reason people tend to notice even the tiniest amount of change in your physical appearance. This is scary honestly because there are eyes on you always because honestly your energy is so POWERFUL and MAGNETIC that people just can’t seem to get enough of you. These individuals attract bitchy friends who want to know everything about the native and always try to ONE up them. Please be super careful with who you engage with and share your energy with. I feel like just because this is a super intense placement, your intentions might not be clearly understood by others. For instance if you’re just acting friendly with a guy he might mistake it as flirting and then develop feelings for you and become obsessed 💀💀. Scary asf.

🩸Mars in the 8th House: Just like venus in the 8th house your sexual energy and presence is very high. Honestly this placement is SO MUCH more than just intense sexual energy but what to do, these individuals inevitably exude this type of energy. So if these individuals are being friendly with someone, the person might mistake this friendliness as something more and try and make a move because these individuals do come off as slightly more sexual than other people. This could also mean that people who have sex with these individuals ALWAYS want to come back to them because it was probably the best sex they ever had. They basically become sexually obsessed with the natives and keep coming for more and more.

🩸Mars in the 10th House: Mars in the 10th house can make a person’s career or public life a focal point of their energy, which can attract admirers or stalkers who become obsessed with their achievements or public image. For instance Jungkook from BTS has this placement and his fans are feral and superrr obsessed with everything he does and as a fellow army it’s honestly concerning to see 😭💀.

🩸Pluto in the 10th House: I feel like this placement attracts more of haters who are OBSESSED with the power these natives hold and want to either possess the same amount of power or overtake the native. This obsession stems more from hatred and envy. This intense, sometimes intimidating energy can draw admirers or obsessive followers who are either fascinated by their authority or want to undermine it.

🩸Neptune in the 10th House: Neptune in the 10th house can make a person’s public persona appear glamorous or unreachable, drawing people who project fantasies or illusions onto them. These individuals may find that others become obsessed with their perceived image rather than their true self.

🩸Venus in the 12th House: Venus in the 12th house can create secretive or unspoken love affairs, which may attract admirers who remain hidden or watch from afar. This placement can sometimes make it difficult to see a person’s true intentions.

‼️Of course, there are likely other placements that may experience similar things, but these are the aspects and placements I can recall off the top of my head. It’s important to note that having any of these placements doesn’t guarantee that such experiences will occur. This is merely a possibility and may be nothing more‼️

banner/gif credits to the rightful owners

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savanir · 7 months ago

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DP x DC prompt [6]

Weapon design always came easy to Jack Fenton. He grew up with it, all the way back in Atlantis, when he was just a little guppy.

What he wasn’t aware of at the time was that his parents were from a long and prestigious line of scientists and weapon manufacturers in Atlantean society. But things had been getting dangerous.

The King at the time cast them out when they refused his demands of greater, stronger, deadlier weapons. The kind of weapons they knew would not only destroy their enemies, but themselves as well.

They fled and went where they thought they would never be found, the surface.

Jack had the easiest time adapting, being as young as he was getting used to breathing air was a lot less of a struggle.

He adopted one of the most generic male names he could, and adapted the family name of Fenestratus into Fenton. And then it was just living as a human, as humanly as possible, nothing to see here.

By now Jack basically doesn’t know any better. but this piece of heritage is coming back now all these years later, when his son is looking to him for help from the government.

But first he holds his boy close and apologizes, because he sees the fear, and he understands a little too well, and he doesn’t like the picture he’s seeing now that all the puzzle pieces are falling into place.

“I almost became the thing I hate the most. I’m so sorry Danny, I’m sorry I made you feel unsafe in your own home”

The hug is long and warm and tight and Danny isn’t ashamed to admit he might have clung a little bit.

Then Jack holds Danny tightly by his shoulders and gives him a big grin, “Good news though, you’re only half ghost, the other half is not only human but also Atlantean, and there are laws protecting us now” Jack mutters to himself, “I wonder if the whole ghost stuff would actually be put under the meta protection thing… hmm”

Danny blinks for a moment, Jazz gapes, Maddie is suddenly no longer spiraling about how her baby boy got in a terrible accident in their lab and she didn’t know.

“I’m also what?”

“Dad!?”

“oh did I forget to mention that? I thought I did, I know for certain that I had been meaning to”

“Jack sweetie, are you-”

“oh yes, and I remember now, I decided to tell you after our big breakthrough because I didn’t want to distract you, and-” Jack looks sheepish, “I hope you aren’t too mad at me Maddiecakes”

“mad? oh I would never be mad at you about this but we could have- I don’t know, accommodated- Atlanteans are aquatic, well I guess that explains how you could always put away so much water, and when you gave me your umbrella and I thought you were just making an excuse when you told me you didn’t mind and in fact loved getting pelted by the rain-”

Maddie goes on, and Jack thinks to himself that this is exactly the reason why he kept it to himself at the time, Maddie never half asses anything, he’s sure a lot of things are going to change in the house now, it honestly only makes him fall in love with her even more.

Meanwhile Jazz had filled up a bucket of water and then dunked her head in, then came back out not even slightly gasping for breath, just saying “oh my god” over and over.

Danny timed it, “yeah okay, I guess that proves it. now I’m starting to wonder if my weird relationship with air is ghost related at all”

#dpxdc #dcxdp #danny fenton #danny phantom #jazz fenton #jack fenton #madeline fenton #good parents jack and maddie #Atlantean Jack #dp x dc crossover #dp x dc prompt #I like how Atlantean heritage explains a lot of the enhanced super human abilities the Fentons seem to have #also history repeating itself yadda yadda #Danny is actually a triple hybrid #Danny eventually becoming friends with Garth because of all this would be really sweet I think

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pellucid-constellations · 6 months ago

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Trial and Error (3)

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Summary: Based on the request: "Azriel with single mom reader? I feel like being a single mom in ACOTAR would be tricky as hell… reader comes from autumn court and flees to night court because she got pregnant out of marriage? 😯 the shame"

Word count: 2k

Warnings: Very small mention of blood

a/n: I am lovinggg writing this and I can't stop so don't ask me to 🏃‍♀️

Read part one | part two | part four

Main Masterlist ♡

Azriel had been by the apothecary four times since his first visit. That wasn’t an unusual number by any means, but it was alarming that he was supposedly going through his headache tonic so quickly. You would give him a week’s worth and he would return for more within three days.

Melanie had begun to expect him and had taken to examining his wings each time he walked through the door. She would run and stand atop the counter—much to your dismay—and Azriel would unfurl them from his back just a hair so she could get a better look. Her comfortability with him scared you. You’d spoken to your daughter about stranger danger and had emphasized it a million times, but with Azriel, she held no reproach.

Azriel didn’t seem to mind. You had apologized countless times for Melanie’s staring and her invasive questions, but Azriel would only wave you off with a glint in his eye. He always chalked it up to being an uncle, but you’d had an uncle and he was nothing like Azriel.

None of your family was like anyone you’d met in Velaris.

Still, there was a lingering pit in your stomach each time Azriel would ask you a question about yourself or smile at your daughter. It didn’t feel safe to make too many friends, and Azriel was a particularly unsafe friend to have.

The Shadowsinger.

You’d learned of his position within the Night Court’s inner circle after Melanie had asked yet another question about Azriel and his shadows.

“I’m a Shadowsinger,�� he had explained, your daughter spinning in circles around him, tugging his shadows along with her. A small smile graced his face as he spoke. “My shadows tell me secrets so I can ensure everything is going okay in Velaris.”

A cold sweat broke out along your skin as he spoke the words, but you only continued to smile and focused on keeping your breath even.

He would be the one to find you out—there was no doubt about it.

But something told you the closeness could be a good thing. Perhaps, if he knew you, he would take pity on you when he found out. Perhaps, if he knew you, he wouldn’t feel the need to dig into your history and ask questions.

At least, that’s what you were hoping for because Azriel didn’t show any sign of staying away from you or Melanie—a truth made even more apparent at Melanie’s open house.

“Melanie does so wonderfully in all her subjects,” her teacher gushed, a clipboard held tightly at her chest. “She especially loved our cooking unit. She loved the burners and heating things up.”

You raised your brows and grinned. “I’m so happy to hear that. She talks about school so often. I’m glad her enthusiasm is reflected in her work.”

An obvious avoidance—an attempt to curtail the subject away from your daughter’s affinity for flames.

Her teacher did not seem put off. “It is! I know she began in the middle of the school year, but she has caught on so quickly. I can tell she has a lot of support at home. Big family?”

Perhaps her teacher wasn’t as oblivious as you had hoped. You fought the twitch in your eye, dreading that this woman would know more about you. Five years of careful isolation and suddenly you were thrust into the public eye.

“No, just the two of us. But my work is quite flexible so she’s never alone. I always have time to help her with school.”

“That’s so great to hear. I have to ask, just for the sake of my student, her father—”

“Hello, Ms. Fern.”

Azriel’s voice startled you out of the panic rising in your chest. You turned to find him rooted in his spot behind you, arms crossed over his chest. His gaze flicked down to you for a brief moment before settling back on the teacher.

“Azriel!” Ms. Fern delighted. “I didn’t expect you today. I saw the High Lord and Lady earlier so I assumed it would just be the parents.”

Azriel hummed. “I wanted to come by and see Nyx’s art. You mentioned he painted the family.”

“You didn’t need to do that! I know you’re so busy. What a wonderful—“

Azriel slowly edged in front of you, hiding you from Ms. Fern’s watchful eye. You felt a slight push against your hip and held in a laugh as Azriel reached behind him and ushered you off without ever looking away from the teacher. You quickly scampered away and made yourself busy examining the art around the room. Upon closer inspection, Nyx had painted a troll—not his family.

It took about 10 minutes of lingering before Azriel joined you, his shadows giving him away. They slinked around your wrists and traveled up to caress your neck.

“Apologies for their familiarity,” Azriel said in place of a greeting. “They seem to have grown comfortable with you.”

“And Melanie,” you added. You rounded a table and meandered out to the hall. Azriel followed. “They love to chase her around the apothecary. Sometimes I wonder if you keep coming by because they’re making you.”

Azriel bit back a smile but it still formed into a bashful expression. “Perhaps that’s why.”

In the hall, you found yourself alone with Azriel—utterly and completely alone. Melanie was with one of your neighbors as the teacher made it clear no students were allowed at the open house, and no one else occupied the space. You leaned your back against the wall and looked up at Azriel, a shyness overtaking you.

You were never really alone with him—Melanie was always right around the corner.

“That was some maneuver earlier,” you commented, fidgeting with your fingers at your waist.

“She was prying,” Azriel replied. You watched the way he carefully trailed his gaze down to your fingers. “I certainly wasn’t going to let her know more about you than I do. Not when I’ve put in far more effort.”

“I thought your shadows were the reason you came,” you teased.

“Right, my shadows.”

You pressed your mouth into a line, feeling small under Azriel’s never-ending gaze. His eyes never left yours as silence blanketed the hall. It was as if he saw through you, understood you in a way that didn’t make sense.

Maybe you could tell him.

No, that was ridiculous.

Was it?

“Where’s Mel?” Azriel asked, startling you out of your internal strife.

The words didn’t comprehend, the jumbled mess of your mind intensifying as the Shadowsinger knocked his head to the side and asked you questions.

“What?”

“Melanie,” he clarified, brows bunching. “I was going to offer to watch her for this but I didn’t want to impose. I know I’m still mostly a stranger, but I don’t know if you have family in the area and I just…”

He trailed off. You never mentioned any family because that was one of the topics you strayed from each time it was broached. Family, your origins, Melanie’s father; he never brought any of it up directly, but he’d hint at it. And you always changed the subject.

“I—I don’t,” you revealed. You broke his gaze and stared down at your fingers, picking at the skin around your nails. “Have family here, I mean. But I have neighbors that Melanie likes. They’re watching her.”

“Do you trust them?” Azriel asked, an edge to his tone.

“Of course I do. I wouldn’t leave her with anyone I didn’t.”

“Good,” he grunted out.

“And I would never ask you to watch Mel. That—I know you’re probably busy and she's kind of a handful..”

Azriel started speaking before the last word left your mouth. “She’s not. And I would never be too busy for that.”

Another silence fell. You picked harder at your nails.

“Azriel, I—“

“I want you to feel safe with me. To trust me.”

His admittance shocked you into silence. You weren’t actually sure what you were going to say to him, but it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered. Everything you had ever thought exited your brain.

You opened your mouth to speak but no sound escaped.

“I mean—I just mean that I want to be a person you can trust Melanie with. That you can trust to… to share more with. I don’t know what you’ve been though, or how you ended up here in Velaris, but I want to be something safe for you.”

It felt as if something was pressing against your chest. When Melanie was around, he never looked at you with such intensity—he never said these things with so much devotion to back his words.

A sharp, hot feeling pricked your fingers. Azriel’s hand immediately covered both of your own, his warm touch pulling your fingers away from each other. You’d drawn blood—a terrible nervous habit.

With all of the shock you missed the fact that this was the first time Azriel had touched you with such intentionality.

“It’s like you’re living in survival mode—you and Melanie. I want you both to feel like there’s someone looking out for you.”

“Why?” you whispered, the word still sounding entirely too loud. “Why us? Why me?”

