#i usually always put glasses on anything based on me

[triptuckers]

drunk in love - remy lebeau

Request: nope Pairing: remy lebeau x reader Summary: remy is comes home drunk, so you take care of him Warnings: mentions of alcohol, language, mentions of sexual themes/making out but not actually the real thing dont worry, remy being a whiny lovesick puppy, one mention of throwing up but no actual throwing up Word count: 1.7K A/N: currently binge watching x men 97 PLEASE give me more gambit content pls marvel I'm willing to beg you on my knees. based on a screenshot I saw of a comic page. enjoy!

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you're sitting on the couch, reading your book. it's dark outside, and the clock on the wall tells you it's way too late for you to be awake. you weren't a night owl, but this book was just too good. every time you want to put it away, a chapter ends in a cliffhanger. you couldn't bring yourself to close it without finding out what happened next.

the story is so good and you're so focused on it, you nearly jump out of your skin when you hear the door knob rattle.

it was late and remy wasn't home. he went out drinking with some of the other x-men. it wasn't often they were all free and in the same city, so you knew if it did happen, remy would usually stay out til late. not coming home til long after you'd gone to bed already.

you weren't expecting him to come home this early, so you're immediately on guard. slowly, you put your book down and creep closer to the front door. you grab the closest thing you can find to use as a weapon. you don't know how much damage a tissue box could do, but at the very least you could throw it at the intruder and run away.

remy had tried to teach you some self defence tricks in case something happened and he wasn't home, but he was nearly always right there with you, so you never really learned it.

you wish you had paid him more attention now.

as you get closer to the front door, you see a shadow silhouetted against the glass. and then you hear a voice, cursing while trying to open the door.

'merde... why won't this fucking key fit... fuck off...'

you unlock the door and open it. maybe a little too quickly, because remy all but stumbles into you. you barely manage to catch him.

when he looks up at you, he gives you a dazzling smile with his eyes half closed. 'hello, mon amour.' he says.

you laugh softly and roll your eyes as you shake your head. of course he'd stumble home drunk. you already know your evening is far from over when he's like this.

'come on.' you say. 'let's get you inside.'

remy does a spectacularly bad job at getting up. and he's heavy.

'remy.' you say, holding on to him. 'work with me here.'

you manage to get him inside and lock the door again. remy is looking at you with a smile on his face.

'I hadn't expected you back yet.' you say, walking into the kitchen.

remy follows you and grabs one of your hands with both of his.

'I missed you, chéri.' he says, pulling you close and nuzzling his face in your neck.

'we live together, remy. I saw you this afternoon.' you say.

you feel his lips press against the side of your neck. you briefly close your eyes and allow yourself to revel in the feeling. then you gently push him away.

you hear remy whine and turn to see him pout at you.

'you don't love me anymore?' he says.

'of course I do, my love.' you say. 'but you're drunk. you need to drink some water and go to bed.'

you grab a clean glass and walk over to the sink. as you're filling it up with water, you can sense remy's presence behind you. seconds later, you feel his hands on your hips and his chin on your shoulder.

you mange to turn around in his arms and hand him the glass of water.

'drink up.'

'can I get a kiss afterwards?'

you roll your eyes. you don't want to admit you think it's adorable when he's this handsy and affectionate. you would only encourage him and you really meant it: you wouldn't do anything when he's drunk. he'd do the same if the roles were reversed.

'sure, love, you can get a kiss afterwards.'

you have to hold back your laughter as remy's eyes light up and he downs the glass in one go. you smirk and blow him a kiss before he can lean in.

'hey, what the fuck! no fair!' he exclaims, frowning.

'come on.' you say, holding out your hand to him. 'let's go to bed.'

he all but stumbles over his feet in his haste to grab your hand and follow you.

'yeah, let's go to bed.' you hear remy say behind you. you can tell by the tone in his voice you two have different ideas about 'going to bed'.

'to sleep, remy.' you clarify.

he sighs so loudly you can feel his breath on the back of your neck. you smile to yourself, amused at how fast his moods change when he's drunk. and about the fact he's such a love sick puppy when he's had a few. that is, more of a love sick puppy than he normally is. god, he really loves you.

when you get to your bedroom, you motion for remy to sit down on the bed. you kneel down to untie his boots.

'loving this view, mon amour.' comes remy's voice from above you. 'you know I love it when you get on your knees for me.'

'I'm just taking off your boots.'

'sure you are.'

'I am, remy.'

'are you sure?'

'yes, I am sure.'

remy sighs dramatically and lets himself fall back onto the bed. you glance up at him and see how tight his pants are. of course he'd not only be overly affectionate, but also turned on.

you tug off his boots and socks, raising to your feet.

'stand up for me, please.' you say.

remy opens his eyes and smirks at you from his position on the bed.

'now this view, I like.'

'it's literally so late remy, come on, I want to go to bed.'

he takes a hold of the hand you offer him and lets you pull him to his feet. you reach out to undo his belt.

'wow, chéri, buy me dinner first.' remy mumbles above you. you can tell by his quiet voice he's ready to go to sleep but fighting to stay awake. you wonder how much of this he'll remember tomorrow.

after undoing his belt and helping him out of his pants, you tell him to put his arms up so you can pull his shirt over his head. he does what you ask and doesn't even make a flirty comment about it. that tells you his tiredness is really kicking in.

you briefly step away to get a pair of sweatpants and a shirt out of the closet. as you hand them to him, you allow remy to rest his hand on your shoulder as he puts on the pants you've given him. you let your eyes linger on his muscular chest as he puts on the shirt. you really did get lucky with him, even if he can't keep his hands off of you when he's drunk.

you gently guide him to the bed and help him lay down. you get into the bed next to him and feel how remy pulls you closer, burying his face in your neck.

'you will kiss me tomorrow, right?' he mumbles against your skin.

you run your hands lazily through his hair. 'if you aren't hungover as fuck, which I think you will be, then yes, I'll kiss you, my love.' you say.

'oh fuck yes.' he says, making you chuckle softly.

'goodnight, remy.' you say.

'sweet dreams, mon amour.' he says.

just as you expected, remy falls asleep within seconds. you lay there for a while, absently running your fingers through his hair and thinking about how much you love him, before you eventually fall asleep as well.

when you wake up in the morning, your chest feels heavy. you open your eyes to see remy has somehow put his entire body on yours during the night.

you stay like that for a while, until you can no longer deny you really want breakfast.

with some effort, you push remy off of you so you can get up. he's still asleep as you lean in and press a kiss to his cheek.

as you make breakfast, you're softly humming to yourself while you're in the kitchen.

your morning is quiet. you decide to let remy sleep for as long as he wants, maybe it would make his hangover less extreme.

just as you're making your lunch, you hear remy coming down the stairs. he stumbles into the kitchen, grumbling something in thick accented cajun you can't understand.

then he all but leans his entire body weight on you as he's standing behind you.

'why does the world hate me?' he says.

you laugh. 'good afternoon to you too, my love.'

'morning.' he mumbles. 'your voice is so loud, chéri.'

'this is the thanks I get for taking care of your drunk ass last night?'

'sorry. was I being an asshole?'

'no, just the usual. you couldn't keep your hands off of me.'

'you're used to that.'

'I am.'

you turn around. remy wraps his arms around you and drops his forehead to your shoulder.

'is this what dying feels like?' he mumbles.

'no, my love, this is what being extremely hungover feels like.' you say. 'you want coffee?'

'dear god no, the thought of it makes me want to throw up. I'll just lay on the couch.'

'you're so dramatic.' you say, gently taking a hold of his face and holding it in front of you.

remy closes his eyes and leans into your touch. 'this is making me feel better already.'

you lean in and press a kiss to the tip of his nose. when you pull back, he opens his eyes and smiles briefly at you. then he sways a bit on his feet and sucks in a sharp breath.

'still want to kiss me like you said yesterday?'

'oh, mon amour, I think if I stand really still and you don't move, the world stops spinning.'

you laugh at him as he groans, pressing one hand to his forehead. you decide to take it easy for the rest of the day. the two of you alternate between taking naps and you reading your book out loud to him. as the day passes, you can't help but to think that maybe a hungover remy isn't so bad. you secretly love how he refuses to leave your side when he's hungover.

A/N:If you want to request something, make sure to read my house rulesHere’s the list of characters I write for. Everything that I have written can be found on my masterlist. Please don’t repost, steal or translate my work, as I spend much time and effort on it!! Thank you for reading! Much love, Marit

[mariasont]

Office Sleepover 3 - A.H

a/n: yeehaw this took me way longer than i thought but here she be

i feel like im so ass at writing smut so just bear with me yall

masterlist

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part one here! part two here!

pairings: aaron hotchner x fem!reader

summary: in which reader gets put on a hit-list and has to stay in the office (kind of based off when penelope got put on a hit-list by the dirty dozen)

warnings: 18+ MDNI, hungover reader, unwanted attention from some rando, awk as fuck reader, fingering, dirty talk, doing the dirty in the office, definitely illegal, definitely probably caught on cameras

wc: 4.2k

Everything hurt--your stomach churned, your head throbbed, and your eyes burned. You squeezed them shut, feeling your body tense against the stiff fabric of the pull-out couch. Fists curled tightly, you gradually let your eyelids part, casting a slow, sweeping glance around the room, trying to piece together what the hell happened.

Pain hammered around the inside of your head. You desperately needed a hefty dose of Advil--ten at least. As though your mind had materialized them, you rolled over to discover a bottle and a glass of water on the nightstand. You assumed you had JJ to thank, though the certainty of that was as fuzzy as your thoughts. Each effort to reconstruct last night's events was a stab to your already excruciating migraine.

You had all your clothes on, that was a plus considering your notorious history with wine and stripping. Stripping. Your hand slapped over your mouth, a floodgate of recollections bursting through--calling Hotch in a wine-induced haze, flashing your tits, asking him to stay.

You were in full-blown panic mode, the sudden urge to throw up clawing at your throat. The bed was empty, save for yourself, but you vividly remember Hotch laying down with you. This only left two possibilities: he left after you fell asleep or it had been a figment of your imagination. You were desperately hoping it was the latter.

But clearly, the universe had its own plan, because there he was, leaning against the door frame, a steaming cup of coffee in one hand and a paper bag that, by the smell of it, contained greasy food.

With a throat like sandpaper and sweaty palms, you met your boss's gaze. "Hotch," you croaked, pausing to swallow. "Um, good morning--or is it? My sleep schedule's always off after drinking. It feels bright in here, right? It's also kinda hot, is the AC working?"

You impulsively rose from the bed, a decision you instantly regretted as the room seemed to spin around you in protest.

"Sit down," he commanded, a firmness in his voice that brooked no opposition, and you promptly sat your ass back down, watching him with an expectant look.

You attempted to read his face, but it was a blank slate, making you that much more nervous. He must hate you, you figured, because you certainly hated yourself. Your boss had seen your nipples. A wave of heat washed over you, and you clenched your eyes shut, as if that could make this situation disappear.

"Here," he said, handing you the coffee and the bag, then gesturing to the Advil on the counter. "Take that, and I know you might not feel like eating, but it's necessary. The food and coffee will stabilize your blood sugar levels."

"Right, yeah, course," you nod, accepting the items with shaky hands, holding the cup with a grip that's a little too firm. "Listen, sir, I'm really sorry about last night. I promise I don't usually drink that much. I don't even know how I got that drunk, and I know I acted completely inappropriate towards you. If you need to file a complaint, I understand. Again, I'm just so sorry..."

You wanted to cry, but you held it back, knowing it would only make this whole situation worse. You deliberately avoided his eyes, focusing on anything but him while you absentmindedly toyed with the breakfast sandwich in your hands.

After a moment, he releases a soft sigh, the mattress sinking slightly as he settled beside you, his knee gently knocking yours.

"I'm aware this week's been tough on you. It's, uh, clear you weren't thinking straight, and I'm not about to make a formal issue out of a slip-up."

Your head dipped, as you tried to fend off the rising warmth in your face. "I don't think I can ever look you in the eyes again."

"That feels dramatic," he pointed out, a chuckle in his voice that made you glance his way. "Trust me, it's already forgotten."

That was a lie. He may have lacked Reid's eidetic abilities, but there was no possible, imaginative way that he would forget the image of you topless--it was imprinted in his memory. In fact, it had become the sole focus of his thoughts ever since. He silently thanked the gods that it was a Saturday, and he didn't have any pressing work issues.

"Somehow, that's not very comforting," you replied, a suppressed giggle breaking through as you met his gaze. "So, did you, um, end up staying over?"

Your cheeks glowed with a soft pink, hands unconsciously smoothing over your thighs--a nervous habit of yours he had quickly taken notice of. It emerged involuntarily when you faced tough cases, or when your computer took too long to start up, or even when the elevator made an unexpected noise.

"I did," he admitted, "You shouldn't have been alone."

Your whole body felt like it was on fire, and you were weirdly frustrated that you couldn't recall being the same bed as him, being able to feel his body against yours. You bet he was warm, and soft, and large against you.

"Thank you."

His phone went off. "Hotchner."

Your eyes followed his movements, noting the firm nods, watching as he stood, his expression hardening, jaw tightening, and hand coming to rest on his chin as he faced away from you.

The phone call was brief, and he quickly turned his attention back to you. "We've got a case."

And it was quite the case--three male victims, all in their forties. Each crime scene was close to Quantico, about twenty minutes, sparing the team any extensive travel. Though, after last night, you don't think you would have minded if they had been halfway across the country.

You were really banking on Hotch's ability to keep things professional, knowing full well that if Morgan caught wind of this, you'd be better off dead.

The team was huddled around the briefing table, absorbing Garcia's detailed rundown of the killings--they were violent to say the least--with heads bashed in and over twenty stab wounds per victim. Whoever was doing this was angry.

Hotch eventually split everyone up into tasks—Spencer and Morgan to the crime scenes, JJ and Emily interviewing the families, and Rossi was tasked with convening with the local police force. So, you know who that left at the office? You, Hotch, and Penelope. What a great group.

You avoided both of them, a pattern that had become all too familiar you had realized. Hunched over your desk, you were engrossed in sending Spencer images of your latest research on the town. True to form, he responded--Can you just fax that over to the police station?--because god forbid, he has to read it from his phone.

So, there you were, barely resisting the urge to slam your head into the fax machine. You wouldn't consider yourself technology impaired, but to say you were on friendly terms would be overstating it.

"Need help?"

"Oh, yes, please—," you began, but your voice trailed off as you noticed one of the guys from forensics hovering just a tad too close for comfort.

"They're always a bit stubborn," he noted, barely giving you space to breathe before his shoulder nudged against yours as he fiddled with the device, "just a slight...there we go."

The machine sprang into action, prompting you to step back and acknowledge his help with a nod. "Oh, thanks."

"Not a problem," he assured, stepping closer in the process, his fingers lightly brushing your thigh as he pointed out the correct button. "You see, it's all about timing," he added, his voice low and unnecessarily close, "these things can be so fussy, right?"

A subtle nod was your only response, hoping he'd take the hint that you weren't in the mood for small talk. The hangover clung stubbornly, and the whiff of his breath was a cruel taunt against the fragile peace you were maintaining over your stomach.

"So, do you find this kind of tech stuff challenging?" he asked, a little too casually. The question hung awkwardly in the air. You sought to put some distance between you, yet he matched your every move, keeping the space closed. "I mean, I'm pretty good with my hands, not just with machines honestly."

Ew.

You mustered a smile, though you were sure it was more of a grimace. The room felt smaller, the walls inching closer. "I usually manage," you responded, the strain evident in your voice.

He leaned closer, if that was possible, it was like the concept of personal space was foreign to him. "Maybe I can show you a few tricks, help you manage a little better?"

His words were light, but his proximity was anything but, almost suffocating.

Just as you were firmly about to tell him to shove it, a sharp voice beat you to it--probably for the best.

"That won't be necessary."

The forensics guy, whose name you still hadn't gotten, straightened, his smile faltering under the weight of Hotch's piercing, don't fuck with me, stare. A look usually saved for unsubs and incompetent officers, but now it singled out this man.

The same look remained on the poor guy as he directed his words to you, "why don't you join me? We need to go over some case details."

It really wasn't a question.

The man backed up instantly, mumbling something under his breath about just trying to help, but Hotch's glare followed him until he was well out of earshot.

Surprisingly, a similar sharpness was aimed at you as soon as he opened his mouth. "I'd appreciate it if you chose to flirt on your own time, not the Bureau's."

His words landed with the sting of an unexpected slap. You blinked, taken aback. "What? I wasn't--,"

But he didn't allow you time to finish. Instead, he pushed a water bottle in your hands, his eyes scrutinizing your face with such an intensity that you wished the floor would swallow you whole. "Drink. You look pale."

"Gee, thanks," you grumbled, under your breath, more to yourself than him, as he wheeled around and headed briskly for the briefing room.

Your steps lagged slightly behind him, your forehead lined with a thoughtful frown. What was that about? The way he acted--the tightness that had formed around his mouth and the harshness in his words, it was so unlike him, well, at least for it to be directed at you.

The rest of the day unfolded just as you thought it would upon waking--like shit. Hotch kept his distance, his exchanges with you brief and to the point. Every time you tried to grab his attention, hoping to clarify things (why you felt the need you weren't sure), he was already looking else, focused on literally anything but you.

It was painfully evident that he was avoiding any personal conversation with you, a realization that bit deeper than anticipated.

The office slowly emptied, the case binding you and Hotch to the briefing room, the only sounds being the faint gentle tapping of your pen and the occasional snap of your hair tie.

It was late when you finally spoke. "Hotch, this says the victim had fibers under his nails that don't match anything from the suspect's home."

Hotch's gaze snapped up to yours. "Are you saying you think the forensics team missed that?"

You met his eyes squarely, cocking your head to the side at the tone of his voice. "I'm not saying anything. I'm just pointing something out."

He bridged the space between you, his jaw set in a firm line. You could feel the warmth spreading across your cheeks as the distance dwindled.

"I'm just saying I don't want you jumping to conclusions based on underdeveloped theories."

You met his eyes with a glare, your teeth grinding together in the process. "Underdeveloped? Is that how you see my contributions now?"

The space between you had now vanished, your heart racing, finger almost poking into his chest as you spoke.

Hotch settled back against the wall, arms folded across his chest, giving you a pointed look. "I didn't say that," he replied, his voice level, markedly different from your agitated one. "We just can't afford to investigate every insignificant detail."

"Every insignificant detail?" you scoffed, "these are leads, Hotch."

His shoulders lift in an indifferent shrug that made you want to wrap your hands around his throat, and not in the good way. "Maybe. However, we need to be sure before we pursue it."

Drawing in a controlled breath, you fought to stay calm, but he was making it very hard. The sensation was all too reminiscent of college, contending with the overconfident frat boys just to voice your thoughts. That comparison may have been a tad extreme--Hotch was far from being like those insufferable boys, but he was certainly pushing your limits right now.

"I am sure. Why aren't you listening."

"I am listening," he said, but his voice was distant. "I just... I just don't want to get sidetracked, that's all."

"Sidetracked? By what, exactly?"

"I'm just not sure you're all here right now."

You felt your cheeks warming with a tinge of shame, but you pushed back, fists clenched at your sides. "I'm here, Hotch. I'm focused."

"Because last night—,"

"Last night was a mistake, okay? I got it. I already apologized for that. But I'm not irresponsible, my focus is on this case."

