#method man in the back lol

[fuckyeslilkim]

Carmen Electra making a cameo appearance in Lil' Kim's 'No Matter What They Say' Music Video, 2000.

[awesometothe3rd]

[goldensunset]

from one hot girl to another, the ultimate hot girl has traversed time and space

[beachyserasims]

My little cousin is opening for Redman & Method Man today at the Calgary Stampede!!

[dutybcrne]

Thinkings thinkings of Fatui!Kaeya have been reawakened in reviewing Arle's teasers/animations

[minterim]

just had my dad admit to me that even though he's fully aware of how much his alcoholism hurts me and my mum and brother he refuses to quit drinking outright because he likes it. cool

[universestreasures]

@ofhardknoxxx Continued From Here

It was that odd, he thinks. In fact, the entire situation perplexed the bright and intelligent young man. Technology that looked nearly identical to earlier Duel Disk models that were not made by his company...A city he's never heard of...A company he's never heard of...And a supposed famous duelist that a pro duelist like Reiji has never heard of...

Did he find himself in one of the other dimensions? That would explain why the other didn't hear of Leo Corporation. The world's appearance didn't look too different from the way things were in his home dimension of Standard, but he knows for a fact a city named Domino and a company called Kaiba Corp did not exist in his world. It certainly couldn't be Fusion or XYZ, for he did not get the sense that the world was at war here. Was this perhaps Synchro, the dimension he knows the least about?

He puts his hand to his glasses again, an action he did to try and stable himself, as he contemplated how to proceed. This could be trap by the enemy for all he knew. His father certainly loved to test his son in unusual ways, after all. Reiji decides to tread with caution, wanting to gather more information while his guard stayed up.

The other may seem harmless, but looks can be deceiving. The D/D/D user knows that firsthand considering the circumstances he's been through. In war, nothing was off the table.

"My apologies, but I am afraid I have not quite heard of your name before, or the other names you mentioned, Mr. Katsuya. I am...a visitor, I suppose you could say." An unintentional one, but it is the reality of the situation. He then holds up his duel disk, white, sleek, and modern, that was on his arm to show the other the difference between the disks they each held. He is being careful to not reveal information that an Academia solider wouldn't already know, considering Reiji is aware of no doubt the files his father has on him in that island fortress of a school he's built in the Fusion Dimension's ocean.

"Tell me, does your duel disk have the capabilities of Real Solid Vision with Mass? The ability to manifest the power of Duel Monsters cards into the physical world? I am rather curious if these...Kaiba Corp disks compare at all to the ones Leo Corporation, my company, have created."

[autumndragons]

i adore totk it skyrocketed to one of my favourite games very quickly and its the only thing thats been keeping me sane this last week but man that game is a full time job. like im sure when i played skyrim for the very first time i had a similar "my god, there is so many things to do" feeling but in totk it feels a lot more put together than skyrim? like you could skip half or more of the content in skyrim and not really lose much of the story/lore because its all pretty self contained for each part, but in totk a lot of stuff comes back to a central story in one way or another. like i took a break from the yiga clan stuff (theyre also gathering zonaite etc and have a bunch of lore in that area) after getting my fifth battery to very briefly do part of the 'main quest' (zoras) and then got distracted looking for the sky tablets (backstory on the old kingdom) and like. none of these things are completely self contained?? they all give lore for the grander setting and the main story! and im sure its designed that you can just go right through the main story, and maybe also get the tears, and be fine, but. i want the worldbuilding!! i LOVE the worldbuilding in botw/totk!

like dont get me wrong im having a great time flying my little bird plane from sky island to sky island hunting down the tablets now, but then im like. i need to finish the yiga thing. josha wanted me to find something around there too. sidon needs my help. i was supposed to get something from robbie's old lab. oh that typhlo ruins quest is probably updated now. oh theres a dragon tear- its not the next one i need and i should do these in order i'll come back later. i forgot i still have the last great faerie to unlock. ive used every single map pin and i dont remember what any of them are. is this one on the surface or in the sky? oh hey a new chasm-

idk. its just a lot. im having a great time but im like 58 hours in and ive done one (1) sage but i also have 14 hearts, an extra stamina wheel, and five batteries? lmao

totk is everything i couldve wanted and thats both a blessing and a curse

[nomairuins]

sorry it took me a second to get to those i rbed it instantly forgot and went to go do my little conlanging.

[sweet-as-kiwis]

International business is officially the Podcast Class

[mrs-weasley-reid]

DOCTORS ACROSS THE HALL

Spencer Reid x psychiatrist!reader

Synopsis: Sleep-deprived and traumatized, Spencer Reid attempts to pin the blame on his innocent new neighbor (he can't). Word Count: 2k+ Warning: meet cute-ish(?) fluff(?) i'm not sure anymore, lol. light mentions of death and trauma. a few curses. not proofread !!!! A/N: inspired by S2 x E14 & 15, we all know what i mean hehe

Spencer Reid's eyes are dry.

Each blink is a terrifying journey. Afraid that he'll go back in the past—in that hut—in between the millisecond of closing his eyes.

He's seeing nothing but blurry darkness, and yet he can still feel Tobias Hankel's shaky palms across the skin of his arm.

"It helps."

"Trust me."

The same four words ring in Spencer's ears, encouraging pain—paranoia.

"It helps."

"Trust me."

With every breath Spencer takes, they hitch in the middle of his throat. Forever stuck and dies there with no trace of hope for the next generation of traveling air.

Hope that he'll be able to breathe without tugging aches all over his chest is long gone.

No man would ever be the same had they been in the situation he went through. He can't help but feel weak. And it's eating Spencer alive to the point of deliberate insomnia.

He doesn't remember the last time he'd ever slept like a normal person.

"It helps."

Knock, knock.

"Trust me."

Knock, knock, knock.

Spencer opens his eyes. He's not sure when slumber took over his mind or if he even participated in sleep at all. Chances are he was too dissociated from reality that he's left his body frozen for a while. Nonetheless, in the little time he spent in serene blankness, only one emotion brews in him.

Anger.

Who in their right minds would go out knocking at—Spencer glances at the clock on his nightstand—2 AM?

Knock, knock, KNOCK—

It stops.

A creak echoes in the hall as muffled voices scratch Spencer's ears. He can't make out the words, only the wave of the softest and gentlest whispers he's ever heard.

On a different day, he may have let it go. Hell, a different him would have let it go.

The Spencer from one week ago would have let it go.

The Spencer who never felt so nauseous at the sight of his own blood along the canvas of his temple. The Spencer with an awkward grin without the baggage of Tobias Hankel's torture over his shoulders.

The Spencer he used to be.

But despite everyone's loving support. Despite the bragging rights he gained for surviving a serial killer. No one can loosen the throttling chokehold of trauma around his neck. Not even him.

Spencer catches himself clenching his fists too tight. Crescent indentations sting on his palm—nostalgic and unsettling. He only grits his jaw at the thought. And comes in the invigorating vibrations all over his chest.

There it is again.

The useless anger.

A loaded gun with no target.

The man is dead. Tobias Hankel is dead.

Spencer wonders about the use of his boiling anger when the person he loathes is already rotting in his grave.

Without any other outlet to unleash the colossal mass of suppressed rage brewing inside of him, Spencer makes good use of one of the most common defense mechanisms: displacement.

Maybe screaming at someone will deflate the tightness across his chest and clear his mind a bit in the form of self-loathing after he realizes the grave immaturity of his plan.

He lifts his body off his mattress, swinging his legs on the side of his bed as he methodically rubs his eyes against the lamp's brightness. Strands of his hair go array around the vertical circumference of his head like an electric halo.

A huff pulses off his lips. He swallows a lump of thick air as he weighs his next moves.

Part of Spencer died in that cemetery. What difference does it make if he screams at the world? If he screams at—

His brows furrow, eyes narrow, and ears perk.

It's different this time.

Irritating knocks. Opening door. Muffled whispering. Closing door. Then quiet for an hour.

That has been a constant for the past five days. A constant routine that he felt indifferent about but somehow grew annoyed by.

But it's different this time.

The door across the hall didn't close.

And it's been five minutes.

Before Spencer knows it, his hand turns the knob and swings the door open.

Two women across from him. They are in the middle of what seems to be a tight hug before one bids her goodbye and lightly runs down the stairs.

Spencer watches as the other disappears down the lower level. Anger morphs into confusion.

"Did we bother you?"

He jolts back, snapping his gaze to the woman across. "What?"

You smile apologetically, "I'm sorry about the noise—"

"Dr. Spencer Reid," He spits. Spencer's forehead creases. He wonders what prompted his mouth to openly provide his full name to a stranger, specifically when the information was not asked for.

"Oh," You blink, lightly jumping on your toes. An unseen glint sparks in your eyes. You introduce yourself as a response, a lot less threatening than he did but equally awkward. You smile again. Sweetly, this time. Like you're looking at a puppy.

Spencer's brows bounce over his forehead as the hand over his doorknob loosens. "You're a doctor?" He inquires.

You nod, "Mhm, what are the odds, right?" You chuckle. The sound echoes around the quiet hall.

"11.76%."

"What?"

"The odds—" Spencer scratches the back of his neck, "—it's 11.76%. There are fourteen tenants in this building, including you. We both found out we're doctors, and I know none of our neighbors are. Most of the neighbors are living alone besides the old couple on the first floor, but I know none of them are doctors. That's two in fifteen people. So 11.76%. But now I realize you weren't being literal about it..." Heat rushes against the skin of his face.

Silence hovers between the two of you. He feels more awake than he was minutes ago for an entirely different reason—embarrassment. Spencer wishes that some sort of earthquake would open up the floor and swallow him.

"Interesting," You finally speak, changing the leg where you placed your weight. "I tried calculating it myself and got the same result. You were right."

