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dreaming-tonite · 5 months ago

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The Necessity of Old-School Dating

— A relationship should start with flowers and a proper confession.

A/N: I just finished x-men 97 and my crush on Kurt when I was like 15 came back in full force. Like, you cannot tell me this man would not go to lengths trying to charm you.

Pairing: Kurt Wagner x reader

Warning: (1) German pet name in the feminine form that hopefully will not ruin this for any German speakers

Word count: ~1.5k

When Kurt Wagner was in love with you, the entire world would know.

He had a lot of love to give, knocking people off their feet (quite literally) when he made his sudden appearances and tackled his friends with full-body hugs. But with you, he was always more careful. While he made no hesitation in finding his way to you in a puff of purple smoke the second he saw you, he always landed just a step away from you.

He grinned ear to ear, glowing eyes curled into thin moons just at the sight of you. His body leaned towards you slightly, aching to be close to you but restraining himself until you reached out for him first. The heat radiating off his body tempted you to close your eyes and allow your mind to sink into his embrace when he immediately pulled you in after getting the go-ahead.

“It is good to see you.” His voice was soft in your ear, the vibrations from his chest seeping into your skin.

He made sure to tell you that every time, even though he must be aware that you already knew how often he told you that. But to him, it was important that you hear it from him.

Kurt never pulls away until you do and the lingering of his touch on your back when he does always leaves your skin tingling.

A true gentleman but with a trickster’s spirit nonetheless. Your back bumped into his anticipating tail, respectfully curved around your form. You gasped when it presented you with a bunch of flowers that he seemingly pulled out of nowhere, the end of his tail holding at the stems.

“Oh, you really shouldn’t have,” you sheepishly said, “today is not even anything special!”

“I like that they make you happy,” he mused, his gaze so soft that it made your face burn, “is that not enough of a reason?”

“They make me very happy,” you smiled and took the bouquet, his tail gently recoiling from behind you to sit neatly against its owner. You pressed the flowers against your chest, the faint scent of petals tucking at your senses, “Thank you, Kurt.”

You did not remember a moment when your room was void of flowers since the very first time he ever gave you any (in fact, you did not even have a vase before that and now it was reserved specifically for flowers he brought you). Some days it was a properly wrapped bouquet, some times it seemed he just saw a daisy on his way and plucked it when he thought of you.

It was a fluttering feeling to be treated special, to have someone show you that you were always on their mind. As much as it was a sweet gesture, it sure was a smart one too. Flowers sitting at the corner of your room reminded you of him whenever your gaze flickered towards them, and it brought a smile to your face whether you intended to or not.

("That brother of mine sure got you smitten for him, doesn't he?"

The sugar-sweet voice broke you out of your trance and you subconsciously stopped toying with the daffodil you had been twirling between your fingers. "I have no idea what you are talking about," you quipped, avoiding Anna-Marie's amused stare.

"Why, is that so?" she crossed her arms in front of her chest in fake thoughtfulness before it broke into a smirk, "Then care to explain what is so special about some little flower that it got you smiling like a fool?"

Your eyes went wide, the smile on your face that you weren't even aware was there dropping in an instant as the realisation hit you in full force.

"Sugar," she said, a loop-sided grin tucked at the corner of her lips, "I know the look of someone in love when I see one.")

They said that if their heart was in the right place then you would never doubt, and he made sure that his intentions were clear from the very moment you caught his eye.

He remembered things you said in passing, asked you to go out for dinners and subtly took note of items your eyes lingered on when you passed by store windows even before there was a proper label to your connection.

Kurt always managed to find excuses to take the long route when he walked with you back to the school. Sure, he could, and usually would, skip the unnecessary process of walking. But the minutes that were saved would be a waste of precious time he could spend with you.

The world was quiet and all was good in these rare moments when you were alone, talking about nothing and everything and all that fell between. He fell a little bit more in love every time you laughed as if his heart was not already threatening to burst out of his chest. He preened in moments like this, standing a little taller and a little closer to you until your shoulders nearly bumped with each slow stride.

And if the knuckle of your fingers happened to brush against his, then he would allow himself to be a bit bold under the disguise of the starry sky to hold your hand.

Kurt was a true believer in the importance of proper courting, putting in the effort and letting the effort be felt. But as much as he enjoyed the tip-toeing and the words that were left unsaid, there came moments when the passion was too much to bear.

It was a night much like any other. You had thought that things were going well, there was laughter and he was being his usual charming self until the two of you started heading back. Under the silver moonlight, he was... quiet. Your gaze flickered towards him in concern but seemingly, he was too deep in his thoughts to notice.

So instead of speaking, you reached for his hand and his walls came crumbling down.

"I wanted to take things slow so that you could consider if my affections, my— my love is worthy for you." He blurted out, accent thicker than usual in a moment of vulnerability. "But recently, I have been plagued by my own selfishness, that the more you have allowed me in your life, the more I crave to have you all to myself."

"Ah, entschuldige, I am rambling," he muttered under his breath, his voice trembling and guiding your hand so that he faced you properly. You reached out to hold his face and he leaned into the touch, sighing in content at the contact and all the more certain that close could never be close enough when it came to you.

"I like to think that any relationship, any romance, should start with flowers and a proper confession, and you deserve nothing less." he paused, his hand reaching up to hold yours firmly. "My heart is in your hands, mein liebe."

Time stopped, and all was still.

The thudding of your heart was the only thing in your ear as he waited for your answer with bated breath.

The first touch was so light he could barely feel it. Your body reacted before your mind could keep up and at the first brush of your cupid's bow against his lips, perhaps the bravest thing you had ever done even though you had been on literal battlefields, your reason immediately got ahold of the better of you. But before you could start to pull away, doubt and logic melted into a puddle when he crashed into you, strong arms holding you firmly as he returned the kiss with one much deeper than the one before.

He kissed you again, and again, getting light-headed when you pressed your palm flat against his chest and kissed him back every single time.

You gasped when you suddenly felt the ground disappearing from under your feet, purple smoke blurring your vision and your feet stumbling when gravity weighted you down once more. Kurt didn't seem to notice it at all, too drunk in having your body flushed against his.

Bamf, bamf, bamf. You nearly stumbled when you landed one last time, his hand finding its way to hold you by the small of your back before you could fall.

He was out of breath and if you could see under the blue fur of his cheeks you were sure he must be blushing like mad. Still heaving, he pressed his forehead against yours.

"Forgive me, I lost control of myself," he closed his eyes, the tip of his nose touching yours, "you have no idea how happy you make me."

Wrapping your arms around his neck, you decided that a proper confession deserved a proper answer.

"I love you," you said, "it would be a blessing to call you mine."

He chuckled before leaning in once more, this time soft and tender.

"And me, yours."

#can you tell that I love a dramatic romcom/regency-esque confession scene #let's bring back being dramatic fools in love #kurt wagner x reader #nightcrawler x reader #x men x reader #x-men 97 x reader #kurt wagner imagine #nightcrawler imagine

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muzansfangs · 4 months ago

Note

i’m such a slut for ukitake and age gaps 😩

imagine him lusting after the reader, who is centuries younger than him. he’s technically old enough to be her father. he shouldn’t be feeling this way about her but he simply can’t help it. especially not after finding out she secretly has a thing for older men 😏😏

(bonus points if reader is his vice captain)

The Captain’s guilt.

Starring: Jushiro Ukitake x f!reader; mention to Isane, Rangiku, Shunsui and Yamamoto;

Format: one-shot;

Warnings: nsfw, language, masturbation, self-deprecating, dirty fantasy, age gaps but the reader is 21+, vaginal sex, vaginal fingering, creampie, shy!jushiro, struggling with feelings, unprotected sex, pussy drunk Jushiro, praise kink, dom!jushiro, sub!reader, use of alcohol, nipple play;

Plot: Your Captain is falling for you. Jushiro Ukitake, a noble shinigami, finds himself lusting after his young Lieutenant. Hiding his feelings and the effect you have on him is getting harder day by day. Your presence is intoxicating, but he tries his best not to ruin your relationship. When you end up confessing not only you are into older men, but you also have a crush on him, things take a turn. Nor you, neither him are surprised you ended up screaming his name in the middle of the night, after you offered to help him with work.

﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

“Good morning, Captain”.

Another day, another smile of yours, another boner he had to camouflage in his baggy robes, as you cluelessly waltzed into his bedroom with a silver tray in your hands to serve him breakfast. Stunning and loving, his Lieutenant, his downfall from the moral principles he had always slavishly followed. He could not control himself around you.

Whilst you knelt next to his futon, you poured some tea in a cup and blew on it to cool it down. When your eyes fluttered closed, Jushiro clenched the sheets in his hands, knuckles whitening for the firm grip as he cursed himself for wanting you. You looked like an angel, taking care of him motherly, as if you genuinely cared for him. Actually, you did, and he was aware of that. He could see it in the way you risked your life on the battlefield to watch his back, when he needed some time to rest, or in the way you looked for the best doctors in the Seireitei to get some medications for him.

If only you were older, or he was a tad younger. Souls aged slowly and, even though you were four hundred-years-old, you still looked like a young woman in her early twenties. He was much older than you. Jushiro was around, when Captain Yamamoto was a black-haired man who had recently fought back the Quincy King. He was still a kid, back then, but he was there.

He could be your father, but the flesh is weak. Or this is what Shunsui had always told him.

He was not the type to hook-up with women periodically like his best friend did. Right now, however, he really wished he had half of the guts and self-confidence the Captain of the Eighth Division had. Why? Just to have you in his arms, even briefly, a fleeting moment of bliss to let you know how ardently he desired you. Jushiro wondered if you knew he cared for you more than a Captain is supposed to for his underlings. What if you knew? What if your heart throbbed in your chest upon seeing him just like his did, when you entered his quarters?

Illusions. He was so delusional. You drove him insane. A medicine to cure his sickness, but a deadly poison to his heart. Life was not treating him kind.

“Captain?” you hesitantly said then, head tilted to the side, a knot forming between your eyebrows.

He had zoned out once again, apparently. Awesome, making a fool of himself in front of you had become his speciality. Jushiro cleared his throat, cheeks flushing as he realized you were holding the cup of tea out for him to grasp. His fingers brushed against yours, a nervous smile curving his lips upwards.

“Oh, thank you! — the white-haired man blurted out, hands wrapping around the warm cup as he shot you a grateful glance — It looks like I’m getting deaf too. It must he a pain dealing with this old man” he jested, bringing the cup to his lips and taking a small sip of it.

You chuckled, shifting onto your seat to push the tray aside “Old man? I’m sorry to contradict you, Captain, but you’re not old at all. Or, at least, you don’t look old” you said casually, watching the way the rational and placid man at your left lowered his cup from his mouth slowly, interested in your observation.

“Care to elaborate?” he asked you softly, admiring the way some rays of the sun set off the color of your hair, the features of your face, causing a warm feeling to engulf his lower abdomen. This was not good. You were there, merely complimenting him, reassuring him, and he was thinking about folding you in half underneath him like some damn Neanderthal.

A grin spread on your face, eyes straying away from his “Well, you might be older than most of the Captains and Lieutenants around, but you are a fairly handsome man. — you said, cheeks warming up as you tried to be discreet about the topic — I heard a lot of women praising your appearence, not just your charisma”.

The world seemed to stop revolving for a few seconds, but when you decided to add some other words to your already fluttering note, Jushiro wished the blanket was tick enough to conceal his pulsing cock from your attentive gaze.

“And I agree with them”.

You agreed. You thought he was handsome! You, the pretty girl he loved, the girl who was making him question his morals, the sweet girl he wanted to spend every night with really thought he was handsome. He felt lucky. His pale complexion left space to pinkish hues on his cheeks, his hand trembling as he settled his cup down not to spill the tea on the bed.

Jushiro leaned slightly forward, hands clumsily covering the small tent visible through the layers “R-Really? I don’t know what to say, but … Thanks, I guess. A boost of confidence every now and then is greatly appreciated” he stammered, but your eyes had been faster than his hands, your lips parting as you watched your Captain attempting to hide away his need from you.

How sweet of him. Ukitake Jushiro, your Captain, a man you admired, who had kind of watched you grow and who had trained you for years, was currently hot and bothered because of a couple of compliments. Your heart melted, a soft smile on your lips as you decided to leave some privacy to him. After all, he still had to finish his breakfast and the poor man was surely dealing with a rather uncomfortable problem right now.

You stood up, bowing your head reverentially “I have to attend the weekly Lieutenants meeting, Captain. See you later” you said, sparing him a last glance before leaving his room as normally as you possibly could.

If only you knew how reddish the tip of your Captain’s cock was, how terribly sorry he felt for feeling that way about you, how much he wished the thick white ropes of cum erupting from his member, as he jerked off were painting your tongue, instead of a tissue. He was obviously not better than Kyoraku and he was terrified at the mere thought of his cheeky friend realizing he was practically dying to be squashed by your thighs.

Spring days in the Seireitei meant peaceful nightly strolls for your Captain, but also a chance for you to catch up with your friends during your days off. What a coincidence you were sharing a few drinks with Rangiku and Isane in a pub not too distant from the park your Captain chose to spend his free time at. When Jushiro caught a glimpse of you, chattering with your fellow Lieutenants, drink in hand and exceptionally beautiful, he froze solid and decided it was better to change his path suppress his reiatsu not to draw your attention.

Two weeks had passed since the breakfast incident and he had tried his best not to create embarrassing situations in which you had to be stuck in a room with him alone. You had noticed he had been acting strangely, as of late, but confronting him about it was not a wise move. Who were you to make your Captain, a man you were devoted to, a man who carried himself with dignity, uncomfortable? Time would have fixed the situation, or you were confident things would have worked out just fine from now on.

Jushiro was about to turn his back and leave, when he heard the noisy Lieutenant of the Tenth Division ask you a spicy question “Kyoraku Shunsui. Smash, or pass?”.

He had no idea why he stood there in the shadows, feeling like a creep, as he awaited in trepidation for you to answer that stupid question. For some reason, though, it was important for him. He expected you to blend in with mass of girls swooning at Shunsui’s door and say you would have gladly shared your bed with him. He would have not blamed you for that. Every woman he knew had a thing for his best friend.

Still, you were his jewel. He did not want you to crave Shunsui. He wanted you to choose him. He was selfish, he knew his thoughts were impure and not appropriate. He was in no position to argue with you about the men you fancied.

“Pass” you curtly said, causing Rangiku and Isane to gasp and for Jushiro’s mood to brighten up again. He leaned his back against the wall, staring blankly at the Moon above him, electrified to hear you were not one of the numerous fangirls ready to kill to be Shunsui’s partner for the night.

Rangiku slammed her glass down onto the small table “Pass? Girl, you are the Dilfs’ fucker here! I expected you to throw your panties at him! What’s wrong now?” she piped out, voice too loud for your likings as you covered your face with your hands.