A lengthy pause followed, his expression unreadable. "You're certain about that?"

"Yes, I'm certain," you snapped, moving towards him again. "And for the record, JJ said you were okay with us having a few drinks."

"I was," he admitted. "But I didn't think—,"

You didn't let him finish. "What, that I'd get wasted? That I'd do something stupid? I'm sorry I'm not perfect."

"Well, yeah."

"Screw you, Hotch."

You knew that was a mistake the minute his nostrils flared, his chest now a pressing force against yours.

Then, without warning, his lips crashed into yours. A muffled oomph of surprise left you, your hands hanging motionless at first, only to quickly melt, grasping at his jacket, pulling him into you.

It wasn't a gentle kiss, nor was it kind, but it was magic, exceeding anything you could have imagined, setting every fiber of you on fire. His lips pressed against yours with an intensity that drew out a breathy sigh, arousal tingling through you, and your passion rose to meet his, equally hungry, equally desperate.

Your fantasies had never done him justice--kissing him was intoxicating, and now you could feel yourself getting lost in the sensation, realizing it was everything you never dared to hope for.

Drawing back just enough, his hands drew you closer, pressing against the dip of your back, his breath fusing with yours in a dizzying blend, making the air seem scarce.

Against the soft pressure of his lips, you murmured, "I wasn't flirting."

There's a pause as his eyes locked on yours, searching, questioning. Then, his hand settled at the side of your neck. "You better not have been."

Any witty comeback you had dissipated as his lips crashed against yours again, more urgently this time, his hands tracing every contour of your clothed body with an insatiable curiosity.

His grip tightened around your waist, effortlessly lifting you onto the briefing table's cold surface with a resounding thud, his palms then cradling your thighs. Documents and files fluttered beneath you, hopefully they weren't too important. His eyes, dark pools of brown, were meticulously scanning your face.

"You," he breathes out, his voice a low rumble laced with something you couldn't quite place, "have consumed my thoughts since the moment I discovered you on my couch." He inches closer, his breath scorching your cheek as his fingers waltzed a pattern up your thighs. "Do you understand that feeling? The intense frustration?"

You were rendered motionless, frozen in place, scared to even twitch and risk this all being a very realistic wet dream. This was Hotch, your boss, the man defined by his lack of outward emotion. To think that you--of all people--could have an effect on him was an overwhelming concept. The room seemed to tilt on its axis as he gently guided your legs apart, positioning himself between them.

"Y-Yeah, I know," you uttered unevenly, your thoughts scattering as your hands tentatively reached for his collar.

"So, you know what it's like, huh?"

Your nod was subtle, a flustered smile briefly lighting up your expressions.

"And?" he prompts, while his fingers explore the shape of your thighs, squeezing gently.

You squirm under his gaze, the intensity of it making your heart race inside your chest.

"And... it's annoying," you confess, puffing out a breath, trying sound annoyed, but the delicate blush dusting your nose gave you away, you were sure.

"Annoying?" Hotch repeats, his hand tenderly angling your face upward, his smile laced with a taunt. "Is that all?"

You rolled your eyes, a reluctant smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. "It's distracting," your voice was softer now, desire pooling in your belly as you grasp just how compromising of a position you were in.

"Distracting," he tsked, echoing you once again as he nodded solemnly, pulling your hips into his. Your mouth parted in an 'o' of surprise, your gaze lifting to meet his. "Have I been the subject of your thoughts, then?"

Your head dipped in a nod, your fingers brushing against his firm chest, a soft blush coloring your cheeks. "Maybe a little, in a totally platonic boss-employee type of way."

"Oh yeah?"

You caught your lip between your teeth, considering your next words very carefully. "Well, maybe more than a little, and maybe more than just a boss."

"Oh, wow," his breath was a warm hover over your lips, hanging in the space between you. You ached for the tase of him again, rich with dark expresso and spiced cinnamon. It was a lovely combination. "Sounds serious."

You released a hushed giggle, a light note floating between you as your foreheads met. "It's not like I can help it."

"And why is that?"

"Because," you paused, wetting your lips in anticipation, "you're infuriatingly unforgettable, that's why."

"I'll take that as a compliment."

"You would."

He was kissing you again. This time a little softer, unhurried, and the whole reason for your argument faded into nothingness. Although if insubordination led to this sweet consequence, it might just become a habit.

His lips traced a path down your throat, prompting your head to tilt back, baring the expanse of your skin to his exploration. Your legs wrapped around his waist, drawing him impossibly close. The world seemed distant, the sensation dreamlike, buoyed by the soft lull of a lust-induced haze.

Reason gave way to impulse; your hands lost in the softness of his hair, your back arching to his hands grasping at your ass, your clothed pussy grinding against his erection.

His hands hesitated, hovering as he reached for your top, his eyes holding yours. "Is this okay?"

You nodded, more eagerly than necessary, but that still wasn't good enough for him.

"I need a verbal yes or no."

Desperation clung to you, a needy sigh escaping you as you squirmed into his touch, his hands halting your restless movements. "Yes, please, Hotch."

"You were so eager to call me Aaron last night. Say it again."

"Aaron, please, I need you to touch me," your voice rang out, imbued with such sweetness making his length constrict against the fabric of his slacks.

His fingers deftly navigated to the hem of your shirt, sliding it over your head with a fluid motion. Your bra was next, its clasp yielding effortlessly to his touch, your tits releasing with a gentle bounce, and he fought back a groan as his large hands enveloped them.

"Every bit as perfect as I remembered," he said, his fingers skillfully pulling and twisting at the nubs as you brought you forehead to meet his, a breathy gasp tumbling from your lips at the contact.

You arched your back into his heads as he let out a soft chuckle, loving the way your body reacting to him. Your eyes held a glazed-over look, lips parted ever so slightly, and you looked up at him expectantly in way that could surely kill him. 

His hands moved slowly down your sides before brushing the sensitive skin under your waist band. You swallowed a gasp, moving your hips into his again, rolling yourself against his stiff erection.

His palms pressed against your hips. "Slow down. Let me take my time with you, yeah?"

You were at his discretion; he could ask you to jump into oncoming traffic right now and you'd probably say yes.

A nod was all you could manage as you fought the urge to move, every muscle tensed, waiting for him to make the first move, but god was it hard. You couldn't really believe this was happening, until the solid press of his thumb against your clit brought the moment into sharp focus. 

"Aaron, god," you gasped, your hands tangled in the hair at the nape of his neck. Your teeth found your bottom lip harshly, trying not to show him just how easily you could come apart right now.

"Is that good, honey?"

Honey. You could practically feel the arousal dripping your thighs as you nodded eagerly.

The pad of his thumb glided between your folds, gathering the slickness to continue his assault against your swollen clit. You buried your face deeper into his suit jacket, attempting to stifle the embarrassing sounds that you couldn't seem to contain. 

A whine of protest filled the space between you as his hand slipped away from your pants. His eyes bore into you as he gathered the strands at the back of your neck, guiding your gaze to yours. 

"None of that. Let me hear you gorgeous."

"Aaron, please, I need your fingers inside me, please."

You were painfully aware of how ridiculous you sounded, knew that if anyone else was in the office right now, you'd be so screwed, fired probably, but as his fingers dipped into your cunt those concerns dissolved quickly.

"Since you asked so nicely."

He was torturing you--his pace aggravatingly slow, working in and out of you as you tried to fight the overwhelming desire to slam your legs shut. It was so much, yet not enough. You ground yourself against his hands as his other hand clamped around your back, keeping you from falling back.

"That's it, baby, fuck yourself on my fingers."

His eyes were dark, pupils dilated, his chest rising and falling in a way that only seemed to spur you on, doing exactly as he ordered. His words felt foreign in your ears, before today you could never imagine him talking like this, so vulgarly. 

"Aaron, I-I need—," you paused, your eyes falling to his pants, more specifically the hardened cock inside them.

"Yeah? Is that what you want?"

"Yes, fuck, please," you gasped as his fingers hit that one spot just right. Your head lolled back as you clutched at his collar, his arm behind you keeping you in place.

"Watch your mouth," he said, and for some reason that was enough to send you right over that never ending ledge, your stomach coiling, heat spreading under your skin, every part of you ached.

"Oh—, Aaron, I-I'm—," you were a blubbering mess, rocking without mercy against his fingers, his thumb brushing against your nub in a way that made you feel like you had met your maker.

"That's it, baby, go ahead."

That was enough for you, your walls clenching around his fingers, back arching into him and you swore for a minute you could see stars. He helped you ride out your high.

You were wholeheartedly convinced; this was heaven. You had died and gone to heaven and the first one to greet you was Hotch, his hands tracing soothing patterns on your bare skin in an attempt to bring you back down to Earth. 

Just as you were about to reach for his pants, determined to feel him inside of you, his phone went off. Of fucking course. He shot you an apologetic look, the sound a wake-up call, pulling you both from the lust-fueled moment. 

He moved back with a couple steps, offering nods and muted words to whoever was calling at 12 am. You were suddenly extremely aware of your appearance--topless and on the briefing table for crying out loud. 

You attempted to stand, your legs betraying you with a wobble that had him instantly clasping your arm firmly, his attention flickering from the phone to the tremors in your stance. You gave him a small in return as if to say I'm fine.

You reached across the table, grabbing your shirt from its discarded state, not bothering with the bra as you dressed quickly. He cleared his throat, causing you to turn, just in time to see his phone disappear into his pocket.

"That was the Stafford police chief, there was another murder," he explained.

"Oh, right, okay, um..." you started, your brain racing into overdrive as you instinctively moved towards the door. "I just need to..."

Your movement was too quick, a dizzying spin that resulted in you tumbling into Hotch's solid frame. His reflexes were immediate, hands clasping onto you once again, preventing you from landing straight into him.

"Whoa, hey, are you okay?" he asked, brows knitting in a frown, "take a second."

"Yeah, um, yeah, I'm good," you managed to get out, even as heat suffused your face. "Just need to get changed, uh, can't imagine either of us want to the team to find me like this."

"Right."

He was still frowning, and you wanted nothing more than to kiss away the harsh lines of his forehead, but you were sure he wouldn't appreciate the gesture. 

You made a beeline for your office, the door's thud barely registering over pulsating rush in your ears. God, you were so screwed.

taglist: @chronicallybubbly @aremuslupinsimp @sky2nd @thisisdaisytrying @ryswritingrecord

[lovifie]

Masterlist

Boyfriend!Ghost x Chubby!Reader, but they wake up in each other's body.

Simon and you have been dating for a while now, Simon usually lives at your house when he is not deployed.

He has talked to you about the rest of the boys, as well as talking about you to them. Well, letting them know he is dating somebody, no matter how much Johnny pesters him to learn more about you he didn't tell them anything.

And then one day, you wake up and still half asleep, you go to hug Simon; expecting the mountain of a person that is your boyfriend and the only thing you can feel is someone half your size. That wakes you up fast.

You look at whoever is sleeping next to you… and it is you. But you are you, so why are you sleeping in front of you when you are where you are? And where the fuck is Simon?

You turn around looking for him and you find him, in the reflection of the mirror, looking at you. You wink and the reflection winks back. Okay, cool, cool, cool, cool. So, if you are Simon… then Simon… is the you on the bed.

“Simon.” You whisper, slightly shaking his… your arm?

And the deep voice surprises you when it erupts from within you, but it surprises Simon more because he jumps awake and then jumps back when he sees you.

The Spiderman meme coming to your memory for a second.

“Why are you me?”

“Why am I you?”

This just has like… so many possibilities. I am definitely coming back to this once I finish writing the next lift me off my feet chapter.

Like, imagine waking up on Simon Riley’s body. Going to base and there is like this 5’2 woman walking looking serious as fuck and then the fucking lieutenant is walking behind grabbing her shirt and looking terrified.

The possibilities, YUMMY.

Like, reader having glasses, and she puts them on like always but for some reason everything is blurry and then she turns to Simon and he is looking back the same way, just looking at each other like:

Simon being terrified on reader on his body because he knows she's a menace and now she's 6ft, Simon trying to calm himself down and reader being like: "I wanna know how my pussy feels, Simon." And poor Simon being absolutely terrified of not being able to walk anymore.

Reader just constantly hitting her head walking through doors because she has never had that problem and now she's one more hit from permanent brain damage.

Reader looking at herself on Simon's body for a bit too long and getting a massive boner, going to Simon for help only to find him playing with your boobs.

Please, let me know what would be the first thing you would do if it happened to you because I know my stupid ass would just want to hit somebody on the face with my dick. Just because like, how do you respond to that?

Think of the possibilities and tell me about them 😈

[prettieinpink]

 ♡ PRETTIER HIERARCHY ♡

HAPPY 1.2k+ TO PRETTIEINPINK! Thank you guys for the support, here’s a lil gift from me to you. 

If you don’t want to read all of this, I created a hierarchy of everything you need to do to glow up, right at the end!!! But I recommend reading everything first <3

I’ve been trying to ‘glow up’ like forever, but there was no actual content out there that helped me glow up. Most people sugarcoated, or their lifestyles of glowing up just weren't sustainable for me. So, I created this post for everyone planning to glow up or maximise their prettiness! 

DISCLAIMER – THIS POST IS NOT DETAILED. I wanted to do a simple outline to give you guys an idea of what to do to maximise your pretty. A little help to plan, especially as we enter 2024, but I’ll expand on these individual topics in the future. 

GRADE 1 – HEALTH

Being healthy can make you SO pretty. Being healthy is the foundation. There are other ways to be physically healthy, but after doing these 4 the rest usually fall in place.  Here are some simple ways to become healthier, and then eventually prettier!

HEALTHY EATING.

 I'm not going to go super deep into this, as no diet fits everyone + Please consult with your doctor before taking any extreme advice. Though, I'll tell you a bit of things that helped me !!

Stop drinking soda. Please, it's so unhealthy and it's full of so many sugars. Even the ones that are 0 cal, have weird chemicals that I don't trust. Many more alternatives taste just as good, like coconut water, herbal drinks, smoothies etc! Especially because nowadays most large calories and sugar intakes are from sugary drinks 

Stop restricting, moderate it. I am a big fan of dairy, yoghurt, milk, and cheese, I love it all. However I acknowledge that dairy isn’t the healthiest, so instead I always ensure I'm eating in moderation. E.g I put a tablespoon of shredded cheese in my omelettes instead of a handful. You will enjoy healthy eating so much, but only if you're not restricting. 

Have one serving of fruit, vegetables, or both with each meal. It provides so many good nutrients, makes you fuller and keeps you hydrated. Measure with your palm to ensure you’re eating enough. 

Know that just because one food has fewer calories than the other, does not mean it is the healthiest. I struggled so much with this, especially because many weight loss accounts will mention this, but it is so wrong. White bread has fewer calories than brown bread, but brown bread is higher in nutritional value. 

Plan snacks. Planning snacks for throughout the day, instead of spontaneously eating is so much better. I recommend this for anyone who gets hungry during the day but not enough for a meal (like me!)

Drink more water. Not 1L a day, because it is so much more ideal for you to have a glass of water with each meal + when you feel thirsty. 

Start educating yourself. This is as much as I can tell you, im not a nutritionist or a dietitian but if you plan to ensure that healthy eating becomes your lifestyle, educating yourself is essential!! 

EXERCISING.

Once again, I'm only going to go surface level with this because it is only based on my personal experience + Consult with your doctor before doing anything extreme. 

Start aiming for 5k+ steps. I see a lot of people advertise 10k+ steps as the standard, or what's active, but it's not sustainable If you're a busy person with a sedentary life or a beginner at exercise it is gonna be hard to sustain that. But walking is so good for you and simple too.

Join your local sports! Such a fun way to socialise while still exerting energy. 

If you can't do that for whatever reason, there are many ways to exercise at home. Research and pick a workout that you like and is sustainable. E.g. jump rope, pilates, home exercises, weightlifting, biking

Start standing more, it exerts energy. While very little, it still is very good. 

That's it, but remember to always start small with exercising, and RESEARCH!

BETTER SLEEP

To me, it doesn’t matter how much sleep a person is getting, but much more rather the quality of said sleep. So, here are some tricks and tips to get better at sleeping!!

Investing in a good quality pillow is so good for your sleep, the more comfortable you are, the better + it reduces the chances of poor posture or hump necks 

Research about different sleeping positions, as some positions at night promote back pain, difficulty breathing or poor posture. 

Start sleeping in complete darkness. Remove all sources of light or invest in good light-blocking curtains OR binders. Though, binders seem to be much more effective but are more pricey. If you cannot do either of that, buy a good sleeping mask. 

Sleep in the cold. Your body easily falls asleep if your environment is cold, and you’re less likely to wake up in the middle of the night. 

It is ideal for you to stop using devices an hour or two before bed, but if it is not sustainable for you, wear red blue-light-blocking glasses instead of clear ones. Red ones are more effective. 

Avoid large physical or mental tasks before bed, use that time to unwind and tell your body it's time to go to sleep. 

Avoid napping for longer than 30 minutes, or it can disrupt the sleep you have at night. 

Go to sleep at similar times every day. If you go to sleep earlier or later than this, you will ruin your sleep schedule and feel groggy. 

I expand more here. 

ORAL HEALTH

This is a step many people will neglect, but the most important in my opinion. Your teeth are the only body part that fails to regenerate after a certain age. Here's how I take care of mine!

Brush your teeth for longer. Brushing your teeth should not be a sped-up process, put actual thought into it. 

Start flossing. Floss removes plaque, and reduces the chances of your teeth yellowing! Do this ideally after each meal.

Brush your teeth before you eat. Brushing my teeth is the first thing I do when I wake up because brushing your teeth is supposed to protect your teeth from the food, not wash away your food. 

If you have the means, buy an electric toothbrush, as this gets in the little nooks and crannies that a regular one cannot. 

Use a tongue scraper or your toothbrush to get rid of any bacteria on your tongue. 

Use straws to drink coffee or any heavily coloured drinks. This avoids the premature yellowing of teeth. Make sure you put the straw on the side of your mouth to avoid your teeth. 

Use good mouthwash. A total game-changer, makes your breath fresher and your gums healthier. 

If need be, definitely use a purple teeth serum as a whitening treatment.

GRADE 2: STYLE 

I do not mean literal clothes and style, that's in grade 3. This is all about basic grooming and such. This is 2nd most important, especially if you're somebody who’s never been invested in beauty.

SKINCARE 

Get a basic skincare routine, cleanser and moisturiser.

If you have other skincare concerns e.g. dry skin, hyperpigmentation, acne, or blemishes, invest in a serum. 

Avoid touching your face frequently.

Wash makeup brushes & pillowcases often.

Dermaplaning to help skincare absorb better. 

Use sunscreen!

HAIRCARE

 Invest in a good shampoo and conditioner for your hair type.

Use a good hair oil, it doesn’t have to be for growth, but just for nourishing your scalp

Sleep with a good quality bonnet on.

Find which type of hairbrush works the best on you!

Use warm water to remove product build up and dirt, but use cool water to rinse.

Buy spray suncsreen to put on your scalp during hot weather.

Once again, research. Hair is just too much of a broad topic for me to thoroughly talk about.