His mouth falls agape. A surge of warmth strikes his chest. "You were calculating?" Spencer squints, rubbing an eye out of habit due to his current predicament and baffled by your antic all the same.

You nod again, "Just cause you're my neighbor doesn't mean I'll just take your word for it, you know. But I have to admit, it was cool that you figured that out in a second. You have my respect." You flash a playful smile, hugging your chest at the sudden draft.

"Ahh," Spencer steps back into his apartment. The tinge of giddiness is quickly replaced by sleep deprivation and anxiety. A hand throws itself into the cavity of his eye socket, pushing it close to remove the pain that's settling in.

Flashes of bright light blind him in the dark shade of his eyelids. Frustration swiftly creeps over his shoulders. Like he's drowning above water, tied down, and has no air to gasp for. Panic begins to paralyze him. All seems lost, and darkness slowly—

"Would you like some tea?"

Spencer blinks, lifting his gaze back at you as your soft smile slowly adjusts his sight.

"I have a new brand of tea I've been dying to open. Would you like some?" You repeat, tilting your head a bit as you await a response. When you don't get one, you add, "I promise I don't bite." And your heart flutters at the little twitch at the ends of his lips.

He concludes you're roughly two weeks fresh from moving in. Here you are, inviting a stranger in the middle of the night to enjoy tea inside your home.

Seems reckless.

Idiotic.

But Spencer doesn't say no.

He walks towards you like he's leaving a world to explore another. Anxiety slowly dissipates with each step he takes. A contrast of what he feels each second that passes while he lies awake.

You step aside to give him way. "Grab a seat—" you gesture towards the kitchen -island-slash-dining-table, "—The girl you saw usually stays longer, so I already heat some water. Is chamomile okay?" You talk as you maneuver around your small kitchen.

Spencer finds a seat closest to the door. For all he knows, you're the serial killer on your end of the skeptical assumptions in his head.

"Nice apartment," He says out of the obligatory guest etiquette. Spencer takes in every bit of your reflection in your home.

It's inviting. Warm and cozy. The hint of oat and lavender whiffs past his nose. Your place is adorned with small, warm lights, brightening each corner with sunset tones.

Your chuckle brings his attention back to you. "Don't be shy, Dr. Reid," You glance at him over your shoulder. "It's messy. You can say it."

"If a couple of books on your table is messy to you, you should see my side of the building."

Spencer straightens up as confusion spreads over his face.

How do you do that?

Make him feel comfortable with words and a gentle voice. Everyone on his team has been doing the same exact thing, but somehow, you get something out of him without further prompting.

The image of your coffee table pops in his head. Cultural Psychology. Learning Psychotherapy. Trauma and Dreams. And a few more books that clocks his interest in you further down the rabbit hole.

"You're a psychologist," He announces into the air.

"Psychiatrist, actually," You place a mug in front of Spencer, finding a seat across from him. "But what gave it away? The tea or the messy apartment?" You ask into your mug that says 'you're purrfect' in pink lowercase and has a cat’s paw under the lettering. A playful smile is curving your lips.

Spencer accepts the blue mug, brows rising at the police box outlined image over the blue stain. He wouldn’t have expected you as a fan of Doctor Who, but who’s he to judge? A part of him wants to discuss common interests, but he doesn’t feel comfortable enough to change the subject.

"T-the books." He says hesitantly, uncertain whether the art of observation has marked him a creep right at that moment.

You hum, "Thought I would've been more mysterious than that." You chuckle, pulling a leg against your chest. "And you?" You inquire back.

"I have three PhDs," Spencer shares shyly, breaking eye contact masked as drinking your quite tasteful tea. He notes to ask the brand you're so enthusiastic about later on.

"Three?" Your eyes glisten under the warm light.

He nods.

"Let me guess, 190."

"190?"

"Your IQ," You lean back against the table, "My guess is you graduated young. Went to high school, college, and graduate school as a puppy." You add, amping with adoration over the new information.

"A puppy is a strong word, but yes," Spencer blushes now, hoping the small lighting leans in his favor to hide the red tint over every bit of his skin. “And just 187, not that big of a deal.”

"Just 187? You're just being humble, right?" You giggle, "I bet some prestigious agency hired you at a young age, and you're called the genius kid." You jest, genuinely interested in him more than ever.

More like the boy genius. But can’t possibly expose himself more than you already did out of sheer lucky guesses. Spencer avoids meeting your eyes like it's the plague. "You awfully guess a lot..."

You gasp, placing your mug on the table, "Shut up! I was close, was I? Oh my gosh!" You're laughing now, utterly comfortable to show quirks that people you just met shouldn't see yet. "I'm good at this. I think I'll be okay later, then." You say to yourself, nodding in satisfaction.

"For what?" Spencer chimes, troubles slipping away to the back of his mind and the sound of your hush laughter lulling him. It might be the tea or the possibility that you'd drugged him, but his body felt light for the first time in weeks. He doesn't have any complaints.

"I moved here for a job," You start attentively, making sure that you don't share too much. "But I have people. They'll search for me in case you turn out to be a serial killer."

His brows jump, "How do I know you're not the serial killer? Women can be one, too. And statistically, women who are serial killers are attractive."

"Are you saying I'm attractive, Dr. Reid?"

"I—" Spencer freezes, heat flowing to his ears. "I-I was making a point—" He cuts himself off. He wonders when the earthquake he's wished for earlier is coming to save him from embarrassment.

You stay silent, reveling in his stuttering voice.

"Is that coffee? I thought you made tea." He changes the subject—poorly.

You don't mind it one bit, indulging at the sight of his pinkish ears covered by his unruly hair. "I invited you for tea. I didn't say I'll drink one with you." You take a sip of the caffeine, rubbing the idea on his face.

Spencer responds with a subtle roll of his eyes that makes you chuckle more than intended. "Why coffee at three in the morning?" He asks gently, not wanting to step over any boundaries.

"I'm supposed to start my job later. I heard my patients need a lot of assistance, so I need to study and make sure I give them the right help."

"That sounds noble," He yawns, the first of many.

Spencer never thought your smile could get any sweeter, "I haven't officially met them yet. So, I really wish it goes well."

It might be the chamomile tea with a hint of honey finally working in his veins, but Spencer thinks you're beaming like an angel descending from the skies.

He yawns, and you giggle once more, "I think you should go to sleep, Dr. Reid."

“Yeah, yeah, I should,” Spencer’s eyebrows collide at the sadness in his chest. His body feels comfortable in his seat. Getting out of it feels like torture. 

You both stand from your seats, walking him towards the door. 

Spencer turns around before he closes his, a sleepy smile on his face. "Thanks for the tea," He yawns, a hand covering his mouth.

“You’re— hold on, give me one second,” You turn around and back inside your apartment. He can’t see you but can hear your light footsteps on the floorboards as you run to your coffee table and back inside the frame of your front door. 

Spencer patiently waits as you walk to his end of the hall, take his hand out, and hand him a heart lollipop. 

“Take this. They help with the bad craving,” You advertise as you walk backward. Before he completely shuts the door, you call for him, "Oh, and Dr. Reid."

Spencer swings the door open back wider, "Yes?"

"I think you're attractive too."

reid masterlist | masterlist

[catiuskaa]

you asked me to stay. [Not yet].

PAIRING! idol!bangchan x reader

SUMMARY: even if idols 'don’t date fans', there are no rules against a little bit of teasing, and so it happens that Mr Bang Chan here really likes your kind of thinking.

WC: 4.1k

CW: starts off fluffy, then angsty if you squint?, but develops into a (short but still) spicy NSFW. lol, the triangle of (fan)fiction! not gonna say anything else cause I don’t want to spoil it, teehee. Have fun! (I did!)

REQUESTED! here by my sweet 'n spicy baby @sharonxdevi, hope you like my take on it! <3

A/N: wanted to pop down here as a reminder that just because the setting is a fan meeting and yada yada, this work is still unrelated to Channie as an idol. now, please keep reading! I really like how this one turned out 🤭

[♦️☆🔒☆♦️]

He's so sweet.

You kept giggling and blushing like an idiot, but how couldn't you? The Christopher Bang was right before you, smiling and laughing at the lame jokes you blabbered as a blush surely creeped out, your face a deep shade of a pinkish tone.

“Oh, and I wanted to mention that you look so amazing in your performances! You have me addicted, Chan.” You giggled.

He chuckled, blushing lightly, raising a hand to his mouth, half covering it. “Really?”

You could melt at the sight of him.

“Yeah! I’ve watched all your fancams.” You nodded with enthusiasm.

His laughs turned louder, his ears red. “I feel so shy knowing someone as pretty as you watches me dance so much.”

…

You blinked, your eyes wide.

As what?

He cheeked his tongue, eyeing at you sheepishly.

Oh. So he knew what he was doing.

You smirked softly. Your change in attitude made him raise his eyebrows slightly.

“One minute.”

You eyed at the suited man that came to talk to Chan and smiled. He left back to his position, and you leaned closer to the idol.

“Just have to say, that tongue of yours?” You chuckled, and to him, it was one fo the most enticing sounds he had heard in a while. “Keep it in your mouth if you don’t want STAY to act up.”

There was a bubbly feeling in your stomach that only heightened when you watched his face displaying raw surprise.

You were about to combust in spontaneous fire because, well, you just flirted with an idol, a real famous one, that is, but then, he smirked, leaning even closer to you. You could feel his breath on the shell of your ear. His hand softly took yours, and your breath hitched as he snickered playfuly, making you feel a shiver travel down your spine.

“I’m thinking there are far more interesting places where I could keep it.” He grinned in a teasing tone, staring at your lips for a second, licking his own. “But I’m obedient. I’ll keep my mouth shut if you say so.” He stated lowly, his eyes locked on yours. …

Oh.