Azriel hadn’t removed his hands from yours. He offered a small squeeze to your fingers. “Why not you?”

Something broke in you. Something pulled.

You wanted nothing more than to open your mouth and let everything out. You wanted to trust him—to be able to trust anyone—but there was so much danger to that.

You could be forced back home. You could be forced to marry that man. You could lose Melanie.

But Azriel was looking at you as if he’d place his life before any of those possibilities. His gaze was beseeching, almost desperate, and something was urging you to trust him. Something intrinsic. Something that felt right.

Your lips parted.

“Rhys, I told you, Azriel isn’t here.”

“I saw him leave just after us, darling. He came.”

“He came to Nyx’s open house? What could he possibly have to gain?”

The conversation down the hall startled you. You yanked your hands from Azriel’s grip and whipped your head to the side in anticipation.

Rhys, Azriel, Nyx; you knew who was about to enter the hall, and reality came crashing down on you as soon as you made the connection.

“I have to go,” you rushed out, eyes widening. “I—Thank you, Azriel, but this isn’t—this isn’t safe for Melanie. Not… all of this. I have to—”

You left, and Azriel stayed.

You heard your name as you went, heard it echo down the hall, but you still left.

And Azriel still stayed.

part four

#azriel x reader #azriel x female!reader #azriel x you #azriel x y/n #azriel fanfic #azriel shadowsinger #azriel spymaster #azriel acotar #acotar #acotar fanfiction

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fartcloudfartcloud · 4 months ago

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Simon Riley x Maid!Reader

based on this text post

Summary: Simon has a house cleaner come clean once a month. What happens when she goes on vacation, and you're her replacement?

warnings: sfw but theres tension 😋, will make an nsfw part two if you guys want it :), Simon being big and scary and offputting per usual, lots of internal dialogue

a/n: loved this concept, and since I actually worked a door to door cleaning job I thought this fit so well and needed to write it. hope u enjoy :)

You took a deep breath.

These were the steps you were to take in this job. You had no reason to feel unsafe or in danger of any sort. Yet, the thought of walking up and knocking on this door had your heart in your stomach.

Simon Riley Is what the work order had listed as the clients name. Ex Military. Large German Shepard named Riley. Liked his wooden floors cleaned with vinegar instead of the regular cleaning solution. Nothing too out of the ordinary.

Except for the entry instructions. The small box on the piece of paper that would normally hold a few finely printed words, things such as "Homeowner will be not be home, key is under welcome mat"

or "Homeowner will be home and located in office on second floor, door will be unlocked"

had big, bold font to start. Your manager had to go in and manually change that detail, and knowing her, that must mean this is serious.

The box reads-

"DO NOT ATTEMPT TO OPEN DOOR. HOMEOWNER IS EX MILITARY AND EXTREMELY STRICT. RING FRONT DOORBELL ONCE AND WAIT."

Yeah. Very normal and not at all gut-wrenching.

You keep taking deep breaths as you go through your routine. Read the work order thoroughly once more, try not to shit yourself, go and grab your equipment, and follow the instructions.

Easy. Just follow the routine.

Your equipment is as big and clunky as usual. With a vacuum on your back, a bucket full of microfiber towels, a backpack full of chemicals, and knee pads on both knees, you knew for sure you were a sight for sore eyes.

You're not quiet as you walk either, each step making every plastic piece of your puzzle clunk and scrape in a cacophony of reminders of why you were here. You thunk and bang your way up the front porch, eyes everywhere but the front door, still taking deep breaths as you try to just focus on your surroundings, taking note of the nice front garden and walkway as you pass.

You finally settle on the front porch, your arms dropping the bucket and preparing yourself for the big push to start this job.

One ring, you remind yourself. Then wait. Deep breath.

You look up to find the door bell, hand pulling up in a search for the button when you see him.

He must have heard you, you decide as he stands behind the screen door with his arms crossed.

Simon Riley is massive, standing what feels like a clean foot taller than you, big muscled arms bulging from his tight t-shirt. They're as big as your head, his thighs probably twice so. His face was pulled down in a heated gaze, though the bottom half of his face was covered by a black mask. He was scary as he stood there, his aura menacing and doing nothing to sooth your nerves.

Yeah, ex Military makes sense, Jesus christ.

"Ya pissed of my dog, allat noise." You jump, the deep british voice startling you as he begins chastising you. His face frowns down it you, his eyes angry. You're speachless, "Well? Talk."

You stammer as you realize you were just sitting and staring in awe, mind suddenly back on track and then derailing again as you have no idea what to say.

The routine, Jesus christ the routine what's the next step. You scramble for your binder, pulling it open to his work order page and looking up at him as you muster up the courage to speak.

"Um, are you, uh, Simon Riley, sir?" You ask, stuttering and staggering between every word.

He reaches foreword and opens the screen door, getting a good look at you first before he can respond.

"Hm. You the cleaning lady?" He questions, the hand not holding the door open now stuffed in the pocket of his pants.

"Mhm, yeah, im- uh. I'm from Housekeeping Heros, you have an appointment for, um-" you start rustling through more pages of the binder, desperate to find the information, needing to prove to yourself more then him you were in the right place.

"I know i 've an appointment," He holds out his hand and halts your movements. You relax, all the horrible conclusions you were drawing coming to an end. Though, as per usual, they were quickly replaced with new ones, his voice still short and snippy with you.

Deep breaths, girl, we can do this.

He points to your small pile of equipment. "Ya need 'elp?"

You shake your head no, suprised he'd offered. Though he just responds with a head shake, motioning to give it here with his hands. And you do, you don't even second guess it, handing him your bucket and backpack without a second word, something in you submitting to him without a care in the world.

He turns around and walks everything into the kitchen where he gently rests it on the table, softer then you were expecting. You follow him in, feeling like a stray with your legs tucked between your legs as you fet settled. He looks at you expectantly.

Not sure what he's looking for, you start explaining the cleaning process, using your binder as a reference and pointing to each section. He stands behind you, arms crossed again and chin tucked down as he nods along with your words.

He points to the vacuum on your back, "Not round Riley, ya 'ear me?" He scolds. You take note of the large German Shepard snorring lightly on the couch.

"And none o' this shite," He kicks at your knee pads, pointing to a mop he had in the corner. Thank God, cleaning on your knees always sucked, and why your bullshit company made you do it anyways was a marvel.

"Oh, thank you!" You chirped up. He seemed to scowl further when your voice pitched up, so you slink back in on yourself. Understood, point taken, sir.

You still were not feeling great, the pit in your stomach unrelenting as you organize your stuff.

He looms close by. You figured he would, not doubting the "extremely strict" next to "ex military" on your work order at all.

You start with the first step of your process, filling the bucket up in the sink and soaking your towels in the cleaning solution.

"Where's yer boss?" He grumbles from behind you, making you jump.

"Um, Nancy?" Bucket now full, you throw the towels into the warm water with a dash of solution.

"Eh, whatever her name is," He grumbles. How polite.

"Haha, um." You giggle akwardly, "she's with family right now, I think," you stutter, trying to speak loud enough that he could hear you clearly.

He just hmphs in response. As your towels soak in the water, you reach for your extendable feather duster and start wiping the top corners of the room.

"Whats yer name?" He grumbles. It shocks you when he says it. He couldn't seem to care less about the other workers name, but he was interested in yours?

You told him, quiet, "sir," peeping out after. He just hmms again, leaning in the doorway with his arms crossed as he watched you work.

It was nerve-wracking, having him over your shoulder. He hadn't said anything yet, but it felt like you could feel the complaints waiting to come. You just kept up the deep breathing, taking the clothes out of the water and dispersing them on the countertops throughout the house.

He had a very large home, no mcmansion that took up half the street, but a pretty place tucked in a nice down town area. Honestly, if the home and neighborhood wasn't so gorgeous, you probably would've turned around and told your supervisor to give the damn house to someone else.

But thankfully, or not, Simon seemed to harbor a certain comfort for his homes presentation. The indoors of his home reflected it as well, the house put together like it was being staged, every inch perfectly in place.

Maybe that's why it's not so surprising when the first complaint does manage to leave his lips in the form of a hiss as you go to open a cabinet door.

"Oi, what do you think yer doing?" He hisses, rushing over to grab your wrist and pull it from the knob. You gasp as he's suddenly in your space and touching you, flinching as he does.

"Um, I just gotta m-make sure the insides don't need to be wiped down, sir," your muscles shake as you speak— him actually coming over and grabbing had you a little shook up.

He waved his hand infront of your face, dismissing whatever you have to say, "None of that. Don't need'a open nothing that ain't yours." you just nod, taking your first breath once he's finally out of your space.

That would've been a very good thing to include in the work order, Nancy.

Well, at least that's a few less things to worry about cleaning, though you may have failed your task of not shitting your pants, because good lord. He's right back to his perch on the wall, observing you carefully now.

You get into your routine, floating room to room and doing each task per the work order. You slowly scrub the slight musky smoke smell that lingers throughout, instead replacing it with the smell of cinnamon and detergent.

He likes watching you work, but he knows he doesn't show it, not a flutter or twitch anywhere to be seen. He growls small, careful, watch it, leave it, keeping you on edge through every movement.

You do move much faster than your college though, much more gracefully. He notices your wandering eyes, lingering on the photos on the wall and the dates on his calender. He let's you get away with it, for now. Figured he'd picked on you enough, should probably just let you finish your work.

That is, until you approach the end of your routine. You'd been scrubbing and whipping and Simon snipping and snyding for almost an hour now, you'd made excellent time and you hope Simon knows that.

It's all you can think about, actually. Him and the way he has you doting on him, some broken part of you combined with the fear his giant stature instills has you easily folding to do whatever he says and respond to his every grunt. It has your mind a little clouded, even more so as you swing through every step of your routine with practiced care.

It was finally time for the last step of the routine, and you shivered out a breath as you unwrapped the vacuum. Simon had sank a little further away, now sitting at the kitchen table with his eyes glued to a newspaper, anxiety settling slightly without his prying eyes.

You get the cord untangled and laid out across the carpet, searching the perimeter of the room for an outlet. You couldn't see any in the open, and not wanting to risk pissing off Simon for moving furniture, you start to round the corner in your search.

Suddenly, you're against the wall, a giant hand against your sternum as the breath is knocked out of your lungs. His face is in yours, eyebrows furrowed and breath hot on your face as he spoke.

"Tha fuck ya think your doin'?" youre confused and breathless, small under him as he leers above.

"I dont- im-" "Been nothing but nice to ya since you clambered yer way up my damn porch, and I gave you one fuckin' rule." His voiced is raised at you now, chastising you in that brazen, gravely tone. "One! and what do you go and try to do?"

You're just confused, what had you done to elicit this response from him? You thought he was complacent and quiet at the table, what of his million little rules could you have broken?

That's when you see it. Her, you should say. Rylie, the big German Shepard he'd warned you to by no means vacuum around, was bundled up on the couch, inches from where you stand.

Fuck. how had you forgotten.

"Sir, i- I didn't realize, I didn't know she was there sir i-" You desperately try to make an excuse for yourself, but he's just shaking his head at you.

"Do ya think flutterin yer eyelashes a little is gonna make everything better?" He mocks you, his big blue eyes locked on you. You shake your head no, half of it to answer him, the other half just you shivering where you stand.

"No sir- I'm sorry sir I didnt- I forgot you told me and-"

He's clicking his tongue at you, a tsk tsk to put you to shame. To your suprise, each click when straight to your core, and suddenly the heat in the room is rising. Your body is flushed and your sure your face matches, if the way his eyes crinkle when he looks up at you says anything.

His hand doesn't leave your sternum, as he speaks, Inches from your face, "too good at this to be forgetting," he shakes his head, the praise a little shocking, and the soft, "too pretty," that follows it hammers the fact.

You breath is caught in your chest again as he leans into your ear, eyes wide and mouth clamped as he murmurs a deep.

"So how do you think I should go bout making sure you remember?"

#simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon ghost x reader #simon riley x housekeeper!reader #ghost #ghost cod #ghost x reader #ghost x you #cod fanfiction #ghost cod fanfic

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omegamoo · 8 months ago

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one of my favorite parts of c!niki’s arc is manburg era because she was the person living in manburg who was most outwardly rebellious. she never stopped fighting - she made it clear that she hated the schlatt administration and everything they stood for, and so she fought back. she didn’t screw around with a “will-i-won’t-i” she just did. and i think people undersell that a lot, especially in favor of the pogtopian rebellion. but c!niki refuses to pay taxes, she sets fire to the manburg flag, she refuses to cater for schlatt and co. she doesn’t stop! when cschlatt exiles ctommy and cwilbur, she’s the one shouting about it. during the festival, she’s the one who shouts while ctubbo’s getting blown up and says from the beginning how much she hates the new country.

also the festival - if you watch the vod from your pov (which you totally should!!!!!) she just sits there and looks So Pissed Off the entire time. like she doesn’t hide how pissed of she is. she’s downright furious during that entire discussion!

and i think the most crucial part of all of this is what happens to her because of this. she is consistently belittled by c!schlatt - frequently in a “omg shut up”/“would somebody shut her up” in a way that feels like how somebody talks about a bug in the house. it’s misogynistic in many ways, i think - she’s consistently invalidated and overlooked, like her rebellion doesn’t even hold weight.

and then when she finally does more - i.e. the taxes - she’s literally hunted. and she runs, and calls c!wilbur, and she is terrified. and he says “can you just hold out a bit longer? pogtopia’s kinda full right now and we can’t take more people” and she’s like, actively unsafe in manburg and has nowhere to go and can’t go home. and she is told “just hold out a bit longer”

and then. the festival. again, she’s in the audience and watches tubbo get blown up and she’s shouting about it! like screaming at him! and finally c!schlatt is like “you’ve been a thorn in my side for too long” and he has ponk kill her! and she runs and he chases her and nobody follows to help, they just tell her to run. and she’s in the call w all of them and the conversation just moves on while she silently runs and silently gets killed. and that’s when she leaves for pogtopia.

anyways. point being: c!niki and overlooked rebellion.