People were watching, obviously, snickering and shooting leering glances at your direction. Isane blushed, shaking her head as she snapped her fingers in front of Rangiku’s face to make her get a grip of herself.

“You drank too much! Lower your voice, people talk a lot!” Isane chided her, only for you to nod your head in agreement.

“I am not into Captain Shunsui, alright? Yeah, he is handsome and hilarious, but not my type” you clarified, folding your arms across your chest, causing the red-haired woman sitting across from you to squint her pale blue eyes suspiciously. She was not going to let this go easily. You were toasted.

She smirked “Oh, that’s interesting now… — she said, leaning towards you with an inquisitive gleam in her eyes — Who is your type then? Someone older than you for sure, but let’s see. Old man Yamamoto is decidely not on the list. May it be his Lieutenant, though?”.

Isane choked on her saké, coughing a few times in shock, while you kept an intense eye-contact with Rangiku “You are going to get us kicked out of this pub. Lower your damn voice” you warned her, as the waiter passing by your table gestured for you to restrain yourselves.

“Then speak up, girl. I have all night long and tons of important men to mention publicly. — she retorted, determined to make you confess who exactly was your crush — Say it, come on”.

“My Captain”.

You had not even realized you had blurted out that answer, until you saw your friends gape at you in genuine incredulity. It was not like they had not expected you to possibly fall for your charming Captain, but you had not been that reluctant to admit you had feelings for your superior. You did not imagine yourself having that conversation either, the urge to disappear into a black hole gnawing at your liver now. You took a swig of your drink, the burning sensation down your throat helping you to cope with your audacious confession.

“Have you two fucked?!” Rangiku inquired, only for the waiter to finally lose his temper and come at your table with a livid expression plastered over his face.

“You three! That’s enough, get out of here!”.

Giggling on your way out of the pub, you took the road opposite to the one where your Captain was finding shelter. Emerging from the darkness, he palmed his forehead, your words still ringing in his head like a pleasant song he could not stop thinking about. You liked him, you reciprocated his feelings. This did not make him less guilty for lusting after you, but it gave him the chance to act more confidently around you.

Enjoying the gentle breeze blowing through his long, white locks, Jushiro resumed his walk, head light as a feather, while relishing the thought of you in his embrace. For the night, he could forgive himself.

The next day came and with it some errands to run around the Soul Society. After being summoned by Captain Unohana, you were now entering your Captain’s quarters with a pile of documents to sign tightly pressed to your chest. Sighing, you were glad to find the door open. The fresh evening air provided a cool environment for Jushiro to work. It was not unusual for him to ask you to open the windows and leave the doors open on your way out.

Sitting at his desk, his haori draped over his broad shoulders, Jushiro was reading some reports about some Hollows causing troubles in the Rukongai. He would have not even acknowledged your presence, if you had not announced your arrival.

“Good evening, Captain! I’m coming in” you chimed, crossing the threshold with a small smile on your lips.

Jushiro flicked his eyes up from the papers, his lips mirroring yours in a soft smile that dropped at the sight of another stock of documents he was expected to check. Duties before anything, right?

“Ah, I see. It’s going to be a long night, I guess” he sadly realized, as you knelt down next to him and settled the files onto the desk.

“These are from the Fourth Division. — you explained, hands flatly splayed over the smooth wooden surface — You can’t stay up all night, Captain. You need to rest, or it might be detrimental for your health. With your permission, I would like to stay for the night and help you out”.

You were too sweet for him. He should have sent you away, denied your request, no matter how much he wanted to spend more time with you. He yearned for your company like a starving bear tasting honey and begging for more, striving to get to the top of the tree to reach the beehive and enjoy the nectar. However, it was night. Was he really ready to offer you a bed to sleep next to his one, once your eyelids were going to get heavy after tiring hours of work? He was going to die a painful death, admiring you and restraining himself from kissing every inch of your skin.

He had to refuse, but he knew you would protested. Therefore, he went to the extent to propose you a good compromise.

“I won’t let you work yourself to exhaustion. I will gladly accept your help for a few hours but, when it starts getting dark, you go back to your dorm” he suggested, tone placid but firm.

You shook your head, though, hand reaching for a brush and dipping it into the dark ink pot “I’m sorry, Captain Ukitake, but I will have to disobey your order and refuse your offer. — you calmly replied, signing the first document swiftly with your Captain sighing in defeat in the background — Now, let’s get this over with” you added, encouraging him by splitting the pile in halves and handing him one of them.

“You are way too lenient with me” Jushiro stated, before resuming his reading again.

And hours passed by. You chattered with your Captain, the pile of documents decreasing slowly but surely but you were not even close to be done yet. When dinner time came, you had a quick snack and persuaded your Captain to rest a little more than you did. Naturally, he promptly protested, but you ended up convincing him he would have been more proficient with some hours of sleep over his shoulders. Begrudgingly, he agreed and sleep found him easily.

While you worked, you lost the track of time. You forgot to wake him up as you had promised and you just kept on working until your back hurt. Glancing outside the window, the Moon greeted you and the clock indicated it was midnight. You were ready to grit your teeth and keep on pushing yourself to the limit, when you suddenly felt the familiar reiatsu of your Captain embrace you from behind. You straightened your back, eyes widening even so slightly, as his hands rested comfortably over the top of your shoudlers.

“I overslept. You should have called me” he pointed out lowly, gently, as you apologetically nodded your head and discarded the brush over the desk.

“I should have, but your health is more important than work to me” you objected, turning your head slightly to the side to meet his kind chestnut eyes. Jushiro was sitting right behind you, his large frame almost draped over your back like a blanket, as he grasped your wrist delicately and shook his head.

Goosebumps raised on the back of your neck, his chin grazing over the top of your head “It’s your turn to rest. Lean on me” he offered, causing your lower lip to quiver for the habit of opposing yourself to his kind offer.

But you were too tired to be helpful right now and you knew he was not going to let you continue for any longer.

“Ten minutes will be enough” you said, accomodating yourself, as he helped you lean your back against his chest, the sound of the fabric of your uniforms rustling in the friction was endearingly soothing. Just like his arms subtly snaking around your waist and your hands slithering over his bony ones, making your cheeks heat up exponentially.

You had never touched your Captain like that, albeit you wanted him to. You had played scenes like this one many times in your head, hoping he was going to do much more than simply hugging you. You needed more, you needed him. You wanted Jushiro with ever molecule of your body and, God, he desired you too. Your eyes fluttered close, his warm breath tickling your jawline, as his fingertips began to draw lazy patterns over your abdomen, trailing up towards your ribs and then stopping.

“Are you comfortable?” he asked you, his heartrate increasing notably. His hands itched to cup your breasts, to roll your hardening nipples between the pads of his fingers, to swallow your moans with his mouth. But without your consent, Jushiro was not going to go any further.

You arched your back, eyes opening again to peer up at him adoringly “Comfortable, you say? I’d dare to say I’m in Paradise” you whispered, smiling faintly, before your hands reached up to undo your shihakushō. Bold, you were pretty bold right now, under the gleaming eyes of your Captain.

You heard his breath hitch, his hands trembling when you grasped them to lead them to your breasts where he wanted to settle them “Don’t say a word. They’re needless. I want it, Captain. I’m tired to pretend” you murmured, head lolling back onto his shoulder as his large hands finally latched onto your mounds, gently squeezing them.

Your skin was like velvet at the touch, his own arousal causing him to buckle his hips up against your lower back. How shameful, how stupid of him to do such things to you, but you wanted it. His Lieutenant was begging him to go ahead and that night the kind and rational Captain Jushiro Ukitake lost his mind.

He gripped your hips firmly, forcing you to straddle his lap, his legs spreading yours wide, as he kept your back glued to his front. His fingers scambled to get rid of his own clothes, while you spared time by disrobing yourself too. Skin to skin, you were able to feel his hard rock abs graze your spine as he latched his lips over the crook of your neck.

You moaned, squeezing your eyes shut, while his hands went back to cup your breasts, stroking the hardening buds to elicit more whimpers from you. Your breath was uneven at this point, your mouth searching for his as you turned around and tugged down your pants, tired of waiting any longer.

Jushiro was awestruck, thumbs tracing your hipbones, as you rotated your hips over his “Kiss me, please” you whispered, your lips hovering over his, tempting the poor Captain to give you what you wanted. It was not too late to stop, he kept on repeating himself that, but he did not want to let you unsatisfied and the fire in his loins was consuming him too much to neglect his own need.

“Kissing you? I will do more than that” he whispered, capturing your lips in a feverish kiss. His arms wrapped around your torso, pulling you close to him, were a cage you did not want to be set free from. Jushiro was gentle, handling you with a care no man had ever showed you, even when his tongue delved into your mouth and his fingers slipped underneath the waistband of your underwear, eagerly searching for your engorging pearl.

Shockwaves of pleasure made your skin sizzle, your hands cupped his smooth cheeks, as you moaned softly. Jushiro kissed your forehead, his cock twitching in his pants, when your wetness met his fingers. All of this was for him, your heat was dripping because you craved him! He was lucky, oh he was such a lucky man.

“You are … That’s for me, right? You are so good, Y/N-san, you are doing amazing for me. I will repay you for that, my sweet girl. I promise” he whispered, his hair sticking to his forehead as his fingers finally slipped into your core.

You could not talk much, babbling small words out was all you did, your lips leaving wet kisses over his neck and collarbone to show him your gratitude and love for him. Your orgasm hit you in waves, your inner muscles spasming around his slender digits as he watched your labia smeared with your arousal as you reached your climax. You were stunning, his hand glistened in your orgasm, as he quickly yanked his pants down and you crawled towards his unmade bed, panting, awaiting for him to join you.

When his member, ramrod, pulsing, slapped against his navel, you gulped down at the impressive size hungrily pointing at you. If only people knew about this side of him, they would die at his feet. Ukitake Jushiro lacked nothing that Kyoraku Shunsui had. He was just a victim of fate. If it was not for his sickness, he would have been unstoppable. Pumping his shaft a few times in front of you, Jushiro groaned softly, hooded eyes searching yours.

“Would you look at me the same way, if you knew what I did in the privacy of my bedroom when you left that morning?” he asked you, only for you to shake your head and hoist your legs around his hips.

“Nothing would ever change my opinion of you. — you replied, the tip of his cock probing at your entrance — I love you, Jushiro” you whispered, nosing his cheek when he caged you to the bed with his strong arms.

“I wish I could tell you not to love me, but I am twice as guilty. Forgive me, if you can. I love you, I have loved you for too long to keep it to myself” he said, before entering you with a smooth thrust of his hips.

You let out a strained moan, your tight walls causing Jushiro to grunt in bliss, his brows furrowed as he pressed his forehead against yours. Bottoming out took him a few seconds. Making his way inside of you, he had the care to gradually conquer inches without bruising you in the process. Tenderly, he looked at your face, searching for any signs of discomfort. Once he found none, he pulled back enough to let his tip buried into your heat and slammed back into you a little more vigorously.

Melodic moans left your mouth, neck strained back, when he set out a slow and firm pace to hit the spot that made you wrap your legs tighter around him. His white hair seemed the beautiful and cold stalactites hanging from the roof of your barracks, when it snowed. Handsome and yours, Jushiro kissed the valley between your breasts, praises to your beauty and dedication rolling out of his tongue every now and then.

“Beautiful, you should have posed for a painter in the World of the Livings. — he stated, voice muffled by your skin, when he sucked onto your nipple — A pre-raphaelite, those colors would have suited you” he murmured, tongue tracing the bud as his hips snapped towards yours more urgently now.

Your moans had grown louder, sweaty skin smacking together creating a repetitive sound any passer-by would have recognized. But you were too lost into his eyes, in the way the Moon seemed to make his hair glow like an halo around his head, on the way his muscular body would have crashed yours, if he was not attentive.

“Jushiro, please, don’t stop! — you breathed out, a throaty moan leaving your lips, when he grabbed your ankles and set them on the top of his shoulders — I am about to come” you warned him, watching the man above you speed up his movements.

He should have been careful not to overdo himself, but how could he when he was literally drunk on you? Ah your words, oh God, they were driving him insane.

“Come for me, darling. Make me happy, come for me” he incited you, grasping your hands and pinning them to the sides of your head with his ones. Fingers locked together, Jushiro thrusted into you faster, hitting your sweet spot with a perfect aim. Impeccable, sinfully celestial, you reached your climax around him with a powerful orgasm.

As you twitched and tightened around him, Jushiro’s mind went blank. He was not going to be just your Captain, not anymore. His, you were going to be his, as he was going to be yours. Just Jushiro Ukitake, a man in love, not a member of the Gotei 13.

Lolling his head back, he spurted his seed into you, guttural groans erupting from his throat as he filled you. Even though he had always followed the moral codes of a noble warrior, Jushiro Ukitake knew he had to sin that night. He could not let you slip from his fingers.

Someone had told him he would have fallen for a woman, sooner of later.

Therefore, sitting on a windy hill next to his best friend Shunsui, a couple of days later, he said “I plead guilty, your honor”.

AUTHOR NOTE.

Hello there! Thanks to the anon who dropped this into my inbox. I did not realize how much I yearned to write for this man until I found myself writing this piece! Thanks!

As per usual, likes, comments and re-posts are welcomed!

Until then,

x o x o

TAGS: @dehemetera @han11dh @bakugosgirl01 @silent-spirits @coowayeoo

#ukitake jushiro x reader #ukitake x reader #ukitake smut #jushiro x reader #jushiro ukitake #bleach smut #bleach x reader

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shadowbriar · 4 days ago

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Bucky Barnes — Dishwasher

Pairing : Bucky Barnes x (she/her) wife!Reader Word Count : 1.5k Warning : None? Synopsis : Bucky knew that he was a man out of time, but never would he expect that this world no longer accepts home appliances as presents. Notes : If you like this story and would like to support me, please visit my kofi page and perhaps get me a coffee?☕

Bucky’s palms were starting to sweat. He knows when she’ll return home, down to its minutes, but he still couldn’t shake the jitters that were brewing up his spine. He has more than enough window to finish his quest, perhaps even sparing himself a good other hour to clean up any possible mess and wipe the apartment clean before she could smell anything amiss, but with the ticking of the clock taunting on him, agitation was starting to pool a little thicker in his gut.

He taps on his watch, wondering where the technicians that were supposed to be here half an hour ago might be at. The drive from the store to their apartment shouldn’t be that complicated. He’s written in bold font the address and their unit number. There should be no issue for them to find it.

He was just about to ring the store when the doorbell rang.

“Mr. Barnes?” one of the technicians asked, looking at the clipboard in his hand “You ordered a dishwasher, Sir?”

“Yes,” Bucky answers with a slightly annoyed grunt “I’ve been expecting you.”

The technician shows a corporate disinterested smile, walking in the apartment as his partner wheeled the boxed item.

