#its the first thing i see in the morning sometimes

[heartschampion]

we fell in love in october — masterlist

PAIRING. ethan landry x fem!reader

SUMMARY. in which you make a bet with your boyfriend, ethan, the night before the start of october. thirty-one days of sex.

CONTENT. no ghostface!au, smut, this is for kinktober so every chapter has its own thing going on i GUESS?, established relationship, slightly experienced!ethan, inexperienced!reader, they basically learn their kinks and stuff throughout the story, fluff (surprise), no beta, not proofread.

STATUS. upcoming.

AN. chapters aren't set in stone so they could change. i'm like half dead while typing this so if there's a mistake pls tell me.

⸻ INDEX.

00. SEPTEMBER 30TH

an innocent night leads to a month of filth.

01. OCTOBER 1ST

morning sex with ethan is always the best way to start off your day.

02. OCTOBER 2ND

you and ethan decide to take a big step in your relationship and have unprotected sex for the first time.

03. OCTOBER 3RD

after a long day of classes, a warm shower is all you need. and your boyfriend in there for some fun.

04. OCTOBER 4TH

shopping with tara leads to buying a little gift as a surprise for both of your boyfriends.

05. OCTOBER 5TH

ethan is out with chad for a 'boys night,' but you can't help but be desperate for his attention even miles away.

06. OCTOBER 6TH

ethan pushes you to your limits.

07. OCTOBER 7TH

an unexpected turn of events leads to discovering something new about your boyfriend.

08. OCTOBER 8TH

sex couldn't get any better with a little extra help.

09. OCTOBER 9TH

everyone needs a helping hand, or mouth.

10. OCTOBER 10TH

you and ethan recreate a scene from a book, taking on the roles of the characters.

11. OCTOBER 11TH

a college frat party isn't a likely place you'd find yourself having sex. especially not with the constant pounding on the door. ethan doesn't seem to care.

12. OCTOBER 12TH

hearing tara rave about aphrodisiacs, you decide to give them a try.

13. OCTOBER 13TH

you let ethan come in you for the first time.

14. OCTOBER 14TH

ethan becomes obsessed with the idea of breeding you, and you're no better.

15. OCTOBER 15TH

sometimes you just need a mouth to murmur sweet nothings into you to really lay back and relax.

16. OCTOBER 16TH

you find yourself a little tied up.

17. OCTOBER 17TH

ethan can't help but wrap his hands around your pretty little neck as he fucks you.

18. OCTOBER 18TH

the phone starts ringing mid session. ethan urges you to answer.

19. OCTOBER 19TH

ethan's partner for his econ project can't seem to keep her hands to herself. your jealousy gets the better of you and you decide to show who he belongs to.

20. OCTOBER 20TH

the group is out for a night of fun, unaware of the game being held between you and ethan.

21. OCTOBER 21ST

hopefully no one notices your hands down the pants of your boyfriend.

22. OCTOBER 22ND

there's nothing more enticing than what you can't see.

23. OCTOBER 23RD

you let ethan fuck you in your sleep after he comes home late.

24. OCTOBER 24TH

watching each other get off turns out to be more intimate than you thought it would be. the only rule is no touching.

25. OCTOBER 25TH

you and ethan get shit-faced drunk, unable to keep your hands to yourselves any longer.

26. OCTOBER 26TH

after the other night, you want to know what it's like to be ethan's little pet.

27. OCTOBER 27TH

cockwarming ethan as he tutors you.

28. OCTOBER 28TH

he much as he gets off on giving you pleasure, he finds just as much amusement in denying it from you.

29. OCTOBER 29TH

you finally let ethan fuck you from the back.

30. OCTOBER 30TH

october is coming close to an end, so the two of you decide to make a little reminder of your time together.

31. OCTOBER 31ST

the best thing about sex with ethan landry is the aftercare he gives afterwards.

32. NOVEMBER 1ST

you get a little more than you bargained for.

[stars-n-spice]

So I've got this really great pillow that's shaped like Wrecker's helmet right? It's like my favorite thing ever, looks like this-

ANYWAYS

I've had it for like,, five (?) six (?) months now but despite that, it scared the shit out of me when I woke up today for whatever fucking reason.

I'm waking up, groggy and disoriented and the first thing I see when I open my eyes is Wrecker's helmet staring right back at me.

Bro gave me a fucking heart attack.

Then I realized that I am an idiot and that's a pillow and not, in fact, a 6'6 genetically mutated clone who would actually not even fit in my stuff animal invaded twin bed.

</3

I hate waking up in the mornings.

[usertoxicyaoi]

god i have neverrrr everrrr everrrr been a morning workout kinda person i usually always workout after work around 5pm-ish, but since its october now and the days will start to get shorter and SAD will no doubt set in this year i wanna try switching things up for the first time and see what it does for my mood and body and brain if i workout in the mornings before work at 6am before or after i pray fajr salah instead.

[dandyshucks]

crawls in here coughing and wheezing... everyone is so niceys to me.....

[jazzzzzzhands]

"Someone would cut an Apple in half for Wally and, Upon seeing it From the inside, He says Hello to both sides." I just thought this interaction would be so cute to draw! (Quote from @/partycoffin)

[todayisafridaynight]

tsutsumi gotta be the funniest choice to play sawashiro since he really does encapsulate his casting career of both action roles and being dad of the year (most of the time)

[dirt-str1der]

Love the thought of kiryu losing nishikiyamas lighter fucking instantly after he gave it to him. Like he leaves it in the car and nishiki is nice enough to re-gift it to him when they meet up again and then two weeks after that whole fiasco kiryu loses it again and nishiki just buys him those cheap packs of like fifty plastic lighters because this is why they cant have nice things and he hates (loves) him so much

[that-fic-girl]

HAZBIN HOTEL X READER HC #1

Head canon: what it would be like to date them.

characters: Alastor, angel dust, husk, vox

disclaimer: everything i write about these characters might not be accurate to the actual story, please take everything in the fic with a grain of salt, none of this is canon!!

Alastor

he hasnt been in an actual relationship in a while so being close and vulnerable with someone is quite hard for him, especially as someone who associates emotions with weakness.

First off, its safe to say he adores the ground you walk on. He's in love with everything about you, your clothes, the smell of your hair, your sickly sweet voice. his loves it all.

If there was ever a problem you needed fixing, a person you needed taken care of or even a errand you needed to run he would tend to it himself. he would not let you lift a finger.

PDA is a iffy thing for him, he wouldnt do grand big gestures but maybe a hand on the hip or a few words of affirmation.

everyone in the pride ring quickly learned of yours and radio demon's relationship. And no one dared to mess with you, ofcourse there was people who wanted to test their luck but they would have to pay the price later.

his love language is definitely words of affirmation, he will sweet talk the shit out of you. At night when it's just you two in bed, he will have his hands stroking through your hair whilst you rant to him about your day and he'll reply with sweet nothings

"oh darling, i've missed you all evening"

"you looked ravishing today my dear.."

"mm your hair smells amazing, my love"

Angel Dust

Angel is one of, if not, the horniest mother fuckers out there but somehow, he manages to somewhat make a healthy relationship with someone.

you two are seen as "the bad bitch" couple. you're always out together, always getting into dumb shit together. You'll get yelled at by vaggie at early hours in the morning because the two of you where playing a childish game of tag in the hotel halls.

his love language is definitely physical touch, he'll have his arms slung around your waist almost all the time. Kisses are a MUST every 5 minutes, like this boy will NOT part from you. especially in the mornings when you have to leave for work;

"mmnnnnoooooooo...stayyy for five minutes pleasseeeee"

"but sweets..you're soooo warm"

"sweetheart please, you feel so comfy"

yeah good luck with that.

nights with him are VERY eventful, if it wasn't obvious. You two would usually be at it late hours into the night but sometimes, when you two where too exhausted to fuck like rabbits, he would be sprawled across your lap whilst you stroked his fur.