OH.

MY GOD.

He squeezed your hand, sitting back again. His face was covered by a shade of red, and he couldn’t exactly place what had taken over him.

For a moment, he bit his lip, wary of your reaction, considering you hadn’t so much as muttered anything, frozen in your place.

But then you chuckled, struggling to grasp what had just happened, and his whole body relaxed when you squeezed his hand too.

“Bet. You won’t.” You snickered, standing up, siren eyes staring down at him as you moved away, allowing the next person’s turn.

He winked at you as you left.

W-What had just happened?

Your mind felt fuzzy.

Had Bang Chan just done the triangle method on you?

Chan stared at your back before facing the person in front of him.

He could’ve sworn he had seen you before.

[♦️☆🔒☆♦️]

“YOU DID WHAT?!”

Chan grimaced at Hyunjin, sinking his head back on the pillow in his hotel room.

“Leave him alone, Jinnie.” Yongbok frowned slightly. “But I have to say. Not the smartest move, mate.”

Chan sighed in frustration. “I know, I know.”

And it was because he knew that he didn’t dare to say, but just thinking about you, he also knew for a fact that he wouldn’t hesitate on doing it again. Had he had the opportunity, maybe even more.

But idols don’t do that.

Because it is for a reason that idols don’t date fans. Marketing? 100%. Sure. But it also protected them from scandals and such. Or that’s what Chan liked to say to himself.

Felix felt a bit guilty. Chan had gotten scolded by almost all the members now, some who went more ballistic than others —like Hyunjin, who still was fuming, claiming that if Chan was going to do something forbidden, he could’ve said something better than that—, but he looked at the fellow Australian and stood up, laying his small hand on Hyunjin’s shoulder.

The taller one stopped his rambling against Chan and his alleged lack of creativity regarding flirting, and his eyes softened, looking at Yongbok.

“Give the man a break.” Felix smiled softly. “He understands what he’s done. He’s a big boy. Right, Channie?”

The big boy lazily raised his hand from the bed, not moving his head from the pillow as he hummed and raised his thumb.

“This bitch—” Hyunjin started, threatening to throw a pillow at the older one, but Felix quickly pushed him away, taking him back to their room.

Finally alone after what seemed like a lifetime, Chan turned around, staring at the ceiling.

He covered his face with his hands.

Reckless. Stupid, reckless idiot.

It had to be past twelve when he got tired of waiting for sleep to get to him. That never happened anyways. So he stood up with a groan, yawning out of boredom, quickly fetching a jacket and heading to the elevators with slow steps.

He got in and slowly started to put on his beanie and his mask, which wouldn’t really make a difference if someone recognized him, still, it gave him some reassurance. But then, the elevator stopped barely two floors after he got in.

His whole body tensed up.

He recognized who stepped in, messy hair, funny slippers and padded jacket on.

He knew who that was, because he had been right.

He had seen you before.

“Oh.” You smiled, and he could tell by the small wrinkles in your eyes, because the bottom half of your face was hidden by the jacket’s high neck. “Good night.” You mumbled softly.

He nodded. He was afraid you’d recognize him. He was unsure of what to do himself —or if he should do anything—, he couldn’t even think of how you would react. And just the idea that you wouldn’t like seeing him there made him hide his face more in his dark mask, so instead, he fidgeted with his room card, not daring to look at you for too long.

“Trouble sleeping?” You pondered in a kind tone. He nodded again, and you smiled. He had to hold back the impulse of lowering your jacket just so he could see your bright features, the ones that had charmed him so much barely a couple of hours ago.

“Same here.” You muttered, and he could’ve sworn that your voice alone, warm and soothing, could singlehandedly lull him to sleep in a heartbeat. “Walking helps though, don’t you think?”

He, again, just managed to nod. But for some reason, your presence didn’t make him feel guilty for not talking. In the middle of the night nothing seemed to have any rules between you two and the four walls of the elevator.

“Sorry, am I bothering you?” You asked in a murmur.

It was the first time he shook his head no, vigorously so, and you blushed lightly, smiling.

“Good to know.” You grinned, chuckling softly. The elevator dinged, arriving to the last floor. Chan held back a frustrated groan, yearning to keep hearing your voice.

“Have a good night.” You smiled, but his hand softly took yours.

“Huh?” You muttered softly.

Chan struggled. Fuck, shit, fuck. He had done that completely out of reflex. He didn’t know what to say, and just scrathed the side of his face, staring at your linked hands.

He shook his head once more, asking you to stay.

To you, you already had the weird feeling that you knew him. But he touched your hand, and something from it felt shockingly familiar.

Now, you could’ve sworn you had seen him before.

“What is it?” You asked, your voice coated in something sweet, something that Chan suddenly wanted to taste. “Would you like to walk with me?”

He nodded eagerly. And you grinned sheepishly.

You two crossed through the hotel main’s hall nonchalantly, and Chan just followed you, intriegued that you hadn’t taken the main entrance door to exit.

“Trust me,” you muttered, smiling. He felt it was scary that he would, in a heartbeat. “The gardens are so much better.”

You took his hand. A motion completely out of reflex, that both of you only allowed yourselves to yearn for in silence.

You grinned at him, turning around, and his breath hitched, lips parted beneath his mask when he realized how close you were.

You opened a black door to your right with a soft push of your body.

The hotel gardens at night were like a dream. The moonlight turned everything into a soft, magical scene. Tall trees swayed quietly, and you could hear crickets and leaves rustling. There was a small lake below it, its water calm, that reflected the image above it like a mirror, moon and stars glistening on the clear surface.

Even if Chan was only looking at the glow through your eyes.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” You grinned.

You stared back at him. Something in his eyes reminded you of someone you knew. A peculiar someone, that is.

He hummed in agreement, and your smile widened.

“Shall we?” You giggled in a murmur, letting him step outside before you.

There was a warmth in the night that ushered Chan to take off his mask and hat.

But he didn’t dare to. Not yet.

You two walked alongside, hands and knuckles brushing against each other, and the idol allowed himself to grin as you smiled, looking at the flowers that decorated the place. It was the first time in his life that he had found solace in the shared silence of insomnia.

With a swift motion, he surrendered. He felt like it wasn’t fair to know who you where if you didn’t —or couldn’t— recognize him. To hell with it, he thought, taking his hat and mask off.

But, much to his surprise, you didn’t so much as glance at him. You just snickered when he sighed, sounding happier, breathing in the sudden cold breeze that swooshed in the garden.

“Better, huh?” You mumbled in light amusement.

He smiled, shoving his hidden identity in his pockets.

“Much.” Chan muttered.

His heart beat loudly on his ears. He could feel it pulsating rapidly, waiting for the moment where you would turn to face him.

But you weren’t, just strolling down the stone path, callously ignoring his nervous demeanour.

He was about to stop and move you, but instead, your hand took his again.

And then you squeezed it lightly. Much like he had done a couple of hourse ago.

His breath hitched. He stopped walking.

“Chan?” You smiled.

He felt chaos unravel inside him, his cheeks blushing, his palms getting sweaty, and his heart giddily beating in his chest.

Another rush of soft air crossed through the hotel’s gardens, making your hair move with it. He could smell your light scent, something that felt warm inside him, something that he felt could lull him asleep.

You grinned.

“Hi.”

He chuckled lowly. He hadn’t let go of your hand. A part of him didn’t want to. Not yet.

“Hi.”

He saw you blush under the moonlight, not knowing his red-tinted cheeks were more obvious than yours.

“What’s a boy as pretty as you doing in a place like this?”

…

He blinked, his eyes wide.

As what?

He saw you cheek your tongue, doe eyes looking at him teasingly.

Oh. So you knew what you were doing.

He chuckled, thinking that was going to be all your teasing.

“Judging by how long it took for you to talk, I guess you did mean to keep your end of the deal.”

“Huh?” He inquired softly.

“You know.” You bit your lip and blushed a bit more, making him more interested, taking a step towards you without realizing. “Keeping your mouth shut. Like the obedient boy you are.”

He started breathing heavily, a low laugh rolling off his tone.

“Oh, yeah?” His smirk was only powered by yours. “I must say, I can be quite rebellious.”

“Really?” You snickered, feeling his hand squeeze yours again.

“Very.” He gulped. His bravado only lasted for so much, and deep inside, he was equally scared as curious.

He wanted to keep going. He wanted you to stay.

“Are you trying to prove it?” You mocked cheekily.

He stared at your lips, his breath felt heavy. “Would you like me to prove it?”

His hand threatened to reach for your cheek, but it was you who finally held it and moved it towards your face.

“Bet.” You giggled. “You won’t.”

The night air was crisp as your eyes, deep and expressive, locked with his, inviting and enticing, a secret to be held in them. His hair, often styled with flair, rested curly and messy, but you couldn’t help but get lost in the untamed beauty that he portrayed. Not even his lips gently grazing yours could wipe either of your smiles under the moonlight.

And then, for a moment, it wasn’t gentle.

Maybe it was because he sighed against your lips, or maybe it was because you followed an impulse and bit his lower lip, but then it got twisted. Tongues danced with one another, fighting for dominance in a burst of sudden passion.

“C-chan,” you gulped, arms traveling to his nape, playing with his hair. It made him weak.

“Chris,” he sighed, yearning to taste your lips again. And again. He didn’t want to stop. Not yet. “Call me— call me Chris.”

You chuckled. “Only if you call me…”

You were going to tease him, but your ideas suddenly flew away form your mind when he started peppering kisses on your neck, grazing your skin with his teeth.

“What?” He snickered. “A pet name of sorts?” He was teasing you, and he was so enjoying it, tasting the weirdly sweet and enticing flavour of your skin in his lips. “Would you like that, princess?” God, he needed more.