EYEBROW & LASHES

Trim your eyebrows regularly to avoid too many stray hairs

Tint your eyebrows and lashes. If you already have dark eyelashes and brows, try a lighter look. I seem to prefer a dark brown look to a black 

Invest in a good lash & brow serum or use any oil

Don't use Vaseline on your eyelashes.

 Limit how much you wear mascara. 

I talk more about this here. 

BODY & HANDS 

Have a daily shower routine which consists of washing, exfoliating and moisturising your skin. 

Using scented products is such a game changer, smelling good is like being a magnet 

Doing manicures, my routine is a cuticle scrub, file, buff, polish, paint then cuticle oil. 

Shave on the areas you want to. Having smooth skin is nice, but to ensure your shave lasts longer, watch a video. 

I post about creating a good shower routine here. 

LIPS

Invest in a good, portable lip balm. I prefer the ones that burn your lips to give it a more fuller effect

Make your lip scrub. Sugar, honey and turmeric are my go-to. Helps remove dead skin.

If you have hyperpigmentation around the lips, use glycolic acid, only a little.

GRADE 3 – FASHION

My favourite grade, because it is so fun and focuses more on the aesthetic side of things. However, they're not essential, which makes it all the more fun!

CLOTHES 

 I have a post about wardrobe essentials here. 

Find out about what season colours you are. This helps with using colours in fashion to enhance. ( if you don't like your colours it is okay, it doesn’t change much if you do not wear them) 

Figuring out your undertone colours for jewellery. 

Figure out what works for your figure. Experiment with necklines, bottom length etc. 

Find out your general style too, what you feel confident in and more assured. 

MAKEUP

Research and only watch tutorials of women who look like you (trust me). 

Dear Peachie has a bunch of videos of how makeup works, for beginners to more advanced artists!

Then make your signature look for every using your knowledge. 

FRAGRANCE 

Invest in a good eau de parfum and eau de toilette. Cheap fragrances suck. 

Invest in a good-scented lotion. My favourite brand is Vaseline.

Using a good nice fabric softener for laundry makes you feel and smell fresh

Using an expensive scented body wash doesn’t matter, invest in a good body lotion. 

HAIR STYLING 

Hairstyles that enhance your face shape, not shield it. 

Having a simple signature look for everyday

Experimenting with your hair is ideal, but if you can't for whatever reason once again research.

GRADE 4 – PERSONALITY

The way you seem to others can make you so much prettier. Fake it till you make it as always~

POSTURE

Having good posture makes you stand out, makes you look prettier and is generally good for your health

Chin is parallel to the floor, shoulders are down and relaxed, rib cage is elevated, pelvis is tucked in, your knees straight and flexed, and the weight on your feet should be in the center.

You can stretch for good posture, there are many videos on this on YouTube.

Ensure your sleeping position is promoting good posture, not poor. 

Buy a back brace to reinforce good posture.

BODY LANGUAGE

Learn how to move your body during conversations to seem more self-respected and confident.

Train your facial expressions for different situations, but especially for taking photos.

There are tons of books and videos on this, won’t expand because this is all about how you want others to perceive you. 

ELOQUENCE

Improve the way you communicate with others. Be fluent and clear to understand 

Expand your vocabulary, know how to substitute words on the spot and make sentences. 

Knowing what to say in like any and every conversation makes people like you more, and the best way to be more eloquent is just practice. 

There are so many good books about this.. read.

GRADE 5 – MIND

Personally, having a good mindset does boost your self-perception of your prettiness + being happier in general makes you more inclined to take care of yourself = being more pretty!!!

MENTAL HEALTH

Start journaling as a way to organise your thoughts and to truly analyse your emotions. There are a lot of journaling prompts on Pinterest and such!

Meditation as a way to clear the mind when needed is so good. There are a bunch more meditations for other purposes though like body image, productivity, focus or just general relaxation.

Go to therapy, or just have at least one person you can talk to when life becomes tough.

Cut back on social media. There's misinformation, trolls and a lot of content that isn't nourishing your mind. 

Get some sun! Simple and doable, but has a huge effect on the body. It can improve the current mood. Wear sunscreen. 

Start learning how to process situations, instead of bypassing the emotions that come with them. 

Start surrounding yourself with like-minded people. Seriously, being around people who are just too different is draining. 

MINDSET

Embrace growth and reject all forms of comfort. Being uncomfortable with something is growth. 

Don’t do things because you ‘have’ to do this, do them because they benefit you and see it in that way. E.g ‘I’m going to clean my room because I deserve a clean place to rest and work’ instead of ‘I have to clean my room’

Become detached. Stop letting everything that happens in your life affect you, start observing instead of consuming. 

Self validates yourself. Tam Kaur did a wonderful video on this that I think everyone should watch.

Stop believing that everything and everyone is out to get you. Your subconscious mind believes this, do not feed it, starve it.

There's a lot to say about mindset, but I recommend watching some mindset YouTubers who explain everything in depth.

and now,,,, here's a ANOTHER gift from lanny because u read her post. And liked it. And reblogged it. And followed her.. pleaseee

[softbeej]

alastor cumming from just getting his ears touched by reader?

oh you may!!

Jazz & Liquor (Alastor x Reader smut)

“Ah, whiskey is your poison, I see? Mind If I have a glass? Always puts me right to bed.” Alastor asked, as you were curled up in the library with a scratchy record playing in the background.

“Be my guest!” You insisted, pouring him a healthy glass which he took with a wink before sitting beside you on the sofa.

“Reading anything interesting?” He questioned. He must be really sleepy; he always got a bit more touchy feely and talkative with exhaustion.

You shook your head no, closing the book and giving him your full attention.

“Just a old mystery novel, is all...”

He nodded, listening but clearly uninterested, “What brings you down here? You’re usually up in the radio tower at this time. Is everything okay?”

The attention was finally on him, and he visibly perked up at this.

“I’ve not managed to get much sleep these past few nights. Just wanted a little change of scenery, you see. Oh, how boring it can get up there all on my lonesome. You can visit, you know?”

You smiled, he was basically begging you to spend time with him. If you were to go up there, what would he even have you do? There’s only one chair up there - strictly his. There’s not even a sofa up there, it’s almost as if he specifically designed the room to deter anyone from loitering up there. You supposed, he could have you sit on his lap as he worked. Or he could have you just sit cross legged at his feet.

You almost shook your head to get rid of these thoughts, “Well, thank you, Alastor. I’ll certainly keep that in mind- Oh!”

With that, Alastor’s head was on your lap. He’d slowly been sinking into you as you were speaking, before his head just grew too heavy and landed in your lap. Almost immediately after he realised, his lazy eyes shot open, blushing and utterly embarrassed as he started blabbing a string of apologies at you.

You shushed him immediately of course.

“Al, Al, it’s fine! You sleep, you clearly need too...” You insisted as you gently lowered his head back down. He pulled his legs up on the sofa too, getting more comfortable. You scanned the room for a blanket for him, but didn’t want to disturb him.

Your nails raked through his hair as his eyes fluttered closed. Then, he purred as you continued. Your face reddened and you almost gasped.

“You like that? Feel nice?”

He nodded, “Mm...”

He probably wanted to downplay how much he liked it, but his involuntary purring clearly gave him away.

You kept scratching his head, moving closer to the base of his ears, where his hair changed into fluffy fur. His purring grew louder and rougher, giving you butterflies. His breath caught in his throat, and he let out a strange noise.

“Keep going? Feels... Good...” He said. Whatever butterflies you were feeling, he was clearly feeling tenfold, if you had to guess by the strawberry red blush covering his cheeks.

“Relax, Alastor... I’m here, relax...” You cooed.

You smiled to yourself as you saw his cock hard in his pants, straining the fabric and threatening the seams. Would he will it to go away? Excuse himself as he sorted his situation? Or just lay there seeing it through to completion?

His heavy eyelids fluttered open a little to watch you with blown pupils as you continued scratching, paying special attention to his ears now. You smiled as they flitted and twitched at even the lightest touch, and how he shivered in sync. You noticed he started to buck his hips up ever so slightly, as a nice wet patch of precum began seeping through the crotch of his pants.

Not like he cared, though. Instead he bucked his hips up harder, eyebrows knitting together as his tummy grew hot with arousal. With a final couple of rubs of his ears, he came hard right in his pants with an almost pathetic moan. His face relaxed, but his hips kept twitching involuntarily with aftershocks of the intense orgasm. The next thing you knew, you heard a deep breath and looked down to see him fast asleep. He’d have to deal with that mess in the morning, you thought as you drifted off.

[angelanderson]

DOM!ABBY ANDERSON HEADCANNONS

cw: dom!abby (soft & mean), both receiving, fluffy too :) u mostly decide if au or not. minors dni. 18+ under cut

── ⋅⋅⋅ ────꒰ ୨ ♡ ୧ ꒱──────────

♡ dom!abby who loves causal dominance.

she’ll gently redirect you when you’re not paying attention to something important. “pretty girl, i’m talking to you.” a kiss on the forehead ensues if you whine out of embarrassment.

night out with drinking? she’s keeping her eyes on you. she definitely grips your chin as she pours water into your mouth. ”don’t need you hungover tomorrow.

refuses to let you grab anything off high shelves after an incident involving glass. “just need someone bigger, don’t you?”

♡ dom!abby who doesn’t care if you call her mommy, daddy, or just abby. she just loves to hear you call out and moan for her. she swears your voice sounds like honey to her ears.

♡ mean dom!abby who definitely loves it when you cry. she’ll coo and wipe your tears away as each thrust of her strap feels bruising. she doesn’t think she’s fucked you good enough without tears when she’s in that mood.

♡ soft dom!abby who loves to have you in her lap while she overstimulates you, shushing your whines with gentle kisses. “oh, baby, you’re doing so good. gonna cum again for me?”

♡ dom!abby who rarely puts up with any bratty behavior. three strikes and you’re out. she knows you can be sweet again once she’s done with you— even if it takes all night. she’s always proven she’s not afraid to punish you.

soft!dom abby will edge you until you’re in tears, begging her to let you cum. she’ll tell you to apologize and then maybe she’ll let you cum. “gonna apologize now, yeah? gonna be good for me?”

mean dom!abby will smack your ass red before she’s fucks you from behind with your least favorite strap— it’s not thick or long enough to really get you there. “you wanna cum? then this strap is all you get. bad girls don’t get what they want, so get to it baby.”

♡ dom!abby shoves her fingers in your mouth when you won’t shut up. “baby, i’m busy. suck on my fingers and shut up.” she’ll shove her fingers in further if you try to respond to her.

♡ dom!abby’s strength kink goes hard. being a gym rat pays off in more ways than one. she likes to fuck you against walls, holding all of your weight up with just her arms. she’s the kind of woman to bounce you up and down with her hands on your hips when you whine about being tired while riding her.

♡ dom!abby pulls your hair when you’re eating her out before shoving your face in more. she loves to watch you get all messy as you become more and more pussy drunk. “my messy girl. doing so good for me.”

♡ dom!abby likes to have you on your knees while you eat her out. she loves the way watching your on your knees makes her feel. abby swears the orgasm is ten times better when she has you like that. you also get ten times the praise.

♡ dom!abby loves to tie you up and stick a vibrator in you. especially when you’re pleasing her; she likes to see if you can cum at the same time.

♡ dom!abby loves teasing you. lazily teasing your bud with her fingers, making you beg her to do more. she knows you like it based on how much more wet you get when she does it. “good girls are patient. patient girls get good things,” is all she’ll tell you before she starts up again.

♡ dom!abby knows how to make you feel good like she knows the back of her hand. she’s sure she could have you cumming in under five minutes if she didn’t enjoy the long game as much as she does. she usually has you cumming at least twice every time. “not a good girlfriend if i don’t have my girl completely blissed out after every. single. time.”

♡ dom!abby who whispers how much she loves you into your ear as she slowly takes you apart with her fingers, tongue, and toys. she always tells you how much she adores you no matter what mood you’re both in. she can never hold in a coo when you tell her the same things back.

♡ dom!abby who drops the role the second it’s time for aftercare. she always kisses you on your forehead before she gets you water, a washcloth, and your favorite fuzzy robe. she holds you in her arms, one arm arm rubbing your back on the days you need to be lulled to sleep afterwards.

[fluentmoviequoter]

A Room Away

Requested Here!

Edit: Part 2 Here

Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!reader

Summary: Tired of Tim's bad moods, Angela gets him a new roommate: you. As Tim gets to know you and learns about your past, you slowly become more than his roommate.

Warnings: mentions of past domestic abuse (reader and Tim), reader has chronic migraines from past head trauma, nightmares, reader has a panic attack, angst, fluff, Nyla and Angela. (roommates to lovers)

Word Count: 4.2k+ words

A/N: Parts of this are so self-indulgent. The migraine depictions are based on my migraines, but I think they're some of the most common symptoms. I hope you enjoy and please let me know what you think! (I'm still trying to get Tim's character down, so apologies if he's OOC.)🤍

Masterlist | Tim Bradford Masterlist | Request Info/Fandom List

Picture from Pinterest

Tim sits in the back of the room for roll call, his arms crossed tightly across his chest as unimpressed sighs escape him. Angela is getting tired of his seemingly perpetual bad mood. Clearly, he’s lonely, but he will never admit it. And that loneliness makes him mopey and broody (Angela’s official motto for Tim Bradford) until he has enough and snaps at someone.

Sitting at her desk, Angela watches Tim yell at a boot. He’s always harsh with them, trying to prepare them for anything, but now he’s using them as punching bags for his forbidden feelings. 

“What’s his problem? He’s grumpier than usual,” Nyla says as she joins Angela.

“He’s lonely,” Angela answers. “Won’t admit it or do anything about it.”

“That man needs a girlfriend,” Nyla muses.

Angela sits up straighter and smiles. “You’re a genius, Harper.”

“I know.”

Angela opens a website on her computer, and Nyla pulls up a seat to watch her intervention into Tim’s personal life.

“You’re going to rent out his spare room without telling him? This’ll be fun to watch,” Nyla says, laughing.

“He has way too much room for just one guy. Getting him a roommate and a girlfriend will surely help with.. that,” she finishes, gesturing toward Tim.

“A roommate and a girlfriend, or a roommate who becomes a girlfriend?”

“Either should work.”

“That’s your number.”

Angela nods, putting her contact information on the listing. “Tim would shut it down after the first call, so I’ll interview them, run background checks, whatever, and find the perfect one.”

“Well, Mrs. Right is always found on Craigslist,” Nyla jokes.

“This isn’t Craigslist.”

“Semantics.”

Angela posts the listing, and she and Nyla hope getting Tim a roommate will help nudge him out of his bad mood. He needs someone to talk to and bond with, but he’ll never come to that conclusion on his own. Which is why Angela considers herself to be such a good friend.

✯✯✯✯✯

Los Angeles is a big city, which is part of why you chose it without another thought. Full of opportunities and a chance of fading into the background, it’s the complete opposite of your home, which overflows with memories. The patched drywall you were pushed into, the stained tile where you thought everything was going to end, and the china cabinet with the shattered glass are left behind and traded in for a minimum wage job, a used car, and a lot of panic that you won’t be able to find somewhere to live.

You’ll need a roommate until you can save enough money for your own place. However, finding a decent place with a decent roommate is nearly impossible in your price range. Browsing online listings, you see one that could be promising. The information at the bottom says there is an interview process, which catches your attention. Sending a text to Angela Lopez, you cross your fingers for good luck before walking into work.

By the end of your shift, Angela has replied and asked you to meet somewhere nearby. You want to go home, a dull headache building at the base of your skull impairing your mood. But you also really want a better place to call home than the pay-by-the-month motel you’re currently living in.

Angela gives you a firm handshake as she introduces herself as an LAPD detective. She asks questions about your life, job, hobbies, and finally, why you moved to Los Angeles.

“I just needed a change of pace; was ready to leave my old life behind, find something bigger and better,” you answer, a simplified version of the truth.

Trying not to show it, Angela immediately takes a liking to you. Each of your answers solidifies her gut instinct that you’re a good fit for Tim. You ask why her name was on this listing if it’s not her house, and she follows your lead and gives you the truth, but not all of it.

“Tim, the owner of the house, is a coworker and friend, and I’m just trying to help him out while he’s busy with work,” she explains.

As you leave the meeting, Angela gives you her personal number, as well as someone named Nyla Harper’s number, “just in case you need anything.”

She texts you a time and address, telling you to meet her at your new place the following afternoon. You thank her repeatedly before driving to the trashy motel one last time.

✯✯✯✯✯

Parking outside the house, you fall in love with the neighborhood and the cute architecture of the home. Angela meets you in the driveway, seeming more nervous than excited. You realize she may not have been totally honest with you as you follow her to the door.

An incredibly handsome man opens the door, sighing when he sees Angela. He lets both of you in, seeming to trust Angela completely.

✯✯✯✯✯

Tim knows he will regret opening the door, but the woman with Angela is beautiful, and deep down, a small part of him wants to know who she is and why she’s on his doorstep.

“This is your new roommate,” Angela announces, giving Tim your name.

“You didn’t,” Tim responds. “Please tell me you didn’t rent out my spare room without asking me, Lopez.”

“I won’t tell you that, then.”

Standing quietly to the side, you anxiously watch their argument.

“Um, sorry,” you begin, interrupting them. “But I can go, and find a new place, since this is clearly not what you signed up for.”

You move toward the door before stopping when Angela demands, “Don’t go anywhere.”

She gives Tim a stern look before cocking her head to the side. He sighs like he has accepted his fate, a tragedy based on his reaction. Gesturing for you to follow him, he gives you a quick tour before showing you to your new room and bathroom.

“I’m not home a ton, but when I am, I’m usually watching a game or just hanging out, so,” he tells you before trailing off.

You nod before promising, “You won’t even know I’m here.”

Tim wants to believe you, but he also thinks you’re pretty and kind enough that he wouldn’t mind seeing you occasionally.

✯✯✯✯✯

You cross paths with Tim a few times in the first two days of living with him. He’s struck by your beauty each time but recognizes that you don’t open up willingly, so he never presses you to talk. Content to be ships passing in the night, Tim gives you a nod before continuing out the door.

It’s your third night in the house that Tim learns your reserved qualities may not be as simple as a personality trait. Waking when he hears a strange noise, Tim listens in the darkness before deciding it’s your footsteps he hears. Based on the sound, you're pacing, so Tim gets out of bed and walks to the kitchen. He walks right past you, and you give him an apologetic smile before slowing down. Tim makes you a mug of calming tea, sliding it across the kitchen island before sitting beside you as you drink it. Suspecting you had a nightmare or some similarly disturbing experience, Tim reminds you where you are and that everything is okay in his own way.

Over the next week, you wake him up a few more times, thrashing in your bed or exiting your room once you wake. He nudges each time, offering to let you talk about it, but you never do. You always apologize for waking him, thank him for keeping you company and making you tea before you disappear back into yourself and into your room.

✯✯✯✯✯

You’ve lost count of the days and nights spent in Tim’s house, your sense of time thrown off by the continued plague of nightmares and the monotony of your days. As you wake up after a surprisingly dreamless sleep, you immediately turn your face back into the pillow. Your heartbeat pounds in your head, and everything seems brighter and louder. The migraines have been nearly as consistent as the nightmares since before you left for Los Angeles. 

Tim knocks on your door, and you groan as the sound echoes in your brain. He cracks the door, concerned that you aren’t up yet.

“Are you okay?” he asks, seeing your current state.