“Where do you want us to install it, Sir?”

“Right here,” Bucky says as he pulls the cabinet door that hid their old dishwasher “Could you bring the old one with you? I’d rather not leave any trace of mischief for my wife to find.”

“Of course,” the technician says as he begins to unbox the appliance “Wait, you didn’t make this your wife’s Christmas present, right?”

Bucky frowns, shaking his head with his brows knitted, “No, why?”

“Cause the guy at the last house did and that was a bad scene, man,” the other guy finally speaks up.

“Bad scene, why?” Bucky’s arms were folded to his chest now “They didn’t like the dishwasher?”

“No,” the first guy snorted with his laugh “They didn’t like it, alright.”

“The wife was insulted. Said home appliances don’t count as a gift,” the second guy further explained as he begins to take out the tools to install the item “She said it’s not fair that she always gets ‘gifts’ that are just things that their household needs to function while he gets all the niche personalised presents.”

“Not going to lie, I felt bad for the lady,” first guy chimed in “It was a bloodbath there, man. She was yelling and crying by the time we finished installing the dishwasher. Poor woman, I hope the husband found her something better for Christmas.”

Bucky could only nod in agreement. The crease on his forehead only gets deeper as the technicians continue their story. A new sense of guilt and anxiety brewed in his stomach. Perhaps the dishwasher wasn’t a great idea, afterall.

At first, he thought giving out a lie to a random technician about whether or not the item was his Christmas gift for her wife would never bring any harm. These men are just strangers that need not know any of his business, anyway. But now that they’ve told the story of their last customer, Bucky wonders if he should’ve just answered truthfully and see if these men have any better ideas for a replacement gift.

In his defence, the dishwasher was something she said was listed in her wishlist. He got her the very one she pointed at when they went to the electronic store the other day, down to the very colour that she said was her favourite. He thought that this would be the grand gift to reveal for her, the grandiose early Christmas present that would get her jumping and squealing in excitement, but having the story sinking into his brain now, such fantasy might not be the reality he’ll witness.

Bucky knew that he was a man out of time. That the world has progressed in ways that his mind couldn’t catch up still, but never would he expect that this world no longer accepts home appliances as presents. Perhaps he needs to whip out that notebook of his again and relearn the rules of gift giving in the twenty-first century.

—-

“Doll,” Bucky starts while his fingers cut through the meat of his dinner, trying his best to act as nonchalant as he could “I have a proposal to offer.”

She nods, chewing her food, “I’m listening.”

“Since you’re pretty busy with work and I have the whole month off from missions, why don’t I take the kitchen duty? I’ll cook our meals, make our coffee, wash the dishes, everything that’s involved in the kitchen, I’ll take care of it.”

Her head darts up to face him, an impressed smile tugs on the corner of her lips, “Okay..? Why?”

“Just wanted to take some of the burden off your shoulders,” Bucky lies through his teeth, shrugging “I’ve seen just how tired you’ve been lately. It’s the least I could do.”

“You’re very sweet,” she replies as she places a small kiss to his forearm “I’ll take the laundry duty, then.”

Bucky smiles, nodding in agreement.

His brain has been wiring since the technicians left their apartment. He wonders what he could get for her that would match the brilliance of the dishwasher that he thought would have been. He tries to squeeze the essence of his memory, trying to find anything that she might have mentioned that he could get for her, but everything she’s ever told, he’s bought, and he still wasn’t sure if there would be anything bigger than the dishwasher.

Now priding himself as a good husband, how could he not know what his wife wants most?

—-

In his defence, a twenty minutes longer sleep was something he earned for all the hard work he’s done in the kitchen for the past week. Bucky has made every meal, every coffee and every snack that he’s promised to make. He’s taken out the trash without being asked and has done all the dishes before the grease could even set on their plate. Now he might be a supersoldier, alright, but waking up early to brew some coffee and make breakfast was still something he’s not accustomed to and letting his eyes rest a little bit longer feels like a reward he’s very well earned.

So now he finds himself buried under the many layers of their blankets. The fluffiness of their pillows and how the scent of her shampoo still lingers on them made him drown in the pool of comfortness. He snuggles tighter to the pillows, burying his face on the softness of its fabric, before slumber was abruptly yanked off of his feet.

“Good morning,” she says after jumping right on top of him, now sitting on his stomach with a teeth-rotting grin “I love you.”

“I love you too, Sweetheart,” Bucky grunts, smiling through the regret of his lost doze “You’re up early.”

“No, I woke up on time. You’re just taking a little more nap than usual,” she answers as showers his jaw with kisses “When were you going to tell me?”

His eyebrows knit, trying to understand her words with a brain that’s still partially asleep, “Tell you what?”

“That you got me the dishwasher.”

Bucky’s eyes shot wide. His blue fraught-filled eyes were clashing against her fevered ones. He studies her face, trying to find any trace of disappointment or anger, but the only things he could find were the lovely creases around her eyes and the big grin that he thought must’ve ache her cheeks after a while.

He sits up, leaning against the bed frame as he tries to assess his situation better. Wrath was devoid from her face. She was jumping a little, evidently excited upon unravelling his confidence. Something that he wasn’t sure how to react to now.

“You’re not mad?” he asks instead.

“Why would I be mad? You got me the dishwasher!” she exclaims, placing another kiss to his lips “I was planning to get it next week after my Christmas bonus is in, but here you are playing Santa. You’re quite literally crossing wishes off my list. I love you.”

“I love you,” he answers “But— You’re sure you’re not mad?”

She sits up, studying his attentive manner with a raised brow, “Why would I be mad?”

“Because the technicians said home appliances don’t count as presents anymore,” Bucky answers, looking further lost “They said dishwashers don’t count as Christmas presents.”

“Sure, they do! Home appliances or not, a present is a present,” she argues “It’ll only be an insult if all your gifts are home appliances. That wouldn’t count as Christmas presents. But that’s not what you’re doing. You’re giving me something that I want, which so happens to be a dishwasher.”

Bucky closes his eyes, letting out a sigh, “I am so confused right now. I thought I ruined your Christmas.”

“On the contrary, you’ve just made my Christmas,” she beams, pampering his face with little kisses “I love you, thank you.”

“I love you, Doll,” with his eyes still closed, Bucky pulls her face to his chest, trying to tame her excitement a little so he could recollect the drowsiness that was slipping off his fingertips “Does this mean I can forfeit from kitchen duties, now that you’ve found the surprise?”

She looks up, resting her chin to his chest with a satisfied laughter, “Yes, baby, we can get back to our usual schedule now.”

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes oneshot #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes imagines #bucky barnes scenario #bucky barnes scenarios #bucky barnes x oc

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sincerelybubbles · 8 months ago

Text

it's a date || spencer reid x reader

part 2

warnings: cannon-typical violence/mentions of murder and kidnapping, slow burn, fluff!, early seasons spencer, not proof read

word count: 6.1k

You sigh and crack your knuckles, staring down at the pot simmering on the stove. You know that the sauce would be okay if you left it for a few minutes, did something else, but you remain standing, uselessly stirring it every few seconds. Truthfully, you’re bored. Your mind shifts from cooking to work tomorrow, itching to pull out your documents and scan through them one more time. But you know you shouldn’t, advise about work-life balance tugging at your attention.

You’re debating if you should pick up a book and try to read, something light to take your mind off of the day, when a knock sounds from the front door. Your dog, Penny, a lovely golden retriever you rescued a few years ago, lets out a weak woof before slowly standing and trotting to the door. She’s old, more grey than golden, but she never fails to answer the door with you.

You turn the stove off and move the pot off of the burner, wiping your hands as you walk, when another knock echoes through the hallway. It’s sharp, official, loud. The sound fills you with anxiety. You stand on your toes to look out of the peephole.

“Hello?” You ask through the door, not recognizing the men standing outside and seeing no package in sight.

“Hello, Jason Gideon, FBI, could we have a word?” The older man says, voice stern but not unkind.

You open the door without unlatching the chain, peering out through the crack. “FBI?”

Jason Gideon, the one who spoke, pulls out his badge first. The lankier man next to him follows in suit. Your eyes linger on him for a second longer than the other agent, taking in his toussled brown hair. You scan the badges for a second before shutting the door to undo the chain.

“Sorry, you can’t be too careful, you know?”

“Oh, we know that all too well,” Gideon says good-naturedly, “it’s good to be cautious.”

He asks your name, you give it, and nods sharply, looking to his partner. “Well, like I said, I’m Jason Gideon with the Behavioral Analysis Unit, FBI, and this is my partner Doctor Spencer Reid.”

“Well, come on in, Agent Gideon and Dr. Reid,” you say, waving them both in and shutting the door.

“Just Gideon is fine.”

Dr. Reid sends you a tight lipped smile as he walks in, adjusting his shirt and otherwise avoiding your gaze. He seems nervous.

“Would you two like something to drink while you tell me why you’re here? Coffee, tea, water?” You ask, twisting the dishcloth between your hands as you lead them inside.

“I wouldn’t say no to some coffee,” Gideon says. You nod and turn to Dr. Reid, who is staring at you with his mouth slightly agape.

“Oh, yeah, coffee for me too, please.”

“Of course, have a seat,” you say, waving them to the small table in your kitchen and moving to prepare their drinks. Neither of them sit.

“How well do you know your neighbors?” Gideon asks as you start the coffee.

You shrug. “As well as anyone does these days, I guess. I wave when I drive past them, smile when they’re out front at the same time. Why, has something happened? I saw the police cars earlier, on my way home from work, but I haven’t heard anything else.”

“Yes ma’am,” Dr. Reid says, even though he looks your age, maybe even a few years older. “Your neighbor across the street was murdered last night, Mrs. Furgison, and her eight-year-old son is missing. Did you hear anything?”

You fall still, facing away from the two officers. Numb, you shake your head, “No, I didn’t. I wasn’t home last night. I was watching my niece for my sister.” You turn around to face them, leaning back against the counter. “But there are cameras outside, I’m assuming that’s why you’re here?” “Yes,” Gideon confirms with a nod. “Would you be okay if we took a look at the last few weeks of footage if you have it?”

“You want to see if he’s been visiting before last night,” you mumble, nodding. “Yes, of course.”

“Do you work in law enforcement?” Dr. Reid asks, the question erupting from him like he couldn’t hold it back. “You’re shockingly calm and seem to know what we’re going to ask before we get to it.”

“Oh, yeah,” you chuckle, waving a hand in the air and turning to pull the pot of coffee out. “BAU, of course, you’d see right through me. I’m a victim liaison. I read through this process hundreds of times a week. Sugar?”

“No, thanks,” Gideon answers as Dr. Reid blurts out, “Yes, please.”

You set the mugs on the kitchen counter along with a container of sugar.

“Help yourself, I’ll grab my laptop to get those files for you.”

When you come back, laptop in tow, Gideon and Dr. Reid are having a hushed conversation, both holding their mugs of coffee. You round the corner slowly but loudly, aware that sometimes agents can be jumpy. Gideon smiles at you while Dr. Reid looks over sharply.

It fits, given their ages and presumably how long each have been in the field. You try to send him a reassuring smile. He reciprocates but still looks obviously awkward, fixing his hair and taking a sip of coffee.

“Would you like me to put the files on a USB? Email them somewhere? Or just,” you motion with the computer, offering it over.

“I can take it,” Dr. Reid offers, “send the files to Garcia.”

You let him, passing him the computer easily. With your job, the government is already elbows deep in that laptop, anyway; you have nothing to hide.

You watch as Dr. Reid begins typing away on your computer, leaning over the table and resting his forearms on the edge.

Both of the agents are dressed professionally: button-down shirts, slacks, dress shoes. Guns ready at the hip.

“You like to cook?” Gideon asks, nodding toward your forgotten pasta on the stove.

“Yes and no,” you admit, chuckling and turning your attention to him. “It always tastes better than takeout but it’s hard to get the motivation. Are you hungry? Can I offer you anything else?”

“Oh, that won’t be necessary, but thank you.”

“Of course. I know how overworked you lot can be.” You cross your arms and lean back against your counter. “What about you? Do you cook?”

“Not as often as I should,” he admits, smiling sadly. “Victim liaison, you said?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You seem a little young.” “Could say the same about him.” You nod at Dr. Reid who doesn’t hear you, too focused on his work. “But I guess drive and pretty much no social life can get you anywhere,” you admit with a laugh.

“Garcia should have the files in a minute,” Dr. Reid interrupts, looking up from your laptop.

“I’ll give her a call.”

He steps out with a nod to you, walking back into the front hallway of your small home and leaving you alone with the doctor.

He opens his mouth to say something before his eyes focus over your shoulder and his attention is stolen. “Sorry,” he says, moving past you and into your living room, toward your bookshelf. “Is that a Russian copy of Crime and Punishment?” He asks, brushing his finger over the spine of the book.

“Oh, yeah, it is.” You follow him, staring up at your own bookshelf like you’ve never seen it before. It’s crammed full of books. There are more filling your bedroom down the hall as well. “It’s a slow read, I have to use a lexicon a lot of the time, but I sort of like the work. Translating’s a hobby of mine, I guess. When I have time. Sorry, that might be weird.”

“No, it’s not weird at all! Not to me, at least. Are you using a Dictionary-based lexicon? Can I see it? I have one that I love. I haven’t read much Russian but I have one for Greek. They’re rarely used anymore, falling out of popularity with the creation of the internet where everything is readily available to just search up, but I find them fascinating and I’ve never seen one for Russian before.”

He talks enthusiastically with his hands. His eyes shine, the interest lighting up his face. You think, before you remember the reason why he’s there, that he’s actually quite handsome. You become slightly breathless at the realization. You don’t really notice people like this often. But, towering above you, buttoned shirt pushed up to show his forearms and a self-concious smile stretching across his face, you’re a little flustered.

You take a breath, remembering that your neighbor is dead and a little boy is missing, sending Dr. Reid a small smile and motioning behind you.

“It’s in my office if you want to go look at it. I prefer it to just typing out the stuff I don’t know — mostly because I don’t have a Russian keyboard — and it’s easier to learn when you have to research it.”

“I would actually love –”

“Reid,” Gideon interrupts, ending his call, “Garcia got the files, we have to go.”

“Oh, yes, of course.”

“Thank you so much for your help,” Gideon says, walking toward you and offering his hand. “And for the coffee. So sorry to have interrupted your cooking.”

“Anytime detective,” you say, shaking his hand and smiling up at him, “always happy to help. I can give you my card if you need anything else?”

“That would be great, thank you.”

You rush to your bag to pull out one of your cards and hand it to Gideon before turning to offer Dr. Reid your hand.

“It was nice to meet you, too, Dr. Reid.”

He takes your hand firmly. “Spencer’s fine,” he says, stumbling over his words slightly but still smiling. “Thank you for your help.”

“Anytime,” you repeat, letting them out and returning to your sad pasta.