You bit your lip, holding back sounds behind heavy breaths, and he patted your thighs, making you jump into his arms without hesitation. Quickly, he moved the both of you, pinning you against the wall closest to you.

“C-chan…” He bit your skin slightly harder. “Chris! Ah, Chris…!”

“F-fuck…” He muttered. “I… I can’t…” He leaned his head in the crook of your neck, now covered in small and red lovebites. “You smell so good.”

You pecked his forehead, trying to catch your breath, your hands stroking his soft hair.

“Not here, right?” You smiled, soothing, comprehensive. His heart softened.

He nodded, sighting against your neck. He let go of your legs, allowing you to stand back on your feet tenderly.

“I’m sorry….?” Chan mumbled shyly. You giggled, brushing it off.

You were about to say something, but then the gravel cracked under someone’s weight. One that wasn’t either of you.

He tensed up under your arms.

You sighed. “Move!” You ushered in a whisper.

He frowned, his eyes darting from you and from where the sound had come from.

“But you—”

“Chan!” You pushed him away, hiding him behind another wall, and quickly took your phone from the pocket of your jacket, zipping back up what Chris had lowered.

“Who’s in there?”

Chan’s breath haltered.

You had hid him just a wall more, meaning that if the security guard found any of you, chances were that he wouldn’t be caught. You would.

You both held your breathing, hands interlinked even if your bodies were as far away as they could to do so, your heartbeats quickening in sync.

And then, it was just silence for a minute, the gravel cracked below the security guard’s feet, and he left as sudden as he had arrived.

You legs felt like jelly, and you let your back fall down the wall, ending up sitting on the floor with a huff.

“You were going to get in trouble.” Chris muttered.

You looked at him from the floor. The moonlight highlightened his lean figure and charismatic features.

You nodded. “It wouldn’t be me who’d get in the worst of it.” You smiled softly.

He nodded with you.

“We should go before it gets too late.”

Just before heading back together to the elevators, you looked to the reception, and grinned softly.

The elevator back up felt more silent than usual. And for some reason that could speak and make him blush, Chan missed the sound of your voice.

“Good night, Chris.”

It wasn’t going to be a good night.

Not after that interruption, which not only scared the shit out of him, but also made him rethink everything he was doing with you.

Chan arrived back to his room. After half an hour of mindlessly staring at the nightsky through the window, someone knocked on the door.

Could it be you? Chris blushed at the thought.

He opened the door to find nothing. Then, he looked to the floor, and found a mug of hot chocolate and a small note.

may have taken a peek to your room card before. i had fun tonight! see you tomorrow? xoxo, your princess.

He grinned.

Maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad night after all.

[♦️☆🔓☆♦️]

When he woke up the morning after, his mouth still tasted like chocolate.

There had been nothing that could wipe the silly grin on his face that day. Not his packed schedule, not the knowledge that they had to go back home and it would be his last night there, not the fact that Han had come into his room just to look for his missing sock —which, for obvious reasons, he never found there—, not the fact that Hyunjin was still bitter with him because of what he had named the ‘pretty girl disaster’ —which Chan intended to tell you just to see if you’d laugh like he had imagined.

His mind was filled to the brim with thoughts of you.

Your flavoured chapstick, your sweet scent, the way you mumbled his name —his real one, that is—, how your eyes glowed under the moonlight, how his hands fit perfectly in the curves of your waist.

He sighed happily for the upteenth time that day, coming out of the shower.

But then, Minho came in to his room.

“Hyung.” He started, and his low tone didn’t seem to bring good news.

Chan nodded, waiting for him to continue.

“I know I’m not really good at these things, but I think you should see this.”

The dancer handed him the phone, and Chan turned pale.

It was a picture taken from last night. Chan’s silhouette was fairly obvious, slightly pixelated and hidden by his beanie and his mask. And right in front of him, back facing the camera, was you, your hand holding his.

“So it is you. That’s what I thought,” Minho mumbled. “A random number sent it to Hyunjin. He saved the picture and blocked it, but we thought you should know.”

“Did they know it was me?” Chan stuttered.

The cat owner shook his head, and Chan was able to breathe normally again. “They thought it had been me with Jisung.”

It was there when Chan’s daydreaming faltered.

His thoughts started spinning, not knowing how or where to start.

Would you know about this?

What would you do?

“Hyung.” Minho sighed. “We’re leaving tomorrow.”

And Chan hadn’t been able to grasp that, but someone did.

The same someone who knocked on his door at night.

“Guys, you have your own cards.” Chan muttered, opening the door.

But it hadn’t been any of the guys.

“Hi.” You let out in a sight, panting.

Had you ran your way there?

“Hi.” He mumbled weakly.

“Can I…?” He opened the door for you, and quickly closed it back. He turned his back to you, his eyes wide and his heart going crazy.

“Chris.” You mumbled.

He turned around to face you.

“You asked me to stay last night and I went with you to the gardens.” You huffed. “But I want to stay here with you tonight.”

He blinked, passing a hand through his wavy hair. You were there. In front of him. Speaking. God, he had to concentrate.

“We’ll make a deal.” You breathed slowly, staring deeply into his eyes, yearning to know the secrets hidden behind them. “I’ll leave this here.”

You gently plopped your phone on the table near the door to his room. He was still standing there, as if frozen, pyjama pants on and only a bathrobe covering his lean and toned chest.

“A pretty man called Hyunjin came to me talking about some picture,” you started softly. “But yesterday didn’t happen so I’d ruin a man’s career.” His eyes followed how you raised your hands and smiled, and he couldn’t help but smile back.

“It’s off.” Your voice lowered, and he got slightly closer, as if wanting to hear you better. “The phone, I mean. Feel free to check it.”

Surprisingly, he just stared at it, then smiled cheekily, heading towards you.

Your eyebrows shot up and you felt deliciously small under his new-formed grin, and how his hands cradled your face.

He pecked your lips with a yearning sigh.

“I missed you.”

You blushed.

“You can have me all night.” Your smile made him feel butterflies on his stomach. “Just me and you.”

He kissed you again, longer this time.

His frame slowly caged you against the door, and he broke the kiss, stroking your cheeks. His body was pressed up against yours, his lips parted as he breathed softly, taking you in. He could feel heat running down his body just by the feeling of you back in his arms, and the only thought that he had clear is that he couldn't hold back anymore.

He needed to kiss you, again, and again, and again. He needed to figure out what you tasted like. He needed to have you. Your hands had gone back to where they had been the night before, and the way you stared at his lips threatened to make him fall to his knees.

His eyes were glued on your lips, and not long after, his mouth followed.

Chris’ heart was pounding against his chest, and he knew for a fact that he had never felt this way before. Never in his whole life. The more he tasted your lips, the kiss almost as passionate as your first one, the more you ruined him, claiming him as yours, making him addictied to the way you sighed and grinned as he moved your bodies to the bed, the hotter his body became.

He fell with you on the matress, and much to his surprise, you moved your bodies, sitting on his lap, taking a groan out of him.

“Such a beauty,” you mumbled, almost to yourself rather than him. “All for me, huh?” You smirked.

The whole world was hazy, the only thing that was clear was your body and your words. Just hearing your voice saying those words to him made him shiver, a shiver that he never experienced before.

He smirked too, and sighed when you untied his bathrobe, your hands roaming freely wherever you wanted to, stroking his chest, claiming him with kisses, the soft colour that they left behind, pink due to your lipstick, and the soft scratches of your nails, that made him bite his lip to keep his sounds hidden.

“Nuh-uh.” You tutted at him with a smile.

He snickered. “Oh, princess. Two can play that game.”

His hands pinned you down against the bed, his lips quickly going back to yours.

“You said I needed to keep my tongue to myself, and I promised that I would” He grinned, almost menacingly, lowering himself, trailing kisses down your body, discarding your underwear.

“I intend to break that promise.”

Maybe you and him would be difficult.

But he had asked you to stay, and you did. And he didn’t want to stop trying. Not yet.

[♦️☆🔒☆♦️]

~Kats, who did most of this in a hospital bed (‘m okay now dw) but fell asleep and didn’t publish it, lol. I LOVED THIS IDEA POOKIE TYSM !!

[contact-guy]

lol THIS ENDED UP BEING SO LONG but it's such a cute story opening that I had to draw Watson roasting Holmes's messiness for the newspaper and Holmes skillfully maneuvering his way out of having to do chores. It's all canon, even the indoor sharpshooting, except for the bit about the cold bath.

canon text under the cut:

An anomaly which often struck me in the character of my friend Sherlock Holmes was that, although in his methods of thought he was the neatest and most methodical of mankind, and although also he affected a certain quiet primness of dress, he was none the less in his personal habits one of the most untidy men that ever drove a fellow-lodger to distraction. Not that I am in the least conventional in that respect myself. The rough-and-tumble work in Afghanistan, coming on the top of a natural Bohemianism of disposition, has made me rather more lax than befits a medical man. But with me there is a limit, and when I find a man who keeps his cigars in the coal-scuttle, his tobacco in the toe end of a Persian slipper, and his unanswered correspondence transfixed by a jack-knife into the very centre of his wooden mantelpiece, then I begin to give myself virtuous airs. I have always held, too, that pistol practice should be distinctly an open-air pastime; and when Holmes, in one of his queer humors, would sit in an arm-chair with his hair-trigger and a hundred Boxer cartridges, and proceed to adorn the opposite wall with a patriotic V. R. done in bullet-pocks, I felt strongly that neither the atmosphere nor the appearance of our room was improved by it.