“Migraine,” you answer. “I called in sick.”

He closes the door to block the light from outside and lowers his voice to ask, “Do you need anything before I leave?”

“I’m okay. Thanks.”

“Well, call me if you do, or if anything changes, okay?”

“I will. Thank you, Tim. Have a good day.”

Tim nods, even though you can’t see him, before backing out of your room and exiting the house as quietly as possible. He keeps his ringer on, looking at his phone every few minutes as his concern for you remains at the forefront of his mind.

Angela and Nyla notice his usual grumpy disposition seems to have been replaced with concern for something, or someone. After he checks his phone for the fifth consecutive time, Angela decides to pry.

“How’s the beautiful roomie? Still just a roommate?” she asks.

“She’s not feeling well,” Tim answers.

Angela waits for an elaboration, but Tim doesn’t offer one. She looks at Nyla, who gives a knowing look. It’s obvious that Tim is softening toward you, but you haven’t made enough of an impact that he’s less grumpy or snappy. As the day continues, his usual personality returns, convinced that you must be okay, or you would have called.

The next day, after learning that you are, in fact, feeling better, Tim is back to his pre-roommate levels of anger and high strung-ness. To worsen his mood, you wake him up with a nightmare but refuse to let him in, not even acknowledging his kind questioning as to how you are. He’s worried about you because you welcomed his presence before, but he is also angry that you changed so quickly, and now you don’t trust him. Everything is piling on, and Tim isn’t sure how much more he can carry.

✯✯✯✯✯

“Just tell me something,” Angela presses.

“Stay out of it, Lopez!” Tim yells, his emotions reaching a boiling point. “I didn’t even want a puppy- a roommate! If you like her so much, why don’t you take her in?”

Angela waits for his shoulders to drop slightly before asking, “Timothy… is this because you don’t like her, or because you do?”

Tim’s jaw clenches, and his nostrils flare as he turns away, offering to go on patrol while Nolan and Celina go to the shooting range. Everyone seems to think they know Tim better than they do; Angela is pushing him toward you while you’re distancing yourself, and the push and pull is tiring.

✯✯✯✯✯

Tim waits in his truck in the driveway for a few minutes before walking in. When he walks in, you’re standing in the kitchen. He hasn’t actually seen you since the day of your last migraine when you stopped trusting him, and your sudden willingness to be in the same area confuses him. Anger and confusion rarely mix well; with Tim, it’s a fatal combination.

You notice his tension and knitted brows, chewing your bottom lip before asking, “Are you okay?”

Stumbling to his tipping point for the second time in the day, Tim takes all his anger and confusion over his feelings out on you.

“What do you think? You can’t decide if I’m worth trusting with something as small as a nightmare, and Angela thinks that I’m practically neglecting you,” he begins.

You swallow harshly as his voice rises, stumbling backward when he starts moving his arms. 

“Especially considering I didn’t even want you here!”

Flinching, you snap your eyes closed and catch yourself on the corner of the wall. Tim freezes as he watches you. Everything begins snapping into place in his mind: your nightmares and the distance added to your reaction to him yelling and moving his hand are all signs he should have noticed sooner.

Your chest is heaving as you take short breaths, and when you finally open your eyes, you look terrified. Tim steps back, keeping his hands where you can see them. You focus on him as you slide down the wall, cradling your head in your hands as you fight off bad memories and a growing headache.

Tim watches you before sitting on the floor, keeping his distance. He waits for you to calm down, willing to let you decide whether or not you want to talk to him. You finally look back up at him, but he doesn’t move.

“I- I’m sorry,” you whisper.

“Can I come closer?” Tim asks.

You nod, and Tim slides across the floor, not wanting to stand up and look any more imposing than necessary. His knee presses gently against your thigh, and when you don’t move, he gives you a small smile – the first you’ve ever seen.

“I’ll leave in the morning,” you say, fiddling with your fingers.

“Please don’t,” Tim replies, shaking his head. “I’m really sorry. I wasn’t mad at you, just angry with a long day. But that’s no reason to yell at you or act like that. You confused me, and I didn’t know how to deal with it. That’s on me.”

“I’m sorry,” you repeat.

“Don’t. When I was younger, my dad took his anger out on me sometimes. I’m sure I deserved it once or twice, but I also know better than to treat people like an emotional outlet. If you ever want to talk, I’m here.”

You nod before saying, “My ex.”

Tim feels a protective surge at the idea of anyone hurting you, let alone doing it enough times that yelling pushes you to the point of a panic attack.

After comforting you with proximity and kind words, Tim offers to walk you to bed. Your hand brushes his as he opens your door, and you smile as you thank him for everything. It’s a minor change in your relationship but an important one.

✯✯✯✯✯

Tim leaves before you wake up the following morning, determined to find out as much as he can about you and your past. He’s not necessarily being nosy, but he wants to know if there’s anything specific that could help or hurt you.

“What do you know?” he demands as he storms up to Angela’s desk.

“About what?” she replies, raising her brows.

“What do you mean ‘about what’? Her!”

Nyla leans back in her chair, glad to watch the unfolding drama.

“Tim, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Angela explains.

“Why’d she move to LA?”

“Are you seriously trying to find something wrong with her? That’s low.”

Tim moves around her desk, dropping his voice to answer, “I’m trying to figure out who thought it was okay to put their hands on her. Because she won’t let me in.”

Angela begins connecting the dots you left untouched. You ran from the person controlling your life, not your actual life. She knew that you were omitting something during your initial meeting, but she didn’t expect it to be so big.

“Have you been open with her?” Angela asks finally. “Because that’s a two-way street. I’ll talk to her if you want me to, but she trusts you, Tim.”

“How do you know that?”

Nyla’s eyes bounce back and forth like she’s watching a tennis game. She sighs before deciding to interject. “She told her! Sent her a text one night!” she calls out, smiling and waving when Angela and Tim look at her.

Tim nods, giving Angela the closest she’ll get to an apologetic look before leaving.

✯✯✯✯✯

Returning home, Tim is surprised to find you on the couch, in your work clothes, with your face pressed into a pillow. You wave your fingers without moving to acknowledge him, and he remains silent as he walks to the kitchen.

“You don’t have to be silent, it’s your house,” you mumble. “I’ll figure out a way to get to the bedroom.”

“You’re fine here,” Tim answers, setting a glass of water beside you. “Another migraine?”

“Skull fractured from getting my head pushed through a window a few months ago,” you explain with a sigh. “The migraines have gotten worse since then.”

Tim lays a hand on your shoulder, giving you plenty of time to tell him not to touch you. You don’t, relaxing under his touch instead. Tim takes a seat beside you, hoping to comfort you once more.

“Your ex?” Tim asks. 

You hum a yes, and Tim’s jaw tightens, even as he comforts you.

✯✯✯✯✯

Walking into the police station, Tim’s wallet is tucked safely in your bag. Approaching the front desk, you say your name and are wordlessly handed a visitor’s badge before someone gives you directions. You don’t have time to argue, shrugging as you attempt to remember where to turn. Angela sees you before you see her, rushing to your side and looping her arm with yours.

“What are you doing here?” she asks happily.

“Uh, Tim forgot his wallet. I was just going to drop it off, but they sent me back here,” you answer.

Tim says your name, coming around a corner, and Angela pushes you toward him, joining Nyla as they watch your interaction.

“You know she was trying to get you a girlfriend and not just a roommate, right?”

Tim nods a thanks as he accepts his wallet, glancing over at your audience. “I’m half-tempted to make them think I kicked you out.”

You smile brightly, and Tim licks his lips to keep his smile from mirroring yours. His eyes tell you more than enough, and you’re happy to see him, too.

“Do it,” you whisper. “Just let me know when so I can play my part. Angela told me to call her if you were ever mean to me.”

“Have you?”

You don’t answer, opting to wink at him before stepping back. Waving at Angela and Nyla, you leave the station as they rush to Tim’s side. As they ask overlapping questions and talk about how cute you and Tim look standing together, Tim ignores them before walking away.

✯✯✯✯✯

Tim is pulled from his sleep by your panicked yell. He leaves his bed and barges into your room with no thought. His heart rate slows when he sees your teary face and tangled sheets.

“Sorry,” you mutter as you wipe your tears. “I just don’t know how to make them stop.”

Tim sits beside you, opening an arm toward you. It’s a bold move, especially for him, but you take his offer and curl into his side.

“Are- did you mean it when you said I could talk about it?” you ask.

Tim nods, and you tell him more, but not everything. You remind yourself that he’s your roommate and maybe, just maybe, he's your friend, but he’s not here to listen to all of your baggage.

“The last thing he said before I left was, ‘there is nowhere you can go that my love won’t lead me to find you.’”

“You know that wasn’t love,” Tim replies, waiting for your nod before continuing. “And I’ve got your back, Angela and Nyla are right here, and we won’t let anything happen to you. No matter what.”

Drifting back to sleep in his warm, safe embrace, you finally learn what it’s like not to be scared.

When you wake alone, neither you nor Tim acknowledge what happened. You’re okay with slow changes, as long as there are changes.

“Tim,” you say, interrupting him on his way out. “Thank you. For last night.”

“I’m only ever a call away,” he reminds you.

✯✯✯✯✯

Your head starts aching around noon, quickly worsening into a full-blown migraine. When you’re ready to go home, it’s bad enough that you can’t drive. Sitting in your car and resting your head against the steering wheel, you want to call Tim but can’t find the strength to move.

Tim, meanwhile, returns home and begins wondering where you are. He calls, and you don’t answer, so he lets his worry control him as he gets back in his truck and drives your usual route. Tim hopes to pass you or find you waiting as someone changes your tire. When he gets to the parking lot of your job and sees you slumped in your car, he has to fight not to panic.

Rushing to the door, he’s both grateful and concerned that it’s unlocked. He kneels beside you, saying your name before bending to see you. Your eyes are tightly closed, but tears are still leaking out. 

“I’m taking you to the hospital,” he says.

You whimper as he picks you up, clinging to him until he lays you down in the backseat of his truck, buckling you in as well as possible.

“Hospital can’t help,” you mumble.

Tim wants to argue, but remembers what you said about the skull fracture. You’ve already been to the doctor, so maybe getting you home and comfortable will be enough.

After a nap partially influenced by unbearable pain, you wake to see Tim sitting by your bed.

“Why are you so nice to me? You didn’t even want a roommate,” you mutter sleepily.

Tim smiles, making you think you’re hallucinating. “Yet I got something better.”

✯✯✯✯✯

You don’t quite make it to work the next day. Walking into the station, you’re surprised when Nyla greets you first.

“I’m assuming it’s a joke,” she says.

You furrow your brows in confusion before you see Tim leaning on a desk with his arms crossed while Angela yells at him.

“Unless he really kicked you out,” Nyla adds.

You nod, walking towards Angela and Tim.

“No, you don’t get to blame me! I got you a roommate, a friend, a beautiful woman who could have been more than a friend, and you’re mad at me?” Angela exclaims.

Tim locks eyes with you, not changing his expression as he gauges whether or not her yelling is upsetting you.

“Can I talk to you?” you ask Tim.

Angela steps back, hoping to hear Tim apologize, but he stands up and gestures for you to follow him without speaking. Worried that you’re sick again, Tim waits silently.

“I’m okay,” you promise. “I just wanted to see you.”

Not believing something so simple, Tim shakes his head. “Tell me what happened.”

“I saw a guy who looked like him while I was driving to work. He was yelling at a girl outside of a diner, and it made me nervous.” You keep your eyes on the floor, but Tim gently raises your head.

“You’re not alone, and I know that things still seem uncertain, and probably will for a long time, but you don’t have to be afraid of anything while I’m here.”

“Then why’d you kick me out?” you tease with a pout.

Tim shakes his head, telling you to go before following you out. You wipe an imaginary tear before waving at Angela.

“No, you’re not leaving,” she says, grabbing your shoulders and steering you toward her desk.

Nyla smiles at Tim, and he sighs before following.

“Tell me exactly what happened between you two,” Angela commands.

You look past her before tensing, and Tim immediately catches on. He follows your line of vision and sees Nolan and Celina booking someone. You shrink in on yourself, and Tim moves to block your view.

“Get her out of here,” he tells Angela.

Angela doesn’t wait before obeying, ushering you into the bullpen and out of sight.

“What’s the charge?” Tim asks Celina.

“Assault. Beat up a woman outside a diner,” she answers.

Tim’s jaw tightens at the knowledge that this man made you nervous this morning, reminding you of your ex. He hates abuse in every situation, but when you’re involved, his protectiveness and anger differ. Tim leaves before saying or doing something he’ll regret.

When he finds you in the bullpen, he takes one look at you before hugging you. It’s quick, but Angela and Nyla look at each other in shock.

“So, you’re good?” Nyla asks.

“We were never bad,” you reply. “Just wanted to get back at Angela for trying to set us up.”

“It worked?” Angela inquires excitedly.

“Not yet.”

“Not yet?” Tim repeats, looking over at you. He shrugs as he concedes, “Okay.”

✯✯✯✯✯

When Tim gets home, he drops his stuff by the door, raising his arms in question as he looks at you. “Not yet? What is that supposed to mean?”

“You haven’t made a move. How do I know you’re not just protective and caring under that handsome, gruff exterior?” you ask with a shrug.

Tim shakes his head, cupping the back of your head gently as he kisses you. You raise your hands over his chest to hold his jaw, pushing yourself closer as you reciprocate his every move.

“Because I don’t protect just anyone like this,” he says against your lips.

You kiss him again before asking, “Does this mean you can reduce my rent?”

Tim rolls his eyes, tucking you against his side where you’re safe from everything and everyone. 

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

All In 6

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, age gap, power imbalance, low self esteem, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: you meet a mysterious man on a night out with your sister. (petite!reader)

based on the winning option for this poll

Characters: casino owner!Bucky Barnes

Note: sleepy af

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

“You need a box, doll?” Bucky flutters his fingers toward your plate, “you don’t gotta finish all that.” 

You look down at the untouched half of your sandwich. You’d barely poked at the pesto salad on the side either. You can’t help it; your stomach is swirling like a storm. Aside from that, you’re so self-aware that you make certain each bite is tidy and small.  

You bring the napkin to your lips before you answer, “oh, sure, I guess. Um, thank you.” 

“You have a big breakfast?” He wonders as he lifts his glass, squinting at its emptiness. 

“I...” you sniff. You didn’t eat at all. “I’m too nervous.” 

You cringe as your honestly flows free. You don’t know why you said that. Maybe it’s the similarly empty glass in front of you. He smiles, his dimples showing handsomely on his bearded cheeks. 

“You don’t gotta be,” he sets the glass down, his forearm across the table. “Is it me? I make you nervous.” 

You look away and cup your chin. You purse your lips and inhale slowly. You dare to face him again. You nod into your hand. 

“What about me makes you nervous?” He wonders, his eyes sparkling. It has to be obvious. So obvious that he must be teasing you. 

“You know,” you murmur. 

“Genuinely curious,” he clears his expression and sits back, “we’re having a good time. Good chat. So... you’re nervous, why?” 

“Because you’re...” your brows squiggle, “you. I’m just me.” 

“And what’s so bad about being just you?” 

You scoff, “I think... maybe you made a mistake. I’m not... anything.” 

“What does that mean?” He prompts. 

Before you can answer, Hailee appears. The slim server offers you a refill. Bucky waits for you to answer first. You decline and he puts his hand over his own glass. 

“We’ll take the cheque,” he says and she flits off to do his bidding. He returns his attention to you before you can shrink further, “well... what do you mean?” 

Your eye drift evasively. He just latches on and doesn’t let go. It’s overwhelming. You watch Hailee as she taps the tablet on the bar top across the roof. You glance at Bucky again. 

“I’m not tall or thin or a supermodel,” you say quietly. He leans in as he tilts his head thoughtfully. 

“If I wanted that, that’s who would be sitting here with me. I don’t mind that you’re a little small. It’s... I like it, actually. And a supermodel? Doll, those types got nothing on you.” 

You touch your cheeks then drag your hands away, “thanks, but...” 

“But?” He echoes. 

“Nothing. Nothing,” you assure him meekly, “I just... I’m not sure about all this.”  

Hailee once more returns. She hands Bucky the bill and he doesn’t even look at it as he slides his wallet out of his pocket. He hands her his card and the slip of paper. Once more, she’s off. 

“Not sure?” He says. 

“Sorry, I just...” once more you look at the server as she swipes his card. When you look back, Bucky’s watching you intently, “please keep your money. You paid for lunch, that’s enough.” 

“But doll--” 

“Please, I don’t feel right taking it,” you put your palms out and drop your hands, “thank you for lunch but I’m not cut out for this.” 

“Hm,” he clicks his tongue and leans his chin on his knuckles, “don’t decide right now. I get it. It’s a lot at once. So think about it and get back to me.” 

“I... I’m telling you,” you wilt, “I don’t think... I’m not what you think I am.” 

“I have no idea what you are, doll,” he extends his fingers under his chin, “but I like what I see and I want more.” 

You shakily bring your hand to your neck. He can’t mean it. He can’t want you. No way. If you say yes, how long does that last? You didn’t come here for lunch or an ‘arrangement’. You need a job. You need something sustainable. 

Besides, you never thought you’d ever consider being a prostitute. That’s what he’s suggesting, isn’t it? You’re pathetic but you have some standards. 

You sigh. You said no once, maybe more, maybe not firmly enough, but he’s not hearing you. So you will ‘think about it’ and repeat yourself later. 

“Alright,” you agree as you lean back and pull your hands into your lap. 

“All I’m asking for is a chance,” he says. Your heart pulses tightly. He’s asking you? “Let’s get your leftovers packed up and I'll take you home.” 

“Oh, uh, I can get a cab--” 

“Nah,” he waves you off, “I’m here. Merv’s gotta get me back to the casino as it is.” 

🃏

“You’ll call me, won’t you, doll?” Bucky asks as Merv stops outside the curb of your mother’s house. 

You peek up through the tinted window and back at the man beside you. He shamelessly has his arm stretched over the seat above your shoulders, the scent of his cologne invading your nostrils. You nod dumbly before you process his words. 

“Yeah, I will,” you assure him as you undo your seat belt and untangle your purse from the strap. 

“Don’t leave me hanging,” he pulls his arm away and brushes your shoulder then down your sleeve. 

“I won’t, like I said... I’ll think about it,” you reach for the handle and he hums. 

“I had a good time. I like talking to you, doll.” 

You stop yourself from fleeing like you so desperately want to do. You turn back to him. You’re struck by him, not for the first time. Someone like him noticed you and did all this. It feels like you’re drowning. You can barely think straight. 

 “Me too. It was really nice,” you breathe. 

He stares at your, almost expectantly, and his lips curve slightly. Are you forgetting something? Heat speckles over your cheeks. Is he leaning in? 

“Hey, don’t forget your leftovers,” he sits back and reaches to the other side of the seat, picking up the box. 

“Oh, thanks,” you take it, your fingers touching his. 

“Don’t let me keep you, ‘cause I will,” he winks, “I’m sure you got someone waiting for you.” 

“Uh, yeah, my mom won’t be home yet but...” you suppress your irrelevant thoughts. You’ll give the sandwich and salad and to Roxie. She never complains for free food. “Yeah, er, thanks.” 