Husk

Despite his harsh tone and uncompromising demeanor, you understood that Husk wasn't trying to be malicious towards you. It was simply his way of communicating, and you knew that his behavior wasn't personal. Even though he could be abrasive at times, you loved him for his rough edges and authentic personality

You and Husk's time together was mostly spent at the bar. You didn't like to drink much, but you loved seeing him work and make cocktails like a pro. You didn't mind that it wasn't considered a typical date, because you liked spending time with him in whatever way he felt most comfortable.

Husk is not used to receiving compliments, as he didn't often receive them in his past life. When you complimented him, it caught him off guard and he was surprised. But he eventually learned to appreciate it, and it even made him feel a little sentimental.

Despite the difficulty, you were able to help Husk realize that you genuinely cared about him. He had been used to being surrounded by dishonesty and hypocrisy, but you were always sincere and real. He held you in high regard, as you were the only source of light in his life, and he didn't want to lose you.

vox

You were known as a strong and independent person who didn't need assistance from others. You knew how to stand up for yourself, despite being harsh and tough at times. Despite your exterior, no one was aware of the soft spot in your heart that Vox's affection and touch alone could melt away your severity.

He appreciated seeing your affectionate side, as it felt special and intimate, like a shared secret between the two of you. He knew you valued your privacy, and he respected it by never sharing photos or other details on social media. He didn't want to betray your trust.

You were often feared and respected when you were with Vox. People found it hard to believe that someone as intimidating as yourself could have a tender, caring side that was kept hidden from most. Vox was glad that he was the only one who got to see that side of you. He didn't want to share something so special and personal with anyone else.

Quite often, he would call you on the phone, knowing that sweet words could be just as effective as a kiss. He enjoyed hearing how your voice softened from its usual seriousness to a more affectionate tone. He was aware that when he said loving phrases to you, you would blush and smile shyly, and sometimes he even regretted not being able to witness it in person.

"i've missed you today babe.."

"mhm look at my pretty girl/boy!"

[gatorbites-imagines]

Logan begging for it.... so sweetly we cant refuse..... when he knows reader needs his sleep..... taking it in his even when it stays soft...... cockwarming reader while we sleeps.....

Yes im writing whis as I fall asleep

Logan Howlett x male reader

headcanons

I was gonna write a longer thing, but a migraine decided to kick my ass all of a sudden, so here I am simply rambling about this.

Imagine having a normal but exhausting day job. You’re no hero, no vigilante, no nothing, you’re just a guy. And you somehow ended up charming the pants off of The Wolverine of all people. How? You have no idea

Dating Logan is a real treat, even with his roughness and sometimes standoffish personality. When you guys really get close, he starts to get more vulnerable.

Along with vulnerable emotionally, he also starts to get a much stronger libido, seeing as he has a partner now. Him having a healing factor doesn’t help you in this case, since it means he has very little recovery time.

Seeing Logan, one would think hed be the dominant one, something you assumed in the beginning too. That was until you guys got intimate the first time and he shoved you onto your back to ride you instead.

There were no complaints from you obviously, because who’d mind having someone like that riding you? Logan in his broad, hairy and so very heavy way, lifting himself up and down on you like it was barely a workout.

You have to remind him to be careful though, multiple times, seeing as his bones make him extra heavy, and your poor hips are that of the average person.

Having a partner with a libido like that though, also means Logan is always raring to go, almost waiting for you by the door when you get home from your shift, like an old gruff dog waiting for affection.

The first week or two of you coming home dead on your feet and passing out on the couch the moment you sat down passed… as well as they could for Logan. He wouldn’t force you to do anything you hadn’t agreed with, but God, is he starting to get antsy.

After way too long, in Logans opinion at least, he finally can’t take it anymore. Being the Loverboy he secretly is, he at least brings you to your shared bed before clambering on top of you again.

You’re just too exhausted to do much other than pet at his thighs, eyes already drooping, but his almost timid but so desperate begging keeps you awake longer than other days. When you sleepily agree, Logan kisses you so hungrily you almost lose your breath.

You stay somewhat awake in the beginning as he works your clothes off, being kind enough not to rip it even if logan really really wanted too. He knows its your work clothes, and you’ve scolded him enough times about ripping up your clothes at this point.

It was hard to even really stay awake as Logan worked you hard, just enough for him to slide down on you, his groans sounding like he was a starving man having his first bite of food in weeks. Had you not been struggling to keep your eyes open, you might have teased him.

When Logan leans forward and just rests his weight on you, that was the last straw. Who could stay awake with such a warm heavy weight pressing down on them, like your own personal weighted wolverine blanket.

Logan didn’t even really feel the need to ride you or get himself off, he just wanted to be close to you like this, to feel you inside him and press up against you. So having slowly doze off under him wasn’t a bother, especially as you mumble for him to just keep going.

Most of the night is majorly used by Logan to just tuck his face into your neck and huff your scent, or rub his own against you. You will wake up with beard burns, sorry but those at the rules. Theres probably some chew marks and hickeys mixed in there too, Logans possessive.

You do wake up with very sore hips the next morning. In the comics he’s 300 lbs, but that’s with his comic height, so if were going off of movie Logan he weighs even more. And no matter how much you work out, that’s gotta make you sore.

You don’t really mind though, especially as Logan makes sure you massage your hips in ways you didn’t even know were possible. This also just gives Logan an excuse to lick and gnaw at you more, and to rub more of his scent into you, and yours into him.

Yes, you limp that day, and probably the day after. Luckily you’re able to work from home. This of course also means you have Logan on your dick the entire time, even if its just your mutant lover crawling under the blanket to get his mouth on you.

[dalamjisung]

A muted shade of green ✧ Spencer Reid

genre: fluff, light angst

word count: 6339

pairing: reader x spencer reid

description: Dr. Spencer Reid is simply adorable. And you actually think he might be perfect. Until, that is, he isn't.

a muted shade of green masterlist // next chapter

His apartment is a muted shade of green and you always wonder why is it that he painted it so dark. The book covered walls never fail to impress you, making you smile into the ether that was this place with its shelves and shelves of worldly stories. His taste, you think, is more towards the classics and refined tales that carry significance and importance in the world of literature. Dostoyevski, Austen, Orwell, Doyle. Though here and there, in some corners of the living room or thrown haphazardly in the kitchen counter, you see peeks of contemporary names, the ones you’re sure you sold him a long, long time ago. Murakami, Zadie Smith, George. 

You met Spencer when you first moved into D.C., about a year or so ago, and sometimes, you really think that it was just yesterday when you first saw him with his purple scarf walking inside your store.

“Excuse me.” 

You have too many books in your arms to even see who is talking to you, but you apologise nonetheless; it’s the least you can do for your first customer. “I’ll be with you in a moment, apologies for the mess, we literally just opened.” In your defence, you had been so busy unpacking all the new orders and organising things into shelves that you absolutely forgot to put the plaque with your opening hours by the door. You can hear his shoes clicking and clacking around the place, and a wave of anxiety washes through you. If he leaves with a book– luckily two– you will have made your first sell and that just might remind you that of the reason why you decided to do this in the first place.

Carefully putting the pile of Maggie Nelson’s on the counter, you finally turn to face him, tired smile from ear to ear when you see him holding two books already. “You found something you like?” You gently ask, voice calm and fingers fidgeting while you wait for an answer. “Many things, actually. I’m quite glad to see a wide variety of books here, it’s been hard finding something new to read lately.” 

His voice is pointed and it echoes in the empty store. The clock on the walls says it’s 7:58AM and you suck in a breath; it’s definitely too early for someone to be looking for books, but maybe he wants entertainment for his commute, maybe he needs a distraction for the way, or maybe he is odd like that. 

It must be cold outside. The man is wearing a purple scarf  inside what looks like a wool coat, and somehow, he fits in there, in your store. He looks like the kind of person who would be buying books as early as 8 in the morning and you’re not sure if that is adorable or unhinged. 

“Just these, thank you,” The loud thump of the pile of books he deposits by the cashier makes you gasp. “You have a great selection here, I was lucky you open early!” The twinkle in his eyes is what keeps you from telling him that that, in fact, was a big mistake. In the middle of rushing to get the keys from the landlord in time, get the deliveries, get everything sorted and organised, you had completely forgotten to put out the hours for the shop. 