Your mind wonders, not to the murder or kidnapping, but to Spencer Reid. Wide brown eyes, tousled hair pushed out of his face, a sweet smile. Smart, too. Way too smart.

You��re not exactly experienced when it comes to dating, you hadn’t lied to Gideon when you said you don’t make time for a social life, dating included, but you do know that an interest in a too-smart profiler might spell bad news.

Still, as you portion out your meal, you can’t help but think that you’re feeling awfully motivated to return to working on Crime and Punishment. You don’t lie to yourself about the origins of this sudden spark of motivation, but you do rationalize it. What’s the harm in a fleeting crush, then? Especially if it gives you the push to finally finish one of the many projects hanging on your ever-growing list?

You suppose you might see them arround the office if they’re working in this jurisdiction, but then he’ll be gone and it’ll fade away. In the meantime, you make yourself a plate of food and settle down in your living room with the book and lexicon.

||||

“Well, that certainly poses an interesting problem,” you hear Cheif Saunders say as you walk into the police department the next morning, arms full of files ready for sorting.

You round the corner to escape this attention but aren’t fast enough and he calls you over by name. Cringing, you turn on your heel and are faced, once again, with Gideon and Spencer. With them are two more men and two girls, all intimidating and confident.

All FBI, if you had to wager a bet.

“Morning,” you say, nodding to Gideon and Spencer respectively. “Nice to see you two again.”

“You’ve met?” The tall man next to Gideon asks, pointing the question to Spencer. He grins, white teeth overtaking his dark, handsome face. He reaches his hand out to shake yours, “Morgan, nice to meet you.”

You introduce yourself, explain your position, and receive introductions from JJ, Elle, and Hotchner as well.

“Where did you meet our friends?” Chief Saunders asks, folding his hands in front of him and setting an accusatory glare on you. “Still preening for a new job?”

“No sir,” you say, uncomfortable. The chief is often cold with you, refusing to acknowledge your knowledge or work. When he found that you were looking to transfer stations to the one a district over, he’d still thrown a fit, though. You guess he can’t ignore how well your numbers reflect on him as easily as he deflects your accomplishments to your face.

“We stopped by to get access to her cameras, she lives across the street from the Furgison’s,” Gideon explains, watchful eyes glancing between you and the chief.

“They proved to be surprisingly useful,” Spencer interrupts. “We now know the make, model, and color of the unsubs car as well as his general height. Garcia is still trying to make out plates, but we are able to confirm at least pieces of our profile with the information.”

“You live across the street?” The chief asks, still staring at you. You shift your weight, holding the files closer to your chest.

“Yes, sir. In a duplex.”

“Then, fellas, I’ve found the solution to our problem. You’ll set up with our little liaison, then.”

“Sorry?” You ask, startled.

“We have reason to believe that the unsub is returning to the crime scenes after the police have left the area and allowed the family to return. But, if we know our guy, and we think we do,” Elle says, begrudingly, “he’s smart. He’s going to notice if we’re camped out in a car. And, in a residential street, it’s much harder to hide in a building.”

“So, you’ll have the opportunity to make yourself useful,” Chief Saunders chuckles, laying a heavy hand on your shoulder and shaking you.

“Only if you’re comfortable,” Gideon adds, glancing at you with a patient expression.

“Yes, it would be a complete invasion of your privacy, agents would be there twenty-four-seven monitoring. We would only stay in the front areas of the house, of course, but you needn’t do anything you’re not comfortable with. There are always other ways.” Agent Hotchner fixes you with a level look, voice sincere.

“Oh, she’s comfortable, aren’t ya?” The chief says, shaking you again with a wide smile.

“Yes, of course,” you say, nodding at the others. You mean it, you’ll do whatever you can to help out, you just wish you could’ve made the choice yourself.

“This way, you don’t have to worry about confidentiality, either. Little Miss has full access to ongoing investigations, she’ll be there for all of the briefings and such.”

You nod, discretely moving a step back so his hand falls from your shoulder.

“Yes, I’m meant to be kept up to date with all ongoing, violent investigations where and if possible to act as a bridge between law enforcement and victims and families of victims. Especially those with children involved — I should have mentioned we would cross paths again last night, I just wasn’t thinking.”

“Yes, we’ve worked with our fair share of liaisons,” Gideon chuckles, looking over his shoulder at JJ who gives him a small smile.

“Then it’s all set. You boys let me know when you have your profile ready.” Elle watches him walk off with a hard stare, obviously just as rubbed wrong by him as you are.

“Lovely man, isn’t he?” You joke, trying to make the situation lighthearted.

“We’ve interacted before. Our headquarters isn’t actually far from here, just a twenty-minute drive, we’re up in Quantico. He doesn’t get any better with time, though.” Agent Hotchner shakes his head, turning to grab a file off of the desk behind him.

“Well, he always forgets to offer his office space to visitors so I usually keep mine available. It’s quieter and there’s a whiteboard, follow me.”

||||

Since you started renting the small duplex by yourself, you’ve never felt awkward in your own home. Now, though, you feel odd taking up your own space.

The majority of the Quantico team is set up in your front room with laptops, cameras, and microphones.

“We don’t know exactly how long he usually takes to come back to scenes, only that it typically happens within the week,” Elle explains to you apologetically.

“No problem — comes with the job, no?” You say, smiling and trying to brush it off. Elle laughs gently, nose wrinkling as she shakes her head.

“No, not really. I wouldn’t be thrilled if these boys set up shop in my house, you’re taking this with much more grace than I would.”

You shrug, crossing your arms and tilting your head from side to side. “I won’t act like it’s normal, it is pretty weird having you guys here, but if it helps you catch this guy, why would I say no? Better me than some random civilian.” You hesitate, scrunching up your nose, “Better now than waiting for him to kill someone else.”

“Much more compassionate than I am,” Elle jokes, shaking her head and walking away as Gideon calls her name.

The main problem, you think, is that the duplex isn’t very big. The part of the team that’ll be staying with you — Spencer, Gideon, Elle, and Morgan — have all settled in. They won’t come and go, their car is firmly parked in your garage, and they’ll keep a low profile to prevent the unsub from noticing their presence. You’re meant to come and go as normal to keep suspicion low in case he’s cased the entire neighborhood. But, with only two bedrooms, a baths, and a small office, you’re feeling slightly cramped. Whenever you turn, you feel like you’re coming toe-to-toe with someone. It’s awkward, considering you’re very used to living alone.

Still, you’re determined to be a good host, so you set to preparing lunch for everyone. They’d insisted that you didn’t need to, but you really don’t know what else to do. You’d been given the day to help them all settle in and provide assistance wherever possible, but there isn’t much to do other than wait.

You’re pulling out the things for sandwiches when Spencer walks in.

“Hey, do you have an extra ethernet cable? Garcia thinks that a direct line would be better,” he asks.

“Maybe, you’re free to check in the office if you want. If you need, you can always pull the one from my desktop,” you say, shutting the fridge and trying to balance everything in your arms in one trip.

“What’re you doing?” Spencer asks, reaching forward to grab the ham and mayo from the top of your stack.

“Making sandwiches!”

“You really don’t have to. We can have food ordered, it’s okay.”

“I wanna make myself useful, I feel weird just standing around watching you guys work,” you say, dumping the materials on the counter. “I hope you guys like ham or turkey, it’s all I have.”

“You are being useful, though. You’ve let us set up in your home, how much more useful can you be?”

“I could provide food as well,” you say, sending him a smile. “Ham or turkey?”

Spencer looks exasperated, setting the ham and mayo down and shaking his head. Nervously, he uses both of his hands to push his hair back. “Either. Either is fine, thank you.”

You start to prepare the sandwiches, Spencer watching and still looking like he wants to say something.

“Hey, Reid, I found one, we’re all set,” Morgan says, rounding the corner and waving the white chord in the air. “Oh, what’re you making?” He asks, stepping closer and leaning over your shoulder.

“Sandwiches. I was asking Spence if you guys like ham and turkey but he wasn’t being helpful.”

“Well, Spence can be like that,” Morgan says, throwing Spencer a smirk over his shoulder. “But we’d appreciate anything.” “I was trying to tell her,” Spencer interrupts, “that it’s entirely unnecessary for her to make us lunch. She’s already done enough for us letting us set up here. The effort is appreciated, of course, obviously, you just shouldn’t have to. Because we’re already intruding.” He trails off as Morgan sends him a look, raising his eyebrow.

“Well, I, for one, appreciate the offer,” Morgan says, leaning on the counter and smiling down at you. You laugh at him.

“It’s not that I don’t appreciate it! I do,” he says, turning to you and holding one of his hands up in a placating way, “I just don’t think, it’s very kind of course, I just –”

You cut him off, taking pity, “He’s fucking with you. Relax.”

||||

“I just can’t believe that you’re actually processing any of what you’re reading at that speed!” You say, throwing your arms up.

“I actually am. Speed reading, when done right, doesn’t take away from comprehension at all. Plus, with my eidetic memory, I can always think back and process later if I need to,” Spencer explains.

“Fine, you’re understanding what you’re reading in a general sense, but where’s the enjoyment in it? How can you possibly understand all the intricacies of the writing, what the author is doing, and appreciate the characters and their growth if you don’t take your time with it?” “I tend to focus my reading moreso on informational writing, so that’s not often a problem. And when I do read something fictional or with more nuance, I’m never lacking in any way when it comes to my understanding of the content, even when speed reading.”

“So you’re not actually taking the time to have fun reading is what I’m hearing.”

“Reading is inherently fun when you’re learning something, though,” he says, lips quirked in a slight smirk and a line forming between his eyebrows as he looks down at you. The look is so disarming that you find yourself deflating a little.

You’re in your living room, a few books scattered on the coffee table between you two, debating the merits of each one.

“I dunno,” you say, argument leaving you as you become distracted.

“Just say I’m right! You know I am,” Spencer says with a chuckle, shaking his head and leaning toward you slightly, hands spread.

You thought he was cute when he was shy, bumbling in your house yesterday, but after a few hours to warm up to each other, you can’t deny you really like him.

The only thing that completely blocks the disappointment that they’ll all soon be leaving is that their UnSub will be caught when they have to leave. Your community and neighborhood will be better off for it.

“No, I still think you’re wrong. Sure, you understand what you’re reading but I just don’t buy that you could possibly enjoy it in the same way that I am!” You’re trying your damndest to regain your confidence, shaking your head side-to-side with a wide smile to erase the vision of his own smirk, his hands, his rolled up sleeves from your mind. “I mean, nothing beats curling up with a book and taking your time with it.” “Well,” Spencer interrupts, lifting a finger, “how can you say if you’ve never tried my way?”

“Speed reading? I’ve done it, actually.” You shrug at his hesitating look, suddenly feeling vulnerable under the weight of his eyes.

“Really? What method? What was your fastest time? What —” Morgan cuts off his questioning by walking in and calling for him.

“Gideon wants you to take a look at something.” “Ah. Breaks over.” Spencer stands from where he was sitting on your armchair, brushing his hands off on his pants. He points at you while he walks away, “We’re not finished, though!”

“Oh?” Morgan asks when he’s gone, raising his eyebrows at you. “Unfinished business?” You scoff, moving to pick up the books you pulled out to talk to Spencer about.

You like Morgan. He’s an easy one to like and he feels like the bigger brother you don’t have with his easy smiles. The chaos in your house hasn’t been easy, you appreciate his consistent presence to lighten the atmosphere.

You’ve actually come to like all of them. Elle with her stories, Gideon with his dry smiles, and Spencer. Really, you just like Spencer. You’re an adult, you’re not ashamed to admit it. Just, only to yourself, lest you mess something up and make him uncomfortable.

“You know, I can’t really say I haven’t seen him this excited before because the kid gets excited about everything but,” Morgan shrugs, pushing himself off of the wall he’s been leaning on and coming to sit next to you, “you do seem to get along well.”

“Oh, yeah, Spencer’s nice,” you say, standing to put the books away.

“Nice,” Morgan muses, leaning back on the couch and crossing his arms.

“He is! You all are.” You laugh when Morgan raises his eyebrows again. “I’m being serious, I would kill to work on a team like yours. You all actually work together.”

“We have to.”

“It certainly works out better when you do.”

“Yeah, your boss is a real dick. He usually walk all over you like that?” You wrinkle your nose at him as you sit down, pulling your legs under you. “More or less I guess. My personal opinion is that he’d like more men on the team and … no women,” you joke, giving him a what can you do? look, smiling sadly.

“And you tried to transfer?”

“Stop profiling me,” you say, eyes narrowing. Morgan smiles, all teeth.

“Not profiling, just remembering him saying something like that when we talked at the station.”

“Oh,” you say, slouching back. “That’s considerably less impressive.” “Ouch.”

“Yeah, yeah, I wound you. But I did look into transferring a while back. I’ve been trying to move up for a while and keep getting blocked. But, no surprise, I got blocked again.” You raise an imaginary glass, cheers-ing with the air, “Go government!”

“That’s fucked,” Morgan says, letting out a low whistle. “So you don’t want to stay a victims liasion?”

“No, I do. But it’s not my only job right now. It’s a little complicated, but our office is too small to have a head liaison. So I really just run around filling gaps wherever I can until I’m needed to do my actual job. I’d love to do just liaison work, I really like working with the public. Feels like I’m actually helping people, you know?”

“Yeah, I know.” “Hey,” you say suddenly, not wanting to keep the mood somber (or ignore the FBI agent in your house with your silly woes while a murder investigation is underway), “you want some tea? Coffee?”

“Sure doll, I’ll take some coffee,” Morgan says, a confused smile taking over his face, “if you’re offering.”

||||

“It’s actually pretty interesting,” Spencer is saying, flipping through files and leaning over to show Elle something.

“Oh, I bet. Nothing better than vicious murder,” you say, dry, rolling a pen between your fingers.

“I mean the process behind deciphering their reasoning,” Spencer says, shrugging.

“I just don’t know how you look past it to see anything other than the violence,” you say, shuddering.

He and Elle have taken the night shift and are giving you a rundown on profiling. You’ve worked with profilers before, but they’re small-town cops, more interested in closing cases than being scientific, or, at times, even correct.

“How do you look past a crying mother after her daughter has been murdered to get the information you need?” Elle asks. “I’ve worked with hundreds of victims, I think I’m pretty good at it, but your records show that you’re one of the best.”

You heat at the praise, shrugging your shoulders. “I wouldn’t say I look past them. I actually try to get into their shoes to figure out what I can say to get through to them.”

“Often the victims families know more than they think. Every bit of information they can give us or the police about the victim only lead us closer to the unsub. We often rely on your job to get important information out of victims and families that we wouldn’t otherwise have. It requires tact, empathy, and extreme emotional control,” Spencer explains, setting the file down and brushing his hair back.

“Well, thank you?”