He chuckles and claps his hand down on your leg, “too sweet, doll. It’s my pleasure and there’s a lot more where that came from.” He squeezes and removes his hand, “just making a last-ditch case for myself.” He inhales and his shoulders rise and he fixes his collar, “have a good one, alright? Take it easy, think...” 

“I will,” you affirm once more, “er, bye.” 

You open the door and barely keep from tripping onto the curb. You peer back one last time and attempt a smile, trying to hide the sinking pit in your chest. You don’t need to think about it. You simply cannot give him what he wants. 

You shut the door and back up. You stand cluelessly and wait. When the car doesn’t move, you spin and scurry away. God, how much more awkward can you get? 

You resist the urge to look back as you let yourself in through the front door. The TV babbles from the next room as you twist the lock. Roxie lazes across the couch as the fan oscillates over her. The summer heat has the space stuffy and sticky. The rented house doesn’t have central air and the portable AC crapped out last year. 

“Hey,” you come up to the back of the couch, your anxiety still buzzing behind your ears. You feel different and you feel like she’ll sense it in an instant. You almost want her to say something. 

She doesn’t look away from the screen as she grumbles back at you. 

“Um, mom’s not home yet, right?” 

“Don’t think so,” she yawns, her arm draped above her head against the arm rest. “It’s like three. You sleep all day?” 

You frown. She usually sleeps later, granted, she works until sunlight most nights. 

“No, I had an interview.” 

“Huh, Wendy’s?” She asks. It’s probably an innocent question and a fair assumption, but it still cuts like an insult. 

“No, uh, whatever, I don’t think I got it.” 

“Too bad,” she says. 

You leave her. She’s too enraptured with her reality TV binge. You suppose if you were just waiting to start working, you might just want to shut off too. That’s exactly what you want in that moment. To stop thinking about everything. 

It’s not just Bucky and his offer or whatever you should call it. It’s about your mom and Roxie and being the resident disappointment. You don’t like being dead weight but it seems like it’s all you’ll ever be. There’s more than just yourself to think about in this and yet you just can’t see yourself saying yes. 

You don’t really know what you’re saying yes to. What is it exactly that Bucky wants from you? Sunny lunches and conversations about disco music? You don’t think that’s it but you’re too afraid to think about the implication behind his proposition. 

So you won’t. You won’t-- you can’t accept it. You can’t bring yourself to do... that for money. If you did and your mother ever knew the truth, you shudder to think. No, you can tell an easier lie. 

Sorry, mom, didn’t pan out. Again. But I’ve been applying all around. I’ll get something. 

🃏

The first text Bucky sends, you respond to. It’s the same day as your interview. No, that’s not what it was. He sends a good night and you echo the sentiment. It’s easier to pretend behind a screen. 

You don’t sleep well despite his tidings. You toss and turn and don’t drag yourself out of bed until noon. Your mom’s already at work and you can’t stand to face her. Not since you told her it was another dead end. Roxie’s snoring in her room. 

You go out on the back steps and sit in the sun. It’s all muddled. You know you shouldn’t. You won’t. That’s not you. And even if you could find the courage to say yes, you’re just not that girl. You aren’t the one to be flaunted on a rich guy’s arm. Or the kind to go for manicures and to wear layers of contour. And that’s what he’ll want, even if he says now, it isn’t. Men just want pretty things and you’re not. 

The days pass in a similar idle daze. Every night, he texts. A little back and forth but you say you’re tired and check out after his usual, ‘sweet dreams, doll.’ Two days, three days, four, five, six. A whole week and you know that you have to say it. No. It’s almost as hard as a yes would be. 

When the ‘good morning’ pops up in your notifications, you’re frozen. You can’t even fake it. You can’t hit the automated reply generated by the app. You just lock your phone and put it in your nightstand drawer. You’re a coward, just like you’ve always been. 

You scroll through the job boards. You’ve been spending most of your waking hours trawling them. The postings don’t come as quickly as you apply. Some, you’re sure, you’ve submitted your resume to at least twice. Well, that shows dedication, right? 

You hear your mom come home just after five. You finally sit up from your chronic hunch and groan at the pang between your shoulders. Ugh, that’s not good. You get up and come out as your mother sighs and drops her purse on the table. 

“Hey, I took some drumsticks out,” you say, “I’m gonna do the buffalo sauce.” 

“Oh, hon, that’s amazing, I’m so tired,” she drops into a chair and props a foot on her knee, rubbing her arch, “I need new insoles.” 

You watch her guiltily, chewing your lip. Even if you’re not going to say yes, you almost wish you’d taken that thousand dollars. She wouldn’t have to do overtime so much. You cross your arms. 

“What do you want with it? We got some of the crinkle fries or--” 

The doorbells chimes and you hesitate. It isn’t often it rings. Not for anyone by the landlord on an impromptu visit. You peer over at the same time as your mom. She sends you a curious look as she stands. 

She hobbles away and you feel guilty for letting her. You shy away and wait by the counter. You listen to her footfalls and the schlock of the front door latch as she slides it back. It opens with the usual squeak and you hold your breath as you listen. A low drone meets your mother’s exhausted hello. 

Oh. It wouldn’t be... It can’t be. You assure yourself that you don’t recognise the timbre but even your denial isn’t that strong.  

Slowly, you make your way to the hall and creep down towards your mom as she keeps the door half-way shut against her. It’s him. You hear him say your name. Oh gosh. 

“I’m just following up on her interview. I called but maybe her battery died?” Bucky says. 

You wince and near your mom. 

“Uh, yes, she’s here, I’ll just go--” 

“Mom,” you interject and she jumps in surprise. 

“Oh,” she trills with laughter, “there she is.” 

She lets the door open as you step up next to her, your chest fraught with dread. You stare at Bucky as his blue eyes bore into you. Your mom touches your elbow gently. You’re suddenly overly conscious of your pajama pants and baggy tee. 

“I’ll let you two... chat,” she retreats and leaves you there to his mercy. You can’t beg her to stay without giving yourself away. 

As she heads back down the hall, you step outside and draw the door shut. You know better than to trust her not to eaves drop. How many times had she listened through the doorway when Roxie had one of her boyfriends over. 

“Hey, doll,” Bucky crosses his arms. Is he mad? Does he know you were ignoring him or does he really think your phone died?

“Hi, uh...” 

“You didn’t answer my texts,” he intones. 

“Um, yeah, I... I’ve been... distracted.” 

He nods, a skeptical wrinkle in his forehead, “sure. It's been a week, lots of time to think.” 

You gape up at him. He wants an answer. Now. You have one, but you just can’t say it. You’re silent as tension roils in the humid air. He swoops back a dark lock but doesn’t break his gaze. 

“Look, I... I appreciate your offer and everything else but what you’re asking... if my mom knew...” 

“Hm, yeah,” he puts his hands on his hips, “I thought of that too. You’re a sweet thing and I can see she loves you. It’s unorthodox but I only wanna take care you. Not everyone will understand that.” 

“Right, so I don’t think--” 

“Well, I think she’d be more suspicious if you walked in there and told her I came all the way here not to offer you a job,” he insists, “don’t you?” 

“Y-yeah, but--” you sputter. 

“So, she doesn’t need to know why I’m here, does she? You can tell her you’re working at the casino.” 

“Sure, but I don’t...” you shake your head and look down. He’s right.  

If you tell your mom you missed out on another job, you don’t think you could ever look her in the eye again. It wouldn’t just be another let down but an actual lie. You have an opportunity here. Maybe not the one you thought, but it’s money. After years of living off your mom’s hard work, you owe her. What’s a secret to her not having to work twelves? 

“We get along, don’t we?” He asks. 

You nod. He’s been less than unkind. You can’t really name a single fault on his part. 

“So, I don’t get it. The money, it’s just a bonus,” he explains, “don’t think of it as me paying you to spend time with me, so much as us enjoying each other and both getting the perks from that.” 

“But... but...” you wet your lips with your tongue and clamp them tight. 

He’s cornered you. If you had a few more hours, you could’ve found the strength to take your phone out and type out your rejection but face-to-face? You’re hopeless and you think he knows that. He watches you expectantly. He isn’t hoping, he knows. 

You blow out between your lips and turn your head away, “she can’t ever know.” 

“Doll, for you, I'll keep my lips sealed,” he says, “whatever you want, you got it. That’s the deal.” 

[unreliablesnake]

One more drink, he said (Simon Riley x reader)

Summary: Soap encourages you to drink a little more, and Ghost has to deal with the consequences.

Note: Ghost being a coward and he knows it.

“Just one more drink,” Soap said while he put the glass of tequila in front of you. 

Ghost knew it wasn’t a good idea, but as long as you enjoyed yourself, he wasn’t about to stop you. The hangover tomorrow would probably teach you a lesson anyway. It always did. And he also knew about the perks of you getting drunk with the Scotsman. Drinking a little too much usually turned you into a needy little kitten who crawled over to him for some attention, and since it was clear you were fully aware of what you were doing, he didn’t even feel bad about sleeping with you on these nights. 

And sure enough, an hour and four more shots later you went after him to the back of the bar, as if you’d just gotten the idea from him to use the restroom too. You took his hand and pulled him back to you. He stood there with his eyes on you, giving you an expectant look as he waited for you to say it out loud. He needed to hear you ask for it, beg for it, tell him you couldn’t spend the night alone. 

“Will you come to my room?” you asked him with a wicked smile. 

“What do you want? I need to hear it, love.” 

You sneaked your arms around his waist and rested your head on his chest. “I want you to fuck me, Simon,” you mumbled so quietly that he barely caught it. 

With a deep laugh, Ghost wrapped his arms around you. “Yeah? Are you this desperate?” he asked before placing a soft kiss on top of your head through his mask. He felt you nod, your fingers digging into his back as you desperately tried to glue yourself to him. “Say you want to go back to the base and I’ll offer to walk you there to make sure you’re safe.” 

You finally let go and nodded again. He went to the restroom where he was going anyway, while you returned to the others. By the time he joined the group again, you were sitting there with your head resting on Soap’s shoulder as he was explaining something with wide gestures. Ghost stopped a few tables away from the team, using this opportunity to take in the sight of his chosen family enjoying themselves on their night out. 

And then his eyes landed on you, this beautiful young thing who was for some strange reason attracted to him on these drunken nights. Sometimes he wondered if you had any kind of feelings for him when you were sober, but you never showed any signs of this. You kept your distance, you were an obedient soldier, so he always assumed it was just an alcohol-fueled thing between the two of you. 

But he wished it was more than that. Every time he slept with you when you asked for it, he thought about this being a way of using you. After all, you were drunk, you couldn’t think straight. Yet you seemed so sure of this, and even in the mornings you didn’t seem to regret being with him. The soft kisses you placed across his scarred chest, your fingertip drawing circles into his skin as you watched him; these all made him think if you put some effort into whatever this was, you could do this outside of missions too. 

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Gaz wave his hand to get him to return to them, so he walked back to the team and picked up his half empty glass of beer that was sitting on the table between them. When he noticed Soap whisper something to you with a wide smile on his face, and then he saw you giggle with your hand in front of your mouth, he felt a pang of jealousy. He knew you probably didn’t want anything from him, but he wasn’t sure the fellow sergeant wasn’t looking at you in a different way. He always looked for the opportunity to touch you, to talk to you, and this made him worry. What if one day you would choose him?

“I think I had more than enough to drink. I’ll go back to the base, you guys just stay and enjoy the rest of the night,” you suddenly announced as you stood up and tried to find your balance. 

Ghost finished his drink and put the glass back on the table. “I’ll walk you back. Wouldn’t want anything to happen to you on the way,” he said as he also stood up. 

He could see the look on Price’s face, as if he knew what this was all about, but he didn’t say anything. For this, he was honestly grateful. He didn’t need a lecture, he just wanted to enjoy this night and worry about everything else later. If he truly knew, he would surely say a few words about it later. 

By the time the two of you were walking down the street, you had your fingers laced with his and you were trying to explain something to him, something he couldn’t quite understand. It didn’t really make any sense, it sounded more like a rant about a friend of yours. But then you said the word boyfriend. So you weren’t talking about a male friend, you were talking about your boyfriend. You had a boyfriend. How stupid could he be? 

“Why are you so quiet?” you suddenly asked him, coming to a halt and pulling him back to you. 

He swept a strand of hair behind your ear and leaned down to you. “You have a boyfriend?”

You looked confused at first, but then you slowly understood why he asked you this out of nowhere. “I was talking about an ex.” 

“Didn’t sound like it.”

“Are you jealous?” you asked teasingly. 

Ghost pulled you into a kiss, the type of kiss that wanted to show you how much he appreciated your company, how much he wished you didn’t play these stupid games with him. Even when he pulled away, you were standing there with your eyes closed and a cute smile on your face. “I’m not jealous,” he lied. 

Apparently being drunk didn’t make you dumb, you saw right through him. “So you are jealous,” you noted with a laugh. “It’s okay, I like it when you’re jealous.”

By the time the two of you reached your room, Ghost could barely keep himself under control. The moment the door closed, he pulled you against his chest and grabbed your chin to make you look up at him. You wanted to stand on your toes to kiss him, but he didn’t let you, not yet. This made you a little disappointed, but that cute little pout didn’t make him change his mind. He wanted you to wait, he wanted you to be so desperate that you were begging for him to finally do something. 

After a few seconds you were already moving your hands closer to his jeans, slowly unbuttoning it, ready to get him out of it. But he stopped you which drew a pathetic whine out of you. “Say it,” he instructed you.

“Please,” you asked, “I need you, Simon.”

He let his thumb slip into your mouth with a satisfied smirk on his lips. “That’s my good girl,” he replied quietly as he leaned down to place a soft kiss on the tip of your nose. “But you have to wait. I’ll grab a bottle of water first. You want one?”

When he let go of you and turned around to walk to the small fridge on the other side of the room, he heard you sob behind him. It made him sad, sure, he didn’t like to see you cry, but here between these walls this was like music to his ears. You were oh-so-desperate to have him that the way he rejected you made you cry. It was a small win. 

So he returned to you and put the bottle on the nightstand next to the bed. You wiped your tears with the sleeve of your sweater, and he didn’t hesitate to cup your face with his hands. “There’s no need to cry. I just want you to learn a little patience. You might be cute, but crying doesn’t work on me.”

You curled your fingers around his forearm as you looked into his amber eyes, causing Ghost to reconsider the tough love game he was playing. But if he didn't draw the lines now, you wouldn't behave in the future. Not like you would remember this in the morning. He truly assumed you always did your best to forget about these nights.

A few agonizingly slow minutes later he finally leaned down to kiss you, smiling to himself when he felt you wrap your arms around his body as you moved closer to him. You sighed into the kiss, fingers burying into his hair while he picked you up and laid you down on the bed. He took his time with you, making sure he was gentle and loving, the exact opposite of how rough he could be on these nights.

And once again, as he lied next to you in bed after pulling several orgasms out of you, he thought about why he couldn’t keep things casual. He loved you, but there was no way he would risk ending whatever this was by telling you the truth when you were sober. He was too afraid of losing you for good. And for that, he truly hated himself. He was a coward. It was that simple. 

[gatorbites-imagines]

Poly ghostface comfort cuddles? Maybe m/n is having body dysmorphia or got into a fight with their parent(s)? have a lovely day/afternoon/night luv! ( *ˊᵕˋ* )

Billy Loomis x Male reader x Stu Macher

Headcanons

Who would have thought that getting closer to graduation would be so exhausting, but the train must keep chugging. Im not sure I showed body dysmorphia correctly, but I tried my best based on my understanding of it.

Not super long, but I hope it’s still enjoyable.

The lack of gifs of these two together is starting to tire me out.

Stu or Billys place would be the usual place you three hang out, so you showing up at Stus door wouldn’t be anything new or strange. But the fact that you looked near tears would put your normally goofy and loud lover on edge.

You would be wearing multiple layers, a sweater, a hoodie, and a jacket on top of that, just so you didn’t have to perceive yourself in any way. Just seeing your own reflection in the glass was enough to make you wanna curl in on yourself and disappear.

Billy would already be there as Stu pulled you inside, the two of them having probably been watching another trashy horror flick, or going over whatever plans they had for running around at night as Ghostface.

Billy may have always been the more perspective out of you three, but Stu wasn’t stupid. He could easily tell what the issue was when you struggled to even pull your jacket off, and the way you were hugging yourself only proved it further.

Hearing Stus worried tone as he spoke to you got Billy to emerge from wherever the two had been hanging out before, a worried furrow appearing on his face as his brows furrow. As Billy joins you two to check on you, Billy and Stu have something akin to a silent conversation with their eyes, both already knowing what to do.

So as Stu keeps you distracted with his doting and kissing, trying to keep your mind off how uncomfortable you feel in your own body and just existing in general, Billy will hurry up into Stus room to get everything ready.

And by getting ready, I mean getting rid or just covering the few mirrors Stu has, pulling the blinds down and turning off the lights, as well as setting up blankets and pillows to make the king sized bed Stu most definitely has more comfortable.

Stu is so good at keeping you distracted that you don’t even notice hes gotten you up the stairs and to his room until you guys are already there. There, Billy is already ready for you guys to join him on the bed. Hes most likely thrown his shirt off to the side somewhere along with his shoes, and now he’s waiting for you to crawl into his arms.

Neither of them make demands for you to take all your layers off, even as Stu crawls up behind you to hold you from behind, his arms wrapping around both you and Billy. They know commenting about it could just make it worse, so instead they just talk about everything under the sun, letting you settle down and take it at your own pace.

Turning the lights down and keeping in the dark helps you feel like seen, which makes it easier to peel some of your layers off when it starts to get way too hot between the two of them and under the blankets.

Billy being Billy would also find some way to sneak in comments to help you feel less ugly or uncomfortable, as he has a way of just saying stuff and making it feel like a fact. Stu being as excitable and energetic as he is would just gush about how much he likes you, without commenting about your looks. But they wouldn’t outright bring it up, since it could just worsen your state.

They would take it at your pace, letting you take all the time you need, but they would also make sure you don’t hurt or judge yourself too much, keeping your mind off what’s been bothering you until it isn’t weighing on you as much, or you are able to come out of your comfort zone.

[l0ngschl0ngking]

I want you to give in

Javier Peña x f!reader

summary: what happens after you find Javier at your doorstep?

warnings: SMUT (oral - f!receiving, vaginal fingering, pussy drunk Javi, Javi cums in his pants -yeah 3:)- unprotected p in v, praise kink, creampie, cum eating), mentions of alchocol comsumption, tipsy Javier, cursing, fluff and Javi being the softie he really is

word count: 3.5k

A/N: also this fic was based on edit from @cany0nangel (it doesn’t let me copy the link to it) on TikTok so check it out!

Off all the people you expected to see at your doorstep on Saturday night, it for sure was not Javier fucking Peña. He waers his usual leather jacket paired with the tightest jeans you’ve ever seen - his ass always looked good in those. A few droplets of sweat rolls down his torso - of course, a few buttons on his pink shirt unbuttoned.

“Can I come in or will you let me stand here all night?” his words are a little slurred and he smells like whiskey. You bite back a retort - opening your door wider to let him into your apartment.

Closing the door you turn,  raising one brow at him expecting some kind of explanation on why he was here. He scans you from your head to your toes, appreciating look passing behind his eyes.

“You look nice,” he says. Shrugging his jacket off, and placing it on your couch. You have your favorite dress on. The yellow one with little daisies adorning it. It flatters your body well.