Our chambers were always full of chemicals and of criminal relics which had a way of wandering into unlikely positions, and of turning up in the butter-dish or in even less desirable places. But his papers were my great crux. He had a horror of destroying documents, especially those which were connected with his past cases, and yet it was only once in every year or two that he would muster energy to docket and arrange them; for, as I have mentioned somewhere in these incoherent memoirs, the outbursts of passionate energy when he performed the remarkable feats with which his name is associated were followed by reactions of lethargy during which he would lie about with his violin and his books, hardly moving save from the sofa to the table. Thus month after month his papers accumulated, until every corner of the room was stacked with bundles of manuscript which were on no account to be burned, and which could not be put away save by their owner. One winter’s night, as we sat together by the fire, I ventured to suggest to him that, as he had finished pasting extracts into his common-place book, he might employ the next two hours in making our room a little more habitable. He could not deny the justice of my request, so with a rather rueful face he went off to his bedroom, from which he returned presently pulling a large tin box behind him. This he placed in the middle of the floor and, squatting down upon a stool in front of it, he threw back the lid. I could see that it was already a third full of bundles of paper tied up with red tape into separate packages.

“There are cases enough here, Watson,” said he, looking at me with mischievous eyes. “I think that if you knew all that I had in this box you would ask me to pull some out instead of putting others in.”

“These are the records of your early work, then?” I asked. “I have often wished that I had notes of those cases.”

“Yes, my boy, these were all done prematurely before my biographer had come to glorify me.” He lifted bundle after bundle in a tender, caressing sort of way. “They are not all successes, Watson,” said he. “But there are some pretty little problems among them. Here’s the record of the Tarleton murders, and the case of Vamberry, the wine merchant, and the adventure of the old Russian woman, and the singular affair of the aluminium crutch, as well as a full account of Ricoletti of the club-foot, and his abominable wife. And here—ah, now, this really is something a little recherchè.”

He dived his arm down to the bottom of the chest, and brought up a small wooden box with a sliding lid, such as children’s toys are kept in. From within he produced a crumpled piece of paper, and old-fashioned brass key, a peg of wood with a ball of string attached to it, and three rusty old disks of metal.

“Well, my boy, what do you make of this lot?” he asked, smiling at my expression.

“It is a curious collection.”

“Very curious, and the story that hangs round it will strike you as being more curious still.”

“These relics have a history then?”

“So much so that they are history.”

“What do you mean by that?”

Sherlock Holmes picked them up one by one, and laid them along the edge of the table. Then he reseated himself in his chair and looked them over with a gleam of satisfaction in his eyes.

“These,” said he, “are all that I have left to remind me of the adventure of the Musgrave Ritual.”

I had heard him mention the case more than once, though I had never been able to gather the details. “I should be so glad,” said I, “if you would give me an account of it.”

“And leave the litter as it is?” he cried, mischievously. “Your tidiness won’t bear much strain after all, Watson. But I should be glad that you should add this case to your annals, for there are points in it which make it quite unique in the criminal records of this or, I believe, of any other country. A collection of my trifling achievements would certainly be incomplete which contained no account of this very singular business.

-The Memories of Sherlock Holmes: The Musgrave Ritual

[improbable-outset]

I recently became an auntie/uncle! (yay!) My little nibling was overdue by a week and the funny thing is, as a way to induce labor, sib and their lovely s/o tried the whole sexy times to get baby moving. And it worked! So how about Miguel and their s/o in that same scenario and Miguel convinces his loving wife to try it out seeing as their kid is a few days overdue? Bonus if it works! That man def be looking at his heavily pregnant wife with hungry eyes lol!

Pregnant!Reader smut 😍😍 yes please! (Also congrats on your new addition to the family anon, and sorry this took so long)

📄 𝐎𝐮𝐫 𝐃𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐞𝐝 𝐉𝐨𝐲

Miguel O’Hara x Fem!Reader

𝐀𝐎𝟑 | 𝐌𝐲 𝐖𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭𝐬 | 𝐒𝐩𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐞 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

𝐒𝐜𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝐇𝐮𝐬𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 4.4k

𝐓𝐖 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐂𝐖: Wife!Reader, gross talks of placenta lmao, SMUT, Pregnancy sex, spooning position, virginal fingering, unprotected sex, brief mentions of the labour phase, breastfeeding and lots and lots of fluff.

𝐀/𝐍: I would’ve been lost if it wasn’t for @lazyjellyfish300 (Thank you bestie!!)

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: It has been a week past your baby girl’s due date, and Miguel thinks it’s the perfect time to explore some natural methods to induce labour.

Miguel watched you anxiously as you tried to walk hand in hand down the street with him. One of your hands rested on your baby bump, while the other clung to his.

It was a quiet night as you both made your way back home, but even in an absence of a crowd, Miguel still felt an extra precaution over you.

He leaned over and nuzzled his face against your shoulder. “You okay?”

“Yeah…I’m good,” you replied, struggling to sound convincing. Miguel knew you were concealing your stiffness. With the baby fully developed, you were ready to give birth at any given moment.

It had been a week past your due date, and you hadn’t felt any contractions. Miguel had adviced you to stay home to avoid any potential issues or emergencies while out.

But you were growing tired of being indoors all day and, after pleading with him, had finally secured a dinner date at one of your go-to restaurants.

The city was more beautiful at night, with the spectacle of lights and holograms illuminating the cityscape. Fortunately, it was within walking distance from your house, so you didn’t have to travel far.

Still, you found it difficult to manoeuvre around, struggling with your new, cumbersome, body. His eyes darted between you and the path ahead.

“Are you sure?” He asked, his voice showing his skepticism as he noticed the slight tremor in your steps.

“Mhmm,” you were starting to sound breathless now.

He noticed how you were stuggling to keep up with his pace, even while holding hands. He slowed down to match your steps.

“You’re having trouble again,” Miguel said with a hint of concern. “Why didn’t you tell me to slow down earlier?”

You huffed. “I’m just a little disappointed that I couldn’t have the sushi,”

Miguel gave a small smile. He knew how much you had been craving the sushi from the restaurant and felt bad that you couldn’t have it.

He tried to sooth your disappointment. “Lo sé, amor,” he said. “But we have to think about the baby. Your health comes first,”

He gently pulled you closer, wrapping an arm around you and supporting your back as you continued to walk. “I know it’s hard, but it won’t be long now. Just a few more weeks and you’ll be able to eat all the sushi you want,”

“Yeah…this baby really doesn’t want to come out,” you sighed, glancing down at the bump. Miguel’s eyes followed, imagining your daughter inside.

He can already sense that she would inherit his stubbornness if she didn’t want to leave the comfort of the womb for the outside world— he smiled at the thought.

“I know. But she’ll come out when she’s ready. And she’ll be worth the wait, I promise,” Miguel felt the tension from your shoulders ease up at the thought. Thinking about holding your baby for the first time still felt surreal, even while you were fully developed.

“You know, I was kinda hoping I would start contracting back in the restaurant,” you mused.

“You’re that eager for the baby to come out, huh?”

“Uh huh, I think it’d be a pretty memorable experience,”

“It definitely will be memorable,” he imagined what it would be like if you suddenly writhe in pain the moment you get into labour while dining together. It didn’t seem like a pleasant scenario, however. “But I don’t think the other patrons would appreciate a surprise birth in the middle of dinner,”

“Right, of course,” you said. “But the food was still good though,”

“Yeah, it was.” He continued to walk by your side. “But I bet that sushi would’ve been tastier,” he added with a tease.

You rolled your eyes and pouted. “Urgh, don’t remind me,”

“Heh, I’m sorry amor,” he chuckled, his instinct quickly went on high alert again, focusing on your well-being.

His fingers traced circles on your back, a comforting reminder of his presence and support. He wanted to make sure he was there for you.

“I’ve heard women eat their own placenta,” you commented casually, breaking the comfortable silence.

Miguel couldn’t help but wrinkle his nose in disgust. He didn’t understand why you would bring it up, especially after a nice dinner. Knowing how easily queasy you could get, especially during your pregnancy, he was taken aback by your comment.

“Okay, that is gross,” he responded “I don’t want to think about eating your own placenta. Besides, there is no way that’s healthy, right?”

He knew you’d never entertain such an idea , especially if it’s people doing things online. He shook his head, trying to banish the unpleasant image.

“I don’t know, you’re the scientist here,” you said with a shrug

He couldn’t help but chuckle at that. He loved it when you would always remind him of his science background, something that he took pride in.

“Well, from a science perspective, I can tell you there’s no real evidence that eating your own placenta has any benefits.” He glanced at you before looking forward again. “I can imagine it being little too gritty and chewy like granola,”

“Eww I don’t think I can have granola the same now…” You scrunch your own face in disgust, mirroring Miguel's earlier reaction.

“Oh come on, mi vida. Don’t let the idea of eating a placenta ruin granola for you. There are plenty of other healthy food options like…uhm kale?”

“Kale?”

He couldn’t stop the grin from forming on his lips, clearly enjoying prodding you. “Yeah you know, the leafy stuff that tastes like grass.”

“Grass is appetising to you?”

He was clearly just milking it now out of spite and further teasing the conversation. “You don’t like the taste of grass? It boosts your immune system and gives you a healthy gut biome. You should definitely try it sometime,”

“Oh ok, cow.”

“Cow? Is that what you're gonna call me from now on?”

“Mooooo,” you mimicked, leaning into the joke.

“Okay okay I get it. I guess I’m a cow who likes eating grass and kale. You win this one, amor,” Miguel conceded.

Though he felt a swell of admiration towards you at that moment. Despite the discomfort you must’ve been feeling right now, you still managed to bring light into the situation.

You were definitely ready to be a mother and he couldn’t wait to see the more maternal nature from you.

Though in the back of his mind, he couldn’t help but wonder if you’re doing it to distract yourself or, worse, distract him from your unease.

He really hoped it was just the former; at least that would be more reasonable. He knew how stubborn you could be when it came to your well-being, and now wasn’t the best time for that, given your vulnerable state.