“I think he’s trying to say what we do is similar,” Elle explains, “it’s just the opposite side of it.”

“I’m still not following — but I’m definitely not built to be a profiler, that’s for sure.”

“But you could be. You profile in your own way. We look at the bad guys, the killing patterns, stuff like that,” Spencer leans forward, enthusiastic. “You just profile less intense people. Gather information from them, figure out what they need. Get in their shoes, to use your words. You use their actions, small phrases, and what you can gather from their homes to approach them the best way, no?”

“Looking at their clothes and body language and stuff, sure.”

“We do exactly that with crime scenes. Recognize patterns. Just like you can’t imagine seeing past the violence, some of us can’t imaigne having to see past the emotion of someone dealing with fresh loss.” Elle smiles. “You’d probably make a really good profiler. You’re just a better victims advocate.”

You consider that, weighing their words. “Sure, maybe,” you admit. “I still think it’s kinda like magic, though. Your knowledge, your intuition, your teamwork. It’s cool.”

“Thank you,” Elle says kindly.

Spencer jumps back into his explanation of the types of murder-kidnappers, musing with Elle again about their profile. Their ability to constantly return to the same evidence over and over without any hesitation is still amazing to you. Despite what Elle said, you’re sure you’d get bored.

You’re even more sure that it would stick to you in a way that working with the victims never did. You visit crime scenes, sure, but you never do everything in your power to commit every bit of them to memory.

As they talk, you move toward the window and move the curtains over slightly. It’s the middle of the night, the second the team has spent in your home, and you’re curious how much longer this unsub will take to be caught.

You’ve done your best to keep to your usual schedule and luckily it’s not unusual for you to be up late. The movement behind the curtains won’t be suspicious, so you stand and peek out curiously at the home across the street.

Penny sighs from her bed in the living room, snoring softly. She’s taken a liking to your guests who are always willing to give her attention and scraps of food.

The Furgison house bigger than yours, a family home with a large backyard. It’s a faded blue, lightened by the sun, with a white door. Theres a dim porch light that’s been left on, throwing yellow shaddows across the street.

You swear you see a curtain move in the window and your entire body freezes, breath stolen from your lungs.

“Hey guys?” You say, dead quiet, as you see the curtains flutter again. Small, nearly inperceptable movement. Greys and blacks angainst more greys and blacks.

“Yeah?” Elle asks, still reading over the file with Spencer.

“You’re sure that nobodys gone in tonight?”

“Certain,” Elle says, moving quickly to stand next to you. “Why?”

“Curtains moved,” you say, nodding toward the house.

“Maybe the AC was left on?” Elle suggests and you shake your head.

“No, we would’ve noticed it before now. They have no animals, the house should be empty.”

Your heart is racing as Spencer joins you at the window.

“You sure you saw it move?” He asks, moving to stand behind you, just out of sight at the window, a hand pressed to your back. Gentle pressure, just his fingertips, that makes you siffen even more. He moves his hand, whispering an apology.

You wish he hadn’t.

Your mind spins, distracted for a moment, shaking your head again.

“Yes, I’m certain.”

“Go get Morgan and Gideon,” Spencer tells you, sharing a look with Elle.

||||

You follow the team out, despite their insistence that you don’t have to, holding your own handgun out and following the light Morgan casts.

You live in a relatively sleepy neighborhood. Shared duplexes and little houses line the streets, most with little flowerbeds out front. The Furgison house is no exception: it’s a little blue house with rose bushes out front. It backs the small patch of wood that runs along the length of the highway.

Heart racing and head light from adrenaline, you stay out front to watch for any movement inside while Morgan and Hotch creep around one side of the house, Spencer and Elle take the other side.

“Back here,” you faintly hear Morgan say through your earpiece. “The cellar door is open. It was deadlocked last time.”

You sitffen, readjusting your grip on your gun.

“Wasn’t it cleared, though, when we were here last?” Elle asks.

“Yeah, but he could’ve snuck in through the woods — there’s no telling.”

“Didn’t we position police cars on the highway?” Elle again. You can imagine them all standing behind the house, guns drawn. It’s intersting to hear them communicate so efficiently, voices low.

“We’ll worry about it later. Morgan, you take the lead, I’ll take the rear, Elle stay out here.”

For a long few seconds, you hear Morgan, Spencer, and Hotch begin to clear the basement, until you’re jolted out of the repetitive “clear!”s by Hotch yelling, “FBI, put your hands up!”

The next few minutes turn into a whirlwind as police cars arrive and Morgan drags the UnSub out of the house by his handcuffed arms.

The Furgison boy comes out next, disheveled and passed to the paramedics in the back of an ambulance. Once you see Hotch, Spencer, and Elle are okay as well, you jump into action, going to sit with the boy and comfort him. Morgan is there, too, crouched down to talk to the kid.

“You’re all good now,” he’s saying, reaching forward to ruffle his hair. “And my friend here is going to make sure that you see your dad as soon as possible.” Morgan gestures to you and you nod at the little boy.

The sight of him makes your chest ache: he’s scrawny with wide brown eyes and a mop of curls on the top of his head.

“Agent Morgan is right, your dad is going to meet us at the hospital.”

The boy doesn’t say anything, shaking under his emergency blanket.

“I’ll ride with you in the ambulance, too, and that’ll be fun, right?” You ask, jumping up to sit next to him. Slowly and sluggish the boy rests his head on your shoulder, still shivering. You wrap an arm around him before mouthing ‘I’ve got him’ to Morgan. He gives you a small sile, waves at the boy, and goes to join his team.

After being checked over again by the paramedics, the boy falls asleep quickly in the hospital, holding his dads hand. You’re leaving the room, shutting the door with a soft click, when you see Spencer sitting in the hallway.

“How is he?” Spencer asks, standing up at the sight of you.

“He’s okay, some minor bruises and scrapes, dehydrated but on an IV. They’re just happy to be back together.”

“That’s good,” Spencer says, falling quiet and looking away.

“And, hey, you guys caught the bad guy — now you all get to go home!”

“Yeah,” Spencer says, turning to look at you again, chuckling slightly without any heart behind it.

“Are you not excited?” You ask, raising an eyebrow.

“It’s always nice coming back home after a trip, even one as close to home as this one is. But it’s a little bittersweet.”

“How so?”

You practically see Spencer gathering his courage, straightening his shoulders and sending you a small but genuine smile.

“Well, we have some unfinished business, remember? And you never showed me your lexicon.”

“Well,” you say, smiling, “you’ll just have to keep in touch, then. Maybe we can get dinner?”

“Yeah. Yes, of course. Dinner.” Spencer is fully grinning now, eyes squinting with the force of it. You can’t help but mirror him, laughing a little. “Well, I do have a car to catch. I just wanted to check on him and say goodbye.”

“Well, goodbye for now Dr. Reid.”

“Goodbye,” he says, smiling at you for a second longer before turning to walk to the exit. He makes it to the doors before he hesitates, one hand on the handle. He stands there, still, for a moment before turning around and asking, “Dinner, like a date, right?”

Giddy, your smile only widens as you nod. “I would really like that, if you’re asking, yeah.”

“I’m asking.”

“Okay, then it’s a date.”

i wanted more to happen here but then i got this far and still had so much more i could write about these two aahhh

lmk if u want a pt 2 bc i kind of have ideas :) tysm for reading!!

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fictionismyreality3 · 2 months ago

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Penpals with the 141

Warnings: stalkerish behaviour at the end teehee 🤭

Notes: if only I had a hot military man or men to send letters to 🤷🏻‍♀️😩

It started out as just another way to keep the boredom away. Sending care packages to military members was also a plus. You'd be staying busy and doing a good deed at the same time. You found some trustworthy-enough organization, signed up, and sent out your first letter along with a few goodies like choclates and warm socks.

The 141 had never really thought much about getting care packages from civilians. In their eyes it was just a good way to get the things they missed out on while on deployment. Most of the letters got tossed as soon as they opened the box.

That was until they got yours.

The stupid little smiley face drawn on the cardboard shouldn’t have stopped Simon in his tracks, but he found himself staring down at the doodle.

"L.T? Y'been standin' there fer a good 15 minutes." Soap remarked.

"S'that your favourite candy, right?"

Soap was swayed by the chocolate oranges, finding himself reading your letter as he scarfed down each wedge. The curly handwriting, the crossed out and rewritten words had him showing the letter to Gaz, and then Price. Soon you found yourself in an almost penpal situation. Over the exchange of more and more letters, you were able to dicern the personalities of each man who was writing to you.

There was Soap, who wrote in barely legible chicken scratch, often skipping words or even entire sentences, like he was thinking too fast for his hand to keep up. Always calling you 'bonnie' or 'lass'.

Gaz, who wrote much more formally. His hand writing was the best to read, neatly printed on the lines of the paper. You got the sense that he sat down and put his whole attention into writing back to you.

Ghost, who's name you were yet to learn, tacked on his responses at the end of the paper. It was rare to get more than a few sentances from him, and even rarer for them to be anything but small talk. Slowly, he began to open up, asking you how you were or if your boss had resolved that HR issue yet. How did he know that?

Price, who'd quickly insisted on you calling him John— makes me feel old, luv— was the one who you seemed the most interested in your life. You chalked it up to him wanting to have something to think about other than his life threatening job.

Questions about your living situation, your job, your hobbies, it all seemed like small talk. Easy enough to look over. And then came the questions about your bills. Does your job pay enough? When's the last time you've been on vacation? What does your ideal living situation look like? Are you in a relationship?

It wasn't just John who was asking. So were Gaz, Johnny, and even Ghost began to inquire about more personal details. Every time you got a letter, it was almost a pavlovian response for your cheeks to blush. You looked forwards to the letters from your far away military men, and they even sent you gifts!

A watch, just like the one on your pinterest, wrapped up in a pretty pink bow. They added on such a sweet note too.

"Synced up to our watches." Ghost.

"Thought you needed a little treat." Gaz

"Here you go, bonnie! Now you can know when we're awake!" Soap.

"Let me know if you need it tightened, sweetheart." John.

They didn't feel the need to tell you about the favour they called in with Laswell to get the micro-tracker added, or about the camera and microphone they planted in the watch face. You looked so pretty with it on anyways, they'd need to make sure nobody stared too long.

#simon riley x reader #gaz x reader #captain john price x reader #soap x reader #poly!141 x reader #poly!141 #simon riley x f!reader #simon riley x female reader #john price x female reader #john price x f!reader #kyle gaz x reader #johnny soap mctavish x you #johnny mactavish x female reader #johnny soap mctavish x reader

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badghostwriter · 8 months ago

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Dick stared at the ceiling fan. It spun, slowly but surely turning, ever ignorant of the world around it. It spun, regardless of the ribbon tied on the third blade, regardless of the breeze blowing in the window, regardless of the winter chill almost making his breath visible. The ceiling fan spun and the world spun and Dick couldn’t comprehend it.

The front door opened. Footsteps pattered into the hallway, past the kitchen and into the living room where he was laying on the floor and staring at the ceiling fan. The footsteps stopped for just a minute, before walking over to the window and sliding it shut. The lock clicked into place and a hand reached up to turn off the fan. Dick waited until it ceased any and all motion before tearing his eyes away from it.

“Have you eaten?” Tim asked.

Dick pried his mouth open, ignoring the awful taste that spoke of dehydration, “I…”

Tim waited a minute before accepting that was all he would get in response. He nodded, turned around and walked out of view. Dick watched him go with a pit in his stomach. A fourteen year old shouldn’t have to do the things him and Bruce made Tim do. Tim was too good. Too young. Too innocent. Except he wasn’t innocent because Bruce was breaking him and Dick was letting him and they were poisonous vines, weaving their way into Tim’s life, sucking the life out of him. Just like they did with Barbara. Just like they did with Jason. God, Jason. His baby brother, who was scared and suffering and died, all without Dick knowing.

“Dick,” Tim nudged him with a foot. Dick blinked, registering the water bottle and microwaved food in Tim’s hands. When had he had time to do that? Dick blinked again and he was sitting on the couch, food on his lap and opened water bottle in his hand.

Tim handed him the lid and a fork. “Drink and eat.”

Dick mechanically took a bite. Then another. Then a sip of water. He turned to look at Tim. His eyes were clouded and bruised, with his lip sporting a bloody cut that made Dick want to cry.

“Bruce?” Dick asked, voice raspy.

“Locked in the cave.”

Dick hummed, leaning over to bump his shoulder against Tim’s. He pressed his lips into the side of Tim’s head in the mockery of a kiss, trying not to remember doing the same thing to another little brother.

“Thank you. I’m sorry.”

Tim ducked a little to slide into place perfectly cuddled up against Dick’s side. “‘S okay. It’s always hard on the anniversary.”

Dick’s eyes watered. “It’s not okay, baby bird. You shouldn’t be…” looking after two grown men just because they can’t get their crap together.

“I’m sorry,” Dick said again.

Tim pressed closer. “Okay.”

Dick closed his eyes and thought absolutely nothing was okay.

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paceprompting · 23 days ago

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We'll Meet Again

Part One

@steddieholidaydrabbles

Eddie didn’t mind the mall around Christmas.

Yeah, the tinny music through the building’s speakers might grate his nerves after a few hours, but Eddie made it a point not to be there that long in the first place. And with everyone so busy from Black Friday to New Year’s, he could slip through the crowds with little to no dirty looks in his direction.

Which meant shopping for Wayne’s Christmas present in peace.

He’d noticed it around Halloween, coming home after Wayne to find him passed out on the couch. His coat hung on one of the kitchen chairs, and Eddie had stared at it while eating a midnight cereal. The old man had the thing since before Eddie started staying with him, and the wear was starting to show.

The inner lining had started to come away, and the corduory fabric on the outside was a few patches from unsalvagable. Not to mention the ratty state of the fur collar.

It had taken until now, two weeks into December, to save up enough for a coat—after his half of the rent and gas money. At least for the good ones at Bloomingdale’s.

He’d planned to be in and out in under an hour. It took the longest just to get into the store, and then to the men’s section at the back. Eddie found the style he wanted immediately, and went to searching the rack for the right size.

“Branching out?”

He may have been overly confident about flying under the radar.

Eddie’s eyes shot to the other side of the rack to find himself across from Steve Harrington. Again.

It had only been a week since the night Eddie still wasn’t sure he hadn’t hallucinated—where Steve had given Eddie a ride home without asking anything in return. Eddie had lived in terror for two days at school thinking Steve would pop up behind him and demand repayment.

“How’s the van?” Steve asked.

Because Eddie hadn’t said anything. And for some reason Steve was waiting there until he did.

“Waiting to go to the shop,” Eddie finally managed, swallowing hard. “Sharing the truck with my uncle.”

Steve nodded, standing with his hands in the pockets of his denim jacket. Eddie peered around the rack and noticed that Steve didn’t have any shopping bags. Or any clothes laid over his arms, ready to buy.