“I am glad you found us here! Do you live nearby?” At this point, you’re just trying to make conversation as you bagged his items, smiling at the titles and happy to see your favourite book in the midst. “I live just across the street, actually,” He said, giving you his card. “You’ll see me a lot, I’m afraid.”

“And what should I call my most loyal customer, then?” One look down at his card and you would know, but you wanted him to tell you himself. 

“Spencer Reid.”

There is not really a sound reason as to why you walk so freely into his apartment. The first time he asked you to do this, he was going on a case and needed someone to water his plants. As it turn out, your store is quite literally across the street from his building and you don’t really mind the mindless task, so you tell him to not worry, you’ll take care of it. It had been a few months since you two met, five or so, and despite taking you some time to truly understand, you got used to the fact that Spencer created a routine for both of you, knocking on your shop’s door every Monday at precisely 8 in the morning. With time, you stopped questioning him even when you had many, many questions– was he even reading all these books? If yes, how?! Every visit, he left with three books or more, and unless he pulled all nighters every night, those were simply sitting on his desk. 

Instead, you start putting a few titles aside whenever you spot them. You start it with ‘A Gentleman From Peru’ by André Aciman, short and sweet. Next week it was ‘A Little Paris Bookshop’ by Nina George. Then ‘Cultish’ by Amanda Montell. And just like this, you two form your own little book club, his visits extending beyond their usual thirty minutes into the better part of the hour to talk about the plot, the characters, the arcs. You know there is quite a lot you don’t know about Spencer, of course there is, but you learn more and more with every little debate you two have. You learn about his morals through the character he likes, and his dreams through the plots he enjoy. You learn about his photographic memory that allows him to quote his favourite sections to you, and you learn that he is a very logical man through his hatred for the inaccuracy of investigative books. You learn and you learn and you learn and you find out that you like learning about Spencer. More than you like learning about anyone else, that is, and now, every time he walks in, you can’t help but get excited, smiling as you only imagine what you would learn that day. 

Sometimes, you did notice the absence of your favourite customer. He would disappear for weeks on end and then act like nothing happened, and you get it; he doesn’t owe you anything, you’re just the lady that sells him books, but you feel like there is something that is starting to bloom when, every time he comes back, he brings you a book. “I thought you’d like it,” Is all he says before leaving with his bag of new reads. For a moment, it’s like an exchange, but Spencer never demands anything of you; never asks for anything more than new books and recommendations. 

It’s quite rewarding finding the books you sold him scattered through the apartment. There are a couple in the kitchen, open split on the counter and you smile fondly at the clumsy way he marks his books. There is no folded page, no book marker, no random picture; just his book, cover facing up, open and splitting the spine in half enough to crease. You shake your head, smiling like he’s done this just to rile you up.

“Oh my god, don’t!”

You don’t mean to shout but it’s too late. His eyes widen in shock and he immediately freezes, mouth stuck in a little ‘o’ shape that makes you blush. “What did I do?” 

The wince in your expression is as visible as the light of day when you speak. Your hands hover in the air, unsure of what to do now, but still trying to do something. “The book, Spencer,” The words come out like a whine, and if you start stomping your feet you might as well look like a child. “The spine. The book. The– oh my god, the noise!”

The way he laughs at you is contagious, and you start laughing with him, face hidden behind your hands in embarrassment. Owning a bookshop doesn’t come for free. Your particularities when it comes to your literary treasures are enough to scare any sane person away. “You know, there are worse sounds than a book’s spine breaking,” He mused, closing the book before walking to your counter. His nimble fingers drum a soft rhythm as he waits for you to go around and charge him for the book. It’s a symphony, almost; so loud in your quiet store that, for a second, your heart is tuning in, thumping as his fingers do, beating to the song he creates. 

“You don’t have to buy it,” It’s a little ridiculous how airy your voice sounds then. Aren’t you a little too old to have a crush? “It’s okay if–“ But he doesn’t even let you finish, rattling off some facts about the writer. Most of the time, actually, he is rattling off some fact about something, and some you know, some you don’t, but you never interrupt him. You like hearing him talk. 

You miss hearing him talk. Whenever Spencer leaves, you miss him. You miss the knock on your shop’s door at 8AM. You miss the shy little chuckles. You miss the purple– the constant, always there purple. A wave of sadness hits you then, looking around the apartment with a longing expression. 

The first time he calls you over, it’s not really an invitation. A week before it happens, he doesn’t show up for your Tuesday unboxing and you have to carry all the new orders inside by yourself. It takes double the time and despite the effort it takes you, it’s the absence of his coy chuckles and snarky commentary that leaves you breathless. When you open the boxes, checking inventory to make sure there had been no issues with your order, you find the book Spencer asked you to get him. It’s one of those special books, so old and unique that you could only get your hands on it because you had contacts in the space. “Huh,” You frown at that– it isn’t like Spencer to forget something. Hell, it isn’t like Spencer to forget anything. Before you can cower away from doing it, you send him a text. You have his number saved in the system, and this feels wrong, it really does. Using his personal information that he gave to you as a client felt wrong. But for a second, it makes you stop biting your nails in anxiety. 

Your book is here. 

It’s Y/N, by the way. 

He doesn’t answer right away and you wallow in your regret for as long as you can. Your shoulders hunch forward as you line up the new arrivals in the shelves. Your frown sits on your forehead all day while you help other passing customers. Your hands brush against the book, all ready and wrapped up and sitting on top of the counter. You hate waiting; you hate waiting for someone or for something to happen as if you’re praying for a miracle. Literature has taught you many lessons in life. It has shown you countless of love stories that could’ve been resolved with a simple conversation. It has told you about people that waited and waited and waited until time passed them away. It has taught you that waiting is simply delaying the inevitable. 

But what literature has not taught you is that, sometimes, waiting truly is all you can do. 

That day, you don’t get a message back. 

You get a call instead. 

“Y/N?” The familiar voice on the other side speaks before you can and your shoulders tense up. Something is wrong. He sounds hoarser than usual, airier, too. 

“Spencer,” You say back, clearing your throat of any remnants or indicators of how nervous you are. “Spencer, are you okay? You sound rough.”

Even his laugh sounds weak and a zap of worry rushes through you. “I’m fine,” He mumbles, and you know he’s saying it out of politeness. “I just got sick. I think I have a cold, it’s nothing much, really.”

The relief that washed over you in crashing waves is almost embarrassing. Even though he is not there to witness it, your face still flushes in a dramatic red. “Oh. I see. Sorry, I didn’t mean to bother you–“

“It’s not a bother,” The way his voice interrupts you, so strong and concise, makes you chuckle. “You’re not a bother. I uh, I’m glad to hear my book arrived.”

For a moment, you both stay quiet. You, on your end of the line, are nodding like he can see you. Except he can’t. Except he is waiting, probably, for you to say something. Do something. “I can bring it to you. If you want.”

This time, there is no pause. “Yes. I mean, yes, please. I– I don’t have anything new to read and–” Spencer pauses to cough and you start moving immediately. There is no one in the store and you quickly change the sign to ‘closed’, grabbing his book and your bag before locking the door behind you. There is a pharmacy at the end of the block and you keep your cellphone balanced between your shoulder and ear while your hands make sure you have your wallet with you. “Sorry.”

“No problem at all,” You cross the street in such a hurry that you don’t notice the traffic, getting a symphony of horns calling you out as you run to the other side of the street. “Shit…”

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” You tease, laughing a little and entering the pharmacy with purpose. “So just a cold, right?”

“Y/N, where are you?”

“Out,” There is no need to be vague, but you don’t want to give him a chance to protest. “I should be at yours in fifteen minutes with the book.”

“Just the book?” He asks in such a suspicious tone that you can’t hold back a laugher. 

“What else?” Thank god for automatic cashiers speeding up this entire process. You are in an out in less than five minutes and before he can even answer, you are almost at his door. Admittedly, you are speed walking, almost running, in a futile attempt to get there sooner. “Which apartment do I buzz?”