Memories of the last time you pushed yourself too hard, refusing to talk to him about your stress until you reached burnout, were still fresh in his mind.

“Next thing you know, you’re gonna say you smoke grass too,” And there was more of that smartass mouth of yours.

He set the earlier concerns aside and focused on coming up with a response to match your sarcasm. “Well I wouldn’t rule it out, maybe I’ll try some kale-wrapped placenta. Who knows?”

“Eww okay stop,” you wrinkled your nose in mock horror.

“Heh, you started it with the placenta talk, amor.”

“Yes, and you somehow made it worse,” you resorted, shaking your head. You both moved on from the placenta talk, shifting to a more pleasant topic the rest of the way home.

~

Miguel felt a wave of relief wash over him as he stepped foot into the house. The familiar surroundings offered a sense of security that eased his mind; knowing you were safe within these walls and away from any disturbance or danger from outside.

He watched as you padded over to the living room, your gait slowed by the weight of your baby bump. You sank onto the couch with a sigh. Despite the safety of indoors, Miguel’s protective instincts kept him alert with his eyes following your every move.

Ever since your due date had passed, Miguel had been anticipating the moment you would feel your first contraction.

Your hospital bag had been so packed for days, sitting in the corner of the room like a silent sentinel. It was filled with extra clothes, thick pads and everything else you might need. He was determined to be prepared for any eventuality.

But it seemed as though time stretched to a crawl as the days dragged on past your due date. Despite his effort to remain patient, he couldn’t help but feel a little restless yet excited for the baby’s arrival.

He settled onto the couch beside you and held the baby bump, feeling the gentle movements of your daughter inside. He wondered how you were feeling physically, sensing that must be feeling a mix of discomfort and anticipation.

Part of him wished for the labour to start soon, not just to end your pain but to finally see you hold your baby for the first time. He knew that moment would be etched in his memory forever.

He wanted nothing more than to come back into the apartment finally being a family of three. His eyes fell on you again; you looked worn out but you still looked stunning.

He had heard about the pregnancy glow but never truly believed it until he saw you. Your beauty seemed to shine even brighter through the fatigue and the physical toll of motherhood.

He felt you shift slightly, seeking a more comfortable position. “How are you feeling, amor? Do you need anything?” He asked softly.

You shook your head, offering a tired smile. “No, I’m okay. Just a little achy,”

“I can imagine…” he replied.

No, I don’t think I could even remotely imagine.

He could sense your aches, even if you were trying to downplay it. “How about we call it a night and get ready for bed? I can bring you some tea to help you relax,”

“That would be nice, actually. Thank you.” You said. Miguel stood to his feet and extended his hand to you. Once you grabbed it, he gently helped you to get to your feet too.

You headed over to the bedroom, the house hushed to a comfortable silence, while Miguel moved to the kitchen to prepare a cup of chamomile tea.

As the water heated on the stove, his mind drifted to the idea of different ways to induce labour. He had heard about more natural methods that could help get the baby moving.

But he was unsure how you would feel about the subject. The last thing he wanted was to make you uncomfortable and get you to do something that you were not too sure with.

Natural inducing was a delicate topic and he didn’t know how he was going to bring it up. Yet, with the increasing tension you must’ve been experiencing, he felt an urgency to find a solution. The sooner the better, right?

Once the tea was prepared he headed to the bedroom too and found you already nestled under the covers. He handed you the cup and settled beside you on the bed. “Here you go, sip it slowly.”

“Thank you, Miguel.” you said, taking the cup with a grateful smile.

Miguel took a moment to appreciate the sight of you. In your cozy pajamas, with your baby bump showing and your expression relaxed, you looked more radiant than ever.

He shook off his awe and focused on the topic that had been on his mind. The timing felt right but he decided to wait until you finished your tea before he spoke.

Once you’ve drained the cup, he took a deep breath. “I was thinking…I know we’re both anxious about when the baby will come. I think I might know something that could help induce labour.”

You placed the cup on the nightstand before turning to him. “You do?”

He leaned a little closer so he could study your face. “Yeah, it involves some…physical activities,”

Immediately you twisted your face, recalling a past memory. “Oh, please don’t make me use that exercise ball again,”

“No, not the exercise ball,” he chuckled before he retained his gentle tone.“There are some excerises, but we don’t need to do that now. I was thinking of something more intimate.”

Your eyebrows arched in understanding.“I’ve heard of that too, I guess it wouldn’t hurt to try, right?”

Relief and excitement swirled in Miguel’s heart at your openness. Though he didn’t want to put everything on you now. “Only if you’re comfortable. I know you're tired right now so we don’t need to do it tonight,”

You chewed on your lower lip, suppressing your grin from growing wide.“Oh well, I might have a little spare energy for this.”

“Oh? Too impatient for the baby to come out?”

“That and…you’re looking pretty irresistible right now,” he saw a flicker of something familiar in your eyes as you said that and it was too tempting not to give him.

He leaned in, capturing your lips with his in a deep kiss. He felt you respond back eagerly, your lips parted slightly as his tongue traced the contours of your mouth, silently asking for entry.

You opened up to him and he took that opportunity to map out your tongue to taste more of you. After pulling his lips away, he soaked in the sight of you and how flushed your lips were right now.

His voice dropped to a more soothing tone as he spoke. “Let me do the work, okay? You just lay back for me.”

He carefully stripped off your pants, with your undies remaining, before he removed his own. He gently guided you to lie on your side before he climbed onto the bed behind you. His chest was pressed against your back now and he wrapped an arm around you and caressed your bump.

“Comfortable?” He asked in a whisper.

“Yeah, are you?”

“Very.” he pressed up closer to you, molding his body against yours.

One of his hands reached lower to trace the edge of your undies between your thighs. He felt your twitch slightly at the touch and he couldn’t help the grin against your neck.

He reached lower until he felt the damp patch of the fabric and gently rubbed in a circular motion over your clothed folds and the clit.

“Mig—” you gasped, writhing under his touch. You were more sensitive now with your hormones flaring.

He groaned softly at the sound of you saying his name like that, so needy and desperate for him. “You’re so wet for me, amor.” He murmured.

You could only moan lowly in response as he dug his fingers through the panties to feel more of your wetness. Your panties cling to your core from your wetness as he lowered the fabric to expose the delicate area.

The undies were only pulled down up to your upper thighs but it was enough room for him to delve his fingers into your cunt, drawing in and out at a shallow pace.

You were so responsive and your pregnant bump made you look even more enticing right now. He added a second finger, increasing his pace ever so slightly while using the right amount of pressure to drive you wild.

He heard you gasp, loving how easily he could make you moan and forget about everything other than him. “You’re so beautiful like this,” he moaned against your ear.

You flushed again this chest, squirming until you rubbed against his groin and over his hard on. His breath caught against his throat, suddenly feeling his urges getting stronger. He wanted to be buried deep inside you right now but he didn’t want to rush things just yet.

“You’re making it hard for me to hold back,” his voice was strained as he breathed.

“Miguel, please—” you whined, rubbing your thigh desperately for some friction against the bundle of nerves.

Miguel’s control was hanging by a thread by now as he heard your plea. He slowly withdrew his fingers from you and shifted his body. He quickly lapped up your wetness from his digits before he started grinding his hard on against the rear.

His hands slip up your stomach again. He was infatuated by your bump and he couldn’t get enough of you.

“Are you sure you’re ready for me?” He breathed against your ear. He was aware of how more sensitive you were now and he wanted to make sure he prepped.

“Yes…please, I need you Miguel.” You begged further. The desperation in your voice pushed him to his breaking point.

He pulled away momentarily to lower his boxers and freed his aching cock. He stroked it a few times before he located your core between your thighs.

Once he found the jackpot, he slowly pushed himself inside. Immediately he was overwhelmed by you and your walls squeezing around him. You clenched onto the bed sheets beside you as he pushed further.

Once he had bottomed out, he felt his eagerness heighten and there was a hopefulness that this might be the chance to finally bring about the beginning of your labour, leading to the birth of your baby.

But at the same time, he couldn’t ignore the lingering nervousness on what’s to come and the significant changes that would happen.

But for tonight, he didn’t allow himself to focus on that— instead he wanted to bring you the bliss that you needed now before those hours of labour.

He let out a low groan into your neck before he started to drag himself out and slipped back in again, all while watching your face with a close eye.

He wanted to be able to pick up on your reaction through your micro facial expressions, even if he did only have a vantage view of your face from his position. Your mouth was parted open with the sound of your whine slipping from your lips.

His pace started off slow and steady so you both could get in the swing of things— and so he could adjust to the position. He had never made love to you like this so this was all new to him, especially with your new body.

He felt you tighten around him as he thrusted in and out of you, milking more moans and sweet sounds out of you. He kept his hands around your stomach, feeling the activity of the baby inside as he slowly increased his pace.

Your moans were becoming more frantic and high pitched from the mounted pleasure and how sensitive you were now. He could sense the familiar trance of your climax from the sounds you were making and how breathingless you were right now.

He moved his hand from your stomach to reach for your hand and threaded his fingers through yours. His lips remained near your ear and he kept his voice hushed. “That’s it, amor. Let yourself go.”

He heard you cry out his name in pure ecstasy as you reached your peak, sending a shiver down his spine. He continued to move inside you, helping you ride out your orgasm. His thrusts became more sporadic and jerky now as he felt his own peak crawl up to him.

With one finally thrust, he reached his own orgasm, coming hard inside of you and filling you with his release. He moaned your name, like it was painted on his tongue, as his body shuddered against yours.

He slowly pulled out from you and felt the withdrawal. Your bodies were still clung onto each other as both of you came down from your high. Miguel shuffled away to give you some room to breathe, with the sweat cooling his skin.

You turned your body over so you were facing him again before you wrapped yourself around him. “Do you think it worked?” You asked.