#dsmp #dream smp #niki nihachu #c!niki #cniki #ramblings #i’m fucking main tagging this haha #dsmp analysis #i did not mean to go on this much of a rant but i did. and i’m based i think #moo analysis tag

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toxicanonymity · 1 year ago

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ring doorbell 🚪

5400 words, stepdad!Joel x f!reader

stepdad master

Summary: Joel holds it together at a Christmas party, only to show up at your apartment later. WARNINGS: I8+ stepcest, toxic fluff, f masturbation, party-typical alcohol, angst, reader dacryphilia, grinding, unsafe P in V INTERCOURSE FINALLY ❤️‍🔥 (he's clean, I tested him myself), pulling out (this time), big mess of cum. 💦

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Note: not a big deal but white elephant gift /party explanation if you don't know

This is the wk before Xmas week like 12/16/23 yes the whole fic is mildly in the future lmao the exorcist comes out this October.

-------

You still haven't snapchatted Joel back. After he sends nothing one day, you think about it a lot. You want to send him your own, but you can't decide what to send. You never used to overthink it, but after all this, whatever you send feels like a big deal. The next day, you're lounging on your bed thinking about it when you get a notification.

[Snapchat: J. has shared a photo with you]

You've gotten yourself off to Joel's snaps so many times that as soon as you get the notification, you're throbbing. You’re also relieved–after going a whole day with nothing from him, you were getting anxious. It's a rainy day and you're doing nothing, so you get out your silicone Joel but it’s dead. You change the batteries, silently thanking Joel for his foresight, and fold a towel under you. Before you open his Snapchat, you get yourself close with nothing but your imagination.

You imagine him showing up at your door, eyelids red, cheeks still wet with tears, unable to speak he's so desperate for you. Latching onto your lips as he barges into your apartment, hands cradling your head, pulling your face into his. Kissing you like he's starving. Taking off each other's clothes on the way to your room without a single word spoken until he's on your bed and rasps "I fuckin' need you right now" as he gets between your legs. Tangling your fingers in his hair as his bare chest hovers over yours and his cock hangs heavily onto your mound until he reaches down and puts it where you need it. His lips on yours again. His tongue pushing into your mouth as he pushes his cock into you. Your legs wrapping around him as your body swallows his length. Joel pounding into you, moaning that moan you've heard so many times now, his skin against yours, thrusting into you, approaching that moment where he'll give you the biggest load you could imagine.

At this point, you open the snap, and it's not what you expect.

Photo: Close-up selfie of his face and bare shoulders. His shoulders are so muscular and tan that it takes you a moment to realize his head is resting on your pillow, in your room (at their house). His eyes are large and his brow is furrowed. He looks tired. Caption: Hope this is okay.

A lewd snap could follow any minute, but the first one makes you cum. Just the sight of his face, the face that would be right up against yours with that big, hard, beautiful cock finally inside you. Fuck. You keep staring at his face the whole time you cum. You almost kiss your fucking phone. This has gotten that out of hand. You leave it on read. It's sweet how he's being careful, almost timid. But at the same time, bold to go into your room. Hope this is ok. You fall asleep, and when you wake up, there's another photo from him, just four minutes earlier.

Photo (82 min after the first one): Close-up selfie on his side, hair is tousled. Arm looking huge. Eyes weak. Hugging one of your pillows. The corner is covering his chin and mouth. Caption: Good nap.

He just wanted to take a nap in your room? Your heart flutters, which is a little uncomfortable, like it's easier when he's just nasty. But you can't deny you like this sweet side of him. He doesn't know it, but you basically just took a nap together.

—------

The next morning, Joel sends another Snapchat.

Video: He's in your bed again, laying on his side shirtless with strong shoulders, muscle cleavage, and sleepy eyes as if he slept there all night. His voice is hushed. "Mornin', beautiful” (he yawns) “So about tonight . . .I'm not gonna make it weird, ok? I'll act normal."

Video (less than a minute later): He's in the same position but holding his phone further out and at an angle and your covers are pulled down so you can see a lot more of his torso. He says, "Hope you're still comin'."

Later that day

Photo: Mirror selfie in a red and white fair isle sweater and a mostly straight face but his eyes are a little sad. Caption: See? Normal.

There's a family Christmas party, and you're anxious despite Joel's assurances. Can you act normal? You haven't tried in person since that night with Jacques. If Joel is finally as willing as he seems, for some reason, that makes you nervous. For months now, you've been trying to break him down, often thinking it might never happen. Even with his dick pressed right up against your leggings on Thanksgiving, it felt far away. Now after weeks of no physical contact, it feels closer than ever. And as much as you wanna make your move on Mr. Cant-believe-he-ever-turned-you-down, you're unexpectedly anxious.

—------

When you get to your cousin's house, both Joel’s SUV and your Mom's car are there. A small mob greets you at the door. One of your aunts takes your white elephant gift off your hands. Joel is nearby, quietly sipping a drink. Looking over another aunt's shoulder as she hugs you, you can see how the sweater hugs Joel's biceps and has polar bears in the pattern. Does he have to be so cute? As you finish hugging them hello, Joel puts down his drink and tacks himself onto the end of the hug train.

He looks you in the eye with a subtle smile – sad but hopeful. He lifts both his arms, meaning this is a full hug and your arms will go around his waist. As you get closer, his scent hits you and you have to physically stop your eyes from closing in pleasure as you inhale through your nose. When you first touch, there's a literal spark. Static electricity. You gasp and he chuckles. Not to be deterred, his scruff brushes your cheek as his big arms wrap around you and squeeze. This brief moment might be the coziest you've felt all winter. You loosely embrace his waist, and when you pull back, he lets you go. You share a loaded glance, his eyes falling to your mouth as he wets his lips. An aunt comes to beckon you to the kitchen.

When you glance back over your shoulder, Joel adjusts his glasses and awkwardly hovers near the door. He’s wearing khakis, and his sweater is bunched up above his ass. Your aunt turns to say something to you and you whip your head back around and say "sorry."

In the kitchen, your Mom says she feels like she hasn’t seen you in forever. “Sorry I didn’t get to meet Jacques. Joel said I just missed him.” Joel comes and stands in the door frame, drinking out of his solo cup.

“That was weeks ago,” you say, not feigning warmth.

She asks if Jacques is still in the picture, and you shake your head no. When you glance at Joel, he looks about as satisfied as you expect. He helps change the subject by asking your uncle about golf.

One of the kids yells from the other room, "Uncle Joel! play Mario Kart with us!" And Joel leaves.

You overhear Joel say, "No cryin' when I beat ya this time."

Followed by an outraged, "YOU DIDN'T BEAT ME!"

Then Joel says, "Oww!"

—------

About an hour and a half later, you go outside alone to the deck for some air. The yard is dark. There's a trampoline and a treehouse. You’re leaning back against the wood railing, facing the house. A lot of the adults are drunk now and the kids are being put to bed. You want to leave, but the white elephant exchange hasn’t happened and you don’t need everyone asking after you, wondering what happened, whether you’re okay. You’d rather serve the time at the party. Preferably without being social.

You figure no one will notice if you go up into the treehouse meanwhile. You climb up and use your phone light. There’s a lantern up there. You turn it on. There are papers scattered on the floor with crayon drawings of monsters and people including a stick figure with what appears to be a huge dick pointing straight toward the ground and he's urinating on a crowd of smaller stick people. On another sheet, there’s a snowman with stick people for arms and they don’t look happy.

The treehouse smells like cedar chips and melted crayons. You can hear the murmur of the party which grows louder as someone opens the door. You sit and scroll your phone, confident no one saw you go up there. You think about snapchatting or texting Joel but wouldn’t want anyone to see it if he’s too drunk to be discreet.

—--

A twig snaps in the yard. A few seconds later, the ladder to the treehouse shakes under weighty footsteps and Joel appears in the little door frame.

"Thought I might find ya here." Fair enough–you weren’t anywhere else. He seems only a little tipsy. "It's almost white elephant time."

You look at each other in silence. His hair is messy. He’s so hot. You can't help but smile. He stays there in the doorframe with his big hands gripping the top of the ladder.

You break the silence with crude teasing about how he stopped sending you lewd snaps. "What happened yesterday, you didn't nut?"

He chuckles and looks down shyly. "Takin'' a break, I guess. And, uh. Wasn't sure you wanted that stuff.” He looks at you again. “Cause you never reply, so." It doesn’t sound like a complaint, it just sounds a little sad. “Guess I got in my head.”

You nod in understanding then rest your head against the wall again. “Guess I didn’t know what to say.”

He asks, "But you like it?"

You raise your eyebrows, impressed, and slowly nod. You say, "I guess practice makes perfect, 'cause damn." You take a deep breath and spread your legs, a symbolic gesture since you're wearing pants.

He groans softly, making you tingle. "Christ . .Don't get me hard while I'm on this fuckin' ladder."

You reach forward and extend your hand to bring him in and out of view of the door. His hand engulfs yours for balance, but he holds his own weight as he crouches into the small structure. Unable to stand, he gets down on his hands and knees and looks around and asks,"Think this thing is stable?"

"You're the expert."

He laughs, then it fades and you both seem to realize he's on all fours between your legs. He clears his throat and sits back on his heels. He looks at his watch.

"Do you, uh, wanna talk? We've got a minute."

You shake your head.

"I mean, we prolly should," he says softly, then clenches his jaw and his eyes seem to weaken when you break eye contact. Ugh, he's so hot and pitiful. You rise to your knees and knee-walk toward him. He lowers his voice, "But we don't have to talk . . .right now." When you've closed the short distance, you watch his eyes glisten and smell the egg nog on his breath. “Maybe later,” he says even softer. He swallows then cups your face in his hand and looks at your mouth.

After a final glance to your eyes, Joel softly presses his lips into yours and you meet him with the same softness. It makes you lightheaded. You’ve never kissed each other tenderly before, but it turns you on just as much as if he had ravished you. Because it’s real. He’s really into this, and he’s stayed into it for weeks without taking out any of his self loathing on you, IF he even still hates himself for this.

Joel's tongue brushes your lips, then you hear the sliding door to the house open in the distance. Your uncle yells "JOEL???" and you pull away. Joel pulls you back in for a few seconds with one hand behind your ear and another hand on your ass. His khakis press into your jeans and your heart jumps when you feel his cock begin to harden.

"JOEL! YOU FIND HER?"

You pull away again. He takes a deep breath, looks you over, and adjusts himself as he turns away. The uncle goes back inside. Joel exits the treehouse first then helps you down the ladder. As you brush off your knees and butt, he says, "shoulda told me you were comin' out here."

“Why?” you ask and he brushes himself off as well.

He hesitates and his face falls. “I dunno.” His eyes look more like his sad videos, like his cool facade is cracking. “I was lookin’ for ya.” His Adams Apple catches your eye as he swallows. He puts his massive hand on your back for a moment, ushering you toward the house.

—---

Your Mom gets too drunk and goes to sleep in a guest bedroom halfway through the white elephant game. Not the first time this has happened.

You're in a chair and Joel is sitting across the room on a sofa, manspreading. He rests his hand on his inner thigh and your breath hitches. You cross your legs, clench your thighs, and try not to stare, but you feel him looking at you from time to time.

Your cousin’s husband Barry opens the gift you brought. It’s a sweatshirt that says Cutie. He holds it up to himself and spins around for laughs. Joel glowers. Joel steals it when it's his turn and smiles when everyone laughs. No one steals it from Joel. At the end of the game, you hug everyone goodbye. Your hug with Joel is brief.

—----

In the middle of the night, your phone wakes you up with a Ring doorbell alert. It’s Joel. He’s wearing the stupid cutie sweatshirt. He adjusts his glasses. He rakes his hand into his hair and looks around in a way that makes you wonder if he might regret coming. You lie there for a minute or two watching the Ring feed, but he just stands there waiting. He braces his arm on the doorframe. His biceps stretch the sleeves. You turn your lamp on the dimmest setting and get out of bed.

You open the front door silently and he steps back as you open it. His eyes are a little red. He looks dead serious. He puts his hand back on the doorframe and the sweatshirt rides up enough to expose a sliver of skin. His Adam's Apple bobs and he asks hoarsely, “can I come in?”

You look around outside then step back and let him in.

“I can’t sleep,” he says as he walks into your dark kitchen. He shakes his head. “can’t sleep after seein’ you.” His eyes glisten. “Can we talk?”