He looked almost at home in your apartment. Well, it made sense. You were pretty sure he was here more often than he was at his own apartment -except the times when he has company over - but right now he was nervous. Or it seemed so. You two were co-workers and dared you say - friends. Kind of. It was complicated. When it came to Javier Peña everything was complicated. “You look more than nice actually, you look incredible, Hermosa.”

Blush creeps on your face. Trying to hide it, you look down -your shoes far more interesting than the man standing a few feet away from you. Looking back at him you offer a smile. “Thank you, Javi. You still didn’t answer my question, though.”

He scans your living room even though he knows it like the back of his hand. Coming to your cabinet where you stash his favorite whiskey - he takes out two glasses and fills both of them. You hastily accept, confused still. This wasn’t the usual Javier you were used to. Cocky and confident. This was someone very different. Fidgeting while doing anything but holding eye contact. You take a sip of the whiskey which burns your throat pleasantly and come to stand next to Javi. He looks at you then and you take his glass which is now almost empty and put both of your glasses on your kitchen counter.

“Javier I know you are drunk-“

“I’m not drunk,” he says confidently, his brows furrowing a little.

“Okay, so you are a little tipsy. That still doesn’t answer my question.” You try to search for his eyes. He sits down on your couch, fidgeting with his hands and tapping his foot against your floor. You sigh, not expecting any answer from him. You don’t know what’s going on with him but you certainly don’t have time for this.

Grabbing your keys from your kitchen counter you stop to stand right in front of him. “Be my guest. You can sleep on the couch if you want to. But if I stay here any longer I’m going to miss my date, Javi. And this guy is too sweet to pass out on.”

As you turn on your heels to leave, he grabs your wrist. Your neck almost snaps as you look at him. His touch burns your skin in the best way possible.

“Don’t go, Hermosa,” he says so quietly you almost don’t hear him. Almost. Oh, but how you wish you didn’t. Javi meant trouble. Especially when it came to women and you were not immune to his certain charm.

“What?” Dumbfounded you ask. He makes eye contact with you and oh. Oh. His dark eyes hold such vulnerability in them you’ve never seen before. He opens his mouth to say something but closes it right after. You are known to be patient but right now - seconds feel like hours. Days. Lifetime even.

“Javi-“ he grabs onto your wrist tighter as if you would disappear if he didn’t. He drags you to him - standing in front of him once again he looks up at you and takes one of your hands. Turning it over he brings it to his lips and places a kiss right in the center of your palm. A gasp leaves your mouth. You feel there is not enough oxygen in this god-forsaken room.

And when you look at him and see the way he smiles - because he sees the effect he has on you, you want to slap him. You want to scream and kick and cry - because he is only playing with you. He knows about your stupid little crush on him. You shake your head at him, tears ready to escape your eyes. And he lets go of you instantly, concern crossing his face. He gulps dryly, Adam’s apple bobbing. And you feel like you lost your voice because you want to say so many things but nothing comes out of your mouth. And that’s just because of him.

“Javi-“ you say his name brokenly. “Please don’t. You are drunk.” the tears are now falling freely from your eyes. You try to wipe them quickly - maybe he didn’t notice. But why are you trying to lie to yourself? It’s Javi. He already noticed and he reaches for your face quickly, wiping them for you. Placing his thumbs on your cheeks, he swipes his thumbs up and down.

“Hermosa, fuck. I am not drunk. I swear. I-“ he stops himself. Breathing in deeply and exhaling he softly orders you to look at him. And you do. “I-I don’t want you to go on that date with that fucker because-because-fuck.” he curses startling you a little. “Because I can’t bring myself to imagine you with some guy. I want you.” You shake your head in disbelief. No, he can’t mean that. It’s Javier Peña. He sleeps around and flirts with anything that wears skirts. But fuck, when you look at him, he has this sincere look on his face. And you’ve never seen him like that.

“Hermosa, listen to me. I want to show you I mean it. Will you let me?” He strokes his thumbs on your cheeks again and it is the most soothing thing you’ve ever experienced. “Will you let me show you how I meant every word I said right now?” And you nod. Once, twice.

And then he softly places his lips on yours. You close your eyes as he pushes you closer to him. One of his hands goes into your hair and the other slides down onto your lower back. And fuck, he licks your lips with his tongue and you moan - his tongue slipping into your mouth and it gets messy. He kisses you passionately - teeth clashing, tongues fighting for dominance. He tries to push you against him more but it’s not possible. He fucking wants you two to become one person.

He grinds against you, and your eyes roll in the back of your head. You feel his bulge against your thigh and you squeeze him. He parts away from you and moans, his eyes falling shut while you start squeezing him through his jeans. His breath is ragged as is yours and he snaps his hips into your hand -desperate, needy. Putting his forehead against yours he opens his eyes - you are pretty sure he stares into your soul. And then as if something snaps inside of him - he grabs your hand, stopping you in your movements. You whine in protest but he starts kissing your neck - licking, nipping, sucking. You are pretty sure you will have bruises there tomorrow but you cannot give a bigger fuck. And slowly he starts sinking to his knees and your mouth forms into an “o”. His hands snake behind your thighs pulling you closer to him. And you’ve never seen a more beautiful sight.

“Fuck, Hermosa. So beautiful. Take it off.” his voice is raspy and the way he orders you sends a chill down your spine. You fumble with the dress - Javier grabbing every ounce of newfound skin he can put his hands on. When you finally get that damn dress off you he swings back on his heels - appreciating the view.

“So pretty for me.” He says as he places butterfly kisses on your thigh. Then the other one. Slowly. Painfully slowly making his way up to your exposed cunt. He tssks. “No panties. Were you trying to get lucky? Hm?” you just shake your head unable to form any sentence. One of his hands snakes on your butt - gripping, squeezing, and then he slaps you across it. Your body jumps forward -closer to him and you moan. He soothes the stink with his hand. “Answer me, Hermosa.”

“N-no.” And you sound so fucking pathetic right now but you couldn’t care less. Javier Peña is on his fucking knees for you.

“Good.” That’s all the warning you get before he places his nose between your folds and fucking inhales your scent. He licks his lips and dives right in. You choke out a sob and put your hands in his hair because if you don’t hold onto something you will certainly fall onto your knees.

He eats you out like a man starved while grabbing and pinching and gripping your thighs, your butt, and your hips. Anything he can get his hands on. You cannot do anything else but endure his advances. You cry out when he sucks your clit into his mouth - he hums and looks back at you and you close your eyes. You are so fucking close. Embarrassingly quickly. You are feeling pathetic. Moans and cries of his name are the only things coming out of your mouth. You can’t even recognize yourself.

And he feels almost as pathetic as you. Humping the air, the zipper of his jeans causing delicious friction against his painfully hard dick. He almost cums in his pants when you grip his hair tighter and start grinding down on him. “Fuck, Hermosa, fuck yes. Use me.” And so you do. The noises he makes while eating you out are obscene and you love it. He seems to enjoy this more than you - if it’s possible. You are right there on edge, his grip on you getting tighter.

“Fuck, Javi I am almost there-“ And with that he slows down, kissing your clit. You want to cry - a broken plea echoing through the room. Fidgeting in his grip you beg him to keep going. He looks back up at you and while holding eye contact - putting two of his fingers in his mouth. It is fucking nasty. Obscene. This right here looks like a scene straight up from some porn. His eyes are glassy and he doesn’t even look like he heard what you said. But before you can say anything else he dives right back in and now his fingers slowly make their way into your cunt.

You arch your back, your eyes falling shut once again. It never felt his good. He starts to stretch you open, his fingers curling inside you and then back out. And again. And again. His tongue finds its way back to your clit, licking lazily -setting a totally different phase from his fingers. He is looking at you, seeing how your mouth stays wide open - moans falling out of it. Your brows are furrowed and sheens of sweat are coming down your throat. Fuck, he wants to bite it.

“Come on, Hermosa, give it to me. I can feel that you are so close,” he says while his fingers still work their way inside and out of you. The only thing falling from your lips is “yes, yes, yes, so close, Javi, yes, don’t stop”. He closes his eyes focusing on finding that one spot and when you almost double over him he knows he found it. A winning smirk making its way onto his lips. “Hermosa, look at me.” So you do.

And you think you might pass out from the sight between your legs. His fingers are relentless and his tongue is licking you,  and you can see the dark spot od precum on his jeans. He is fucking the air, and when he looks right back at you and rolls his eyes in the back of his head saying “so good, so fucking good, Hermosa” while kissing and licking your clit. The hair of his mustache fucking burns you in the best way possible and when he sucks on your clit and hums, the coil inside of you snaps. You grip his hair, and you can’t even hear anything because the only thing you can focus on is the fact that this is the best orgasm of your life. You don’t hear Javi curse and fucking moan and when you open up your eyes again he is licking his way inside of you - trying to clean you of your juices. You tug on his hair and he moans once again. Slowly making his way up on your body. He kisses your tummy, licking his way up your tits as he squeezes them. He pants and presses his forehead against yours as you grab him. And fuck, he is still hard but his pants are sticky and…when you open your eyes you see he has a big dark spot on his jeans.

Did he just-

The realization hits you and when your gaze meets his, shock is written all over your face. He kisses you harder than he had all night. His mouth is tired, but he still gives you everything you want. Anything. Pecking his lips you whisper “bedroom” and he nods immediately.

You grab onto his shirt, dragging him with you and when you arrive to your bedroom you push him onto the bed. He falls on it with a quiet huff and you immediately crawl on him, trying to get him as naked as you are. You quickly work in his shirt buttons but almost rip the whole shirt as you are too impatient. He pushes your hands away slowly sitting down with you - he kisses you softly again and starts unbuttoning it, finally taking it off.

“We have all night.” He says his eyes boring into yours and you smile. He mimics you, the little crinkles appear next to his eyes.

“Yeah, okay.” You say quietly and start kissing him again. Stroking him behind his ear and his whole body shudders. “Sensitive.” You smirk. He rolls his eyes saying you to “shut up“ as he kisses you again. The kisses are not rushed as they were before. They are still passionate but slow and sensual at the same time. You push him onto the mattress once more, slowly moving down his body while mapping it with your tongue. When you get to his zipper you slowly unzip it - carefully- and getting his jeans off him is a little tricky as they stick on him like if it was his second skin. Especially with the cum smeared on them. You can’t fucking believe he came in his pants while eating you out. You stroke him a few times and he hisses, sitting up again and pushing you onto the mattress. Kicking off his shoes and socks he crawls over you. Kissing your forehead, cheeks, and eyelids and then pecking you on your mouth.

“Condom?” He asks but you just shake your head. You want to feel him without any rubber and you are clean. You don’t know if he is, though. “I’m clean. Are you-?”

“Yes. Fuck. Yes. I haven’t slept with any informants for months now, Hermosa. Wanted only you. Still do. I’m clean. You sure?” He notches his dick at your entrance smearing the head in your juices. You are fucking soaked. No more prep is needed even if he is fucking big and thick.

“Yes, Javi. Want to feel you.” And with that, he nods, cupping one of your cheeks and kisses you. His tongue finds its way into your mouth and you sob into it when he pushes his dick inside of you slowly. It’s a fucking stretch but he feels incredible. He stops moving and when you say he can move he nods and presses his forehead against yours. “Yeah, fuck. Just give me a minute. You are fucking tight and wet, Hermosa.” So you wait as you want to enjoy it with him. And when he starts moving you almost cum right then and there.

His head notches against your g-spot with every drag of his cock. The pace is unhurried and sweet but still knocks the breath out of you. His forehead stays pressed up against yours, one of his hands finding its way into yours -tangling your fingers together. It’s strangely intimate and you don’t mind one bit you just did not expect something like that from Javier Peña.

You whine and moan and he holds your gaze while encouraging you. “Yeah, want to fucking hear you, Hermosa. Such a good girl for me.” He puts two of his fingers into your mouth and you suck them clean - the taste of you still lingering on them and he curses a few “fucks”. He removes them from your mouth and creates a path with them from your lips to your pussy. His pubic hair scratches your clit deliciously and when he starts rubbing it with his fingers you cry out, tugging on his hair - which you noticed he enjoys. A lot.

He growls, his pace becoming quicker. Everything mixes together - his cock, his fingers, his words. It has you falling over the edge with the cry of his name in no time. Your body seizing, your mind going blank and your pussy squeezing around him so tight he isn’t sure if he can move.

“Yes, fuck. Hermosa so fucking good.” He pants. When you finally come down from your high he is still pounding into you. His head is thrown back in pure bliss, the long line of his throat on full display as his Adam’s apple bobs. You lick him there and he sobs - kissing you hard he furrows his brows and the hand that is holding yours grabs onto it tighter.

“Fuck, Hermosa. Not gonna last long. Gonna cum. Where?” He husks. You don’t even have to think about it.

“Inside. Wanna feel you cum in me.” He whines pathetically. He kisses your neck, speeding up his movements, his balls slapping on your skin while he chases his high. You start meeting his thrust, feeling his hot breath on your throat. His eyes are lust-blown, and his brows furrowed as he kisses your shoulder.

The sound of him pounding into you is echoing throughout your small bedroom, both of you can hear the wet suck of your pussy -sucking him into you. He is pounding into you so hard you know you will feel sore tomorrow but you don’t care. Not when it feels this good.

He squeezes one of your breasts, his mouth sucking on your nipple and when he looks at you he looks completely blissed out. You know he is close when his rhythm starts to become jerky, his mouth finding its way into the crook of your neck panting there “so fucking god Hermosa” and then he softly bites you. You hiss when you feel the wet pulse of him coming inside you as he grumbles and moans. Talking you -or rather him- through it. His hips ground into you, fucking his cum deep inside you until it becoms too much and he stills inside you - soothing the bit flesh with his tongue. He slowly pulls out of you, his cum leaking on your sheets but you couldn’t care less right now as he pulls you onto his chest.

“So fucking good, Hermosa. This pussy was made for me. Wanna take you out. Do this properly.” He says, his head is spinning and he is blissed out and so are you but you look up at him with a smile on your face.

“Good. Can’t wait, Peña. If you didn’t I would have to reschedule with Patrick.” He growls at this. Playfully biting you on your breasts and slowly moving down. He pushes one of his fingers inside of you and you jerk away - still sensitive. He smiles and slowly kisses your inner thighs and you throw him a questioning look.

You had a long night ahead of you.

“What? Have to clean you, Hermosa.” And with that, he licks his cum and you throw your head back as he grabs one of your tits playing with the nipple.

Yeah, this was going to be a long night.

[specialagentartemis]

I just started trying out stained glass, which I know you also do...any hot tips for beginners or things you wish you'd known when you were first learning?

YOOO STAINED GLASS. Fave. I would love to see what you come up with!

Are you primarily using foil+solder or lead came? I've never actually used came so I have very little advice in that department, though I do want to at some point...

Some things to keep in mind, some imparted to me by my craft center teachers and some discovered by trial and error:

Get a designated box to cut glass over, because the more ambitious the shapes you want to cut, the more shards WILL go everywhere and you want to keep them contained.

If you're cutting glass by hand, you cannot make sharply concave shapes. You will think you can. You will think it can't be that hard. You WILL push your luck. You will end up frustrated. Avoid concave shapes.

If you want to cut concave curves, make them very gently and generously sloped.

If you want to incorporate concave shapes in your design, use multiple pieces of glass to make the curve.

Design with glass in mind from the get-go, rather than trying to adapt a complicated image. If you're designing your own work, try to build it around larger, geometric shapes, without a lot of small fiddly curves. Small fiddly curves DO make fun images, but they will also drive you crazy when they inevitably don't quite fit together right. Make sure you build in enough larger, geometric shapes into your design to anchor your piece and save your sanity.

That said. NGL incorporating things like fossils and marbles and weird shaped natural things is Fun. You can wrap anything you want in copper tape.

Draw or print out your pattern on paper and number each piece on both the pattern and the glass itself. Sharpie wipes off glass pretty easily.

When grinding glass, make sure each piece is ever so slightly smaller than it is on your pattern. The thickness of copper tape seems negligable but adds up when you want pieces to fit precisely.

There are non-lead solders, and they're basically fine, if a little more annoying to use. Lead melts more easily, but I usually use zinc because it's not lead lol. Though if you're not eating off of your stained glass, using lead proooobably isn't a huge deal. Always wash your hands after glasswork regardless.

Tip tinner is your friend! Tin the tip of your soldering iron before and after use, it makes it so much easier.

When you're soldering pieces together, I find laying down a base of thick cardboard, laying out your design on the cardboard, and then using thumbtacks around the edges to anchor the glass pieces in place and prevent them from sliding around helps a lot.

If you want to hang up your stained glass creation like a suncatcher, add loops or hooks, and try to put them at junctures/seams of different pieces of glass to distribute the weight and pressure. My go-to method to make loops for hanging the pieces is to take a metal paperclip, and then loop it around needlenose pliers to make a circle with the wire sticking straight out on either side. Lay the flat wire ends along the outside and solder it down. It makes good secure loops that you can tie a ribbon or attach a chain to, while distributing the pressure along the outside of the piece. And it’s metal so solder sticks to it.

I hope that's not too much! I love working in glass, it's fun and it's so pretty.

[pearlsinmyhair]

₊ ⊹ the price of the name.

synopsis: reader has had a hard life, and now she’s an orphan. but someone just as lonely comes into her life to take her under his wing.

warnings: some calm before the storm. miguel won’t compromise his morals. diet angst. cursing.

platonic!miguel x daughter-like!reader. no seriously, reader is eighteen and young. this is found family, not romantic. training begins, and with miguel it is anything but easy. but sometimes he softens.

part i

word count: 2k

part ii: star girl

　　　.   　　˚　　 　　*　　 　　✦　　　.　　.　　　✦　˚ 　　　　 

“there are a lot of things you’re going to have to keep up with.” miguel said to you as you both walked through the halls of the spider society. you didn’t miss the glances and stares as you passed, and it made you shift closer to him.

he glanced down at you before glaring at a spider who stared a bit too hard, and they scrambled away.

“excuse their attention, i don’t usually take on apprentices.” he said simply as he continued walking. you had to practically run to keep up with his long legs.

“rule number one, keep up. i don’t need a kid dragging me down on missions or runs around the base. you’re eighteen, you can handle that.” he said without looking at you. you had to fight the urge to scoff at that. did he even realize how fast he was walking?

“rule number two, you have to protect your universe just as much as others. you are the only spider woman of universe 348, so you need to be vigilant.”

he glanced back at you again before saying.

“rule number three, you have to keep your grades up.”

you paused at that, your step faltering. “excuse me?”

“you heard me. you need to stay sharp, and not just in your training.” he hovered his hand over the key reader to the training area, and the doors opened with a soft hiss.

she had figured that he was insanely smart in some subject, as all spider people were, but she hadn’t figured it out quite yet. she’d only known him for a week.

“okay, fine. i’ll keep my grades up. anything else?” she asked as she looked around at the various equipment around the gym, all high tech and sparkly.

“yep. rule number four, when i say jump, you say…” he looked at you pointedly.

“how…high?”

“good job, you understand one of the most universal phrases. now run a lap.” he said, putting his hands on his hips and nodding to the track.

you stood still, not quite used to miguel’s pentient for sarcasm. he snapped his fingers in front of your face.