Miguel pulled you as close as you bump will allow. “Well, I don’t know for certain, but it was definitely worth a try. And even if it doesn't, we can keep trying.”

The thought did excite him, but he really hoped that it would work the first time. He couldn’t wait any longer.

Miguel’s hand continued to trace gentle patterns on your skin. A sense of satisfaction washed over him, and it blended seamlessly with the lingering pleasure of your intimacy.

“You know, after everything I’ve lost, I never thought I’d ever find happiness. I never thought I’d ever find someone who makes me feel alive again, someone to start a family with.” He sighed, tracing his fingers over the back of your neck affectionately. “Yet…here I am, married to the most incredible woman,”

“Well, I never thought I’d be married to Spiderman,” you replied with a cheeky grin.

Of course you would bring that up.

“Oh God, please don’t refer to me as that, not while I’m off the clock anyways,” he said, though internally your words felt like a warm embrace, filling him with a sense of fulfillment. “I’m not some special entity or idol, just a man who loves his wife,” he added.

“And a man who keeps the Multiverse intact,” you reminded him. He wasn’t always fond of his role as the leader of the Society, but the way you said it made it sound almost noble.

“Urgh, don’t remind me, you make it sound like I’m some sort of superhero. Can’t you just call me your husband for tonight,” there was a hint of vulnerability in his voice that he couldn’t hide, even if he was joking.

You looked up at him, your expression softened with affection, “You are, and you’re my hero too,”

Miguel felt his heart quicken seeing the way you looked at him. It wasn’t every day that he received the recognition that he deserved; but even when he did receive some praises here and there, it would never give the deep sense of gratification that he felt when hearing it from you.

You always knew how to make him feel not only noticed but appreciated too. It was almost surreal having someone like you to wake up to everyday. “You’re really giving me a big head you know that, but it’s nice to hear you say it,”

“Yeah…and you’ll be this little one’s hero too,” your gaze fell to your bump.

Miguel couldn’t stop himself from gently caressing your stomach, feeling the kicks from your daughter.

Any moment now.

Miguel kissed your forehead. “Let’s get some rest, tomorrow is another big day,” You were both lulled to sleep with your synced heartbeats.

~

The following morning, Miguel felt you gently shaking him awake. Blinking against the morning light, he focused on your excited expression. He was still defrosting from his slumber so he didn’t pick up on what you said until he heard the word contraction.

Immediately he felt his heart rate spike and he bolted upright. “Are you sure? When did you feel it?”

You beamed at him. “Just a few minutes ago. I tried to wake you but you were in a deep sleep. Should we get ready to go to the hospital?”

Miguel didn’t need to be asked twice before he was out of bed and freshening up in the bathroom. The entire morning, he was on high alert, making sure everything was in place, carrying the hospital bag to the car and making sure you were feeling okay, reminding you to focus on your breathing.

As you both stepped out of the front door, he halted as his mind started racing. He looked back at the house and realised the next time he walked through these doors and back inside, you would be a family of three.

This was something you’ve both been dreaming for a long time and having to experience it in real time still didn’t sink in yet. He stepped further out the house and locked the doors before he climbed into the car, taking his place behind the wheel.

Several hours of ice chips later, the first cry of your baby girl tore through the room. At that moment, time seemed to stand still. Everything and everyone else faded into the background and all Miguel could focus on was you and the baby.

When it was his turn to hold her, Miguel couldn’t form a single word until he saw her big eyes open for the first time, looking up at him. She probably recognised his voice as he offered soft words of comfort.

“Mi pequeña princesa,”

He felt a fierce sense of protectiveness over the baby. He wanted to hold her close, to keep her safe, but he was also aware of her fragility. So he found a careful balance, making sure she felt his warmth in his arms.

When it was time for your baby’s first feeding, Miguel watched you as you nursed your daughter for the first time. The nurse helped with the latching and the positioning so you would be more comfortable.

You brought the baby closer to your body, aligning her head with your nipple. You got the hang of it pretty quickly and soon, she got a good latch, with her tiny lips flared out.

Miguel watched in awe as she started to suck and draw out the milk. “She’s feeding, amor. You’re a natural at this,”

Once the baby’s feeding was done, you slowly guided her off your nipple and held her against your chest.

“Miguel, I did it!” You exclaimed, the excitement shining in your eyes.

“¡Por supuesto que lo hiciste! You did an amazing job.” He pulled you close and kissed the crown of your head.

“I couldn’t have gotten this far without you.” You confessed.

“That's not true. You're the one who gave birth to our little girl, and you're the one who is nursing her, giving her the best possible start in life. You're the strong, amazing, beautiful mother of our child. I'm just here to support you every step of the way.” Miguel quickly wiped the mist in his eyes, overcome with emotion.

“True, but I would be a mess without you,”

“And I would be lost without you. You may be the one bringing our baby into the world and feeding her, but I’m right here besides you,” he said, voice steady and reassuring. “I’ll do everything I can to make this journey easy for you,”

And he sealed his promise with a kiss on your forehead.

I shit you not, there are women out there who actually talk ab eating their own placenta on TikTok (TW if you get easily squeamish) ☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️

𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐬: @thealleydog @mybvalentine @prettygirleli @enneadec @aisajustwannaread

@babeyling @monarchberrysblog @saintdiior

[killerpancakeburger]

Bluebeard's wife

SUMMARY: On a visit to your boyfriend, you end up having to deal with a creep on base, but Soap and Ghost's methods of resolving your problem are... far more drastic than yours.

PAIRING: Soap x f!Reader (and BFF!Ghost)

TAGS: Dark content, Badass!Reader, Established relationship, Dark! a bit yandere! Soap, Dark! a bit yandere! Ghost.

WARNINGS: Canon violence, blood mention, sexual harassment, insults. Soap and Ghost are acting creepy but not towards Reader.

WORDS COUNT: 1,1k words.

A/N: Was thinking about how high the risks of sexual assault are in the military for women + about how much the Task Force could get away with (Soap's mohawk is NOT standard issue lol), but it turned out kinda dark. Not my usual kind of content. This is my first time writting those characters, pls be indulgent.

Your elbow connects with the man’s nose with a satisfying crack.

Immediately he howls, pressing his broken nose with one hand, blood dripping between his fingers.

“FUCK! What the fuck! You broke my nose, you crazy bitch!”

This. This is why you didn’t want to meet the Task Force on base. There was always one brainless fucker who didn’t get the memo that, no, despite having breasts, you weren’t here as a comfort woman.

The private is glaring at you with a hatred as deep as it is sudden, one that screams murder.

The only good side of the situation is, with how loud he’s being, you won’t even need to call for help. Already most of the soldiers nearby are staring at you, muttering among themselves. Not that you can’t beat this guy up on your own, but the military tends to frown upon civilians roughing up their members, you learned it at your expense quite early. On the other hand, soldiers settling accounts between each other was… well, not exactly authorized, but it was way less trouble for you.

He grabs you by the collar, his rage only exacerbated by your composure. The action stains your clothing with his blood. You mentally grimace. You’re no stranger to blood, but the idea of this repulsive individual’s bodily fluids being anywhere on your person is disgusting. 

“Are you listening, you dumb bitch!? I’m gonna fucking kill-”

The venom-filled verbal onslaught stops dead as a hand takes hold of your assailant’s wrist.

“Now, now, at ease, soldier. Ya making a spectacle of yourself.”

The thickly accented voice of your boyfriend sends a wave of warmth in your chest. 

Your harasser hesitates a second too long, so Soap makes the decision for him, tightening his grasp until the soldier winces, and finally takes the hint, letting you go and taking a few steps backward. Johnny immediately positions himself between the two of you, shielding you.

He’s been smiling the whole time, but it’s the kind of dangerous smile you wear when you’re about to give an asshole a righteous beating.

The private looks partially sheepish, but not defeated, indignation burning in his eyes. He lets loose a torrent of justifications and excuses, actively painting you as the villain, not caring if he contradicts himself in the process. You don’t pay attention to the details of his speech. It’s always the same “she was asking for it” kind of diatribe. The fact that he sincerely believes that there’s a chance that Soap will take his side instead of yours is laughable, but not surprising. 

You wonder how long this will go on, until the private notices something next to you, and all blood seems to desert his face as his voice deserts his vocal cords. 

You turn your head and, to no surprise to you, Ghost is there. He stands so close to you that your arms are almost touching. Clothed entirely in black, which brings out the white skull on his mask, his presence is as menacing as ever; all he needs to do is scowl at lesser soldiers to make them cower in fear. He doesn’t look back at you, but his support for you is so obvious through the rest of his behavior that he doesn’t need to.

Soap takes advantage of the newfound silence to turn to you.

“Ya good, yeah?” He asks, cradling your cheek tenderly, and stroking your cheekbone with his thumb. 

The question is futile - if you were hurt, he would have noticed right away. But it’s still cute to see.

“Yeah. Not a scratch.” you smile.

“That’s my girl”, he smiles back. “So, what the bloody hell happened here?”

You glance at the private behind him. He’s shaking, and the look he sends you back is begging for mercy. Remembering the first words he addressed to you earlier, you realize you’re all out of mercy for today. Thus, with a sadistic little smile, you recount the events.

“This man came to me complaining that I was unfairly privileging Sergeant Mctavish and that he wanted his turn. Then when I explained that I wasn’t some kind of free-for-all buffet, he took it the wrong way and put his hands on me. That’s when I exploded his nose.”

By the time you finish your explanation, Soap’s expression has darkened considerably.

“I see.” is all that leaves his mouth. Anyone familiar with him would know that for him to start talking by monosyllables like Ghost, something must be very wrong.