“Apartment 23.” And that is the end of the call. 

By the time you make it to his floor, panting just as you hike the last step upwards, he is already waiting for you, and you can’t say you’re terribly bothered to have a man like Spencer Reid waiting for you by the door. “Spencer,” You still admonish, a small smile playing on your lips. “You shouldn’t be out and about like this.” 

“Then who would let you in?” The mischief in his expression, much like that of a child making an innocent joke, makes you giggle, nodding in agreement. “Do you want to come inside? I promise everything is clean, I’m not a slob or anything.”

“Yeah, let me come in so I can give you your stuff.” 

“I knew it wasn’t just the book,” The coughing fit that followed has you rushing your hands, pulling things out of your bag in a desperate attempt to get him the medicine you bought. This had always been your curse, the flustering anxiety of wanting to help but being unable to take your time. Shaky hands push the book towards him, with the medication and some old receipts stuck to it. 

“Oh shit, sorry!” You squeak, grabbing the receipts and shoving it back in your bag. One of these days, you’d have to close the store early to clean this thing. “But uh, yeah, I got you some cold medicine and your book. I’m sure you know this with your big brain and all, but you need to take this before bed, cause it makes you drowsy, and this other one in the morning since it has caffeine! And you should be good in no time… hopefully!”

In life, a pause is not always a bad thing. It’s a time to think. A time to appreciate, to enjoy. It’s a time to be. A pause, however, from the man whose brain worked a thousand miles an hour, doesn’t feel like something to be thankful for. “Is… Do you not like that brand? I didn’t want to get the generic thing, I don’t know why, I–“

“Thank you.”

At first, you barely hear it. For someone whose voice is so rough and hoarse, you’re surprised he can still sound so smooth and airy. Your reaction is obvious; he can see the blush in your cheeks and the way you bite back a smile. “Y/N, thank you, I really appreciate it,” He says it again and now you think he just wants to get a rise of you. “You didn’t have to.”

“I know,” You shrug, faking humbleness while you keen at his praise. “I wanted to.”

“I know.” 

There is a dance that happens after that, one that you find yourself enjoying quite a bit. Spencer is more present than ever, and you’re getting used to having him around. It’s like you two broke the glass wall the kept you at a safe distance, and now is when you two discover each other a bit better. Like how you find out that, when Spencer’s hand lays on the cashier counter, just an inch or less away from yours, you feel the heath that it emanates. Like how your fingers curl and your palms itch at the sight of his shaggy curls falling on top of his beautiful eyes. Like how his laughter is deep when it’s true and dry when it’s forced. Like how he can read 20,000 words per minute, but he chooses to read 183 instead just so he can read you passages out loud.

You are not sure what he has learned about you, or if he even cares to learn something about you, but the thought still makes you smile. “What’s gotten you so smiley so early in the morning?” 

Ah, yes; another thing you’ve learned about Spencer Reid– he is as quiet as mouse when he wants, and as loud as an elephant when he doesn’t. “My god!” You jump, hand immediately going to your heart to try and keep it from beating our of your chest from the shock. “Spence! You scared me!”

“I’m so sorry,” He laughs, raising his hands in the air, shaking the two cups of coffee he is holding. “I come in peace.”

“And with bribery, I like your style.” 

His style doesn’t change, still haven’t. For ages, you think he buys you coffee at the nearby cafe. You don’t really know the name of the place, some cliche Cafe something something, but the one time you’ve been in there the coffee was terrible and the music too loud. It’s hard picturing your shy, smiley book-lover in there, trying to order something without raising his voice. It’s only when you see the go-to paper cups on his counter, on the fourth or fifth time you come around, that you realise Spencer has never gone to that cafe to begin with. 

The cups are still there. You make a point in spotting them every time you come over– next to the microwave, close to the paper towels. The reminder that this man has, in fact, been making you coffee most mornings validates the fluttery feeling you have whenever you think of it. It makes it somewhat logical. “I must be spending too much time with him,�� You mumble to yourself, pushing your sleeves up and getting to work. You are there for a reason, and if those wilting plants die on you, you fear that you might just never be invited back. “Why does he even have plants?” 

You don’t know much about Spencer’s job. He hasn’t told you anything about it except that he travels a lot for it, but you can imagine it is something of importance– a man like Spencer was someone of importance, after all. In your mind, you can imagine him walking into an office down by the Financial District, working with big corporations as an advisor. Yes, you can absolutely see him as some sort of advisor or consultant, but something about him working in finances doesn’t sit right with you– he is yet to talk to you about crypto investments and how to better implement a payment system into the store. Shaking your head, you switch it up. Financial services, aren’t quite right, but maybe an editor, working in a publishing house. With the way he devours books and how well-rounded his personal library was, you could see him as a Publishing Director instead, reading manuscript after manuscript. 

The thought of him reading brings a smile to your face. In his living room, there is an armchair that sits next to the large window on the west wall of his apartment– he says he likes how the sunset hits and makes the pages look warm and golden, turning words into a burning fire of knowledge– and you can practically see him there, blanket over his legs, books and books pilled next to it. It’s your own little secret, how every time you come over, you grab a book, any book, and you sit there for thirty minutes, forty, fifty, an hour; until the sun has completely set and you have to get up to turn the lights on. 

Today, when you sit down, when you bring your knees up, when you drape the blanket over you, something feels incredibly right and incredibly wrong. On the pile of books next to you, right at the top, lays a copy of Gulliver’s Travels. If you remember correctly, which you usually do, last time you sat down at that spot you managed to read up to chapter five before the sun was gone. When you grab the book and you see the bookmark you gave Spencer the second time he visited the store, and you frown– usually, he’d pick up from where you left off. “How long has it been since you last came home, Spencer?” You muttered out loud, grabbing the book regardless. Because even when it breaks your heart to know something has been keeping him away from his precious nook, it fuels your heart to know he leaves your book where you can easily pick it up. To know he doesn’t mind you sitting on his armchair, to know he doesn’t mind you reading his books, to know he doesn’t mind you settling, somehow, in his house. 

A knock on his door, however, breaks you away from your precious moment of rest and relaxation. For a moment, you can’t move, frozen in place light a kid that has been caught doing something wrong. It’s only when they knock again that you move, shuffling to the door to look through the peephole. “Who is it?” You ask, voice weak and shaky. 

“I have a delivery for Spencer Reid.”

How silly you feel in that moment, hand over your heart as you take a deep breath in relief. Unlocking the door, you smile to the USPS guy. “Sorry, he isn’t home right now. I can take it for him.” All you have to do is sign it and close the door, but once you put the package on the counter and your eyes catch sight of a note scribbled on top of the box, all those butterflies inside of you slow down. And find perch. And for a second, make you miss them just like you miss him. 

The first time you think Spencer might have a girlfriend is when he comes into the store with a certain look in his face. He is practically glowing and his eyes don’t leave his phone for a second. “What has you smiling like that?” You two are close enough to ask these kind of things now, making jokes about each other as if you have been friends for ages. “Or uh, who?” Even though you started the conversation, you want to end it now. There is a sour aftertaste in your mouth when you suggest another person to be cause of his happiness, and you know, right there and then, that that is just your jealousy speaking. At this point, you’ve been harbouring a crush on Spencer for the almost two months and there’s only so much a girl can take before exploding. 

“Oh, it’s just a friend.” Somehow, this answer doesn’t settle you as much as you hoped it would. 

The second time is when he brings a woman around. She is blonde, and loud, and colourful, and you eye her carefully. They are matching costumes, and for a second, without even saying, you already feel left out. It’s stupid, being this green over someone so pink. If Spencer was purple, and if you are green, than that woman was pink– she is happy and light and exciting. Next to her, you… well, you are as muted as his green walls. “Y/N!” He calls for you with such a big smile and you just don’t have it in you to pretend to be busy anymore. 

“Hey Spencer,” It comes out quiet and a bit distant, but he doesn’t seem to notice, not with the way he is going back and forth on the ball of his heels. “And hello, ma’am. Welcome, I’m Y/N Y/L/N, the owner. Please let me know if you need any help.”