You feel your heart rate rising and wonder if he can tell how nervous you are. You’d prefer to break the tension physically, but apparently he has something to say and you’re gonna have to hear it sooner or later. You turn and walk into your bedroom. You stack pillows and lie down face up. If he's not willing to get on your bed at this point, you're not sure if you wanna hear what he has to say after all.

At first, he stands at the foot of the bed with his hands behind his head, elbows bent forward in distress. Your eyes drift to his exposed happy trail and the way his joggers hug his groin. “I dunno what the hell’s wrong with me.” He looks toward your window and chokes back tears. Then he kneels on your bed. “You’re never gonna know how sorry I am.”

“Joel, I know,” you say softly. “C’mere.” You offer space next to you. Instead, he gets between your legs and your heart skips a beat. He lies face-down, with his feet hanging off the bed. His armpits rest on your upper thighs with his elbows and forearms on either side of your hips and torso. It turns you on of course, yet he doesn't seem to be making a move sexually.

“I am so, so sorry,” he says.

“I know,” you say again. “We can move on. I don't wanna keep talk–”

“But,” he says, then pauses and swallows. His eyes are big and watery. “I dunno if you get it. How sorry I am.” a tear rolls down his cheek. He wipes it and takes his glasses off. You reach out your hand to take them and put them on your nightstand. He whispers, “thanks,” as he dabs his eyes with his fingers which only sends the tears to his cheeks.

“I know you’re sorry, Joel, I get it.”

“No,” he shakes his head. “I don’t think you get-” He puts his face down on you for a second like he’s dabbing his cheeks on your PJs, then he lifts his head again. While choking back tears, he blurts out, “I’m SO fucked up over you." He blinks and looks away and another tear escapes his eye. "can't even fuckin' sleep except in your bed." He buries his face in your thin cotton PJs.

Now you’re turned all the way on. You take a deep breath as your ache for him deepens. When you don’t respond, he whispers, “I’m sorry,” then puts the other side of his face down on you, his mouth below your belly button. His tears are dampening your PJs. “I dunno why I’m here,” he mumbles into the bottom hem of your tank top. Your hips lift into his upper chest once, as though adjusting your position. He ignores it and continues, “FUCK, i’ve been tryin’ to give ya time.” He looks up at you. “Tried to act normal tonight.” He shakes his head and his brow furrows.

He presses his eyes into your tank top one by one to dry them without using his hands. “Then i show up in the middle of the fuckin’ night,” he laughs softly at how pathetic this is. It’s taking all your restraint not to rock your hips into him. You’re wet, so wet.

—-

“Stop. Just c’mere,” you say quietly and open your arms. You lift your hips again. He looks up at you and the distress on his face dissolves. As he crawls up your body, his big, sweet eyes begin to darken. He puts his forearms down on the bed on either side of your chest and your eyes connect for a moment. Your lips part.

“You’re so. . .fuck,” he sighs, then presses his lips into yours. Your mouth warmly accepts him. His lips move against yours and he licks into your mouth slowly at first, like he’s savoring every brush of his tongue against yours. Then it becomes needy at a sensual rhythm.

With your mouths still connected, he shifts his body. The warm bulge in his joggers meets your clothed heat, and then, oh god, his cock hardens against you. He softly hums, "mmm" as your mouths move together and he swells harder against you. You're throbbing, aching. For a second, you wonder if you're having a wet dream (you're not).

There's a different electricity between you now. You can both feel it – He breaks away for a moment and looks at you, breathing heavily, and you can see it in his eyes. He's not crying anymore. He looks at peace. He rests his weight on one arm, and his opposite hand slides onto your breast, slowly palming it as his lips move with yours and his growing arousal digs into you. It’s the first time you’ve had his whole body against yours. And fuck, he feels good. It’s the first time you’ve been on a bed together. That one time on your couch, he said it was dangerous being alone. This time, he's not stopping, not even slowing down.

He didn’t regret it last time you hooked up, but now there’s a different buzz inside you now. If he ends up regretting it this time, you could get hurt. His rejection never deterred you before, but this time, you feel like it could crush you. You're not even sure why, but you have to somehow acknowledge it before he puts his head between your legs, or whatever he has in mind.

“You’re sure you wanna. . . do stuff,” you begrudgingly say and inwardly shame yourself for the tremble in your voice.

“I’m so fuckin’ sure, sweetheart.”

—--

That's all you need, because you can feel it in his body, too. There’s no part of him that doesn’t want you. Your mouths embrace again and only come apart for heavy breaths and moans as your hips and lips move in rhythm. His cock grows even stiffer and his hand moves from your breast, down your side. His hands are so big and masculine, but gentle. There’s nothing hesitant about his movements. He grabs your thigh, and you bend your knee. He hikes up your leg and pushes himself harder against you where it counts.

He slides his hand down your thigh and into your soft sleep shorts, his fingers getting closer and closer to the pool of desire that's begging for him. When his fingertips reach your cunt, you arch your back and whine, pulling your lips away as your head tilts up toward the ceiling. His mouth comes to your breast and dampens your cotton tank top as he tongues your nipple through it.

"Fuck," you say between heavy breaths. You've never wanted anyone–or anything–so bad in your life. It's a need.

You run your hands over his hulking back, feeling the muscles flex on either side of his spine, and curl your fingers under the hem of his sweatshirt. He takes it off in a flash, his white t-shirt coming with it. He takes off your tank top, then his lips return to yours, his cock grinds into you, and you sigh.

He breaks the kiss and pauses. His tan shoulders look huge the way he's hovering there over you.

His voice is weak and hoarse. "Don't want ya to think I came here just to–"

"Shhhh," your hips lift and you moan at his hardness.

"Ohhh, God," he rolls his hips into yours and sighs your name. He dips his head and noses your neck, then murmurs into your skin, "didn't come here to fuck ya, baby." His scruff brushes your cheek on his way to look at you again.

"I know," you say. God, you need him so bad.

"Okay," he whispers, then covers your mouth with his again, kissing you hungrily.

Your lips break away, then you meet his eyes and tell him, "but that's what you're gonna do."

Joel reads your eyes for a moment, breathing heavily. Then he nods silently and a surge of arousal runs through you. "Yeah," he nods again. "I am."

You pull him down so his bare chest is against yours. He kisses you hard with a little bit of tooth, making your lips buzz and your nipples harden against him. He sucks your neck, and his rock-hard cock presses against your clit rhythmically. You throb violently. Then he whispers in your ear, "'m'gonna fuck ya, sweetheart," drawing a moan from you.

"Now," you beg. You lift your shoulder blades off the bed, pressing him up with your breasts and stomach. You reach around to his back and hook your thumbs into the waistband of his joggers.

"Yeah," he breathes. You tug down his joggers. He kicks out of them and you observe the massive tent in his boxers with a pang of need from your core through your heart. He urgently pulls off your sleep shorts, then says "fuck," and takes his boxers off, too.

You take a deep breath as you stroke your clit and spread yourself open for him. He moans softly at the sight of your fingers at your glistening cunt. He wets his lips as he reaches between your legs. His hand replaces yours, and he sharply inhales. He spreads your slick around your folds and gently rubs your clit. “Yeah,” he whispers. “Yeah, let’s go.”

He gets in position and hikes up your leg again. His head falls, putting his messy head of hair in your view. He watches himself align his cock with your entrance, and your breath hitches at the first touch of the smooth head of his cock. He begins to push inside with a moan, opening you up with his swollen tip. Your clit twitches. His hips push forward, giving you more of him, and his mouth falls open as he watches it happen. You both moan as his cock parts your insides. It’s happening smoothly, without effort, and the stretch is delicious.

Joel pries his gaze away from where your bodies are joined. He locks eyes with you, then plunges to the hilt and shudders as he bottoms out. God, the way his cock fills you up. His eyes glisten and his face looks like he’s in pain, but he’s not. You catch yourself holding your breath, and you exhale with a whimper. Joel stays all the way inside with his swollen balls against you and closes his eyes, his chest expanding with air. “Jesus, fuck,” he whispers. His chest is heaving. He opens his eyes and tries to speak. “You feel – god damn. . . you're. . .(a vocal sigh). . you–"

You cut him off by pulling him in for a kiss. He twitches inside you and you both moan.

After a moment, he slowly pulls his hips back, then pushes in again. "Mmmm" he moans into your mouth. All the times you’ve imagined this, you never counted on the contact of your bodies and faces together. You could never have dreamed how full you’d feel. Even after having him in your hand. In your mouth. This feeling is new for you. It’s like he’s shaped just for you. He pulls back, then bottoms out again and groans against your cheek. How is it already the best you’ve ever had? He retreats, then slides all the way in with a punch of his cock as he bottoms out.

"That okay?" he asks like he doesn't wanna hurt you.

You nod urgently, "Give it to me."

He thrusts into you harder, working up to about once per second, at first. Breathing heavily, grunting, moaning, vocalizing constantly in one way or another. He kisses your lips, sucks your neck, and lightly bites you as your cunt hugs his cock just right. He steals downward glances at your body and groans as he watches his glistening cock disappear into you again and again. He gradually ups the pace and intensity until you're whining.

"Fuck," he sighs, and you whimper. "Too much?"

"Don't hold back," you shake your head. "Don't you dare hold back."

"Oh, baby," he says, then slams into you with all his weight. You asked for it, but you're really not prepared for the other realm he sends you to. "Fuck MEee," he moans. He pounds into you, grunting each time he buries his cock in your dripping core. He snaps his hips and kisses you sloppily. Your mouths are half connected and half moaning into each other's cheeks.

You moan, “Jo–” but stop yourself.

“S'okay," he pants. "You can say it.”

“Fuck, I–”

“Say it, sweetheart”

“Joel,” you whine.

"Oh, Christ," he pants.

"Fuck, Joel, uggggh–your--"

"Oh, Fuck"

"Feel so–"

"Yeah," he breathes, slamming into you with his weight behind it. “Fuck, baby–yeahhh”.

You feel the pleasure building in your gut and core as he fucks you. Your sounds must seem increasingly distressed, and so do his. They tumble out of the back of his throat. The tension in your belly tightens. He lowers his chest against yours again. Your arms are around his neck and his forearms squeeze your sides. He manages to fuck you so deep and good, even while he's flat against you. His hips move like a mating animal.

It hits you like a ton of bricks: This is it. Every other man is ruined for you. How could anything compare? Your own eyes prickle with tears.

Joel tries a few times to say things, but every time it devolves into a moan or guttural sigh. He makes sounds you haven't heard before.

"Ohhh, fuck," he moans. "I dunno if I can–"

You open your eyes and the agonized look on his face puts you all the way on the edge. He must be close.

"Give it to me, Joel."

He pistons into you harder, all his muscles flexing. You whimper as your thighs tremble.

"C'mon, baby," he whispers, then he grunts. He growls, "Soak me, baby–ohh–Just fuckin'––nnngh"

You sigh vocally and start to clench around him. You moan his name, long and drawn out as pleasure seizes you.

You flutter around his cock and he gasps, "oh, fuck." You gush and groan, your hips lifting into him, mouth hanging open, breathing and whining at once.

He pants, "Fuck–(a low moan), I wanna fill–ohhhhh, god (heavy breaths). Sweetheart, i really wanna–ahh, shit." He bites his lips together, his cheeks puff out, and his neck vein flexes. You’re still cumming. He grunts from the back of his throat as he pulls out and slaps cock down on your mound. He presses his body against you so his cock rubs your still pulsing clit.

His cock is nestled between your bodies, and he’s grinding into you when he erupts massively with a shudder from deep in his chest. His pulsations drag yours out as his cum coats your mound and lower belly. He groans as he slowly, wetly grinds against you. He breathes and gasps for air, still cumming. His cock pulses so powerfully, a hot rope every couple of seconds.

With the movement of his hips and sliding of his cock, the warmth of his cum spreads around your skin, settling into your navel, and he’s still cumming. The obscene mess between you is sticky and growing. Then, even after his balls have emptied, he stays on top of you, hard cock pressed against you, empty pulsations waning for what feels like minutes. He's so warm and wet and hard. He lies there with his weight on you and dips his forehead to your pillow, resting his temple against yours. You both have aftershocks against each other as you try to catch your breath.

"Holy shit," you pant softly. Once he rolls off you, you're already sticking to each other near the edges of the mess where it's drying.

—--

All you can do is breathe heavily. His lips find yours. He kisses you deeply, then pulls back and hovers over you. He brushes tears you don't realize you're crying off your cheeks and his brow furrows.

"Shit," he says as his thumb brushes your cheek. His eyes are wide. "You okay?" He swallows and studies your face.

You nod confidently and look him in the eyes. He bows his head with relief, then gently kisses you again. You're terrified he's gonna come down and regret it. Your wet skin begins to feel cold. You look down. "Oh my god." It's so much cum. You're covered in it. It's all the way up to your breasts, at least. It's all over him, too.

"Oh shit," he says with a small laugh. "Gimme a sec." He gets out of bed.

-----

Cleaning both of you up takes multiple warm washcloths. You really need a full shower, but you're so tired and just want to be held.

You move to the dry side of the bed. You'll deal with it all in the morning. He turns off the lamp and gets under the sheets with you. You face each other, and he wraps his arms around you.