Eddie raised a brow. “Something catch your eye over here?”

“Uh.” Steve blinked, like he’d been caught. He frantically scanned the clothing rack, plucking out a jacket that looked nearly identical to the one he was wearing. “This one.”

“Very you, Harrington.”

Steve held it up to his chest. “You think?”

It was ridiculous that that made Eddie chuckle. He spent twenty minutes with the guy, and he was already laughing at his charming, jock personality. Because Steve had been pleasant during that ride, even when Eddie tested the limits by changing the radio to a metal station.

Then Steve held the jacket out to him.

“Try it on.”

Eddie stared at him, wide-eyed. Then at the jacket, and back. “I can barely afford the buttons on that thing. I shouldn’t even touch it.”

Steve gave him a flat look, and shook the jacket. Eddie set his hands on his hips, and they remained that way until Eddie was sure Steve’s arm was going to fall off before he gave in.

He rolled his eyes, and went to strip off his own leather jacket, leaving Steve to join him. Eddie expected to be handed the garment, but when Eddie was just in his long-sleeve, Steve was holding the jacket for Eddie to slide his arms into.

Holding his breath, Eddie turned his back to Steve and eased into it.

It didn’t have the give of Eddie’s well-worn jackets, but it was warm. He examined the fit against his body, and definitely not what he thought were Steve’s eyes trailing over his torso.

“Alright, it’s nice,” Eddie admitted, glancing at Steve from under his lashes. “One tip for you, though,”

Steve set his hands on his hips, raising his chin. “Oh yeah?”

Eddie put on his stage smile, wide and bold.

“Black. Always.”

“Can I, uh, get you a pretzel or something from the food court?”

Eddie thought he was surprised that they’d walked out of the store together. And then Steve asked him that.

He stared at Steve, the question echoing around in his skull like a ping-pong ball. And Steve…looked almost nervous, pink tongue darting out along his bottom lip. Between the good will of that snowfall drive and the easy way Steve had stayed at his side this whole time, Eddie didn’t have an answer as quick as he usually would.

He almost wanted to say yes.

But it was less his decision to actually make.

“I really have to get the truck back. My uncle’s shift is starting soon, and I don’t want to make him late…” Eddie turned his shoulder toward the exit.

Steve nodded, lowering his head. “Right.”

“I’m sorry.”

Why was he apologizing? He’d never promised anything. He and Steve barely knew each other.

But maybe it was the somber way he’d made Steve say that same thing he had in his car in that knowing way—when now it was quite the opposite.

Steve recovered quickly, getting his hair out of his face with a quick movement. He put on that subtle smirk of his in the face of the rejection.

“It was nice to see you again,” he said.

“Yeah,” Eddie agreed, hearing the vapid state of his reply too late. “I mean, you too.”

Not better, Edward.

But Steve visibly held back a larger smile, rocking on his heels. Apparently, if Eddie wanted Steve not to think he was an utter waste case, he had to interact like a normal human.

“See you around?” Steve asked, pivoting like Eddie had never denied him.

And the mental whiplash had to be the only explanation for his answer.

“Sure.”

Part Three

#steddie fanfiction #steddie #steddie fic #steddie fanfic #steddie drabble #steddie microfic #steve harrington x eddie munson #pre relationship #pre season 4 #flirting

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quarterlifekitty · 9 days ago

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Desperate times

A sequel to this post and poll. Started feeling a little jigsaw-y…. Decided that I wanted to continue this post— what would it be like if their methods didn’t work? If they had to up the ante?

The top two winners of the poll won’t have to find out, because they’re getting you back! The rest? Well…

cw: dubcon/noncon, stalking, unhealthy relationships, somno, daddy kink stuff, intox, violence, baby trapping, and more stuff I don’t really know how to describe lol

❌Gaz is making a spectacle. Formulating the ultimate romantic gesture— a in a public place. He’s used your family and friends to lure you there on their invitation. Can’t you see how all of them want you to take him back? Look at him, on his knee in the middle of the botanical garden, promising to be better for you if you’ll just give him another chance. They’re all waiting on your response. Come on, luv, just give them what they want.

❌Soap is moving onto step 2, and that’s getting you drunk. Not so hard when you and your friends go to an upscale bar. He conveniently runs quite late meeting the 141 there, so to you and your friends, there’s just a handsome group of strangers sending some pretty girls free drinks. And everyone knows the girly drinks have the highest percentages. The rest of the gang will pick off your friends (payment for doing him this favor) and he’ll be ready to swoop in and take you home. Aren’t you lucky he was there? Just let him get you into bed. Ach, he really shouldn’t leave you alone in this state… best stay the night. A bit of advice? Don’t squirm when he gets to work— reminding you of the good times.

❌Ghost keeps it going strong with the scary voicemails. And they keep getting worse. The grunting, and threats, the desperation coating his voice. Not nice to keep your man waiting, birdie. They’re followed by photos. Printed out physically, slipped in your mail slot or under your door, bare. No envelope, no address or signature. All dated with black sharpie, all recent. You looking both ways, getting ready to cross the street. Changing out of your work clothes when you get home. His gloved thumb gently brushing your lip while you’re sleeping. His cum on your toothbrush. That one is dated as two weeks old. Just let him back into your life, birdie.

⭕️ Price feels his heart sing when he sees your name on the caller id. He gives the perfect, respectful response. It’s good to hear from you. Is everything alright? When he agrees to meet up with you, he doesn’t let it show how eagerly he’s been waiting for the chance. Tells you that you look good. Life must’ve been treating you well since he last saw you. He seems so genuinely pleased for you… He almost lets his calculated restraint slip when you say you’d like to give things another go. Asks if you’re sure. If he were being honest, in his eyes, things never ended. This was just a rough patch. But he’s glad you’ve come around to seeing it his way. He’ll have you moved back in by the end of the month, swollen with his kid by the end of the next. It’ll weigh you down, make it easier for him to slip the ring on.

⭕️ Honest to god, König sees the halo glow behind your crown when you meet up with him, and agree to a second chance. He promises that he’ll be better— you won’t want for anything, he’ll be so good for you. He’s acting like you’ve agreed to marry him. Maybe because in his mind, you have. That’s inevitable, seeing as he’s never going to lose you again.

❌ Nikolai starts getting a lot less… clean with your potential paramours. Gone are the bribes, the simple threats and ghosting— in are the bloody heaps of men that are just alive enough to twitch. This could all stop. Just be his good girl again, come back to your ivory tower. Papochka won’t be upset, he’ll just be glad to have you home. His patience for you is endless, but for the rest of the world? Well, do you really want to find out?

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peachyynotesapp · 4 months ago

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A Taste of Normalcy

Pairing: f!Reader x Jason Todd

Summary: Jason is a nervous little dweeb and I want him so bad it’s criminal.

| • | - | • | - | • | - | • | - | • | - | • | - | • | - | • | - | • |

Jason’s favorite game to play during the day, the hours before he went on patrol and the minutes before he slept, was to imagine a completely different world for himself. He’d been at this endless loop of waking up at 4pm, stalking around his corner of Gotham after dark, and passing out from exhaustion at around 5am every night morning.

He’d spend the time between intense combat and following leads letting his mind drift away from Gotham, pretending he’d gone to college; taught English or History or something completely different after he got his degree. He’d imagine a life in a little town somewhere farther up north, he didn’t like the heat of Gotham summers, he thought he’d enjoy seeing the frozen lakes in Maine winters. He’d thought of a family of his own, when he felt generous he’d let himself imagine a girl, too.

It was daydreaming that gave him the smallest taste of normalcy; a hint of what could’ve been, if things were different. He hated when reality pulled him back, when he was reminded of how truly impossible that dream was. Until he met y/n, that is.

Y/n worked at a coffee shop he sat in once after a lead ran cold. He had time to kill, and the cafe was advertising a new drink he wanted to try. He paid for the drink and sat down at the table, ignoring the way the cashier stared at him like he was carrying a gun. He was, of course, but it’s not like she knew. As the girl handed the order slip to barista and whispered, Jason kept his eyes fixed out the window like he was witnessing the Second Coming of Christ. He knew he had an intimidating appearance, he didn’t want to make anyone else sweat with his eye contact right now.

He heard chatter over the soft music and the burring noise of the espresso maker, and while he tried to tune it out, it felt impossible after he heard that voice. Her voice. She laughed at whatever her coworker said and Jason felt his heart twinge. He didn’t want to look over, he didn’t want to encourage his already concerning interest in a faceless voice.

When she said his name, he swore his heart stopped in his chest. He mentally cursed himself for his pathetic swooning, knew he needed to get out of the house more if he was lonely enough to get this excited over a voice. That argument would’ve worked, too, if he didn’t catch her eyes watching him as he walked over.

No one had ever looked so equally enticing and terrifying to him before. He was ashamed of the poetry that flew through his mind as he noticed the array of freckles across her nose, the way it wrinkled slightly when she smiled at him, the light rose on her cheeks, the loose strands of hair that fell behind her neck from her messy ponytail. He vividly recalls telling his brother Dick all of this over the phone later, claiming he must’ve met a Kryptonian, or maybe an angel.

He must’ve stood there at the counter for at least a minute in silence, the way she tilted her head slightly and lifted her brow with confusion.

“Does it look okay?”

Shit.

She sounded earnest in her concern, and it made it all the worse for his growing infatuation. He shook his head too quickly, smiled too awkwardly, spoke too loudly.

“No, no— I mean, yes, it’s perfect! Good. It looks good.”

He felt his cheeks burning and his hands clamming up. He coughed as he grabbed the drink, hoping she would focus on the sound and ignore the way his hands shook. She glanced down at his hands, anyway. He swallowed and pivoted around, beelining it to the door like he was trying to run from an explosion. Which, in a metaphorical sense, he was. He froze when he heard her call his name again, and turned his head slightly, praying the ever-loving terror in his eyes at speaking to a girl twice didn’t translate. Twenty-four year old men shouldn’t sweat so much at the mere concept of talking to a girl, but yet, here he was.

Her smile in that moment felt like putting frozen peas on a swollen ankle. He needed to work on his similes.

“You forgot your receipt!”

He swallowed and shook his head, turning back to the door as he responded.

“N-No, I didn’t need-“

She clears her throat and wags the paper out at him, seemingly refusing to accept his polite decline. He smiles nervously and walks back over, grabbing the receipt (too quickly, again), mumbling a quick “thank you” before he practically runs out of the cafe. He balls the receipt in his hand and reaches towards a trash can on the street, pausing inches away from the lid at a glimpse of pink on the black and white paper. He almost rips the paper in half when he unfurls the receipt, his lips curling into a grin when he sees 10 digits and a little message scrawled onto a receipt that, he realized now, wasn’t his.

Text me if you’re feeling brave, tough guy.

- Y/n :)

He thought he was pathetic for the squeal that left his body at some messy handwriting from a pink gel pen. He straightened up and cleared his throat, forcing the Jason-Todd-Scowl (trademark pending) to return to his face, ignoring the way his heart was racing. He couldn’t help himself, though, when he got home. He sat there on the floor of his nearly-empty apartment, his phone in one hand and the receipt in the other. Panicking.

“And that’s where I’m at now. What do I do, Dick? Is it too soon to-“

He heard wheezing from the other line and he knew he’d messed up, assuming Richard “Dickhead” Grayson would be of any assistance. He bit his cheek and wished he’d called Roy instead. After a while Dick catches his breath and speaks, his amused grin impossible to miss in his voice.

“Sorry, sorry, Little Wing. I just—- I’m confused. You somehow managed to get a girl interested enough to give you her number, but you didn’t even-“

“No, I didn’t text her, Dickweed. You should’ve seen the girl! What the hell do you say to that?!”

Dick stifles a laugh and tries to maintain his composure.

“Jay, you’re a dumbass. She obviously wants you to-“

Jason could hear a distant voice on the line. A voice that sounded a lot like a certain brat he avoided telling ANYTHING to in fear of-

“Is Todd still whining about his crush? Tell him to stop being such a-“

Jason hung up the phone before Damian could whip out any more of his Shakespearean insults, he’d gotten enough of those in the past hour. He sighs and rubs his eyes, checking the time.

5:57pm.

Three hours after he left the cafe, and he still couldn’t produce the courage to send one text message. He read the note over again, typing in the phone number and throwing up one last Hail Mary before he sent a quick “Hey, it’s Jason.” He dropped his phone back onto the floor and groaned, hiding his face in his hands and berating himself for his lackluster message. He prayed it would be enough to get a response, but he was a realist, so he knew it probably wouldn’t.

It only took 2 minutes and 32 seconds for his phone to buzz.

Took you long enough, tough guy.

| • | - | • | - | • | - | • | - | • | - | • | - | • | - | • | - | • |

Hi guys, I originally wrote this as a way to feed my horrible and disgusting addiction to Jason fluff but unfortunately I got carried away and now I think I might make this a thing (writing fanfics). I think it’s the natural trajectory for a freak like myself. Anyway!

#tell me you think it’s good #author #fiction #original fiction #dc comics #fanfiction #dc fanfic #jason todd x you #jason todd x reader #jason todd #jason todd fluff #the red hood #red hood #red hood x reader #i need him

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avocado-writing · 5 months ago

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Oh maybe dp+w poly with sick reader? Nothing too angsty but I love the idea of having those two as your nurses when you’re out of commission for a few days 😭

You simply cannot stop shivering. It’s been racking your body like this for hours. It feels like your fucking skeleton is trying to escape, your teeth chattering in a way which would be almost comical if it didn’t fucking suck.

This morning you didn’t wake up feeling great, and your boys noticed. Logan can always smell when something is wrong, which Wade never tires of mocking him over (“what is it girl? Is there trouble at the old mill?” “Fuck off, Wilson.”) so when you had a slight temperature change, he was immediately at your side, rough hand on your forehead.

“You okay, bub?” voice quiet. Intimate. Concerned. You’d waved him away.

“Yeah, I’ll get some OJ and take it easy. Probably a seasonal thing, don’t even worry about it.”

Wade had cocked his head to the side. “If you’re not well, pookie, we can stay here. We can go and kill people any day. We only get one of you.”

But you knew they’d been trying to make a habit of sorting out local crime, proving they were good guys (you knew they were. They just needed to show it to themselves, it seemed) so you’d waved them off.

That had been a mistake. As soon as they walk in, stinking of blood and exhausted to the bone, a dual look of horror crosses their faces.

“Ah, fuck,” mutters Logan. He’s by your side at an instant, sliding his hands under your blanket in order to lift you into his lap. Fuck, he’s like a hot water bottle - you immediately snuggle into his chest to feel the warmth. “Baby, we shouldn’t have left you.”

Wade closes in, moving a finger side to side so that you follow it with your eyes. “Are you okay, sweetheart? How many handsome men do you see?”

“Two,” you chuckle, and Wade makes a show of tutting.