“c’mon kid, out of the clouds. jump.”

you rolled your shoulders, letting out a sigh as you began to jog.

this was going to be so much fun.

₊ ⊹

as weeks passed, you were beginning to realize just how much of an oddity yours and miguel’s partnership was.

the spider society had begun to call you ‘star girl’. the name laced both awe and envy.

it was loosely based on your suit, you were sure. it was blue with a few little stars trailing down it to add ambiance. but it was also linked to rarity.

the looks did not fade as time passed. and some looks of curiosity hardened into ones of jealously.

miguel was the unofficial leader of the spider society, and he was a hard man to please. many spiders gunned for your position, wanting even just a nod from him. but they got nothing. most of them were lucky if they ever got a single word out of him at all.

you would argue that their idea of miguel was tainted by rose colored glasses.

getting morsels of praise from him was great, partially because you knew he meant it when he said it. but every thing else?

“you need to be quicker. one day you might need that second to sling a web to safety or save a civilian. you can never afford to be slow, y/n.”

“again. your right hook is still too weak. you can’t always rely on webs.”

“kick your leg higher.”

“your webbing aim is still lacking, kid.”

“again.”

“again.”

“again.”

you had never been worked so hard.

it all piled into one training session of hand to hand combat.

there was always one rule when they were on the mat: no hitting faces.

no kicks. no punches. no slaps. no webs.

so instead, miguel would catch your blows with his hands, allowing you to throw punch after punch into his palms, correcting your positioning and your power everytime.

“it’s still really weak, kid. again.” he said, taking a step back, widening his stance once more in preparation for your punch.

but you didn’t move. you had been getting worse and worse as the lesson went, completly lost and confused as miguel kept dismissing each of your attempts.

“i don’t know how.” you murmured.

“quit pouting and try again. if you give up this quickly in an actual fight, you’ll fail. do. it. again.” he demanded, unaware of how tears pricked your eyes in frustration.

“i said i don’t know how!” you yelled, voice cracking pathetically halfway through.

miguel actually took a step back at your outburst, eyes widening slightly. for a moment, you expected him to bite back, or send you home. but when he didn’t reply, you kept going.

“i don’t know how, miguel. you tell me again, but i don’t know how to correct it. i need you to show me, not just tell me.” you said softly, suddenly embarrassed and a little frightened at his silence.

he swallowed, and his expression softened.

“go…go get a drink of water, then i’ll show you.” he said, blinking as he glanced away from you.

you had to fight off the urge to raise your own brows, instead using this rare moment of mercy to chug down water from one of the bottles on the side.

when you stepped back on the mat, miguel stood beside you, showing you exactly how to hold your fist, then how to move your arm.

when he stood in front of you again, holding his hand up in preparation, you threw your fist with as much force as you could muster.

the resounding slap made you cringe, and you opened one eye to check miguel’s expression.

the asshole looked bored.

“still didn’t hurt.” he deadpanned, and you responded by shoving him. he took a step back, a move that would not be possible unless he allowed it.

“you didn’t let me finish. it didn’t hurt, but it was better.” he said, pushing your forehead with his pointer finger.

you smiled, happy that at least you were improving.

and to your surprise, miguel gave you a small smile of his own.

₊ ⊹

after that practice, miguel’s whole training model changed.

now four months later, he met you at the entrance to his office, fiddling with his watch until a glowing portal opened up. when you raised a brow at him, he simply stepped into the portal, not bothering to tell you to follow.

when you exited the in-between of the universes, you were surprised to find that you were in a massive forest full of trees as tall as buildings.

without so much as an introduction, miguel shot a web and swung away from you.

“hey! what the hell, mig?” you shouted, struggling to swing beside him.

he glared at you. “never, ever, call me that. and we’re working on your swinging today.”

you glared right back, fumbling to keep your balance in the new setting. “no shit. but did you have to leave me?”

he smirked, flashing his canines at you when you almost fell. “expect the unexpected, y/n. i thought i taught you better.”

you scoffed, before once again nearly dropping.

miguel reached a hand out to you on instinct, but you recovered your balance.

“okay, let’s start easy. swing and fwip.” he said, murmuring the words as you mimicked his actions.

you smiled at him as you got the hang of your new surroundings. “did you get pointers from peter b?”

his face became grim. “do not dare mention that mans name. it summons him.”

you chuckled at that, before you pulled your web hard and swung your body into a backflip.

“see, i’m not entirely incompetent.” you told miguel, continuing to swing with him as he gave you small pointers.

“i’m aware. but i need you to be in top shape for when you go on a mission soon.”

you stopped shooting webs, pausing and dropping to the leaf-covered ground.

miguel circled and landed before you.

“are you telling me i’m ready?” you asked, looking up at him in disbelief.

“i’m telling you that i think you can handle slight anomalies. nothing big yet, just little disturbances.” he said, keeping his expression blank.

you bounced on your toes, chewing at your lip in excitement.

four months of training, and you’d be in the field.

you fought down the urge to whoop in celebration, or jump, or something. this was miguel after all. he didn’t appreciate sudden expressions of joy in his general vicinity.

so instead you settled for a sincere “thank you.”

he nodded sagely, fwipping back up to the trees.

and you followed, shooting webs and flipping, eager to sharpen your technique.

because of this, you missed the proud smile across miguel’s face.

₊ ⊹

you opened the door to your bedroom, eager to get your suit off and shower when you spotted the white box on your bed.

it was unassuming, plain except for a small message written in absurdly neat handwriting.

‘star girl’

you glanced around your room, even going so far as to ask lyla to scan it. calling on her was something you didn’t do too often. even though she was an a.i., it still felt like she was a person and that you were annoying her.

the projected woman granted your wishes, turning to you to tell you that all was well. she wore a secretive smile across her digital lips as she looked at you, then the box.

you glanced at the cardboard.

“you know something.” you said, tone suspicious as you tried to study lyla for answers.

she shrugged. “best way to know is to open it.” she replied before disappearing into a cloud of pixels.

you shuffled over to the box, tracing the edge of it before lifting one corner. you glanced inside and promptly slammed the top shut.

no fucking way.

there was absolutely no way.

you took a step back, turning your back to the box.

you couldn’t accept that.

but it was left on your bed. with your nickname on it.

you sucked your teeth as you turned back and fully opened the box.

inside it sat a beautiful midnight-blue spider suit with flecks of white stars all along it. you lifted the body of the suit up by the armpits, studying the way that the webs along it became geometric like constellations.

the white lines around the sides and waist glittered and flickered.

nanotechnology.

only one person had the materials to do this. and only one would have the courage to give it to you.

miguel.

you clutched the suit to your chest, fighting the raw emotion that caught in your throat.

you told him how much you loved the stars, explaining each and every constellation you had included on your suit.

you flipped the fabric in your hands to check.

cassiopeia on the ribs. canis major on the base of your foot. orion tangled in the spider symbol on the chest.

he would never give it to you in person. no, that would be far too informal, far to unprofessional.

so you sat in your room, biting your lip to fight back tears as you stood in your empty house, holding the glittering gift to your body like a vice.

you wondered how many nights he had spent making this. he had told you how hard his suit was to make, how tedious the process was. and he had done it all again.

for you.

fuck being unprofessional. you wished that he had given it to you in person anyway.

“lyla?”

“yes, y/n? are you alright, hun?”

“can you tell miguel-” you swallowed as a tear trailed down your cheek. “can you tell miguel thank you? like, really thank you?”

“…of course, hun. get some rest.”

you sank to your knees in the quiet of your dead house and sobbed, wishing for all the world that someone was here.

masterlists | part iii

yeah it seems pretty wholesome rn, huh?

would be a shame if someone…changed that.

tag list:

@ladyfairenvale

[gh0stlyfixation]

Bad memories

Paring: Simon x fem!reader x König

Summary: Simon comes home to you a König but the mission was a bad one causing Simon to get in a mood, he takes it out on you and König puts Simon in his place.

This is kinda based on a fic I read a while ago, however, I can’t remember who wrote it! So if it sounds a little familiar and you know who wrote it please let me know so I can link there’s❤️

I've been in a König and Simon mood lately. I have a few fics coming out from anons for Elijah, Klaus, and Harwin☺️

Warning: mention of PTSD, Simons afraid to lose his loves.

It wasn’t unusual for Simon to come home silent. Usually, a hot shower and dinner would warm him up then he’d be back to your Simon. But something happened during this mission and Simons been cold for days.

König had to reassure you that he wasn’t mad at you when Simon would snap at you for small reasons. König understood PTSD and it’s something Simon was struggling with. No matter how much König tried to get him to open up, Simon would just bark back at him and lock himself in his office. König would hold you close and tell you how amazing you were at the end of the day in bed. Simon wouldn’t join.

It wasn’t too much to handle, Simon would come back on his terms but it took today for König to put Simon back in place when he came home and found you sobbing on the couch and Simon gone. Something bad had happened.

You weren’t sure what tick him off this time. You tried hard to walk around Simon quietly, almost avoiding him. You felt like you were walking around glass, it could break at any moment.

You were washing dishes after cooking lunch, leaving Simon's leftovers in the microwave as you’ve always done. Just because he was treating both you and König like shit, didn’t mean Simon didn’t deserve some love.

You did understand why his mood was shit, how could it be okay after watching team members die, killing people, and barking orders all day long? It made sense but it didn’t make sense that you were the punching bag, not even König received the yelling, he was just ignored.

“What the fuck? I told you not to touch my shit.” Simon yelled coming down the stairs.

“What?” You asked, confused.

“I said that I told you not to move my shit. You moved my gear.” He accused you.

You don’t remember moving anything of his. You haven’t even touched his dirty dishes, König did that. It must’ve been König and you were receiving the blow for it. “I didn’t move shit.” You said back.

“Stop fucking lying. You do this shit all the time. Just fucking leave it alone. Now, where is it?” He yelled.

“I said I didn’t fucking move it.” You replied. Your eyes were getting glossy, frustrated he didn’t believe you and sad he was talking like this to you.

“Fuck!” He yelled, startling you, before storming out the doors.

König came home moments after Simon sped out of the driveway finding you on the couch in tears.

“Meine Liebe, what’s happened?” He asked sitting on the couch and pulling you to his lap. “What did he do?” He asked trying to pry your hands from covering your face. You shook your head no, not wanting him to see how badly Simon has hurt you.

“Was hat der arschloch gemacht?” What did that asshole do? König spat out.

“We got into an argument,” you finally said. Sniffling your tears away. You showed him your wet face and he dried it as much as possible.

“What about?” He questioned.

“Said I moved his gear and that he doesn’t like it when his things get moved. I didn’t move it. He called me a liar and left after screaming. I didn’t move it.” You sniffled, more tears threatening to leak from your eyes.

“Ich bring den um.” I'll kill him. He told you bringing you into a hug. Once you calmed down you sat back up in his lap giving him a peck on the lips.

“I understand why he’s been like this but I don’t understand why I’m getting the blunt end of it. What did I do wrong?” You sadly spoke, lowering your gaze.

“You did nothing Liebe,” he softly spoke. “Why don't you get dressed, and go shopping? I’ll stay here and talk to Simon. This is getting out of hand.” He said standing up, still holding you. You wrapped your legs around him and giggled.

“Dress me?” You asked sweetly. He smiled.

—

You left the house few hours ago, updating König that you were going to use the credit card Simon gave you and “spend all his money because I deserve it.”

“Yes you do Liebling,” darling, he would text back.

König sat in Simon's office at his desk chair. The room was dark with the blackout curtains covering the sun. König was pissed, he was ready to beat the shit out of Simon.

König understood Simon and why he’d be like this, but to treat their precious girl like this? Not happening, he'd put him in his place and then find out the cause.

Simon walks in and turns on the light to see König sitting in his chair. “Wha-,” Simon started before König interrupted him.

“Sit the fuck down.” He spoke up.

Simon immediately sat down, not used to this tone of voice from König, “if it wasn’t for our sweet girl asking me not to beat you, I would. I’m so besoffen. wie konntest du sie so behandeln? Was zum Teufel hat sie dir angetan?” Pissed. How could you treat her like this? What the fuck did she do to you? König yelled. “I thought this would stop after a few days but it's been weeks, Si,” Simon knew he’s made a big mistake when König starts using German.

Simon realizes he’s messed up. He looks at König, a guilty look plastered on his face, “I don’t know how to process it.” Simon admits,. He looks won down, something König hasn't noticed because he's been holding you while you cry.

He suddenly feels guilty he hasnt been helping Simon to feel better. “Process what? What happened?” König asked, his anger now disappearing as Simon finally opens up.

“I saw a mother and her baby get shot. I watched two innocent lives die, for what? Just because the enemy can?” Simon said. Tears primmed his eyes, he's tired. He hasn't slept.

König realizes what Simon is comparing this too, “your sister and nephew?” He asked.

“And Y/N and you and our future children. A repeat in history could happen. I could lose everything again.” Simon said.

“You know that won’t happen. We all three are trained killers. We are masked when on the line, and we take precautions. It still gives you no right to treat her like this, like müll.” Trash. Konig told him.

“Where is she?” Simon asked

“She’s spending all your money right now,” König told him standing up. Simon remained seated as König wrapped his arms around his shoulders pressing Simon's face into his chest, “we aren’t going anywhere anytime soon. We still have a full life to live, babies to make, and time to make memories. So don’t waste it by treating our girl like shit.” He told Simon.

Simon nodded, “I guess I thought if I pushed you guys away, you’d eventually go.” Simon said as they heard the door open and bags be dropped to the floor.

“Sounds like your gonna have a hefty bill to pay.”

“As I deserve.” Simon groaned already assuming the amount he owed on his credit card.

“Hey König!” You yelled with excited from down the stairs, “I bought that necklace I wanted!” You said. König looked over at Simon.

“Please not the one from Tiffany’s.” Simon begged.

“It’s the one from Tiffany’s!” You finished.

Simon lowered his head and placed them in his hands, “can’t wait to see that bill.” König said walking out of the office

[railingsofsorrow]

do you need me?

[spencer reid x reader]

summary: the one where emily's death takes a toll on you. based on the prompt “don't come over, I can handle it.” from this prompt list.

pairing: s.reid x gn!reader

w.c: 3.5K

warnings/content: mentions of skipping meals; grief; mourning the loss of a friend; jemily (implied); blood; non-graphic descriptions of violence; character death (mentioned/not the MCs); addiction; intoxication; survivor's guilt; crying; unhealthy coping mechanisms; this is... heavy, be aware.

A/N: HAPPY NEW YEAR EVERYONE!! I wish that we all have an amazing 2024. here's the blurb you voted for. hurt/comfort at its best <3

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❝ it did not kill me and it did not make me stronger. it simply was and always will be scorched upon my heart. ❞

— d.j

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You don't know who took Emily's death the hardest. Pain is not something that can be measured or compared, people deal with it in different ways. Some are quieter in their grieving, others are loud. And although each one of your teammates knows how to compartmentalize their feelings, there was a fog in their eyes, a heaviness in their shoulders more than usual. Things you could relate well after all that has happened. You wish you didn't. You wished all of that was just a strange and far-off memory.

JJ was different — you noticed it during one of your night outs.

Penelope had forced everyone to hang out after a case, to relax. It had been a few months after what happened to Emily and the team was still... sore. Rightfully so.

Hotch and Rossi left earlier, leaving you, Derek, Spencer, Penelope and JJ at the bar. The only ones who weren't intoxicated were you and Spencer. You were pretty sure the conversation Penelope and Derek were having in their own little world was not PG-13, anyway.

“Do you think she's alright?”

Spencer asked, casting a look towards JJ. It's been half an hour she was nursing a glass of water — you had purposely brought her this one since she'd lost count of her shots —, staring at it with her stare unfocused.

“She will be.” You had said and when he told you he was leaving, you asked if he wanted a ride home. You hadn't drank anything but orange juice. He refused it, hugged you and, before he left, he demanded that you'd let him know once you got home.

You ended up being JJ's designated driver that night.

It was when you first saw a crack through the mask she had put on. Emily and JJ shared a deep bond. You knew their friendship wasn't just friendship, even before Emily had revealed to you that she had feelings for the blonde a while back. When Emily was gone, you saw how JJ took it hard. Not that everyone else didn't as well, but the love from each person in the team carried for Emily was different from the love JJ had for her.

Between the gibberish she was mumbling in the passenger seat of your car, she let escape a faint “I miss her”. Her voice cracked and your heart ached.

“D’ you think...” She muttered as you were helping her into her bed. “D'you think she miss— a hiccup — misses us?”

You refrained from saying that dead people cannot miss anything. Instead, you waited for her to fall asleep, placed a cup of water and aspirin on her bedside table before leaving her apartment.

She pretended nothing happened in the next day and you did the same.

You thought JJ had it worst, until Spencer showed up at your door at 3 a.m craving for something he hadn't touched in three years.

Again, pain is not comparable. One does not hurts more than another; people deal with their hardships in life differently, even if they have gone through the same life-changing event.

Some let it show, others just know how to hide it better. You no longer knew if you were the former or the latter through the eyes of your friends.

The current case you were working on had rendered you mentally exhausted. A victim had been taken hostage and for two days you tried to negotiate with the unsub, but to no avail. You almost had it. Almost. When you thought you had succeeded in releasing the woman, she was shot right in front of you.

She died in your arms and there was nothing that you could have done to prevent.

Or was there?

There was nothing that you could have done. You have heard that before. Countless of times. People tried to inject that into your head as a way to make you feel better. And they have their best intentions, you do not doubt it. But it was no use if you couldn't bring yourself to believe these words.

This was just one of those days, when you didn't know how to cope with that overbearing sadness that crippled your mind.

There was nothing that you could have done. There was nothing that you could have done. There was nothing that you could have done. There was nothing that you could have done. There was nothing that you could have—

“Hey.”

You flinched, startled at the voice. As you came back to reality, Spencer turned up in front of you.

“Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you.” His face twitched into a grimace.

You cleared your throat, placing your stuff in your bag. You were so distracted that you didn't realise you had been holding the bloodied shirt you were wearing in the morning; you shoved it inside carelessly. I'm gonna burn it.

“You didn't,” you said. “What's up? I thought you had left already.”

Spencer leaned on the door, fingers playing with the strap of his satchel as he waited for you to leave the room. He followed you to the corridor, an unspoken silence that said a million things. His fidgety hands weren't just mindlessly stimming, he was nervous.

Everyone else seemed to have left, meaning the bullpen was fairly empty. You wondered how long you stayed frozen reminiscing as the minutes went by.

“I was waiting for you.” He responded as soon as the elevator doors closed.

You turned to him with widened eyes. “Why? I'm sorry I kept you waiting—”

Spencer quickly waved you off, “It's alright.” He gave you a soft smile. The one you felt warm inside. “I just wanted to know if you were okay.”

Oh.

“Of course I am.” You replied and you really hoped the tight smile you gave him was convincing enough for him to not question further. You weren't sure if you'd be able to not crumble down completely if he asked again.

“Are you sure?”

Damn, Spencer.

Yes, everything is good. I just need to get home, take a shower and have a good night sleep without interruptions.

Everything is good.

You don't know how many times you repeated that until he walked alongside you to the parking lot.

Arriving home was all that you needed to let your armour aside. God you were so tired. You didn't even reach your bedroom before the tears came like a waterfall. Falling into your couch, with no strength to stand, you finally stopped fighting against the sadness and let it lead you for the time being.