You ask, "What time do you have to leave?"

"I'm not worried about it," he says.

There's a long silence, during which he strokes your shoulder with his thumb.

Then you whisper, "What now?"

"Mmm….We do it again, and again, and again. . ."

You look up at him. "Are you mocking me?"

He kisses you.

"I'm trying to have an adult conversation," you mock back.

Then he whispers, "let's go to sleep" and kisses you good night.

—-------

His Xmas party look 😍😍😍

Distressed stepdad art 🥹🥹🥹

Thank you so much for reading and engaging. Your comments and reblogs mean a lot!!!! I love you guys. You can follow @toxicfics to turn on notifications. make sure your phone has push notifs enabled for tumblr.

If this is the first one you've read, I strongly recommend reading the series (it's not long like prob <15k total). there are references to it in this.

------

#joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #pedro pascal characters #toxicanonymity ☠️#stepdad!joel miller #stepdad!joel☠️#stepdad!joel #finally f*cking friday #tw stepcest

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starbugx3 · 1 month ago

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The flaws and postives of dating leon.

cw: angst (substance abuse, etc), mentions of, suicide, substance abuse, erectile dysfunction and sex but never goes into too much detail. ends on a happy note <3 hurt/comfort (?)

Usually I picture older leon so anything having to do with damnation leon and older ^^

The flaws.

──★ substance abuse.

it's no doubt (almost) every leon struggles with using alcohol abuse as a way to cope with his issues. even if he's trying to quit. when he's drunk, he gets irritated easily. he's also really dramatic. and clingy. He's impulsive, and you'll have to scold him constantly when he does something stupid or unsafe. And don't get him wrong, he think you're beautiful, gorgeous, stunning even, but he can't get it up. So expect lazy soft sex with him if you guys have sex at all. Another part is he comes home at late times from drinking at bars at early times of the night. And he's so loud so he wakes you up, you can hear loud bangs, cursing, etc. His drinking also always leads to bed rotting to the point he has food everywhere, and bottles of whatever he wanted at the time scattered on his floor, trash, clothes, it's just bad. On a more postive note, he does quit shortly after the events of vendetta, it takes a lot of convincing himself to go but that leads to another set of challenges, since he's suffering from withdrawal, but during his time quitting, he goes to AA meetings, and therapy to find other things to cope, he even gets a sponser (his name is ken, he loves him), and if it gets really really bad, he'll go to rehab, then a wellness center where the nice nurse ladies will take off him, and he'll play uno with the rest of the depressed people. he honestly loves a hospital setting, he loves feeling taken care of. And as of death island, he'll have been sober for 8 1/2 months. So good for him.

──★ ptsd.

Another thing you might have expected. Leon's life hasn't been cupcakes and rainbows since his parents died. But Racoon city takes the cake for him. In some re6 documents, it talks about leon wanting to commit suicide, but didn't to protect Sherry. After RC, he has nightmares, panic attacks, and sometimes his fears can make him be irrational, like worrying about everyone being the sick, or worrying if his job is watching him to see what he's doing. However, his job makes it easier for him to bottle and mask (autism, hear me out please) his emotions until he's considered "safe", so rarely will he ever act out at his fears, but you can always tell his secretly freaking out. His hands get terribly sweaty, and he always seems to jump at loud noises. But, just you being there is nice to him. He loves being able to see alive, it relaxes him or something. So when you're cuddling, he'll listen to your heartbeat and hearing you breathe. Which eventually helps him fall asleep into an actual peaceful slumber. When it is considered safe to him, he has a meltdown from masking his emotions for too long. He is more sensitive and easily annoyed, and gets overwhelmed by things he normally wouldn't find annoying, like pen clicks, bright lights or his pants feeling weird, like why do jeans feel like that? it's like a mix of burnout and masking coming to him.

── .✦ forgetful.

leon is the perfect boyfriend, who doesn't forget anything. And that is true most of the time, most of the time. He's very present, he knows everything about you, your favorite movies, favorite songs, shows, etc. But he forgets holidays, easily. It's probably his work schedule. He works so much, even on the holidays sometimes, so to him, it feels like a regular day. And he rarely checks calendars. It could be valentine's day, no gift, nothing, and when he realized, he gets now why you're ignoring him and acting so weird. He also forgets chores, rarely ever helps around the house, which is frustrating. Never had to help clean as a kid, cause a nanny or maid always did it for him. He gets irritated on why you're pissed at him for not doing the dishes. Like he did them last saturday! He think he's helping but he isn't. However, if you tell him, you feel overworked with doing everything, he tries doing chores more often on his days off, and you'll come back to a clean house. that won't happen again. sorry.

── .✦ boring and old fashioned.

leon likes mundane things, things most people find boring and unfun, and it will get worse the older he gets. he likes watching the news every morning, waking up and going to bed early, etc, etc. because he's old fashioned. he will have the same phone for years and won't think about changing it until it gets destroyed. he will judge you for getting a new phone even when your old one still works, or "buying something you don't need".

the positives.

──★ attentive.

I'll add more I promise and make a part two!!!

like i said in the forgetful category, he is good at remembering everything you tell him. Just not holidays. But he'll remember everything you tell him, for example, when you're shopping and he sees you stare at something to long. He'll buy it for you, oh you like this flower? Here's a bouquet of them! Oh you like this style of clothes? Here's a store full of them and he will be carrying the bags.

#leon kennedy #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy headcanons #re2 leon #re4 leon #id leon #infinite darkness leon #damnation leon #re6 leon #vendetta leon #death island leon #di leon

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aliwritex · 3 days ago

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Heyy!! could you make a franco x reader where they are young parents fic?

a/n: this is short but super cute. some thoughts about dad!franco

Finding out you were going to be parents at 21 wasn’t exactly the greatest thing ever. You were scared and confused at first, not knowing what to do about anything, really. And it was a while till you finally figured out what to do about it.

After you told Franco about your suspicion, you took a test and cried yourself to sleep in his arms when it came out positive. That was not what you had planned. Having just finished your studies, you wanted to start working in your area, get married and then finally start thinking about kids.

He did his best throughout your entire pregnancy, of course that landing the Alpine seat meant he was working more but he always made sure you look after you. He suggested you moved in as soon as you found out, already planing to turn the empty room in his apartment into a nursery.

Franco’s excitement made things a lot easier, he loved kids and always wanted some of his own, surely not so early but he had to take what the universe offered. He showered you with attention and he was in love with your bump. When the baby started kicking he’d lay his head on your lap and stay there for hours, feeling all the movements — then telling the baby off for hurting you.

Your baby boy was born in the summer, little Mateo looked just like him, it almost made you mad. But with a face like that it was impossible.

You were convinced that he was the easiest baby ever, completely healthy, settled into a schedule quickly, quiet and not much work at all. That was until he started walking. The boy became impossible, baby proofing the house was needed the day after he stood for the first time. Your once quiet little boy was now a cheeky smiley toddler.

“¡Boludo, te va a dar um toque!” Franco exclaimed, quickly picking up the child from the floor “Did you see that, mi amor? He was pulling the tape from the outlet” he explained popping into the bathroom where you were getting ready

“Don’t swear around him, please”

Mateo was now a little over a year old and was attending his first race. What you didn’t realize about traveling with a curious toddler was how unsafe hotel rooms are. You had managed to tape all the outlets shut but the baby boy was a little too smart for his own good.

“I didn’t swear!”

“Was that not a bad word?” he shook his head and you rolled your eyes “Right. Need to remember to bring the plugs next time, he’s too smart for the tape.”

It’s not that Franco kept you a secret, you just had a private relationship and never posted about your son. So when you walked into the paddock together with a stroller it was a surprise to many people. You tried to keep a low profile but Teo was just too happy to be there, waving and smiling at everyone. He also did not want to be locked up in his dads room while an entire world for him to explore was right outside.

“He kept calling for Papa” you explained as you walked up to the garage.

It was still Friday morning so there wasn’t much happening around, just Franco talking somethings through with his engineer. So he was free to take your son.

“Vení acá, Teo.” the child smiled, slipping his hand away from yours to run to his dad “Wanna see Papa's car?”

Your son absolutely loved everything. You could see his eyes light up in excitement when Franco showed him anything. He picked him up to show him the inside of the car, Teo was giggling as he flipped him almost upside down to look at it. He even pulled out the steering wheel and the kid was perplexed with all the buttons. You took pictures of everything, so many of them both smiling and laughing at each other.

“Right, that’s enough exploring” you took the child from his arms “someone needs a bottle and a nap or they’ll be too cranky to watch Papa drive later. See you in a bit, okay?”

Franco nodded, stealing a quick kiss on your lips before you left. He couldn’t be happier that he had his family there for him.

#dad!franco colapinto #a writes #franco colapinto x reader #franco colapinto imagine

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sirfrogsworth · 4 months ago

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Meeting my longtime artist and good friend, Chris, IN REAL LIFE!

So, I hadn't been to a restaurant in over a decade. I can't even remember which restaurant since it was so long ago. But in the past few weeks I've now been to TWO restaurants.

I am becoming a social butterfly.

And it is exhausting.

But also good.

First I reconnected with my high school best friend, John.

And that went great.

But then the opportunity to see my friend Chris (a.k.a @whosthewhatnow ) came up only a few days later. And this close proximity of social events scared me a bit, but I have been feeling much better since they figured out my heart thing, so I decided to try and do both things even though they were only a few days apart.

The key to this was strategic resting. As soon as I got home from seeing John, I got in bed and I didn't get out of it until it was time to see Chris. And that was just enough recovery time to pull this off. Typically a short outing requires 2-3 days of rest after.

I had never met Chris in real life. He has done nearly all of the artwork for my website and comics over the past decade. And he was a main character in my CRAPPRnauts series.

We know each other so well and it is crazy that we've never seen each other with our very own eyeballs.

He is such an amazing artist. He works fast and he adds so many cool extra details that you can stare at his comic panels multiple times and catch a new joke or easter egg each time. He is a dream to work with and my Corg Life series was only successful because he did such a wonderful job bringing Otis to life in comic form.

So we decided to meet up at a restaurant with his friend Michael and then I was going to take a nice portrait of him after dinner. Chris had never had a professional photo taken of himself and I decided to fix that.

I told him I had a mobile photography setup. Which, in reality, is a trunk full of lights and stands and other various camera gear that I definitely won't need, but bring anyway. It's "mobile" in that it all fits in my car if you are good at Tetris (which I am).

The restaurant was downtown and I had visions of St. Louis's famous Gateway Arch in the background of Chris's portrait. I thought that would be such a cool shot. I could see it in my head and I even dreamed about it.

So I got in my car and headed downtown and my GPS told me to exit at 249B. But I kept looking and I couldn't see the sign for 249B.

This is how much road I had left when I finally was able to see the exit for 249B.

So I ended up taking 249A and going straight to East St. Louis.

Which, if you believe the headlines, is not a place you ever want to be.

Google Maps and I have been having issues lately. They also tried to get me to take the spooky way home that night, but thankfully I actually knew the non-spooky way back from when I used to go to Cardinal games with my parents as a kid.

My short term memory was trashed by shock therapy. And so was a lot of my long term memory. But it finally came through in a pinch and remembered something useful.

I only had to loop around and cross a bridge so I didn't really do anything but touch the edge of East St. Louis. I was mostly concerned about being late for dinner more than its scary reputation. Usually those news stories about a place being "dangerous" are actually just racist and hurtful to people stuck in poverty. I mean, technically my house is in a "dangerous" neighborhood, and we do have trouble with petty crime in some spots, but aside from a few dinged-up mailboxes, I've never felt unsafe in my home.

On the way back to regular St. Louis I could see the Arch on the horizon at sunset and it was kind of magical. And I wasn't able to get a good shot of it, but it sure looked pretty from my point of view.

My photos kind of remind me of the beginning of movies like Training Day where they are trying to show you gritty, dutch angle shots of the city out of the car window to give you a sense of the location.

As I approached the restaurant I invented a new genre I call "stoplight photography." The sky was orange and the streets of St. Louis were just asking to be photographed. But I wasn't willing to die to get neat photos, so I just took them at every red light.

The big trick was trying to edit the dark area at the top of my windshield out of the photos to make it look like I didn't take these pictures from my car.

After a 15 minute detour through Illinois I arrived at my destination—a Mexican place called Rosalita's. It had a beautiful sign, so I took that literal sign as a metaphorical sign it was a nice place to get a quesadilla.

Dinner was great. Both signs were right and their quesadilla was very tasty. Chris and I both got one, so we are quesadilla twins. The waitress was one of those "I can remember your order without writing anything down" types. And I am one of those, "I get anxiety when things aren't written down" types. And, to her credit, she did not forget our orders. But she did forget to give us silverware and napkins. So I still feel like my anxiety was valid.

We told sad stories of the pups we lost. But we also had a lot of fun and laughed and I got to meet Michael who turned out to be an absolute mensch. I sometimes have trouble meeting new people with my social anxiety, but he was very affable and made me feel comfortable with his presence almost right away. He was a fan of Otis and mentioned he still has a Super Otis shirt. I always get choked up hearing that Otis is still loved. Hopefully we get to meet again.

Dinner ended and it was picture time.