“Well you’re wrong there. Let’s be honest, only one of us is likely to win PEOPLE’s sexiest man alive award again, honey.”

You’re not sure what he means but he makes you smile, anyway.

“Wade, you’re handsome.”

“And you’re sick. I’m gonna go and get you some chicken soup, then we’re gonna sit here and watch that absolutely terrible show you like all night,” he announces, reaching over to give you a kiss on the forehead. “Haha, ew. Sweaty. I still love you though. Hold down the fort, peanut.” He reaches over to kiss Logan on the forehead too, who is remarkably accepting of it.

“Love you.” You hum as he peels off his suit and grabs some sweatpants, before moving your head to look up at Logan. “Love you too.”

Logan mutters it back, his lips buried into your crown, like he can will you better with the force of his affection.

Maybe, between them, they just might.

Taglist: @falsewordz @malfoys-demigod @belilwen @mildly-salted @tvwebs @childeslegstrap @getmeoutofhell @s1eep-o @just-a-beatlemaniac69 @yrthr @momopad @sugarplumz100 @captainjinkx @madspads @acrosstheunivcrse @yeethaw13 @na-is-salty @florduarte @hunterispunk @starfleetteddybear

#my writing #james logan howlett x reader #logan howlett x reader #logan x reader #wolverine x reader #x men x reader #logan howlett imagine #marvel x reader #marvel imagine #marvel fanfiction #mcu fanfiction #mcu imagine #wolverine fanfiction #mcu fandom #Deadpool x reader #wade wilson x reader

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violentdelightsandviolentends · 10 months ago

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ee congrats. What about a blurb or headcanons, whichever u want i suppose, of fake dating with Frank Castle having to infiltrate something or another? ^_^

Faking It.

frank castle x female reader

warnings - cursing. allusions to sex.

written for my 5k celebration - post here, masterlist here, inbox here.

He’s got his hand on your ass.

Sure, the two of you are playing a couple, undercover in a Mr & Mrs Smith style mission. But surely there’s a thousand other places he could put his hand.

You look at him with a scowl on your face and he winks, all cheeky and boyish. Heat crawls its way up your skin, and you beg yourself to calm down. It’s fake. It’s all pretend.

When you enter the ballroom of the gala, it’s packed with people. Frank winds a hand around the back of your neck, steering you in the right direction. It shouldn’t be as hot as it is.

You’re laughing and playing fake niceties to an old couple at the bar. They’re telling you how beautifully in love you look, and all you can do is rest your head on Frank’s shoulder and sigh wistfully as they coo. He pulls you into him with a hand on your ass, and you resist the urge to elbow him in the ribs. He knows he’s riling you up. That’s why he’s doing it.

It’s becoming a game, now. Who can wind the other person up more.

Frank is sat on a fancy leather couch, sweet talking a middle aged woman in a long purple dress. You approach, and take the spot right on his lap, wiggling your hips to get comfortable. He hisses in your ear, fake smile still on his face, and the satisfaction you feel is unparalleled.

You’re out in the hallway coming up with a plan when two men walk past, eyeing you suspiciously. You do what any logical woman would do - smash your lips to Franks and hope he doesn’t question it. He kisses you back with much more passion than necessary, one hand around your neck and the other one on your stomach, pushing you backwards into the wall. You bite his lip as hard as you can and he groans, all deep and pretty, and you’re starting to think this plan has backfired massively.

“Damn, girl.”

“Had to think on my feet.”

“Don’t think your feet were the body part you were thinkin’ with.”

You punch his arm as hard as you can, laughing when he grabs it in pain.

“Let’s get that fucking info and get out of here. I’m sick of everyone telling me how handsome my husband is.”

“He is though, isn’t he?” he teases as he grabs your hand, walking back into the crowds of people unaware of your scheme.

Your fingers stay intertwined for the rest of the evening. He squeezes every now and again, once or twice, and you figure out the code pretty quickly. It’s a silent communication, and it works. In no time, you’ve got what you needed, slipping out of the front door and down the huge winding driveway.

You snatch your hand away, and smack his ass as hard as you physically can.

“What the fuck was that for?”

“Revenge. You grabbed my ass way more than necessary tonight.”

He laughs, and you hate the way it makes you smile.

“Good kiss, by the way.”

“Hmm?”

“You’re a good kisser. Even if you did draw blood.”

“I’m about to draw a lot fuckin’ more if you don’t shut up, Frank.”

He chuckles, throwing an arm around your shoulders.

“Might suggest we play a couple every time we go undercover. This is kinda fun.”

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gay-dorito-dust · 6 months ago

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My mind is racing right now. I’m just imagining targ!reader who is Rhaenyra’s heir and maybe she’s a realms delight (very politically savvy maybe idk) like her mother was and everyone is trying so hard to get her attention but all she wants is Benjicot and he thinks that he doesn’t have a chance so he doesn’t even entertain the thought of it.

Am I Going Crazy?

No you’re not going crazy anon, I totally understand. I’m just shooting at the hip with with one, so it’s gonna be short and something

The moment you were born the realm fell in love with you just as your family did the second you opened your gorgeous eyes and smiled.

The realms delight was a title once given to your mother when she was younger, was a title now being passed down to you. Everyone from greater house, small houses and even the obscure ones wanted to witness you every smile and every laugh however they could, whether it be on your name day, tourneys or otherwise they all clambered to be in your presence.

‘You had the entire realm at your feet, you could convince the dumb cunt lords and their sons into stupidly plunging into depths of death, should you feel like it.’ is what Daemon says often as to remind you just how much of a hold you held over everyone whereas in a way that your mother didn’t. Or at least not anymore.

You lived relativity with more freedom and leniency then most of similar status, which may have less to you being the core envy for some, but in exchange you were taught by Daemon a plethora of things when came to playing your hand in this game of politics and power. He taught you how to wield a sword and how to keep your opponent guessing your next move, so much so that when training with the likes of Jace, Luke or either Baela and Rhaena you were always ten steps ahead.

Much like your mother, you were granted the privilege to seek out whom ever caught your eye when you were of an eligible age for marriage, so when the news that you offering up your hand in marriage the realm was quick to gather their finest men to speak upon why it is that you should choose them over the others. However none of them were to your taste as some were far too young and could barely pick up a sword, far too old and fat from gorging themselves on wine and food, or just didn’t give a good enough reason for you to marry them other then that they could satisfy you; A line that had them shoved out the door as quickly as they came as you tried to swallow down the bile that rose in your throat.

The Riverlands were beautiful but the reason you came to the Riverlands was for one man and one man only, The new lord of house Blackwood, Benjicot Blackwood. So when you didn’t see the stormy eyed man with the dark hair at the hall you couldn’t help but be a little upset, and so had no choice but to internalise the reasons why and forced yourself to listen to the rest of the men in attendance with a forced look of interest, repressing that restless feeling within your chest to go out and search for him yourself on dragon back if you must.

Soon enough you’ve decided to give yourself a break from it all and wander out to explore of the Riverlands, which was where your marriage tour was currently stationed at, and coming to adore all that you could see in their bright and vibrant colours in comparison to back home. There were Fields that stretched on for miles on end onto the horizon with grass a plenty to feed the cattle, small patches of trees where the birds sung and rested their aching wings and fed on the berries they produce.

Meanwhile with Benjicot he didn’t feel as though he had anything to give to you, the heir and delight of the realm. He was a Lord but there were men of far greater houses then his who could provide you more than he could, and in Benji’s mind he shouldn’t even bother to tempt the idea of you choosing him, not when he knew it was a fight he’ll never win from the beginning. So he didn’t and that hurt him far more then he thought as the idea of not trying, or bothering to try at all would become a regret he would be burdened with carrying for the rest of his life; left alone to ponder in his old age as to what could’ve been had he actually tried.

Oscar and Kermit had tried to convince him into doing something about it but even they couldn’t get his stubborn ass to move an inch, and now both Tully boys could only stand and watch as their friend take his frustrations out on a straw training dummy.

‘This is sad.’ Oscar said as Kermit made a noise of agreement.

‘Very sad.’ Kermit replied as Benjicot moved his attention to another dummy after violently disembowelling the previous training dummy as the straw insides spilled out. ‘He’s probably still wishing that Aeron Bracken was that dummy.’ Kermit then adds as he looks over at his brother, who was doing the exact same.

‘I mean the little twat deserved that pummelling earlier for even thinking he had a chance and now he can’t go because his injuries were too severe.’ Oscar snorted in disbelief before adding on, ‘his uncle knew that if he had let Aeron go in his current state, house Bracken would’ve become a laughing stock of the realm.’

Kermit gave a slight chuckle before looking back at Benjicot and his smile fell from his face. ‘He really likes her…’ he trails off as Oscar’s face now becomes crestfallen and sighs. ‘He does and it easts him up inside that even if he did bother to go, he’d just get rejected regardless.’ Kermit was about to add onto that, when something catches his eye, he spotted a figure emerging from the trees and his eyes widened up seeing it was you and proceeded to smack Oscar in the arm repeatedly.

‘Ow, ow, quit hitting me!’ Oscar said and as he went to hit his brother in the arm as retaliation, his eyes too went wide upon seeing you walking towards them casually.

‘It’s the princess!’ Kermit hissed.

‘Of course it’s the princess dipshit, I’ve got eyes that still see!’ Oscar hissed back.

‘Well obviously he doesn’t!’ Kermit barked as he pointed towards Benjicot, not realising that he just pointed you to the person you’ve been wanting to see most. Meanwhile the lord of house Blackwood was all the more obviously to everything happen, being stuck inside his own head and all, that he didn’t see Kermit and Oscar’s frantic looks over at him as he continued to destroy the third training dummy today nor does he know that you were behind him until you spoke up.

‘What did the training dummies do to deserve such anger?’

Benjicot froze up immediately as he looked out of his eyes at Kermit and Oscar, who were just as frozen to the scene before them as him, as he then took a deep breath and looked over to see that his mind hadn’t been playing him a fool and that you -the realms delight and heir to the iron throne- were actually here in the flesh but why?

You couldn’t help but smile at his shocked expression and tense body language, Benjicot was far more handsome up close than you remembered, all the while still being a shy and awkward but honourable nobleman. ‘Are you alright lord Blackwood? You’re looking a little flustered there.’ You said as you gestured to his cheeks which were burning bright red.

‘Princess, shouldn’t you be on your marriage tour?’ Benjicot asked and already he wanted the ground to swallow him for how stupid he sounded.

‘I am but I’ve decided to put it on hold as to stretch my legs.’ You told him and could see his shoulders deflated a little, ‘besides the person I wished to see most hadn’t shown up, and so I thought that since I am in the Riverlands I shall go seek him out myself instead, drag him back to Raventree hall if I must.’ You then added with a smile as Benjicot’s breath hitched in his throat.

‘And if I may ask princess, but who are you looking for?’ He asks as casually as he could but felt a little under pressure from the looks Oscar and Kermit were giving him as they silently routed for him from a few paces away, his heart elevating even quicker when you took a step towards him.

‘You of course.’ You told him straightforwardly. ‘You were the one person I was hoping to see today.’

‘Why?’ Benji found himself asking without second thought on how it came across. ‘Why me, I have nothing to offer you princess, wouldn’t it be better to have a suitor from a greater house to strengthen your own?’ He didn’t want to believe this was real but also he did want to believe that you had sought him out on your own accord. However this felt too good to be reality, it had to be a dream Benjicot was sure of it, for where else would it be plausible for the person you’ve been yearning after to activity search for him during your marriage tour of all things? It wasn’t something that was even remotely grounded in reality but instead a tale found straight out of an old book.

‘Does it matter as to why I sought you out other then the fact that I’d much rather take you a kind, honourable and honest man, as my husband over some fat cunt of a man?’ You replied as you reached for his hands, desperate to have him trust your words as truth while feeling every one of his calluses press into your hands perfectly, as though the gods made them to hold yours specifically. ‘Does it matter that all I wish to marry out of love and not duty as is expected of me? I am free to marry whoever I wish and I wish for you.’ You add, moving your head so that you could still be in Benjicot’s line of sight when he ducks his head to his chest, seeing you smile so sweetly at him and making his heart leap up into his throat.

‘Tis I where your heart lies princess?’ Benjicot asked softly, not trusting to raise his voice more than a whisper, waiting to wake up from this seamlessly perfect dream. Your smile grew bigger as you pressed your forehead against his own to look him deeper into his stormy eyes that bore an expression of vulnerability and uncertainty. ‘Along with my soul and my mind for countless day, yes, you are where my heart lies Benjicot Blackwood.’ You reassured him, watching the internal conflict within him war against one another for a while before there was nothing but a sweet gleam in his eye.

‘You are where my heart lies too princess,’ Benjicot confessed, pressing his head further against yours with a smile, ‘I’d be more than honoured to be yours.’

You were absolutely glowing upon hearing this as you laughed with pure joy and happiness. your search was over, you had found the one you wanted even though you had to find him first, but that didn’t matter as later that day your marriage tour came to an end as your hand happily secured by one Benjicot Blackwood.

#hotd #house of the dragon #hotd imagines #hotd imagine #hotd x you #hotd x y/n #house of the dragon imagine #house of the dragon imagines #Benjicot Blackwood imagine #Benjicot Blackwood imagines #bloody Ben #bloody Ben x fem!reader #house of the dragon x female reader #hotd x female reader #Benjicot x female reader #Benjicot Blackwood x female reader

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maxlarens · 6 months ago

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1 + logan

1) touching foreheads

You probably shouldn’t be doing this.

Logan is your coworker— your boss in some sense. If someone else got wind of this you’d be in deep shit, you’d probably lose your job, or at least get a formal warning. But you’re not sure what the fuck else you’re supposed to do. How are you supposed to ignore him?

He’s not even in his driver’s room, he’s squatting around the back of Williams hospitality by the fucking trash bins. His head in his hands like something terrible has just happened to him—

and it has. It has.

Williams performance as a whole would be demoralising if you cared. If you were paid an adequate amount for the experience that you bring to the role. Alex routinely can’t get higher than a P15, James is constantly going on live television to tell people that the car is fourteen kilos overweight and Logan hasn’t got through a race without a DNF for months. You’d be depressed if you hadn’t decided that you didn’t care anymore.

You have to decide you don’t care anymore. To preserve your sanity, so you can job hunt and try to get hired by another team in time for next year’s season. Logan doesn’t get that privilege.

Logan is sitting next to a bin with his head in his hands because he cares. Because he can’t stop caring. Because he has to finish this season even if it means DNF after DNF after DNF, even if it means he’s not getting a seat next year. He’s not. You’ve heard James talking, you’ve delivered drafted versions of contracts to other drivers. You’ve heard comments in the hallways, “if he’s not performing, he’s not performing. He’s not cut out for Formula One”. Sometimes, it makes you want to scream— but you remind yourself that you don’t care.