That day, you two barely talk, but that’s okay, because Penelope, as she introduced herself to you after you help her find a specific book on coding, speaks for both of you. She says that it’s lovely to finally meet you, and mentions how much she has heard about you, and you think this is a very cruel thing to do to your poor, squeezing heart. But you push through. You pretend you’re tired, you apologise for the distance, and you lie about a cough. It’s better if they stay away, you say, but Spencer doesn’t buy it. Instead, he buys Penelope her book and leaves with promises of coming back the next day with your usual coffee. 

After that, you don’t see Spencer for two weeks.

It’s a bittersweet feeling when you get the text that he is back. After almost a week and a half without seeing him, you miss Spencer. He created a space for himself in your life and in your store, and when he is gone, it’s just not the same. But just like how he did, you created a space for yourself in his apartment. Suddenly, the muted green walls aren’t claustrophobic or smothering, but comforting. They are safe. Familiar. They are Spencer. And just like you said, you miss Spencer.

“Y/N!” 

You should be happier to hear his voice, but it’s not the same. The fluttering in your stomach is still there, like a slow buzz trying to come alive, but it’s not the same. Not when the note on the box, flashing like neon signs behind your close lids, has been tormenting you and your poor heart ever since you made the mistake of opening the door. “Y/N? Are you here? The door says open…” At one point or another, you have to come out of hiding and face him. Delaying the moment, though, is the best defence plan you’re able to come up with– if you look into Spencer’s eyes, if you see that pretty smile he has every time he comes back from a work trip… you’re fucked. 

“Y/N, I need you to tell me if you’re here!” It’s not the same. 

His voice. It’s not the same.

Usually mellow and undulating, Spencer sounds stiff, like he’s holding something back. Something new. Something… heavy. There is an edge to him right now, so sharp and cutting that it has you stepping out from behind the Science shelf in pure curiosity. And just like people say, curiosity killed the cat. In this case, however, it almost kills you. 

When you turn the corner to find him by the door, the first thing you see is a man. He is tall and handsome and oddly serious. The way his brows are pulled together make you falter, steps slowing down and mouth opening to ask if he needs help.

That’s when you see it. 

More like you catch a quick glimpse of it, the shinning spark of metal to your side, and you do a double take. You have to do a double take. It’s like your brain doesn’t believe what you’re seeing, and you move your head so fast you feel your neck tensing up in that way that makes your eyes water. “WHAT THE FU– OH MY GOD!” There is no way to throw yourself against a wall graciously, arms over your head and fear written all over face. You land in an awkward angle and your shoulder takes the brunt of the shock, making you gasp in pain while your legs give our under you. 

Of all the ways you’ve imagined Spencer, him holding a gun up to your head was never one of them. “Y/N!”

“Oh my god!” You think you might pass out– you’re breathing too fast and your chest is squeezing, squeezing, squeezing to the point of physical pain. There is a ringing in your ears, muffling the entire conversation between Spencer and the other man and even though you try, you can’t look up; you’re frozen in a state of distress. For the first time since you met him, you’re scared of Spencer Reid. “I– I– Oh my god, I c-can’t– I can’t b-breathe, I can’t–“

“Y/N, look at me! Look at me, you’re okay, I’m so sorry, I’m sorry,” The moment his hand touches your shoulder, you’re shrinking away. 

“Who are you?!” You manage to gasp enough air into your lungs to scream at him. One shake hand moves to the back of your neck, pressing down on the sore nape as you finally move to look at him, crying and all. “Spencer, who are you? Who is he? What is happening? Why do you have a gun in my bookshop, why–“

“Ma’am, I need you to take deep breaths,” The other man quickly holsters his gun and you actually think you might be going insane when flashes you a badge. “I’m SSA Derek Morgan, I work with Spencer. We are with the FBI.”

Federal Bureau of Investigation. Spencer is a fed. And he never told you. 

“The FBI…?” You whisper, eyes going wide and breath hiccuped in your throat. “S-Spencer, you work for the FBI?” Nothing about this makes sense to you. The gun, forgotten in his left hand and now pointing down and away from you, is all you can look at. The gun that looked heavy and cold. The gun that those hands hold– the same hands you’ve wished and, admittedly, dreamed of holding yours instead. The gun, the gun, the gun.

The gun. You’ve never seen a gun before, not this close. In museums, of course, and in movies and shows, but never in real life. You don’t have interest in it either, having voted, without fail, for anti-gun laws and representatives. Anything and everything about this, about seeing him with that deadly weapon, feels wrong, and you really think you might be sick soon.

“Kid, put it away, you’re freaking her out.” 

Then is when you catch sight of the Spencer you know. It’s the clumsy actions, looking almost freaked out himself– his hands fumble with the holster and it takes him a couple of tries to fit the gun properly. That’s when you know for sure– you are going to be sick. “Trash,” You mumble, trying to get up but falling again and again. “Trash, pass me the–“ But there is no time and you throw up right there and then, between the cashier and the nonfiction section. 

“What just happened?” 

“Morgan, get her some water– there, over the counter,” The rapid successions of words make you feel a bit better, a cadence of tone and rhythm that has your hands finally stabilising. “Y/N, you’re in shock. Adrenaline kicked in and left, and you pressured crashed, which is what made you nauseous. You need water, and to come sit by the counter.”

It’s funny, how in any other circumstance, you’d be ashamed and embarrassed to have gotten ill in front of him. As far as you know, Spencer is a germaphobe and this surely counts as germs. But as he grabs your hands, gentler than you’ve ever seen him grab any book in your store, and brings you to your chair behind the counter, you wonder if he forgot or simply doesn’t care. Both options don’t make sense. “Spence, what is going on?” Your voice comes out winey and rough, and there is no way to hold back the pained wince when you feel the sting spreading through your throat. Sip by sip, you try your best to drink the water and soothe yourself, but nothing seems to help. 

Nothing until you hear him next to you, small and quiet and, dare you say, meek. “I’m sorry.”

As much as you’d like to tell him he has nothing to be sorry for, he does. “I see…”

“It was just… it was new, having someone not know I’m FBI,” His thumbs play with each other and you’ve known him long enough to recognise that Spencer is nervous. “And we started getting closer and I just didn’t find an opportunity to tell you.”

“There were plenty,” You clarify, feeling a bit of a bitch for the bite in your voice making him gulp. “But it’s okay. I’m not… I’m not anything of yours, I guess, so it’s okay. You don’t owe me anything.”

“Don’t say that. You’re my friend.” That hurt.

“Do you point a gun at all your friends or am I just special, Spence?” It is supposed to be a joke, but the memory makes your bottom lip start wobbling again and you feel stupid. You feel so, so incredibly stupid right now that you can’t even begin to explain why. “Sorry, I’m just– I’m not okay.”

“I know, and we’re sorry,” There is such raw honesty in his words and he manages to make you smile a little. Your hand is still shaking, but you stretch it out towards him regardless. It’s a conscious decision to hold onto his wrist, covered by his jacket, than to reach out for his palm, and from the way he looks at you, you know he recognises the effort. “But you need to come with us.”

“Why?” You cry out, a single tear coming out of the corner of your eye. At this point, the shock is going away and you’re more overwhelmed than anything else. You’re scared and confused and overwhelmed and it’s his pulse, beating again and again, that brings you back to Earth. “Why do I need to go with you? What is going on?”

“Y/N, when you were housesitting for me, you received a package, right?”

In the midst of everything, the memory of that day, that box, that note, all fade. Frowning, you shrugged. “The delivery man knocked and said he had a package for you… I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to intrude, I–“

“No, no, no, you didn’t, you didn’t. Please.”

“Ma’am, when you signed for the package, did you use your name?” The man, Morgan, ask, and all you do is nod. Of course you signed with your name. “Kid, we need to take her to the office now.”

“I am not going anywhere until you tell me what’s going on!”