Pivoting again, he faces the private and, as the latter opens his mouth to plead for forgiveness, punches him right in the face. Blood gushes, drops of it landing on his face. You mentally count until three, one for every blow, and when Soap still doesn’t stop punching, you frown, disturbed and worried by his conduct. He’s never been one to remain impassive in the face of injustice, easily riled-up even in critical situations and despite his superiors’ orders, but you’ve never seen him go this far. 

You’re about to intervene when Ghost beats you to it, putting a hand on his sergeant’s shoulder. That’s right. Ghost, the voice of reason, the paragon of self-control, their cold-hearted leader, will fix everything.

However when you hear the next words that leave his mouth, it’s like the world tilted on its axis.

“Not out in the open, Johnny.”

The words are whispered low enough that only Soap and you would have heard. They send a cold shiver down your spine. Rattled and unsettled in a way that they never made you feel before, you contemplate the situation in silent incredulity.

“Aye, L.T.”, replies Soap with an abnormally monotonous tone.

Before you can ask what the fuck is happening, he proceeds to punch the soldier so hard in the stomach that the latter collapses without a sound, except for the muffled noise of someone winded. The scene makes you increasingly uncomfortable. You feel like Bluebeard's newest wife, having stumbled upon the one room you were forbidden from entering, having witnessed something you weren't supposed to see, and now you can never go back to how things were before.

You counted on Soap and Ghost’s intervention, sure, but you expected them to put an end to the fight, maybe intimidate the guy a little, and ultimately end things here. You didn’t expect… whatever this is.

Staring in shock at the two Special Forces, you shake your head to get a grip and come closer.

“Alright guys, I think he’s had enough-”

Ghost interrupts you with a hand on your shoulder. The Ghost touching two people in less than five minutes? Yes, something’s seriously wrong. Looking at him, you try to convey urgency with your gaze…

“Simon, this isn’t-” 

…but his next words make you lose hope of winning this argument.

“Easy there, love. Johnny’s takin’ care of it, ya don’t need to worry ‘bout a thing.”

The next thing you know, he presses a hand against your lower back, making you leave the premises, completely ignoring the way you stare at him in utter disbelief… and growing apprehension. 

He had never called you “love” before.

[dancewithdeath11]

Damnation

Pairing: Joel Miller x Reader

Summary: Joel Miller knew he was damned, why would a pretty thing like you be with a man like him anyways?

Warnings: Smut 18+, lowkey religious undertones (talks of damnation, sin, using god's name in vain (lol)), just fuckin’, not too dirty, more like poetic smut? Love dirty old man poety rizz, fem-anatomy, unprotected sex, use of pull out method 

Wordcount: 1.5K

======

Breathing never sounded so loud. So frantic. Steeped in carnal lust and punctuated by growling grunts. 

He knew. He knew it deep down. Knew this was something bad. Something that shouldn’t happen. Something that would spell out going to hell together hand in hand by the mock of the angels. 

But something like this was worth the damnation. 

It made sense that sins like this were associated with hell. It’s hot, his greedy hands wandering across the sweltering expanses of your skin. The choked moans against one another's lips. Half hooded eyes of a man almost twice your age taking it all in.

How your innocent, ditsy fucking haltertop was bunching around your waist from when he untied it from the pretty bow that you had it in. Although, his hands were shoving the pathetic excuse for clothing back up. It got trapped under your tits, unintentionally, all so he could dig his worn fingers into your supple waist. His jeans were pushed down just enough, your shorts on the ground somewhere. It was almost unfair how you were left so exposed while he was almost fully dressed. 

Joel Miller knew from the second you came up to him that he was screwed. 

At first he thought it was a delusion. Seeing something that wasn’t there. A mirage of an oasis out in the desert that he wanted nothing more than to drown in. In what world would he guess your silent infatuation? Occasionally catching your gaze at the Tipsy Bison or around town. Of course, Joel would spare a small smile for a pretty thing like you. You would return it, beaming at him from where you were, lifting a hand to waggle your fingers at him. 

But he was knocked out when you came up to him for the first time. Your charm broke him quicker than he’d like to admit. After that you were a pleasurable constant in his life. The two of you run into each other quite often. Either quick hellos or long talks. His eyes were fixed on you and only you. 

He couldn’t, shouldn’t.. He swore to himself he wouldn’t. He wouldn’t tarnish you like that. Touch you with his bloodied hands that had taken too many lives. They were permanently stained, a fixed reminder. That should’ve been all it took. No way could Joel Miller do anything with someone pure like you. He was a sinner. 

But oh..

When you came up to him. Sweet you asked for help. How could he deny? 

More importantly, how could he foresee the future? How would he know that you’d pout up at him with the same kissable lips he knew spoke prayers in that house of worship they had in Jackson. He knew you went every Sunday. Was he supposed to know what to do when you flirted shyly, smiling and batting your eyelashes? What about when you grabbed his tainted hand with your soft one? 

Joel was just a man. A weak sinful man who hasn’t touched a woman in years and now here he is. With you. 

He told himself. Just one kiss couldn’t hurt..

But after he had a taste, it was too much. He was diving right into the mirage of water. Drowning in you. Entirely and wholly. 

You’d moan, it was a saccharine sound. Deep and raw like fresh honey, “Oh God..” 

“Takin’ the lord’s name in vain, honey?” Joel chuckled, but it turned into a groan as he felt you clench at his chastising tone. Your nose scrunched in a way that Joel quickly came to love. Face pinched in pleasure as you struggled to keep your eyes open, occasionally slipping up and closing them. But you would open them back up just as quickly. 

Joel watched as you panted and squirmed beneath him, hair fanned out like a halo around you on the rug. “S-Shut-” You didn’t even get to finish before you interrupted yourself with a moan. 

You let out a low whine of frustration as you reached back behind you and grabbed at a fallen pillow. A reminder to Joel of how bad he was. Taking you on the couch like a desperate teenager at first, but when switching around the two of you ended up on the ground. A well loved rug scratching at your bare back, the hard floor making his knees hurt. 

Everything felt rough though. The rough scratch of Joel’s beard as he shoved his face into your neck. Kissing over the sweaty skin and marking you with purpose. Sloppy wet open mouth kisses that makes you tilt your head back and to the side to give him more access. Dirty girl.. Sinful. 

Joel’s rough thrusting was practically sending you up the wall. The head of his cock knocking something deep inside you. That something had you arching under him. Frantically reaching for a different kind of purchase every time, unable to decide where you should put your hands through the haze of lust. But at the same time he was sending you away, he’d drag you back with a tug to your waist.

Joel grunted as he looked down at you. Watching as your face screwed up in pleasure. The flush that covered your cheeks and spread down to your chest where your tits were slick with sweat and littered with hickeys. He worried his bottom lip between his teeth with want, but again, Joel was a weak man. 

He took your nipple in his mouth, nipping at the hard bud before laving over it with his tongue. His other hand skates up your side to give your other breast attention. Pinching and tugging your nipple, twisting it till you let out a whimper of pleasure. Your hands found their way into his hair, tugging just as greedily as he had been grabbing at you before. It’s all his fault. You’re tarnished. Greedy, lustful, desperation showing through with the way you bucked your hips against his and held his head in place from where he had his mouth on your breast. Breathless moans leaving your lips as he scraped his teeth over the plush skin. 

“Joel-” It was a weak call, pitched in a vaguely familiar way. But he could tell why you were calling to him. 

He could feel it all in the way that you were rolling your hips back against his a little weaker than before. You were clenching his dick in a way that had him grabbing your waist a little tighter. The erotic sound of your moans filled the room. Accompanied by the dirty wet slapping of skin on skin from where your slick coated the inside of your thighs. “Shit, sweetheart, ya sound like a goddamn pornstar..” He entertained himself with a smirk, then pressed another kiss to your sternum. 

Idly thinking of you in one of those dirty old films. Maybe he could find a camera, make a little home film of the two of you.. Joel cursed the thought because of how much he liked it. 

“What’s that?” 

Another fucking reminder of how much younger you are than him. 

He elects to ignore your question rather than explaining it, baring his teeth as he sucked in a sharp breath. You open your mouth to ask him again, but he shuts it down as he begins to thumb over your clit. Fingers splaying across your mound as he swipes his thumb over the too sensitive bundle of nerves. 

A broken cry leaves your lips. He leans up to be face to face with you. Wide innocent eyes meeting his, tears just balancing on your lash line. Joel cooed at you, “You close, baby?” He slowed the rocking of his hips, instead focusing on thrusting harder. Shoving his cock back into your dripping abused pussy like he was mad at you. 

Tears streaked into your hairline. A quick nod followed by a weak uh-huh, that was overtaken by a moan. It didn’t take long.. One, two, three good thrusts later and your legs were trembling as they tightened around Joel’s waist. You tenses and looked about ready to fold in on yourself as you cried out like a woman possessed. “Shit- fuck, joel! Oh Joel-” it was a hiccuping kind of cry. Your hands finding his biceps and nails biting into his skin as he sped up again. Searching for his own release. Getting off on how much slicker you got as your tight cunt spasmed and clenched around is cock. 

“I know, baby, I know..” He gritted out. Pinching his eyes shut as he tried to find some kind of self control. Hissing as he dropped his head, chin to chest as he pulled out and fisted his cock. Shooting his spend all over your throbbing pussy and stomach. “Fuck…” He sighed and opened his eyes again. 

There you were, taking quick shallow breaths as you looked at his cum pooling on your skin. And he watched as you took your delicate finger and swiped it up, bringing it up to your mouth. A flash of pink as your tongue darted out to lick it. Then you sucked your finger into your mouth, licking it clean as you finally made eye contact with him. 

You pulled your finger from your mouth with a pop, smiling up at him innocently, “Can we..do it again? Please, Joel?” It was innocent. You were innocent. But how could he not? Especially when you asked him so nicely. 

He licked his lips. 

Oh, he’s going to hell…

======