You have no control over it. So what if you like Logan, so what if you believe he could be good if people just gave him a chance? These geriatric old men don’t give a shit what you have to say. They don’t give a shit about Logan either, not anymore.

He’s not crying when you find him hiding behind the motorhome. You think he should be… you certainly would be. After what happened on the track.

“Logan,” you say, gently, softly, like you’re approaching a skittish animal on a highway, “It’s me.”

A beat. Then he lifts his head to look up at you, eyes red-rimmed but not wet, his hair tousled like he’d run his hand through it a hundred times. Sweaty from the balaclava. He’s still in his fireproofs, and his racing suit hanging around his waist, dragging on the floor.

“Oh,” he says, “What’s up? Does someone need me?”

You shake your head, feeling like your heart is going to fall right out of your ass, “No,” you sigh, “Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” he’s saying before the word ‘sorry’ even leaves your mouth, “I was just asking. Saves you the trouble.”

He’s looking at you like he’s the concerned one. Mouth parted, eyebrows knotted together. But you think you might cry. There are tears, wet and hot sitting in your tear ducts and you’re trying so desperately to blink them away. He doesn’t need this, he doesn’t need the pity.

You fucking hate this sport.

Okay, you don’t. You love it. You love the noise of the cars as they pass you on track, you love the politics of it, you love travelling around the world every week, doing your job flawlessly in a new place on two hours of sleep. Sometimes you even love Williams. The desperation of it; driving parts from the airport to the track yourself because it’s cheaper than hiring a courier, fighting tooth and nail just for something as abysmal P18.

You do love it.

You just hate what it’s done to Logan Sargeant.

Swallowed him whole, chewed him up and spit him out onto the pavement.

You abandon your clipboard of tasks. Williams might fall apart without you, but you find that you don’t care. You take half a step and squat next to him, ignoring the way that your heels dig into the skin at your ankles.

“Are you okay?”, you ask, putting a hand hesitantly on his bicep, not sure if it’s okay, not sure if you’ve ever touched him before.

He’s nodding, jaw set into a line, eyes unfocused, “I’m fine. Just need to try harder.”

Your heart goes splat on the ground below you.

He’s leaning into you, pressing into your hand, his body tilted toward you even though he can’t look you in the eyes. You don’t think he notices. He doesn’t say anything but you think it’s fine when you move closer, tiptoeing next to him. Shoulder pressed against his. Your head is almost in the brick wall, but you swivel to face him.

“Tell me if you want me to stop,” you breathe into his ear as you press your forehead into his temple, your hand wraps around his shoulders in a haphazard hug.

He shakes his head, practically melting into you. Shifting some of his weight to balance against yours. So you’re holding each other up.

“It’s okay,” he says, “It’s good.”

“You don’t need to try harder,” you say, apropos of nothing, “You’re doing enough, Logan. It’s them. It’s them.”

He’s shaking his head before you can finish your sentence, but he’s got his eyes clenched shut like he’s in pain and he’s leaning, practically falling into you. You’re holding him up— and you’re pressing a chaste kiss to his cheekbone and then you’re pretending that you haven’t because you shouldn’t, because he’s your coworker.

“Don’t say that.”

“It’s true,” you say, but you know that he’s not really hearing you and you know a little more of your love for Formula One is being hacked away at, falling into a churning ocean that is liable to swallow it whole.

#LOGAN REQ!!!!!! THANK UUU!!!!#like no hate to williams as a whole i dont know whats going on there #but i feel like there’s GOT to be some kind of discontent with the team #so reader here is very representative of that #logan sargeant x reader #f1 x reader #💫drabbles #drabbles:ls2

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minniesmutt · 3 months ago

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☾ ━━━━━━ 𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰

☾ ━━━ PAIRING: CHAN X READER X I.N ☾ ━━━ CONTENT: BROTHERS BEST FRIEND!CHANIN, READER IS WRITTEN AS SEUNGMIN’S SISTER (CAN BE SEEN AS ADOPTED), READERS AGE NOT SPECIFIED BUT IN REFERS TO READER AS NOONA, SNEAKING AROUND, FOOD MENTIONS, FINGERING, SPANKING, CHOKING, DEGRADING, PROTECTED SEX, SPIT ROAST, THREESOME, FWB, ORAL (M. REC), FACE FUCKING, AFTERCARE ☾ ━━━ WC: 2.3K ☾ ━━━ 18+ work!! minors and ageless/blank blogs DNI! you will be blocked, put an indicator on your blog somewhere that you are 18+ before interacting with this work/blog

Y/n didn’t confide anything in Seungmin. She loved her brother but he was a menace. He wasn’t always but now they were adults, there was personal information she didn’t dare trust him with. Especially her interest in men.

Before he was an idol he always gave his unwanted opinion on the guys she liked or dated. After he became an idol, he still did but pretty much warded off any man for her. Including his band mates.

Y/n never would actively go after her brother's friends. If things didn’t work out, she didn’t want him to choose between family and friends. She wouldn’t do that. It was a little risky that she was one of their makeup artists and he’d helped her get the job to begin with.

But you can’t help who you end up liking. Especially when all the guys in the band were great men.

“Why are you assigned to do the old man’s makeup today?” Seungmin asked as he walked into his leaders dressing room, setting a cup of coffee down on a clear spot of her station.

“Talk to my boss about it,” Y/n shot back at her brother

Chan requested Y/n to do his makeup. Stating stay always thought he looked best when she did it for a performance but the reality was he just wanted more time with her.

Sneaking around was hard, especially when her brother was one of his little meanaces. He also felt bad he was doing it behind Seungmin’s back but who knows what god reaction would be

“Thanks for the coffee,” Y/n told him

“Whatever,” he shrugged then walked out of the room

“I would have gotten you coffee if you asked,” Chan told her, setting his phone down.

“I think it was his random act of kindness for the day because i didn’t ask him to get me one.”

“Think he knows?” Chan asked

“You see him more than me. But we’ve never given him a reason to suspect us hooking up.” Y/n answered, “But you know him. He does random stuff all the time. I learned a long time ago to not read into it.”

Chan hummed in response as she tilted his head back a bit not to strain her back any and applied his lip. “You’re all set.” Y/n said as she finished

“Thanks. Are you still coming over tonight?” He asked her

�� “Innie’s not home tonight?”

“He shouldn’t be,” Chan said.” Though that didn’t seem to be a problem last time.”

“I’m still surprised you managed to sneak me in,” Y/n laughed as he stood and stretched

“Yeah. Just need to keep you quiet,” the leader joked then left the room. Y/n rolled her eyes and sipped her coffee her brother brought him and put her brush belt together so she could do touch ups. Double checking that she had everything before heading out to the rest of the stylists.

She caught up with a few of her cop workers. She liked them— which was a great thing— and they never judged her for who her brother was but she also knew people I in the beauty industry liked to talk. Things got around so never said anything about her situationship. It also didn’t look good for a makeup artist to sleep with idols from a professional standpoint.

Y/n spent most of her time running around, dabbing sweat from the group — slapping tissues onto her brothers forehead when the camera wasn’t looking and he teased/messed with her— and fixing makeup.

She was tired at the end of the work day. Makeup was not an easy job, especially on the body. She was packing up for the day when she saw a message from Chan on her phone, the reason she bought a privacy screen.

Chan: Still up for coming over and letting me take care of you? You look pet tired

Y/n: And what would that entail👀

Chan: mmmm I was thinking maybe ordering some ramen, putting on (fav anime or show), some pillow princess treatment

Y/n: Know me so well. Just let me know when to come over

Chan: Will do

Y/n swiped out of the chat and finished packing up before heading out and going home to shower. Rinsing the day away then putting on some comfy clothes before Chan texted her it was safe to come over. She took the going drive over then snuck up to Chan and In’s place. She texted him she was outside and the door quickly opened up, letting her in.

“He said he’ll be back in a few hours,” Chan told her

“Plenty of time then,” Y/n smiled

“Eat first. I didn’t see you have anything but coffee today.”

“Yes dad,” Y/n joked and he smiled at her.

“Don’t start yet.”

The two sat down on the couch and Chan handed her her ramen bowl and turned on the show. Y/n smiled as they sat back together on the couch. Sometimes it felt more like a relationship with Chan but she learned overtime it was just who he was.

Chan cleaned up the food as she sat back and relaxed, a little giddy knowing what was about to come. The idol came back to the couch and gently pushed her back as his lips attached to her neck. “Worked so hard today,” He mumbled into her neck as his hands dipped under the waistband of her lounge pants, finding she didn’t have anything under them.

Chan just chuckled and lightly bit her earlobe as his fingers spread her folds. “Gonna get yourself into a lot of trouble.”

“Plan too,” Y/n answered

Chan smiled and pushed two of his fingers into her. Y/n curled her fingers into his hair as his lips pressed to hers. Y/n moaned into his mouth as his fingers glided in and out of her. His movements were restricted slightly by her bottoms before he moved them with his free hand and her help. He tossed the fabric to the ground.

Y/n melted as his fingers rubbed against the gummy spot inside her. Chan smiled as he continued rubbing that spot and brought his thumb to her clit.

“Chan,” Y/n moaned

“Gonna cum for me baby? Make a mess on my fingers?”

“Yes,” she replied

Chan simply smiled and kept his pace until that damn broke and she shook under him. He didn’t pull his fingers out of her until she came down from her high. Chan spread his fingers in front of her face before doing his fingers into her mouth. Y/n wrapped her lips around his finger’s and cleaned them off.

Chan chuckled as he pushed up her shirt, looking down at her breasts, groping one of her boobs in his free hand. He pulled his fingers out of her mouth and wiped her spit over her chest. Y/n half-smiled at him before he pulled her up and stripped her of her shirt as she did the same.

Chan reached somewhere out of her right. She watched him open the full wrapper and roll the rubber onto himself. She adjusted herself a bit before Chan stopped her. Manhandling her into the position he wanted her in before slowly pushing himself into her. Y/n moaned and grabbed the arm of the couch. Both were so entangled in what they were doing that they didn’t hear the door open or the footsteps.

Jeongin told his friends he’d be back in a few hours but the reality was his errands didn’t take that long, thankfully. But he still froze seeing the scene in their living room. Not that his leader was naked. He was very used to that, especially living with him now. What shocked him was he was balls deep in their friend's sister.

“Noona?” he questioned, thinking he was imagining things but the way they both froze and Chan looked at him confirmed it.

Frankly, he wasn’t upset nor was he going to snitch. He understood the attraction to Y/n. Hell he’d be lying to himself if he hadn’t thought about bending her over once or twice. But it seemed like a mutual agreement amongst all of them that siblings were off limits. Or he thought so.

“I thought you were gonna be out longer,” Chan said as Y/n grabbed her shirt from the ground and draped it over her chest

“Finished early,” Innie told him. “I can just go to my room. I’m not going to tell Seungmin, what you guys are doing is none of my business.”

The maknae didn’t say another word and headed to his room. “You’re the best!” He heard Y/n call before he closed his door. He felt kind he should have grabbed some food when he was out since he didn’t know how long he was going to be in his room. But he didn’t want to intrude. He was already suppressing the idea of asking to join them.

He had a small infatuation when Y/n first was hired. But he steered away when he learned that she was Seungmin’s sister. But he had practically walked into a porn and he could still hear it. Something didn’t settle well with just using his hand and eavesdropping in on his friends having sex. He also didn’t know if they were just fucking or if they were dating. But he knew closed mouths don’t get fed.

He opened his door and called out, “Can I join?”

The clapping stopped for a moment. He was about to close his door and deal with his problem himself before he heard Y/n agree. He quickly grabbed a condom and put it in his pocket before joining them.

Chan had let her choose if the youngest to join. He didn’t mind sharing but it was ultimately up to her. He smiled as he hung her head over the side of the couch as Jeongin joined them, tossing his shirt off.

Y/n watched as he said in front of her, erection pressing against his jeans. The singer undid the material and pushed it down with his boxers. Watching her mouth open as his hard cock sprung free. He grabbed the base of his cock and pumped himself a few times before sliding into her mouth. Y/n moaned around him as Chan continued thrusting into her and Jeongin filled her throat.

Jeongin leaned forward a bit and slowly thrusted in and out of her mouth. Both men reveled in the choked sounds she was making. Jeongin wrapped his hand around throat, feeling himself sliding in and out of her throat. Both men feeling her tighten up.

“She likes it rough?” Jeongin asked, applying a little more pressure

“Yeah,” Chan answered

The two shared a thought for a moment before pulling out and flipping her around. Y/n squeaked as the adjusted her before sliding back in without a second thought, but didn’t move. She waited for a moment before Chan spanked her ass hard. She let out a moan and that made him do it again. “Fuck her stupid already, hyung?” Jeongin asked as he grabbed the back of her head

“Not my fault she goes dumb on my dick easy,” Chan laughed

Y/n looked up at the younger man, catching the siren eyes that drove their fans crazy. “Start moving.”

Y/n slowly started fucking herself between the two of them. Whenever one of them thought she could go faster or she was slowing down— or maybe because they wanted too— they’d land a harsh spank on her ass. Her pace increased as her ass held red hand marks on the flesh.

She could feel Chan twitch inside her. On the verge of filling up the condom as she clenched around him. She felt his hand grab the back of her neck and rammed himself into her. Y/n moaned as her eyes almost rolled to the back of her head. Jeongin followed his leader's lead and started thrusting into her again, holding her head steady for him to use.

Chan’s own speed picked up as he got closer and closer to his high. The moans he was so accustomed to hearing were drowned out by the second cock in her throat. He knew he could hear them any other time but he was so focused on getting to his orgasm he barely paid attention to it.

The older male cursed under his breath and gripped her neck tightly as he pushed himself into her and filled up the rubber. Jeongin focused on his own high. Her warm mouth felt better than anything he had ever imagined before. He felt like he could cum at any moment and he was right. With a few more thrust, he came down her throat. Filling the cavern with his seed before pulling out. He watched as Chan pulled out of her from behind and laid her down.

“I’ll get you a towel,” Jeongin said and pulled up his pants

Chan thanked him as he took off the condom and tied the rubber off. Jeongin disappeared down the hall and Chan tossed the condom and grabbed a cup to let Y/n spit the cum out of her mouth if she wanted to. The makeup artist spit out the cum and thanked him as the maknae came back and handed the towel to Chan.

Jeongin was never telling their friend about the situation now that he had been involved once. He went back to his room and let Chan clean her up in the bathroom before he cleaned up.

Chan had helped Y/n into the shower and helped her wash up as she laid against his chest, tired from the work day and sex. “Want me to drive you home or do you wanna stay for a little longer.”

“Can I take a little nap?” Y/n asked

“You can stay the night if you want to. It’s not like Innie doesn’t know anymore.”

“You’re right. I’m borrowing your clothes then. I don’t have anything here.”

“That’s fine,” Chan chuckled

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