It's hard trying to be strong all the time, isn't it? Not admitting you need someone to be there for you because you only know how to be there for people. You tell them it's going to be okay. You let them be vulnerable. You say it's okay to not be okay.

Why can't you treat yourself the same way you treat the people around you?

You count every raindrop falling down your window, it helps you focus on reality. It was grounding and a few minutes later you have stopped sobbing your heart out.

It was raining hard outside. When you open the window, the cold slips right in and you stay there, enjoying the wind pushing your hair back.

You dial a familiar number tonight. And you don't hang up after two rings. You think about doing it in the fourth, but the person picks up, apologizing before they say hello.

It actually makes your lips twitch slightly. You don't smile, but you feel like doing it after crying so hard.

“Spencer.” You say through the phone interrupting his incessant apologies for taking too long to answer, your brows creasing after you hear how strange your voice is. “You don't have to apologize. I was the one who called you at one a.m. Why are you even awake?”

“I was reading. Lost track of time. I— have you been crying?” Well, shit. Too much for thinking he wouldn't notice through the phone.

“Why do you ask?” You ask rather pathetically. Why did you call him? Why did you bother Spencer at one a.m when he could be sleeping? You should feel sorry for yourself. “I'm sorry, I shouldn't have called—”

“I was thinking about you.”

Your breath hitches. You close the window and sit back on the floor and you feel like crying again, you don't know why. Maybe it's his voice. Maybe it's the fact that he makes you feel everything that you're allowed to feel.

He takes your silence as his cue to continue. “I know how much you love thunderstorms so I...” he trails off as if he's uncertain about what he will say. “I remembered you.”

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Spencer could take pride in saying he knew you better than anyone else.

He recognised the sound of your voice was different when your were excited about a particular topic and when you were discussing a case at work. He knew you brushed your hair behind your ear when you felt shy, but the same action could happen when you were uncomfortable. It heavily depended on the situation.

He was aware of your odd behaviour by the way you kept on touching your index finger throughout the day. The week, actually. Spencer could tell you were bothered by something, he could tell you were deeply upset. You skipped breakfast and you never had lunch with them. Not that past week.

And judging by the dark circles around your eyes, you weren't sleeping well either.

He saw himself in you a month back.

See, Spencer was the kind of person who didn't like being vulnerable around anyone. If anything, he mastered the act of not communicating his feelings, he just expected them to disappear, which didn't happen but he was getting better at understanding that.

After Emily's passing, the only one he opened up to was you. And it was the hardest and best choice he ever made. You made him feel seen. It was so easy to talk to you about anything that he didn't notice until a few days ago that you were a very good listener. Not that he didn't notice that before, no, it was not that. But you just listened. You comforted. You held.

Spencer was really concerned about your coping mechanisms, because he knew he didn't have the most healthy ways of dealing with things. He hoped you were better than him. He hoped you didn't let it build up until you were suffocating.

So when you called him, he wasn't lying when he said he was thinking of you. His lie laid on the reading part, he was trying to fall asleep but his concern was keeping him up.

I'm here for you too. He wanted to say. Please, let me be here for you.

“I know how much you love thunderstorms so I...” He sat down on the bed, shifting until he found a comfortable position. “I remembered you.” This is what he started with.

Your ragged breathing through the line cut off his rational thinking. So you have been crying.

He called your name softly.

“Hi. I'm here.” You say, forcing out an exhale.

“Talk to me.” He pleads.

He hears a faint sniffle, “I'm here, Spencer.”

No, you're not. You're far away.

“I'm here too. You know that right?”

“It's been a hard week.” You admit through your shaky voice. “I just needed to hear your voice.” You cut him off quickly. “I know that I saw you a few hours ago, but I—”

“Do you need me?” He was the one who cut you off this time. He couldn't bear you explaining the reason you called. You could call him as many times as you wanted. Every five minutes, every second. He wanted to tell you he missed you when your shift was over for the day even if he spent the entire day by your side, and that you never ever could bother him because he cherished your company. He wanted you close. And he just wanted you to be okay now.

“... It's one a.m, Spence.” There is some shifting through the line, sounds like you were moving around. “I— I can handle it. It's fine.”

“Do you need me?” He repeats, shuffling out of his room to the living room. He couldn't care less that it was one a.m. He found his coat hanged and didn't wait for your answer to put it on. Really, Spencer should have done it sooner.

He's half way on tying his left shoe when you breath out in resignation. Your voice much closer to his ear as if you were telling him a secret you should be ashamed of. “Yes. Yes, I need you.”

He let out a hum, standing up to grab his car keys and sprinted out of his home to go to yours.

“I'll be there in ten.”

You lived twenty minutes away from him, but he'd make in ten. He wanted to see you. More than anything, he wanted to tell you everything that you hadn't heard when you were too busy comforting people instead of yourself.

He stops short before knocking on your door, deciding on sending you a text to let you know he was there so you wouldn't be startled at the noise. He didn't get to click send as the door was yanked open. Your bloodshot eyes and swollen lips are the first thing he sees.

“Hi.” He says, slipping his phone into his pocket. As soon as he did that, your arms envelope his shoulders which caused him to let out a sound of surprise, but he quickly recover and wraps his own arms around you, squeezing your shaky body against his. “Hi.” He utters into the croak of your neck, his hand trailing up and down on your back gently. “I'm wet because of the rain,” he apologises halfheartedly. “Sorry.”

The laugh he hears through your sobs might just have made his day.

He was cold immediately after you slips out of his arms. You pull him inside your place and shut the door, claiming you would be back with a towel despite his protests that he didn't need it.

Spencer lost count of how many times he visited your place. He knew every corner of your apartment, every place you left books that you keep losing when you didn't found them on the shelves, every painting and drawing you had on the walls. The ones he happily convinced you to put on because you made them and they were beautiful, you just didn't believe it.

The two of you spent long hours on your couch, either reading a book and saying your favourite quotes out loud or just watching bad movies and TV shows to pass the time.

He'd ramble on and on about the inconsistencies of any plot and you'd engage in his refutations until you'd disagree and some bantering ensued.

“Here.” Spencer turns around to see you offering a towel for him to dry off. The middle of your forehead furrows slightly, he feels the need to smooth it out himself but he refrains from doing so. “It's dangerous to drive when the weather it's like this. I'm sorry that I made you come all the way here for nothing.”

“Nothing?” He shakes his head as if it's the most absurd thing you've ever said. “You're not nothing.” He accepts the towel and what he recognizes is a jumper of his he must have forgotten a while ago.

When he's completely dry, he walks to the kitchen where you had ventured off to make some tea.

Two mugs are placed on the kitchen counter, the smell of camomile slowly filling the room. You are lost in your thoughts again, mixing the honey in your tea with a spoon for forty-three minutes, your gaze unfocused. Lost.

His fingerstips trails down your wrist to your hand, proceeding to take one of your hands in his, thumb running across your palm. “Can you please look at me?” He requests softly, head tilting until you have no choice but to meet his eyes. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“It” are a lot of things. But he doesn't know if you feel comfortable enough to talk about all of them tonight. He'll just follow your lead and respect your time.

“I don't want you to see me like this.”

He feels your fingers tighten around his hand and he squeezes back as a form of reassurance.

“Like what?” He can't help but ask. Vulnerable? Human?

“Weak.”

“You could never be weak in my eyes.”

This time, he does smooth down the frown between your brows with his thumb, surprised that you don't reject his touch but welcome it by leaning into his hand.

Neither of you drink the tea. Instead, you move back to the living room, settling down on your couch. You end up cuddling, which wasn't strange because you have done it many times before. Now it just feels more intimate. His hold never strayed from yours. This time, he listened. He comforted. And he held you.

“I'm used to blood, we see it all the time.” you carry on, speaking directly to his chest as he looks down at you. “But I... My hands. There was just so much of it and I couldn't, I couldn't save her.” Your fingers play with the straps of his jumper to distract yourself.

There was nothing that you could have done.

“She knows you did everything you could.” Spencer reassures. He was well aware that you weren't just talking about the victim that you had lost today. “Wherever she is right now...” He lifts a hand to cup your face stroking your cheek with the utmost care in the world. “She knows.”

Your bloodshot eyes study him carefully, searching for any indication that could make you not trust anything he just said. He knew how hard it was to believe that you had no fault in the loss of a friend. Maybe if we had gotten there sooner... Maybe if we had figured everything out sooner...

A little bird told him once that you can't dwell on the past for long or else you'll be stuck in it. And those words — your words — helped on his healing process. He hoped he did the same to you now.

You were laying on his chest, one of your hands positioned right where his heart laid as your other arm involved his middle. His arm wrapped around you as his fingers were trailing up and down your back in the way he knew calmed you down. Spencer felt the most rested he hasn't felt in months and he wasn't even sleeping.

“Tell me if I'm making you uncomfortable.”

He shook his head in response, finding that statement completely absurd because it was not possible for you to make him feel uncomfortable. He's not a fan of PDA, but he found that he didn't mind it with you. So he lowered down on the couch, moving your body with his to be more comfortable, lips grazing your temple in a soft kiss.

“You're not.” He says brushing your hair away from your neck. Your eyes were shut and he could feel your breathing evening out. “Try to sleep a little.” He let out in a whisper to not disturb your peacefulness. He knew you needed it.

“Don't go.” You croak out, tucking your nose in the croak of his neck, breathing into him.

The corner of his lips quirk up. “I'll be here when you wake up.” He promises as thunder rolled outside. Fluttering his eyes shut when you have finally dozed off, he ignores the warnings in his head about sleeping on the couch and how bad it is for one's neck.

No, he could deal with that tomorrow. For now, he would just hold you.

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❝ all I know of strength, I have learnt from breaking. ❞

— sahiba

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taglist: @lilyviolets

[sparrowrye]

Alastor x Fem! Reader {soulmates} Part 5

Synopsis: soulmate AU where you have the same mark on your body as your soulmate, and if your soulmate dies, you die too. Alastor needs to make sure that his soulmate is safe so he can continue his reign - whatever that takes.

Part 5: digging deeper

Part Pilot | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

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I stared at my reflection in the bathroom. I opened my mouth and ran my tongue, which was a little longer than usual, along my sharp teeth. The sharpest ones were my canines that slipped past my lips when resting.

I touched around the base of my horns. The skin was tight near the bottom and paler than the rest of my skin. My horns jutted up, curved down a bit, then back up to a point at the very end. I tried bending them but they were sturdy, even near the tip.

I clicked my claws together then on the counter. It felt strange to have something that felt like elongated nails. I poked my arm until I drew blood, noting how quick it took to do so. My toes also had claws. They weren't as long as my fingers but they were definitely sharper. The skin on my feet felt extremely tough, almost rubbery.

I turned off the light and sat on the cushions by the window. I rested my head on my arm and stared off into the ocean. For the first time in a long while, I tried to think back into my memories.

I was only able to get snippets, though. I could envision myself in small, specific scenes but I couldn't remember anything past my first rounds of fighting. What did my parents look like? Did they give me to the rings? Did someone kill them? Was I born in hell? How much magic did I have and what kind was it?

I had so many unanswered questions.

I met Husker for dinner again. I couldn't stop looking at my claws as I tried to go about normally. Using a fork was new; long nails made it surprisingly difficult. Husker tried not to laugh and I caught him smiling several times.

"Did you know?" I asked him.

"No. Alastor told me he thought you might be a demon but I was skeptical."

"Why?"

"Well it takes effort to have a human appearance yet you always had one when you were asleep or unconscious. Plus you only used Slight magic when we fought."

"So Alastor knew."

"It was more of a theory." The Radio Demon materialized at the end of the table. "No one had ever heard of a human and demon being soulmates." My eyes fell to my plate. I hated looking at him and I hated hearing the word soulmates. "Once you've finished we'll head back to Rosie's."

"Tonight?"

"Yes, tonight.” He almost sounded annoyed. “She wants to unravel your curse as quickly as possible. She said something about it putting a strain on your mind." He touched a pointed claw to his lips. "I'm sure it's nothing."

Husker rolled his eyes and took a gulp of his drink. I offered to help clean the dishes but he refused. Alastor wrapped an arm around my shoulders and practically dragged me outside. I peeled his hand off and walked up to the scorched symbol on the ground. It didn't look like anything I recognized but it was always there.

He pulled me against him by my waist and stuck his cane into the ground. The ground gave way and I held my hair to my neck. We teleported to a different location this time and I soon discovered it was behind Rosie's store. The quiet town had all their indoor lights and radios turned on.

Alastor knocked twice on the glass door before it opened for him. We walked right into the same meeting room as before. Rosie was setting down a hot teapot.

"Welcome back dearies," she curtsied. "Come in come in. I just took this off the stove. You'll love it."

"I have a matter to attend to but I'm sure you'll take good care of my darling," Alastor said. My darling?

"Oh of course. Go off and do your man's work. Us ladies will get to know each other better." She hooked her arm around mine and lead me to the chair again. "I'm sure you've got lots of burning questions." This time I accepted the warm tea. "But I have to warn you sweetheart. This time, when we go back into your memories, it's going to be a lot more dangerous."

"Dangerous how?"

"If you get too wrapped up in the emotions and feelings of your memories, you can get stuck there."

"Stuck? In my own head?"

"I'm afraid so," she sipped on her tea, "When I feel you starting to fall down that rabbit hole, I'll touch your leg to let you know. When you feel me touch you, I need you to reel your emotions back in. Do you think you can do that? If not, there's no shame in waiting for tomorrow.”

"No," I said quickly, "I'll be okay. I can do this."

"I believe you. Now. Let's begin."

She sat beside me on the stool and took my hands in hers. I stared down at my black claws as she asked me to go back in time. I closed my eyes and skipped through my teenage-hood and into my early childhood. I tried to push away the sinking sadness of my first friend's death.

"What did your first master look like?" Rosie asked.

"I know he had white hair. Long, white hair. He always had a scowl on his face and he dragged me around."

"What about your very first fight?"

"I was...I was against another kid. Another girl. She had short brown hair and looked...inhuman."

"Inhuman, how?"

"She...her eyes...they were red and...she just looked insane. Her hair was all matted and she was down on all fours. She was drooling a lot too. I remember she...she ran after me and started clawing and biting my arms. She went for my face and I shoved her off. She chased me in circles around the ring. I can still hear all the men cheering above. They were laughing."

"What did you do?"

"I uh...I grew tired and she eventually caught up to me. She grabbed my foot then went for my face. I don't remember much but I...I remember kicking her off then kicking her head. It bounced off the walls and then she didn't get up after that."

"When did you start to learn how to use magic?"

I paused for a moment. “I…I had a master before him? He…he was the one who taught me. Every so often he would come back during the day and take me into the ring. He showed me how to use it. First it was with wind. He told me to throw sand and dirt in my opponents' faces."

"What else did he teach you?"

"He taught me...how to use my sweat as a weapon...how to pull apart the earth so their foot would get stuck or so that they would trip...he taught me a lot."

"Did you warm up to him?"

"When he was teaching me I was happy. I loved learning how to use my magic. And he praised me all the time when I did well. Eventually he stopped being rough with me. It felt like...like he cared about me."

"But?"

"But..." I felt my heart sink with sadness. "But...he...gave me up...to someone not nice."

"Do you know why?"

"Yeah...he was...apparently just someone who trained children in basic magic then...then sold them off to the highest bidder. I was...I was so angry at him...I thought I was going to make him proud and live to be set free but...but I was nothing to him."

"Very good. Now, what can you tell me about when you first met him? When you first saw his white hair?"

I paused. "I remember...I remember looking up at him. He was such a tall man. I was holding someone's hand but I can't...I can't see their face."

"It's okay, don't push it. Tell me about the hand you're holding. What does it feel like?"

"Soft. But...tough? It's definitely tight."

"Good what about-"

"No. Wait...there was another man with white hair. But his...his was shorter."

"Tell me about him. Where were you?"

"I was...I was in a cage. I was...with someone. I remember seeing him come to the cage often. I was...the person I'm with would always get tense when he did. Why can't I see this person's face?"

"It's okay. Take your time. Tell me what this person is wearing."

"A short sleeve. Her skin is...covered in scars and bruises. She's...she's always stroking my hair."

"What else does she do?"

"She...she hums a lot. There's a small radio in the corner and she hums to it a lot. And...I can feel it in her chest when does. She rocks me back and forth until I fall asleep." I suddenly grew very sad and angry. My hands tightened and my hair on the back of my neck stood up.

"What is it, doll? What's happening?"

"He's...the man...he's wearing a white suite...exactly the color of his hair...and he's yelling with her. They're fighting. There's yelling. He hits her. She's arguing back but not fighting. Why won't she fight?"

"Stay with me dear." She touched my lap. I tried to lower my tense shoulders but it was hard.

"He picked me up and...he closed the door on her. She's screaming. Why is she screaming? Why is he taking me away from her? I can't...I can't reach her. I don't...where is he taking me? I don't want to leave her."

"Enough sweetheart, come back. Come out of the memory." She touched my shoulder this time. "Come back to my store. Come back to this world. It's all just a memory."

"I can't stop crying. Why...is that my mother?"

"Sweetheart, you need to come back. You're going in too deep. Stop the emotions."

"But...I want to see her."

"We'll look next time. We can come back next time but you need to take a break. Come out of the memory. Come back to the store. Blink twice and look up."

I stared at the figure reaching out to me through the bars. I was so close. I just wanted to touch her hand one more time. But it was just a memory. She wasn't really there. She might not even be alive at all.

I blinked twice and looked up to meet Rosie's dark eyes. She let out a huge sigh and patted me on the head. "That was a little too close for comfort."

I felt something brush against my leg. I looked down to see a black tail that ran all the way to my back. I stood up and spun around in an effort to look at it. I felt something pulling on my back and realized I had a pair of black wings to go with it.

"What the..." The black on my hands had stretched all the way down to my elbow now. I found the closest mirror and noticed a pair of long ears sticking up from my human ones. Was I a type of dragon?

"I see you're making lots of progress." Alastor's staticky voice cut through the silence.

"Quite a lot, actually," Rosie answered. "I must say, you sure got lucky, Alastor. She looks like she's got a lot hidden away in her."

"Which is why you're the perfect person to help pull it all into the light."

"How do I hide them?" I asked Rosie, still turning in circles to look at myself.

"Oh, uh..." she tapped her sharp finger to her sharp teeth.

"Picture them receding into your back," Alastor answered. I grimaced at the thought of listening to him but gave it a try. The tail shivered but did nothing.

"I'm sure it'll take getting used to," Rosie reassured me. "But I'm sure you're absolutely exhausted. You should go home and get some rest. We can figure out more later."

"Good idea," Alastor agreed. "Come along, darling." He put his hand on my back but I pushed it off. I thanked Rosie and walked out of her store, my wings hitting the edges on the way out.

"So, what did you learn?" he asked as he shut the door.

"What's it to you?"

"Just curious is all."

"You can stay that way," I mumbled. He grabbed my waist and sent us back to the cliff side manor. As soon as my feet touched solid ground, I pushed his hand off and walked inside. My wings hit anything and everything, frustrating me even more.

"Whoah, ain't you something," Husker commented from the sitting room. I didn't respond, clambering up to my room and locking the door behind me. My legs buckled and I collapsed onto the floor. I sobbed into my arms as the new memories replayed themselves in my mind.

Who am I?