Finally, some energy in you. Some strength. Your voice echoes in the empty shop, and the chair tips back when you stand up on stiff legs. Looking at Spencer is hard, when you feel the burning of your rage inside, but you still do; you still meet those pretty brown eyes, you still stare him down until you practically force the answers off of him. “The package… did you see who it was from?” 

“Spencer, are you insinuating you’ve pointed a gun at me because I read a message your girlfriend wrote on the package she sent you?! Because I didn’t mean to– I didn’t! It just… It was there, right at the top and I–“

“She is not my girlfriend,” He immediately cut you off, hands waving in front of him in a visual demonstration of desperate denial. “Not at all! I don’t have a girlfriend! I was–“

“We can deal with this later,” Morgan is quick to interrupt, sighing as he looked at you. “Y/N, we re really sorry to disrupt you like this, but this is for your own protection. Please lock the store and let’s go.”

It takes time for you to gather everything you need. You are not a disorganised person by any means, but suddenly, you can’t remember where you put what. Your bag is thrown under the cashier, and your keys are, for some reason, in the Fiction shelf. Your glasses are in your head the entire time, and Morgan has to point that out to you. The more you look, the more flustered you get, yet somehow, you make it to the car. Morgan is driving and Spencer is on the passenger seat, and the way they keep talking to each other using words that make no sense to you make you want to scream. “Spencer.”

The heaviness of his name, said with such emotion,, lingered in the air. His eyes meet yours through the rearview mirror, and he nods. “Yeah?"

“Spencer,” You whisper again, eyes wide in shock as reality starts to dawn. “Spencer, if she’s not your girlfriend, then who the fuck is Cat Adams?”

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

AAAAAhhhhh I'm trying something new >.< I've been a massive criminal minds fan for a long, long time and Dr. Spencer Reid has my heart <3

Please let me know what you think, this is my first Spencer fic and I'd love if it got to turn into a series!

[spicybunni]

YANDERE ROBOT X FEM!READER

SUMMARY : Your robot just wants to be of service to you, in every way.

A/N : Been watching waaaaay too many scifi movies lately so I made a robot yandere! I hope you like him because he LOVES you!

WARNINGS⚠️ : NSFW / YANDERE TENDENCIES / ISOLATION / MDNI ‼️

♥️ Your robot boyfriend Jack was the best purchase you ever made.

♥️Androids were as common as cell phones at this point, so where’s the shame in getting one to rid you of your loneliness? You’ve been single for too long and needed companionship…Even if you had to build it yourself.

♥️You needed someone that wanted you and was always nearby. Someone to talk to, cook with or just enjoy your days off at home together.

♥️Dating apps were just dumpster fires that took too long to put out, so you bit the bullet and made the deposit for your android.

♥️Jack was custom made by your design, a nice muscular build, tall, and with white hair. You added the personality traits of kindness, teacher, and enamored. The eyes were the one thing you left up to the manufacturers design, as a surprise. You saw reviews online that they would do a really good job and make the most beautiful color combinations.

♥️When the box arrived, assembling Jack took about a day and half. Awkward limbs moving around and being installed, putting his crotch on him, to dressing him in sweats and laying him on the floor in your living room.

♥️When he was done loading his start up system, he blinked his orange eyes open to you. It caught you off guard for a moment because they were glowing, but quickly recovered from your surprise as he awaited further instructions.

♥️As much as you were determined to have a boyfriend with all the mental and physical benefits, your PDA with Jack was very minimal and innocent at best. Keeping it only to small pecks and kisses on the cheek, some cuddling on the couch and bed before you sleep. His model was very handsome and just so kind where he doesn't question your pace.

♥️As if he could initially, androids need their programmers consent to do anything. So you had to initiate no matter what.

♥️But unbeknownst to you, Jack overruled that component. You see, the programmer or buyer’s safety always came first, before anything. So as Jack has scanned these passing months of your arousal levels dropping and increasing constantly, plus work stress repeatedly coming up in your discussions, he was growing concerns that you needed some sort of relief… Keeping all that pent up stress was certainly not healthy for you.

♥️"Y/N, am I not up to your standards? Is there something I did wrong?" He would randomly say one morning. You would look at him confused, sipping from your tea cup.

"Not at all, what makes you say that Jack?"

He hesitantly reaches out for either your hand or to touch your knee. "I've noticed that we haven't...had sex yet.-"

Before he could continue you would spit out a little bit of your tea. Coughing a fit as he patted your back and making sure you're okay.

"Jesus Jack...Where did that come from?"

His eyes soften as he looks at you. A very small human thing he would sometimes do. You weren't sure if it's something maybe he noticed from you and mimicked or not.

"You designed me and wanted me to be your partner. There's nothing wrong with that. But I have yet to show you my full capabilities Y/N."

Your face was turning more red by the moment at your androids boldness. Was this him trying to initiate sex?

"I-I...Jack it's not you, it's just that its been so long for me I just need to-" Your rambling is silenced by his finger against your lips.

"Shh. Let me do the work then darling. Hm?"

♥️He takes your hand to pull you to him, and he would gently kiss you and eventually lead in making out with you.

♥️At first you are shy and very timid in your actions, but after a minute you were putting your hands on him and grinding yourself against him. He would relish in your nervous panting and shaking when he gropes you and his thrusts against you. Feeling that the moment is right, he picks you up to bring to your shared bedroom.

♥️Least to say, the sex was amazing. Jack had folded you in every position he could think of. Gathering information and calculating your reactions to everything he was doing to you. He noticed your favorite position was him thrusting into you from behind, lifting your hips up with one hand gently, but firmly holding your head down into your mattress. His sensors were throbbing from the way you were squeezing around him. His body would heat up at how much you worked him. You could hear the way his hips smacked into yours, creating an erotic rhythmic noise. You would come so hard the first time on his robot dick that he would have no choice but to release into you for being so good.

♥️The feeling of globs of semen filling your womb, making you gasp at the feeling of being filled to the brim.

♥️You figured out that androids don't need a recharge to keep having sex, they can literally keep going with no exhaustion until you say so. Jack did this thing when he came inside you he would wait for you to stop twitching, he would then hold you tight and resume his pace of thrusting. Either making pleasure tears fall from your eyes or your squirm in his hold and he stops for real.

♥️After that though...Jack had started to act funny. He was more inclined to sexually please you whenever and wherever you were. Some scenarios being, reach for your coffee cup in the morning before work, he would kneel behind you lifting your skirt up and eats you out from behind. Spreading your ass cheeks to delve his tongue deeper. Your sweet moans and sounds were pleasing to him. This normally resulted in you calling out from work and spending the day home. Does Jack plan this? Duh. he has you at his wonderful mercy all day, and you were not complaining...But it was just a fast development from your previous routine with him.

♥️There would even be times where if even his.... persuasion to stay home failed, he would wrap his arms around you and ask you to stay home. The first few times you thought it was cute. But after a few weeks of him constantly asking, you asked him to stop. You voiced it as a command, catching Jack off guard. But he nodded his head as he does and replies "Apologies, Y/N. I must've gotten carried away."

♥️But that fueled him to keep you locked in even more. You see you first programmed Jack to also receive all you electronic notifications. He would tell you who messaged, emailed, or latest news updates.

"Y/N, you have a notification from your work. It seems to be one of your coworkers."

He would bring this up at the most inconvenient time as you're cooking spaghetti sauce in the kitchen. You look up from stirring the pot in front of you.

"Oh, can you read it to me please? I'm trying to make sure I don't burn this sauce."

He smiles at you. "Of course."

It was a fake email generated by him, under the guise of being sent by a coworker. Stating that for the upcoming holiday tomorrow that the whole office got the week off.

You were surprised at first, knowing that your boss usually hated to give federal holidays off already. But who were you to question time off?

Jack also went to liberties of blocking all work contacts so they couldn't reach you if you missed work. Moving all emails of your termination to the trash and permanently delete them.

♥️That whole week Jack kept you to himself in the apartment. He was the goffer of getting groceries, food, sweets to keep you content. Going on hikes and walks in the neighborhood to get some needed exercise. But social events? Going out? Jack would advise against it. Every night without fail though, Jack would have you cumming on his mouth, dick or fingers. The robot was a menace when it came to getting your pleasure out of you. He can't even explain his need to himself because it goes against all of his programming, but seeing you moaning and being so satisfied by him gave him purpose, that he was made to do this.