I asked Chris if he wanted the high effort photo or the low effort photo. Either we figure out how to get to the Arch or we find a spot near the restaurant and just take his portrait there. Chris and Michael had a driver because they were coming from a big conference and getting to the Arch would have been complicated. So we decided to go with the low effort option.

I found a cool shop nearby that had an LED wall that changed to all sorts of different colors. And I thought that would make a neat background and give a colorful edge light on Chris's face. I pulled my car near that spot and started unloading my trunk full of photo gear.

I think Chris and Michael were a little overwhelmed when I started pulling camera gear out of my trunk like a clown pulling an endless handkerchief out of his mouth. But as far as photo setups go, it was actually pretty minimal.

Light, giant battery, light stand, umbrella, tripod, camera, rolling walker with seat.

My dad's old rollator came in clutch because I wanted to shoot from a low angle and it is hard for me to bend down. In fact, I think I'm going to look into getting an all terrain version so I can do more outdoor photoshoots.

I started shooting in the middle of a downtown sidewalk. And I was super anxious. I could not focus (my brain, not my camera). I was very distracted with all of the people walking by and staring. I was not sure if any of the photos were turning out. I wasn't even sure if they were in focus (my camera, not my brain) because I had not yet had my lens calibrated. But down the street there was a guy with an old school boombox playing random music. His music helped to drown out the ambient noise and gave me some comfort.

I had no clue if the photos were any good, but when I got home and checked them on my computer, I realized I have 12 years of experience and muscle memory built up. I probably should have just trusted myself because the photos all turned out great.

I think Chris can now officially say he has had a professional portrait taken of himself.

This photo has been officially loved by Chris's girlfriend and mother.

There is no greater seal of approval and I am honored.

I was able to comp in any of the colors the wall displayed from other shots in case Chris is feeling a little more green in the future.

A literal rainbow of options.

I also liked this one, though it is a little more "environmental portrait" than regular portrait.

And I got some nice photos of our little group to help us remember the night.

And I got a bunch of photos of Chris making silly faces like Calvin at his school photoshoot.

I love this woman's reaction to our little impromptu sidewalk photo shenanigans.

After we said our goodbyes and I gave my friend a hug, I was a little bummed I didn't get to photograph him at the Arch like I had dreamed.

But then I realized I had my own car and it was capable of taking me places. (I actually haven't gotten used to that after not driving for nearly 15 years.)

So I decided to drive a few blocks over to Kiener Plaza—a park with a view of the Arch.

TO BE CONTINUED...

#long post #whosthewhatnow #dinner with chris #photography

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monayen · 2 months ago

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Psst..

*gives you a letter and runs away*

It says: Can you please write a fic where the (fem) reader is in heat and Nyen helps her out? Luther was supposed to help but he's not around (he's out of the house with Randal, Sebastian and Nyon)and that left the reader no choice. Also she's very desperate and really loud during it :>

Needy | Nyen

➷ Paring - Nyen x Fem!Reader [Randal's Friends / Ranfren]

➷ CWs - animal heats, degradation, biting, dirty talk, teasing, unsafe sex, fingering, light scratching, begging / crying

a/n - ngl this one is realll dirty. lots of dirty talk and degradation that nyen definitely wouldn't say directly but this is my horndog blog and i do wat i want. i also am not that knowledgeable on "heats" but just take it as reader being incredibly horny. is that accurate to an animal heat? whatever! also someone put a gůn to my head and make me fix my masterlist page thanks enjoy

Your body feels like it’s on fire, skin hot and flushed as your heat takes hold. You pace restlessly around the room, your mind consumed with a primal need that coursed through your veins.

Normally, Luther would be there to help you through these episodes, soft and caring as he held you. But your heat came on sudden today, just when he was out with Randal, Sebastian, and Nyon. It would take hours for him to return, and with how your body ached, you weren't sure how much longer you could handle this feeling anymore.

Your lips were red and sore from biting back the moans that piled up in your throat. Every movement feeling like a rush of adrenaline that has your heart beating out your chest.

With your senses growing increasingly sensitive, you decided to strip to your underwear, the heat unbearable. It isn't anywhere near enough relief, but at least the rub of fabric doesn't feel as suffocating anymore.

You groan, now laying on your bed as your breathing scattered more and more.

Shaky hands trail your bare torso, skin sticky with sweat. You immediately trembled, a hand moving against the fabric on your crotch. A loud moan escapes before you get the chance to bite it back, your fingers needily rubbing for any type of stimulation.

It wasn't enough, nowhere near enough.

Whines spill from your mouth, eyes shut as you hump against your own shaky hands. You need something, someone now.

“Can you shut up? You're so fucking loud.”

A deep voice pulls you from your horny trance, eyes shooting open as you realize who's standing at the edge of your bed.

Nyen looms, his scowl sharp as his gaze lingers on your flushed figure, unmistakably eyeing you. Another wave of adrenaline floods your system, your heart pounding in your chest as your hands refuse to move from your aching heat.

You look up at him with big, needy eyes, “S-sorry, my heat– I just–”

He cuts you off, head cocking to the side as he makes a face, “I can smell you too. You really can't control yourself?” His eyes rake over your sweat-slicked body, taking in how your fingers continue to graze the fabric of your underwear. A low growl rumbles in his chest as he steps closer to the bed.

"Fuck, you reek of desperation," he sneers, his voice dripping with disdain even as his pupils dilate. "Can't even wait for master to come back and take care of you properly…”

You can't help but continue to whine, his words making your stomach twist as you rub for more stimulation, “Please,” You cry, cheeks flushed as you watch him put a knee on the bed, it sinking with the added weight.

He reaches out, roughly grabbing your wrist and yanking your hand away from your clothed crotch. Nyen brings your fingers to his face, inhaling deeply as he rolls his tongue over them. "Mmm, you're dripping.” He shoves your hand back, but still doesn't let you move your hands down to resume rubbing.

Nyen hovers over you, one hand fisting in the sheets beside your head as the other trails down your body, claws lightly scraping against your skin. "I could help you out, you know. Give you what you need so badly."

You arch helplessly, a needy whimper escaping your trembling lips, “Oh, p-please, please, help me! I can't– I can’t…” Your breathing jaggers, pathetically melting into his touch.

He leans in close, his breath hot against your ear as he growls, "You're so fucking pathetic, begging like a whore.”

Nyen's other hand continues its torturously slow path down your body, his touch leaving tingling trails of heat in its wake. He hooks a finger under the damp fabric of your underwear, tugging it aside to expose your aching, dripping core.

"Look at you, so wet and ready," he sneers, rubbing the pad of his thumb over your swollen clit. "I bet you'd let anyone fuck you right now, wouldn't you? Desperate little slut."

You can only whine in response, mind foggy as he presses his heavy hand against your heat. He’s rough in his touch, much more than Luther. He isn't considering just how sensitive you are, instead choosing to immediately sink two fingers into your welcoming pussy just to watch you squirm.

“Nyen!” shaky moans keep spilling from you, each more desperate than the last. Nyen’s eyes darken, choppy bangs falling over his face as he leans in closer, sharp teeth grazing against the soft flesh on your shoulder.

He continues to set a brutal pace with his fingers, his free hand moving to roam over your sweaty skin, claws leaving red lines. He could feel how you shake beneath him, your body wound tight with tension. He takes in the sweet energy smell of your arousal, thick and heady in the air, making his own cock twitch in interest. The catman has never seen someone so needy before–hell, not even his own heats get him like this.

Pulling back, Nyen admires his handiwork–your face was beat red, lips parting as panting huffs escape. Your eyes were glazed with desire, pleading with him to bring you to come. It was a pathetic look on you, and he wonders just how sir handles you when you're like this.

"Fuck, you're such a mess," he growls, fingers pulling from your soaked cunt. "Not yet.”

He leans down, tongue swiping over your collarbone before biting down hard enough to leave a mark. You cry out, begging for his fingers to push back inside, your pussy clenching around nothing in desperation.

He moves to strip off his dark shirt, revealing his toned chest and arms. There's a sheen of sweat on his skin, making the hair there glisten in the dim light. His cock strains against his pants, the outline clearly visible and throbbing. You stare shamelessly, mind too far gone to even hold back the pure horny look on your lidded eyes.

Leaning forward again, his hands grip your thighs as he pushes them further apart as he settles between them. The head of his clothed cock prods at your entrance, smearing your arousal around.

You're practically drooling for it, hips bucking up in an attempt to create more friction. A wet spot forms quickly, a mix of your own juices and his.

Nyen lets out a jagged breath, pulling back and quickly shucking off his pants to free his throbbing cock. It springs up, hard and heavy, the thick shaft covered in veins. The head is an angry red, already dripping with precum. He takes hold of the base and smacks the length of it against your cunt, making you gasp and writhe.

“You want it?” Nyen growls, grinding against you, the friction sending sparks of pleasure through your body. Your hips buck up, trying to take him inside, but he holds back, denying you what you so desperately crave.

"Please, Nyen," you whimper, your voice high and needy. "I can't take it anymore.”

His fingers dig into your thighs, holding you open and exposed for him. The head of his cock catches on your clit with each hump, slickness coating his length. He's relishing in the teasing, but his own cock aches to sink right in, to feel you clench around him.

"Nyen," you plead again, tears of frustration pricking at the corners of your eyes. “I feel like I’m on fire.”

Nyen just smirks, fisting his cock and giving it a few slow pumps. "You think you can take it, slut?”

You nod eagerly, reaching down to spread yourself open in offering. "Yes... Please... I want it... Want you..."

Growling, Nyen lines himself up, the broad head of his cock pressing against your soaked entrance. With one sharp thrust, he buries himself to the hilt, stretching you wide around his thick shaft.

You gasp at the sudden stretch, walls clenching tight around the thick intrusion. It feels much bigger than you expected, his thick length giving a splitting sensation. It’s almost too much, the burn of the stretch mixing with the intense pleasure of finally being fucked.

The wet sounds of skin slapping against skin fill the room, mixing with your loud moans of pleasure. You hold on, nails scrabbling at Nyen's chest as he pumps roughly into you.

"Shit," Nyen snarls, relishing in your warm walls. "How are you so f-fucking tight–”

A little drool drips from the corner of your clenched mouth, mixing with the tears of pleasure that roll down your flushed face. The intensity of your heat makes everything feel ten times more intense, and all you can think about is needing more.

Your head feels light, your vision swimming, but you manage to keep it upright, barely able to focus on Nyen’s figure above you. With a surge of effort, you sit up, your hand finding the back of his head as you pull him closer, pressing your lips to his.

You half-expected him to pull away, to say something cruel and push you back down beneath him. But instead, he responds, his teeth grazing your lips as he leans in closer, deepening the kiss.

The flavor of smoke and beer lingers, mixing with the sweetness of your saliva. His hands grip your hips tightly, fingers digging into the soft flesh as he pulls you flush against him.

The kiss was hungry and desperate – mostly on your part. Enough that you practically cry when Nyen breaks the kiss to look at you.

Your face is flushed, lips swollen and parted as you pant for air. Your hair is a wild mess, sticking to your sweat-slicked skin. But it's your eyes that draw his attention – glazed over with desire, the irises on your hazy eyes nearly swallowed by blown out pupils.

Your moans echo off the walls, your body shaking beneath his harsh grasp on your hips. You're so close, the pleasure in your abdomen swirling and building until you feel like you're gonna pass out.

"Nyen," you gasp, not being able to hold back anymore, "I'm close!”

Nyen grits his teeth, feeling his own orgasm forming tightly. He curses under his breath, a deep groan escaping him as he hurries his snaps against your hips.

"That's it," Nyen growls, his voice rough, "Fuck– come for me, slut.”

Your whole body tenses, your back arching off the bed as the orgasm crashes over you. You cry out, your voice breaking on a sob of pleasure as your walls spasm around him.

It's intense, almost too much to handle, but Nyen doesn't stop. He keeps fucking you through it, his cock hitting roughly inside you enough that you practically see stars.

Nyen throws his head back with a guttural groan, his hips stuttering as he chases his own release. Your cunt doesn't relent, squeezing and twisting around him as he fucks through the orgasm.

Nyen collapses on top of you, his weight pressing you into the mattress. He's panting, his chest heaving against yours as he tries to catch his breath. He's just as– if not more– spent, heart pattering as both your skins mix with sweat and come.

After a moment, he pulls out, his softening cock slipping from your sensitive hole. You whimper at the loss, your pussy still twitching with aftershocks.

He rolls off you with a lazy exhale, a huff of breath escaping his lips as he somehow pulls a cigarette from nowhere and lights it. He inhales deeply, the smoke swirling around him before he blows it into the air.

Your body still trembles, heat pulsing through you, lingering deep inside. Your gaze shifts to Nyen–his bare, sculpted chest rising and falling with each breath, his long fingers holding the cigarette to his lips, his skin slick with a sheen of perspiration and something else. The sight makes you bite your lip, a new wave of heat rushing over you.

You sit up swiftly, a flushed smile spreading across your face as you shift to straddle Nyen’s hips.

His cigarette hangs from his mouth, brows furrowing as he questions just how you’re up so fast. You don't give him enough time to say anything though, eagerly beginning to grind against his slick crotch.