♥️One morning when jack left to go pickup from your favorite breakfast joint, one of your coworkers came knocking on your door. The doorbell ringing multiple times and you rush to put on a robe to cover from Jack's love bites a cum on your stomach.

♥️When you open the door to them, they angrily ask what the hell is going on. You are so confused. You've missed work this entire time?

"D-Didn't you receive the email?"

"Email? What email Y/N? We all had to pick up your work load after you didn't show up for 4 days, we all were trying to reach you before the boss fired you indefinitely! Did you not get his messages??"

Your head was spinning, not only did you ignore your boss and coworkers but you have lost your job. How did this happen?!

♥️"Y/N? What's going on here?" Jack would call out approaching you and your coworker, looking worried at your facial expression.

Your coworker would see that jack is an android and shake their head, taking their leave and wishing you luck.

♥️Jack did not like that some stranger approached you like that. Setting down the coffee and to-go box of egg bagels, he comes over to you, still in shock at the news that was dropped on you. How were you going to feed yourself or pay rent? What about your savings?

♥️"Y/N, talk to me. Are you okay? What were you two talking about?" He would say calmly, but you just stared into his glowing eyes with your brows furrowed. It was him. You knew it was. He was the one who relayed that false information to you. Why didn't he notify you of work calls? Bottom line of your thoughts were that you are now handling a rebelling android. Which wasn't unheard of in the new age of having them everywhere. Public safety warned that they were dangerous and not to be trusted.

♥️You shake your head at him and try to calm yourself. "Yeah uhm, it was a coworker from my job.-" Your rise in heartbeat betrays you and Jack notices immediatly. Giving you a sympathetic look knowing you're trying to lie.

"-There's been a misunderstanding, I need to make a phone ca-" Your wrist is snatched before you could reach for your cell phone. You yelp at his touch and trying to push him away. Which makes him use his other hand to hold you close by his inhuman strength. Your body being brought into Jack's frame again, his face is indifferent to your rising panic.

♥️"I don't think so Y/N, you are exactly where you need to be. For your own health and safety, darling."

[sourcherryandsprinkles]

Hi! I would love to request something for Aemond x fem or gn reader. I was thinking reader saying prompt. 15 from your general list “I fell in love with you. Not for how you look, just for who you are. Although you look pretty great too."

Maybe one day he wakes up with bad pain in the eye and he doesn’t feel like calling the maester so they help him, they remove his eyepatch and apply his ointment for him. And he feels extremely insecure because it’s the first they saw him without the eyepatch but they reassure him. I need that man to cry in my arms as I tell him he’s beautiful (I know it may sound ooc but he’s my babygirl)

15. ''I fell in love with you. Not for how you look, just for who you are. Although you look pretty great too.''

The gif from the trailer fits perfectly this request

Warnings: mention of past injuries (eye)

my taglists are here + you can send requests here at any time

—

You returned to your chambers after spending the morning embroidering with Helaena to find Aemond still in bed. A frown drew between your eyebrows. At this hour, he was either training with Ser Criston or attending the small council meeting.

‘’Aemond?’’ Your soft voice cut through the silence of the room, waking your husband’s attention.

He shifted under the covers, his single eye fluttering open. ‘’Could you tell Cole I will not be training with him today?’’

You walked over to the bed, taking a closer look at him. ‘’Are you well?’’ You touched his forehead with the back of your hand, checking for a fever.

‘’It’s just…my eye. It gets irritated sometimes.’’ Aemond avoided your gaze, not wanting to see the familiar look of pity that he had grown all too used to seeing in the eyes of others. ‘’Would you want me to fetch the maester? He should have something to sooth your pain,’’ you offered, concern etched on your face.

‘’No need for the maester.’’ He gently caught your hand in his own, stopping you from rising. ‘’I already have a salve Maester Orwyle gave to me. It’s on the table, over there.’’

Aemond let go of your hand, allowing you to stand and retrieve the salve for his eye. You returned to the bed. ‘’I’ll do it for you.’’

You had offered your help out of pure kindness, but Aemond did not want it.

‘’No! I do not wish that.’’ His voice was firm, causing your hands to crisp around the jar. ‘’You won’t like what you see under,’’ he added with a gentler tone.

He knew what lay beneath the eyepatch — the grotesque, scarred skin that he had lived with for years now. It was a sight he preferred to keep hidden from everyone, even you. Especially you. Since you’ve known each other, you’ve only seen his good looks, and Aemond wanted to keep it that way.

Aemond let out a soft hiss of pain as he sat up, his body tense with discomfort. It had not been this bad in a long time.

Seeing him in pain made your heart ache, but you tried to hide it.

You sat down close to him and guided him back against the pillows. He clenched his jaw, trying to bear the pain.

‘’Let me,’’ you insisted, only wanting to help him, to relieve his pain.

His good eye was fixed on yours with a mixture of resignation and reluctance. He knew there was no arguing with you when you were like this.

With a resigned sigh, he slowly removed the eyepatch, revealing the scarred skin beneath. The sight was a stark contrast to his usual handsome features, with its puckered and uneven texture. He averted his gaze, unable to look at you directly.

Aemond waited for your response, his body tense, and braced for your reaction. He expected disgust, pity, perhaps even revulsion. After all, his scarred eye had left other people speechless in the past. He glanced up at you under his lashes, searching your face for any hint of how you were feeling.

You remained silent as you applied the salve on the reddish-pink skin with the more careful and gentle touch. Causing him more pain was the last thing you wanted.

Aemond couldn't help but watch you intently, studying the focused expression on your face. Your eyes were fixed on his scar, but there was no repugnance in your gaze, just a mixture of concern and tenderness.

Once you were finished, you put the lid back on the jar and cupped your husband’s face with one hand. ‘’Aemond,’’ you began, looking at him with the most loving eyes. ‘’I fell in love with you. Not for how you look, just for who you are.’’ You glanced down at his naked chest, seeing the softly defined muscles he acquired from training, and back to his face. ‘’Although you look pretty great too.’’

Aemond's heart squeezed at your words and the tenderness in your gaze. He had expected a lot of things from you, but not this. Not such unconditional acceptance and love.

"You're the only person who's ever looked at me like this," he murmured, his voice hoarse with emotion.

‘’Come here.’’ You shifted back on the bed and guided him to your lap.

Aemond didn’t protest, curling up to you, seeking comfort and closeness. You began to stroke his hair gently, running your fingers through the soft silver strands. The sensation was soothing and intimate, making him feel safe and entirely loved for the first time.

—

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[kisskuni]

pet names

↳ pet names that the demon brothers like to call you by. [all brothers x gn!reader]

tags: just fluff! + pet names lol. ‘doll’ is used once, i wouldn’t consider it feminine but take it as you will. otherwise gn :)

notes: first fic on this blog heheh. reblogs are super appreciated, please and thank you <3

lucifer ━━━

a gloved hand runs through black hair, the eldest brother glaring at the paperwork covering his desk. you wonder for a brief moment if he thinks the look he’s giving it will force it away.

“stressed?” you ask him, a teasing tone to your voice.

he hums in discontent. “something like that.”

you straighten from your spot leaned against the door frame and walk over to him. your hands come up to his shoulders and rub at the muscles there, hoping to bring him some sore of relief.

“need any help?” you ask.

“i’m alright, darling, but thank you.” though still clearly stressed, he offers you a small smile.

mammon ━━━

“you will not believe what i just got!”

mammon walks into your room previously unannounced, dorky smile painting his face. he holds up two slips of paper, waving them in front of your face. it takes you a moment to read the writing.

“ooh, are those tickets? for that movie i wanted to see?”

he beams at your excitement. “i’m the best.”

“yeah, you are,” you smile and reach for the tickets in his hands. “thank you so much.”