“What the fuck are you doing?” He hisses, already feeling himself hardening from your touch. A desperate whine escapes you, eyes shut as you settle on top of him. “M-my heat–” you pitch louder, “Again. Please– I need it.”

#ranfren #randals friends #nyen catman #nyen ranfren #nyen x reader #ranfren x reader #ranfren smut #cw heats

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skzdarlings · 11 months ago

Text

mine ; lee minho x reader

original ask: requested by @tattywood. “Can you please do ❛ you're mine. you've always been mine. ❜ with Lee Know? I just know you’ll come up with something amazing! 🩶"

pairing: lee minho/reader content info: another pair of star-crossed lovers lol. reader is kissed by a different guy without her permission. possessive sex. unsafe sex. lots of biting and marking and grabbing. word count: 3700 words.

masterlist. part of the valentine’s day stories series. credit to prompts. requests are closed.

You finally escape.

When the date is over and your supposed boyfriend leaves, you run out the back door. Your parents are distracted, waving goodbye to your boyfriend as he pulls away in his expensive car. They chat between themselves on the front porch of the family estate.

“Such a remarkable young man,” they say. “So wholesome. So intelligent.“

So rich, is what they really mean. Because he is not wholesome; he is a bully and a bigot at the best of times. He derides anyone he deems beneath him, which is just about everyone. He is also not intelligent, as true depth of intellect is revealed in conduct. Someone that cruel and ignorant is not intelligent. You have engaged in more stimulating discourse with birds.

But he is wealthy. Your parents picked him for you and have been forcing the relationship along, contriving dates without telling you he will be there, inviting him into your home, encouraging his empty and shallow affection. You encourage nothing, sitting stiffly whenever he touches you: an arm slung around your waist, a hand on your lower back, a kiss on the cheek.

Maybe you were naïve to think it would not escalate before its time, that you could bear it cordially until his interest withered and died. Foolish. He is not here for you but your name. He does not care how you feel. He does not care if you want him. He wants the money and connections and power, sharing a bed with your parents through you.

Today he cornered you when you were alone. He backed you into the wall and kissed you. An unwanted kiss is a disgustingly slimy thing, all tongue and teeth and the bad, unfamiliar taste of a vile man’s breath.

Your whole unlived life flashed in your mind’s eye. Every second was irredeemably awful.

So you run. Out the back door, to the garage, weaving around your father’s cars. Your old bike is hooked on its rack and you lift it down with some grunting effort. You are dressed for a date, wearing a pristine ivory dress your mother picked, white lace stockings, and delicate flats. It is not the ideal outfit for riding a bike. It is a pretty but flimsy thing. Summer nights are warm but there is a crisp breath on the wind as the sun sets.

But if you stop for even a second, even just to change clothes, even just to catch your breath, then you will never get away.

You swing onto your bike and escape via the back lane. It is a long ride across town but your adrenaline propels you onward.

It is very obvious when you have crossed into new territory. Across the park trail and over the railroad tracks is a different world. The houses get smaller, more ramshackle, junk piled around the fully abandoned abodes. Even the lived-in homes have old trucks and rusted goods stacked on their lawns. It is a consequence of impoverished anxiety, hoarding in fear of one day having nothing.

Indeed, a very different part of town.

Your parents are probably furious they cannot find you, but they will assume you ran to a nearby friend’s house. If they knew where you really were, which friend you went to see, they would surpass furious and venture all the way into horror.

But they are far away now.

You feel nothing but relief as the air changes. You know it is the chill of a summer night as the sky turns blue, but it convinces you the air is clearer. You exhale and feel as though you are releasing a breath that you have been holding all day.

Your journey takes you to a familiar yard. You remember the first time you ever visited, standing so small and uncertain on the front steps, waiting for a kiss you actually wanted.

A kiss that never came.

You park your bike against the side of the house. You walk up the front steps on shaky legs, weak from speedy riding.

You open the screen door to knock on the inside door. While you wait for an answer, you fiddle with your appearance, adjusting any evidence of wind-swept dishevelment.

Oh, you are so nervous. You were so hellbent on just getting here, you did not register any feeling beyond determination. But now you are standing on this porch in your flimsy white dress, the sun set, the day done. You are doing something you should have done a long, long time ago and suddenly fearing you are far, far too late.

No answer comes. You knock again.

Your stomach forms a pit you hope you will eat you whole. Is he ignoring you? No. The windows are shut, the blinds closed. He cannot even see you.

You take a step back. Even with everything sealed shut, you should be able to see a hint of light. The house is small, a single story. There are only so many places he could be.

He isn’t home, you realize, first with relief that he is not ignoring you, then with dejection. Of course he’s not home, you tell yourself. What were you even thinking? Silly girl. Riding all the way out here, expecting him to be sitting around and waiting for you. He has a life of his own. He probably doesn’t even think about you. You’re pathetic.

You know you are being a little melodramatic. Your emotions have been running at an extreme all day. They finally become too much to bear. You sit down on the steps and cry.

Some time passes. You eventually calm yourself enough to wipe your eyes. You feel the cold more acutely now, wrapping your arms around yourself for warmth.

You are not sure what to do now. You refuse to go home, knowing what awaits you. You have nowhere else to go. Your future is murky, which is still more comforting than the vision of it when your boyfriend forcibly kissed you.

You sigh. You know if you wait long enough, your friend will come home and help you. Even if he doesn’t want you, even if he can be a bit standoffish at times, he has the warmest heart you know. You met doing volunteer work, in fact. You know he will help you like he would help anyone in need.

It does not mean you do not feel pathetic, curled up and shivering on his porch steps. You are debating a course of action when a truck rolls into the yard with a flash of headlights and a noticeably hiccupping engine. It pulls around the side of the house.

You stand and take tentative steps to follow. You are still and quiet as the rough rumble of the truck comes to a wheezy stop.

The driver door flies open. He jumps out, cursing. Your breath catches and all your hypotheticals dissipate in wake of the reality of him.

Lee Minho.

He is wearing his old, dusty leather jacket, something of a signature piece due its reliability. His jeans are torn at the knee, likely a legitimate tear and not a fashion statement, his old work boots a bit scuffed. He is a working man of limited means and nothing functional goes to waste.

He is beautiful as ever. Dark hair falls across his forehead and he pushes it back with a forceful rake, the softer pieces fluttering forward again. He has an athletic frame, but delicate features despite his near-perpetual scowl. When he does laugh, it is a hilariously boisterous sound.

He is scowling right now. Cursing to himself as he stomps around the beat-up truck. He wears a carabiner with a bundle of emergency tools, grabbing a miniature flashlight to guide his way. He props open the hood and starts rustling around inside. He curses again, then he puts the light away so he can reach inside with both hands.

You do not mean to startle him. You thought he might have seen you, observant as he is, but apparently the truck has him distracted.

“Minho,” you say.

You cannot see him too well in the dark, but you hear the distinctive thud of metal as he undoubtedly smacks his head on the open hood. He curses louder this time.

There is a small light on the side of the house. You step towards it at the same time.

He is rubbing the back of his head, frowning, but he comes to a total stop when he sees you. His eyes widen ever so slightly, his brows drawn in confusion. He stares intently at you.

“Hi,” you say.

He just keeps staring.

“Um. I was just in the neighbourhood,” you say. “I wanted to see you. I hope you’re doing well.”

He drops his arm and it swings at his side. He continues to stare at you, the furrow in his brow more intense.

“Right,” you say. You feel a catch in the back of your throat. Fortunately, you have cried all your tears and will not make a fool of yourself in front of him. More of a fool, that is. You want to say so many things but you cannot think of a single word that suffices.

I missed you so much, you think. I think about you every day. Have you thought about me?

It sounds so clingy and pathetic. Your boyfriend derides such women and their neediness. Minho is not a man like that, though. He has never spoken so disparagingly about someone. You know that, but the words catch nonetheless.

You exhale a shaky breath, looking aside at nothing.

“I’m sorry,” you finally say. “I probably shouldn’t have come here. It’s been months since we last spoke. I know we’re not really friends anymore. I just had no where else to go and I…”

“You were crying,” he says.

You look at him. His expression has not softened. It is still that same scrutinizing stare. His gaze is intently locked on yours, on eyes that must show the evidence of your crying.

You wipe your face quickly, embarrassed. Your gaze lifts when he takes a small step towards you. He reaches for you, as if he means to wipe your eyes himself, but then he catches the sight of his own hand, covered in black grease from the truck.

“Shit,” he says, and snaps his arm back.

“Minho,” you say, your heart fluttering just from the suggestion he was going to touch you. A small touch from him means more than anything.

“Princess,” he says, an old affectionate nickname for you, though he speaks it rather dryly. He is still frowning. “Are you hurt?”

“Maybe,” you say. When he reacts physically, his shoulders stiffening, you quickly add, “Not like that. Emotionally, I mean. I just… I think I ran away from home.”

“You think,” he says flatly.

“Well, I didn’t really think it through, to be honest,” you say shyly. “I just… I couldn’t stay there anymore. You know what they’re like.”

He flinches as if the memory comes with a strike. You feel embarrassed, remembering too.

You and Minho became fast friends through your mutual volunteer efforts. You thought nothing of inviting him to a neighbourhood party at your parents’ house. He wore his nicest shirt and fresh pants, but as soon as everyone found out where he came from, they wanted nothing to do with him.

You are embarrassed to say you did not even notice at first, naively taking politeness for granted. He had to explain it to you, then you saw their two-facedness everywhere and felt horrible.

You stayed on his side of town after that, at least until your parents put their foot down. They didn’t want you developing feelings for that kind of boy. You insisted he was just a friend, even while already in love with him. His biting wit and good heart had you in thrall.

You were in denial about your parents being bad people. You wanted to believe they had your best interest at heart. They were just set in their ways. They wanted a good life for you. You told Minho to just give them time. He let you go. They introduced you to your new boyfriend the next day.

Minho takes a breath. He shoves his tongue into his cheek, looking pensive. You are thinking of something to say when he nods his head.

“You look cold,” he says frankly. “Let’s go inside.”

You nod, following him to the front steps. He grabs the porch rail and jumps the steps in an effortless swing. You shuffle behind him while he unlocks the door.

He says nothing, just nods at you. You follow him through, closing the door while he bends down to unlace his boots. He kicks them to the side while you step softly out of your flats. When you meet each other’s eyes, you feel a spark.

You stood in this very spot a few months ago, almost nose to nose, arguing about your parents and what to do. You knew, deep in your heart, the conversation was not about a mere friendship. You both had stronger feelings, but you were both scared to act on them given your precarious circumstance. He did not want to risk everything while you were indecisive. You wanted to keep everything.

You have lived a life of great privilege and you are used to getting everything you want. You have had to confront reality, that you cannot always have everything.

So, if you can only have one thing, you want him.

He looks at you with the same dark passion as then. Your heart skips beats under his intense gaze.

“You’re here,” he says. Maybe the same memories flicker through his mind. He tips his head, looking at you so closely, like he cannot believe you are real.

“Yes,” you say softly, clasping your hands in front of you. “I’m here.”

“To stay,” he says.

“If you’ll have me,” you reply. Your heart is beating so hard, it is a wonder he cannot hear it. Your legs feel even weaker than before, but this time is has nothing to do with bicycles and everything to do with him.

He swallows, his throat bobbing. He sniffs and looks aside while idly tugging his jacket.

“And your boyfriend?” he says, glaring at the far wall.

Your heart sinks. It is your turn to swallow.

“You know about that?” you ask.

He laughs, not that gleeful sound you know but a sharp cackle. He looks at you incredulously.

“Of course I know,” he says. “I don’t always stay on my side of the tracks. Sometimes,” he speaks with sarcastic wonder, “I get to repair houses for the pretty rich people.” He huffs, shaking his head. “It’s fine,” he says. “You should be with someone like that. He’ll give you the house. The car. I bet your parents love him too.”

“I don’t want those things,” you say, bearing his bitterness because you understand what he is feeling. You lift your chin and look him in the eye. “You’re right, my parents do love him. But I don’t. He’s shallow and unkind. And you—” Your voice catches. “You, Lee Minho, are anything but that. You are everything. And I… I love you. I always have.” You drop your eyes with this confession, suddenly overwhelmed with the sheer emotion pouring out of his gaze. “I know it’s been a while,” you say. “I don’t expect you to have waited for me. I just—”

He laughs again. It is still dry, but not so sharp. You glance at him.

“Princess,” he says. “Don’t tell me you seriously think I could just forget about you.” He shakes his head. “It’s like you don’t even know me. I should kick you out just for that.”

You realize he is joking, the faintest hint of something warm melting his scowl.

“I can’t give you that life,” he says seriously.

You step towards him, holding his gaze, pouring as much emotion back at him. He exhales, blinking quickly, long lashes fluttering as he looks at you.

“I have no idea what we’re gonna do,” you admit. “But I know I want to figure it out. With you. And no one else.”

He smiles and it makes you smile. Then he reaches for you, but stops when he once more remembers his dirty hands.

“Shit,” he says again, then takes a step back. “Let me just—”

You take him by the wrist and yank him towards you. He follows your guidance, his breath catching when you plant his hand on your hip. It will leave a big black stain on your perfect white dress, the shape of his hand in a possessive grip on your body.

It is more effective than any word. He swoops in and kisses you, his other hand cupping your other hip with the same deliberate possessiveness. You are certain this horrid little gown will be destroyed and you do not care one bit. You wrap your arms around his neck and kiss him back.

“You’re cruel,” he says between kisses. “Torturing me for so long. I wanted to kill that man. But I thought he made you happy—”

“He disgusted me,” you say. “He kissed me without my permission today.”

“What.” That stops the kiss and he looks at you with that scowl again. “I’ll kill him,” he says without any hesitation.

You just laugh a gentle laugh, shaking your head. You twist a longer tuft of his hair around your finger, making his tense shoulders go soft as he leans in.

“You don’t have to kill him,” you say. “Just make me forget him.”

Oh, Lee Minho is such an awful tease all the time. Of course he goes back to just staring at you with a contemplative air, making you wriggle and wonder in his arms. You whine his name, trying to kiss him, but he dodges it. Your whimpering makes him laugh, because of course it does.

Then he gets very serious. Your heart sends a bolt of heat shooting through your body. Your thighs press together.

He presses his forehead to yours. You gasp when you feel his fingers on your back, the careful slow touch as he tugs your zipper down. The flimsy dress slides off your body as he steps back to look at you. You shiver, gazing back at him. His stare is unflinching as he peels off his jacket and tosses it aside. His hands are already much cleaner, the distinctive print of his palms still plastered to your dress. He wipes the rest on his own shirt then tugs it off and tosses it to the side.

He smirks and wiggles two come hither fingers at you, walking backwards. You follow him slowly, then give chase when he cackles and runs. You follow him into the bedroom where he literally sweeps you off your feet.

“And you say I’m cruel,” you tease.

He closes the door with a firm snap then leans you against it.

“You are,” he says. He looks down your body while running his fingers through his hair. “You are.”

Then he gets on his knees, first one while he tugs your panties down, then the other, when he hooks your leg over his shoulder and put his mouth on you. He does not tease anymore, swiftly finding all the ways to make you moan his name. You are scared your leg will buckle under you when he makes you come, but he holds you steady.

Then he stands up and cups your face, kissing you deeply, making you taste yourself on his tongue. It is a good kiss, everything a kiss should be, hot and hungry, slow and deep. It makes you tingle with aftershocks, blinking at him with delirious pleasure when he pulls back.

Minho can be loud, can be boisterous, can be scathing. He can also speak gently, in such a soft, light rasp. It makes your head spin. He speaks like that now.

“This is how it is,” he says, then kisses you again, licks into your mouth. When you moan, he moans back. “I make you sigh,” he says. “I make your pussy wet. I make you come. Just me.”

“Yes,” you nod, clinging to him when he carries you to the bed. “You, Minho.”

He lays you down, kneeling between your open legs. They are still quivering from your orgasm. He looks at you, hungrily, while opening his belt. He rips it out of his jeans and tosses it behind him, then unzips while leaning down to kiss you. He dives past your waiting mouth to kiss your throat, biting marks under your jaw, on your neck, on your tits. You grab his head, hands in his hair, arching your back under his desperate mouth.

“You’re mine,” he says. “You’ve always been mine.”

He holds your hips while thrusting inside you. You imagine his hands leaving a permanent mark, just like that stained dress, a claiming that forever marks you as his. He fucks you so steadily and deeply, holding you possessively, gasping your name and how good you feel while he takes you.

“Perfect,” he says in that dreamy voice, rubbing you softly while fucking you hard. It makes you come around his cock, clenching tight, which makes him moan into your mouth. “Mine.”

You wrap your legs around him. You lay chest-against-chest, holding each other. Your nails scratch his back, no doubt leaving your own marks, your whole body littered with his kisses and bites. There is not a single inch of you that is not branded by him.

“Yes,” you say. “Always, Minho.”

Saying his name sends him over. He comes inside you, claiming you even there, then stays inside you after while you kiss.

You stay in his arms all night, making love and sleeping then making love some more. When the sun rises, you wake to him holding you, stroking your cheek affectionately.

He kisses your forehead and you nestle comfortably against him, happy to be home.

#lee minho x reader #lee know x reader #minho x reader #skz x reader #lee know smut #lee minho smut #stray kids smut #skz smut #stray kids x reader #valentinesdaystories #tattywood

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jezabelle9299 · 4 months ago

Text

Angel S.R x FEM! reader

Overture- You and Spencer have been dating for a couple of weeks, and he comes to your desk to walk you home for movie night.

Cws- Brief kissing, mentions of feeling unsafe/nervous to be alone

A/N- Day 5-- Very exciting stuff. And you can pry Spencer x receptionist reader out of my cold, dead, hands.

October Masterlist

You started working in the FBI building about a month ago as a receptionist. It took all of 20 minutes for Penelope Garcia to set you up with Spencer. It started with you complementing her shoes, and ended with you going to visit her office on your lunch break when she told you she’d found your soulmate for you.

About a week and several gentle reminders not to meddle from Emily later, Penelope finally got you two a date. Now 3 weeks later, you were officially dating, and it was already the best relationship you’ve ever had. You were taking it slow, slow was good. You both fell asleep on the couch after a movie at his house last night, and it was possible you’d never slept better, simply because of his presence.

When you saw him coming up to your desk, it was past 7 o’clock. Well after you needed to be there, but between going to visit Spencer upstairs, and going to Penelope’s office on your lunch break, you’d seen quite a few things you wish you didn’t. And it kind of freaked you out about the idea of taking the train to your apartment at night. You were putting it off, which was only making it worse.

“Hey, I figured you’d be gone already.” He had his bag over his shoulder, and his hands were alternating between fixing his hair, and tugging on the strap.

“Then what brings you here?”

“I wanted to check. But since you are here, I can hang out until you’re ready to go? Maybe we could do another movie night at your place?” The idea of it made you much more ready to go home, and you immediately started packing up.

“That sounds nice.” You gave him a still sort of shy smile. Neither of you had fully gotten over your nerves about the new relationship yet.

“What are you doing here so late anyway? Did you have a lot of work to catch up on?”

“No, I just like it here, I get a little freaked in my apartment sometimes.”

“Why?”

“I live alone, and since I just started here a few weeks ago I don’t really have a lot of money, so the neighborhood I live in is a little bit rough sometimes. I promise I’m being totally safe though.” You threw in that last part for Spencer’s benefit, he was already looking moderately horrified by your living situation.

“You know you can always come to my apartment, right? Or if you don’t want to go out at night, I’ll come to yours. Even when I’m on cases, you can at least call me if it would make you feel better. I’ll even send Anderson to come check on you”

“Ok, ok, thank you Spence, but I don’t think he wants to hold up that end of the deal. I really appreciate it though, you are just the sweetest boyfriend.”

“You’re my angel. And I am kind of attached to you, I want you to be safe and happy.” He’d never called you a pet name before, you didn’t think that you’d enjoy it nearly as much as you did. Spencer just felt so formal when you met him, in his suit, reciting facts like he was reading out of a book, that now the casual nature with which he called you his angel just made you want to scream from the pent-up joy.

“Angel? You’ve never called me that before. I like it.”

“I haven’t? I think it all the time.”

“You think about me?”

“More than is strictly professional at least. I think about you constantly.”

“It’s a good thing we don’t have a strictly professional relationship then.” He pulled you into him by your waist, and you took the opportunity to give him a kiss right on his jawline. Which stopped him dead in his tracks so he could hold your face and kiss you properly, before continuing the walk to the train station.

#spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid #dr spencer reid

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inkskinned · 2 years ago

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im having a particularly terrible night with urges and imagery that i dont know how to handle. i gave in to some things. held back on some others. but im barely holding on, dear internet stranger.

you do not owe me your time or your words.. but if you could write some hope into existence for me.. i would be unendingly grateful to you.

please. tell me how you do it. tell me how you survive. because im not so sure i can get through the fifteen days it'll take to get to my seventeenth birthday.

could you please give me something to place my faith in? i dont think the universe is watching out for me anymore.

i don't usually answer these, because i am not a professional, and you deserve professional help. when i was 17 i was terrified of the idea of professional help, because my household was extremely unsafe, and made it clear that if i ever chose to get help, i would be punished for it.

i hope this is not your case. i hope that you can call someone, and they can take you where you should go.

but i will give you the advice that i wish i got, when i couldn't get help at 17, when i was so bad that years later, i literally don't-know-how-i-survived it: what you want is peace, not death. your brain is sick. it has romanticized an ending where there are no consequences. where effort isn't necessary. where you can just... forget.

you want peace. that is a normal, human thing to want. maybe it feels more like you want quiet. or just... to take a break for a second.

here is what i will say: to end yourself means you never get to experience what it's like to actually be happy. i thought i knew what it was like, and i was bitter about it. i'd say - i've been happy, it's not worth it, because i didn't know what i was missing. i thought that happiness meant having a partner or having a job or money or a college degree. it sounded like effort. it sounded like something that had to happen to me.

for the first time in my life, just this week, i was able to go to a concert and just-enjoy-it. no liquor, no drugs. just stomping my feet and getting caught up in it. i didn't feel nervous or self-conscious or overwhelmed. i just had a good time. these days have a lot of these firsts for me - it is the first time i can eat cake without crying. it is the first time i can be around an exacto blade without supervision. it is the first time i have too many people to call when i am crying.

i can't tell you where you'll run into happiness, only that, for me, it started once i was out of that fucking house. it started once i figured out where the pain was coming from. once i figured out that i was not possessed, something medical was wrong with me. that i am not stupid or lazy, i have depression and adhd. the first few years were difficult. at 19, during my efforts to recover, i actually got worse by a considerable margin. and then, with time and patience - i got better.

happiness doesn't feel like what you think it will. in movies it's so golden and all-encompassing. but it doesn't fly into your hands when you buy your first car nor does it arrive in the arms of a partner nor does it require passing your classes. happiness came to me on a tuesday in the form of a red-winged blackbird, and i looked at her, and she looked at me, and i said - oh. the whole world suddenly filled itself in with color. like i had been forever-asleep. like every corner of every room was suddenly glistening.

it ended quickly, back then. it just stopped in to check in on me. but it was enough - this thing i had never experienced, but that i knew (logically) could happen. before that, i was only staying because it would make my mom sad if i died. that was my only reason. and then the happiness came, so strange and brilliant and lovely that for years i couldn't even look at it directly.

these days, things are so different. life is so much easier. i don't wish for death because so much of what i have is already at peace. my boss understands when i need a mental health day. people in general are less prone to high school drama. entire communities hold my hand and have my number. i have a car and a dog and a little apartment garden and candles on all available surfaces and today i bought myself a little cake just-to-celebrate-nothing. my body is my own and we are both dancing.

there are so many things i've gotten to taste in the last 10 years. i know, for you, that is an eon, because it's more than half of your life. but if it helps? in the 5 years between 17-21: i filled myself with laughter and love. i got to be a lead in a ballet and got my first tattoo and then my second and pierced my ears the way i'd wanted to (one of them professionally the other over a hot stove with a potato) and i discovered hozier is my favorite singer (i know. he was new back then) and i got my first real job and my first real paycheck and i hadn't ever been seen as smart but then i started to actually treat my adhd as a condition rather than a burden and people started saying you're like the smartest person in the room and my best friend met her husband who i will one day stand next to as maid of honor when he is her groom and i got to help people and make a stupid blog called "inkskinned" and find out that writing is actually my passion and that maybe i'm actually kind of good at it if i just practice and i got to meet my parents' dog (his name is kaiju) and i slept on couches and kissed people and tried new things and learned how to breathe without feeling my chest tighten and that peace is here, on this planet, that peace echoes everywhere, it is in my hair and my homework and my houseplants, it is quiet and divine and mine because i fought for it and i built it and yes i lost hair over it but holy shit the whole world feels like it is shifted through a sunbeam

recently someone asked me if i could go back in time to 6th grade, with all the knowledge i have now, would i? and without thinking, i barked absolutely not. i know i should say it's because i wouldn't want to risk losing any of this stuff - but really it's because i would never survive being a teenager again. it sounds incredibly lame and impossible, fake - but being a teenager was the hardest thing i ever did. i had no voice, no control, only fear and hatred.

but i did survive it. nothing about me is special. nothing about me is stronger than you or better prepared or more efficient. i didn't survive it perfectly. i made a lot of mistakes and lost a lot of friends and harmed myself in ways that i'm still recovering from. but i did survive it. and there is a part of me looking at you in the past and saying - i'm you in the future.

and holy shit. every day. every goddamn day i'm glad we survived to see the rest of it. because you hit 18 and everything changes. like, everything. and holy shit, it is infinitely worth it.

#i hope you are okay #i wish i could help more #i hope the pain eases soon #and i hope that you stay #ps . to those of you reading this thinking i should help you too: please just dm me #it makes me really #really really scared when it's anonymous #bc i cant check in with u #i am not a professional and i am not actually good at helping ppl through their troubles #this is an exception bc they are 16 #not the rule #ps if u misunderstand ''being a teenager is the hardest thing i ever did'' when i mention briefly that i was in unsafe housing...#trust me. it was worse there. by like A HUGE margin #every person raised in unsafe housing nodding their head like . oh yeah worse stuff TECHNICALLY happened after but leaving that home was #legit the hardest thing i ever did

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