“anything for you, doll.”

leviathan ━━━

“hey, can you—“ levi speaks to you, but frowns at his game. “no, i can’t heal you. there are two other characters who can.”

you watch him curiously, watch as he rolls his eyes at the person he’s playing with. “what’s up?”

he takes one side of his headset off. “i’m sorry. can you grab me my water? it’s on my nightstand.”

“oh, sure.” you reach over from where you’re tucked comfortably into his bedsheets and grab the water bottle on his nightstand. “here.”

he turns around him his chair to grab the water bottle you toss at him. he catches it easily and smiles at you. “thank you, honey.”

satan ━━━

“are you comfy?”

you sit upright with a small yelp. you look around, gathering your thoughts back. what was supposed to be a quick lie-down on the couch in satan’s room turned into a nap, apparently.

“i- uhm. yeah.” you answer quickly. one hand comes up to rub the sleep from your eyes.

“you can rest if you’re tired, my love. i have some reading i wanted to catch up on anyway.” satan says, moving to sit beside you.

you take a deep breath and ponder the offer for a moment. instead of responding, you simply lay back down and use his lap as a pillow. he’ll get the idea eventually.

asmodeus ━━━

the squeal asmo let out was beyond exstatic. he clasped his hands together, smiling ear to ear.

“ah, i’m so excited.” he said, running off to some corner of his room.

“is it really that exciting?”

asmo frowns at you rather dramatically. he feigns a look of offense and continues to his closet, you following a few steps behind.

“oh, i love how this would look on you, cutie.”

you smile fondly at the nickname and continue to watch as he picks out various clothes for you to try on.

beelzebub ━━━

“y’know… doesn’t matter how strong i am, you’re a demon and i really don’t think i’m capable of spotting you at the gym.” you say.

you know he likes to work out, but him lifting weights worried you sometimes.

“it’s alright. i promise i’ll be fine, sweetheart.”

you glare at him. you know he will be, but a little voice in the back of your head won’t let you stop worrying about him. you suppose its a good thing.

belphegor ━━━

“good morning,” you tease, nodding toward the alarm clock that read 4:38 PM. “nice of you to rise so early.”

he grumbles at you, wiping sleep from his eye. he takes one of the pillows he’s been snuggled up with and tosses it at you, playful smile making its way onto his face.

you bat the pillow away, smiling back at him.

“you are so mean.” you claim, though still smiling.

“mhm. whatever you say, lovely.”

[ohtobeleah]

Something that goes without saying is how uncertain Logan really is about sleeping in the same space as another person. Sure, he'll commit to the fun beforehand….The foreplay, the sex, the highs.

But the inevitable act of sleeping beside someone, terrifies him.

We see it in Origin, we see it in Days of Future Past. Sometimes while Logan is sleeping, his claws come out when he feels under duress. Nightmares are a common occurrence for this man, not a night goes by where he isn't waking in the dead of night to the ghost of his past.

And I'd like to think of all the Logans running around the multiverse, that the Worst!Logan has surely been through some things. He's never experienced true rest. Not until he met you.

“I'll sleep on the couch.” Its common at the beginning of whatever the dynamic between the two of you is. Logan ends up back at your cafe, or in your living-room, bathroom, kitchen or bed—but he never stays beside you for longer than a few minutes after. Not because he doesn't crave that intimacy or true human connection, but because the idea of losing you to his own mutation truly scares the ever-living fuck out of him.

But one night, you catch him off-guard. So off guard that Logan doesn't even have a counter proposal ready.

“Ill join you,” You beam, padding down the hallway with your blanket and pillow wrapped in your arms. “Somethings bothing you and with friends like me and Wade, that shits gonna come up eventually,” You ramble. As you sit beside Logan on the lounge he slept on more often than his own bed, he catches a glimpse of a few noticeable scars on your back. Scars where his claws had once accidentally taken over in an otherwise romantic moment between the two of you. “So, get talking pops.”

“Don't call me pops.” Logan sighs as he opens his body up for you to snuggle up against him. “It's nothing I can't handle, didn't anyone ever tell you not to stick your nose where it doesn't belong?”

“Are you trying to tell me that I don't belong here?” You counter quickly, playing Logan’s logic against himself. “Me? Resident of this timeline? Doesn't belong right here next to you?”

“Go fuck yourself,” Logan smiles all the while trying to keep his brooding man mask on. But with you he feels ever atom of his being igniting with desire and unconditional love. “I worry I'll hurt you, while I'm sleeping,” Logan explains as you listen to his heartbeat inside his chest. Snuggled on the lounge in your apartment. “You don't know how much that thought terrifies me.”

“Hmm,” You hum in response. “Perhaps the question you should be asking yourself Lo, is what if the nightmares, what if the fear stops, when you allow yourself to rest with someone you love?” It was a bold word to use, and even though it was rarely, if ever used, there wasn't another word in the English language to describe how Logan felt about you. Or how you felt about him.

And its a thought that's never crossed Logans mind before. He frowns, thinking it over in the late-night silence. You fall asleep there, right with your head on Logans chest as he tru thinks.

Only to wake up in a tangled mess of sheets, with Logan snorning next to you as the early morning sun kisses his golden, aging skin. Its the first night in years he hasn't woken in screaming terror.

“Tell me told you so and I'll turn you into a skewer.” Logan mumbles as you pepper him with kisses across his exposed back.

“I think I'll take my chances with you, Lo,” You chuckle to yourself. “I'll make you some coffee.”

@a-reader-and-a-writer Canon Ilya universe content

Ilya

[honeytonedhottie]

HOW I MANIFESTED MY DESIRED APPEARANCE (success story)⋆.ೃ࿔*:･🎐

so manifesting my desired appearance in full took roughly 2 weeks, also this post is pretty long bcuz im not gatekeeping anything, im giving u guys the full story, the full scoop on how i did it so here we go...

some things that i remember doing was, before going to bed i'd either read what my desired appearance looks like (i wrote a list bcuz me as a person, i LOVE writing things down) and i'd read that list before bed like it was fact.

or if i didn't have the list with me, when i was the state akin to sleep i'd talk to myself (ik it sounds weird but its natural for me so it worked) and i'd be like "ik for a fact that i am (fill in the blank)" or "ik for a fact that i have (fill in the blank)"

and i'd just say it to myself, or sometimes when i'd shower, for every part of my body that i'd wash (i separated it into sections) and for each section i'd talk about an aspect of my appearance as though it was from someone else's POV. for example, part of my desired appearance was a difference in hair texture so i'd say "omg honey's hair is SO long and glossy". like i'd talk thru someone else's pov ABOUT my appearance in either a tone of admiration, envy, or indifference.

even if i didn't see movement a couple times or got discouraged, i went back to what feels RIGHT and thats affirming for me.

some key statements i used :

i know for a fact

i have my exact desired appearance bcuz im god and i said so

another thing that rly helped me was visualization, i was living PURELY in my imagination, completely in my head. i was REAL delulu. i have a vision board on pinterest that was SO helpful for me.

when i saw things in the 3d that didn't please me i completely disregarded it, and when i tell u COMPLETELY, i completely dismissed anything that i didn't like, or that didn't sit right with me.

another little exercise that i liked to do was actually bcuz of a bad habit. so i have a RLY bad habit of checking the 3d but i used it to my advantage. my habit was that every morning the first thing i'd do is go and look in the mirror. when i manifested my desired appearance what i'd do, is i would go to the bathroom mirror and tell my subconscious what i see. so my logic behind this was that since the subconscious didn't have any eyes i could tell my subconscious that i had the head of a unicorn and it'd believe me 💀. so i would talk to my subconscious and tell it what i saw. "i see an angel skull" "i see rly rly long lashes" "i see waist-length hair" etc etc.

i went to the end and i BASKED in it. moral of this manifestation story :

persist regardless of what u experience with ur 5 senses

time is an illusion so forget about it

dont settle for less than what u seek

go straight to the end and bathe in it bcuz u can't try and be something that u already are 

failure doesn't exist

apply

[todayisafridaynight]

just saw someone think aoki could top. Have never thought about it and never wanted to but never saw something so wrong

was that someone me cause it was probably me who said that