#or maybe the new direction isn't really working...

[oveliagirlhaditright]

I do have to say... I kind of am worried about Kingdom Hearts IV.

[medicinemane]

Sometimes I feel like I'm going crazy

You have... very very very very very very very very smart people you know, and they're say something that not only isn't true, but literally is as opposite of the truth as it's possible to be... and you'll... gently inform them "hey, it's actually a bit more like this" and then they just kinda... go on saying literally the exact same thing

I'm not sure if it's just that... I often feel like I must be very bad at communicating, or people must just not notice/ignore a lot of what I say, but... I don't know

Like dearest friend, you've said something as absurd as... I don't know, it's hard to say without saying it, but honest to god about as absurd as saying the United States was a part of the USSR, that level of completely getting it backwards

...and it just doesn't seem to matter when I try to explain it... I legit don't even know if you read what I said

Really end up feeling like I'm going nuts sometimes

[lichen-soup-scribe]

augh, I'm going to have to listen to it again, but ... at least on first listen-through, I wasn't a fan of Hozier's new album, at least compared to his other works to date. My reflexive, initial take: The overall sound is just several degrees more generic than is typical for him. There were fewer memorable melodies, less folk and blues influence and more muzzy synths. Several times a track would start with an interesting or at least distinctive idea and then it'd slide into sounding like every other track on the album after the intro was over.

Frankly, it reminded of the album every stomp-clap/folk/bluegrass revival band of the late aughts made after they got tired of the genre they got famous on (though Unreal Unearth is definitely still higher-quality than those tended to be).

I hope I come around on it on the second listen-through, because I've been really excited for new Hozier music! :(

[teddybear-zero]

as bad of an experience i had interacting with other atinys and arena staff at the Ateez concert i went to, it was so heartening to see how respectful and loving everyone was to Ateez themselves.

i really, really hope that i see carats giving Seventeen the same amount of love and respect on the upcoming tour

[davinciae]

golden hour rant dont mind me

[yesokayiknow]

they try, honestly they do, but the doctor isn't a stationary creature and never has been, especially not when they know there's something they could help with. which is to say, it takes a week of soft quiet life before he starts begging kate for a job. kate in turn withstands three weeks of the doctor's incessant begging and big puppy dog eyes while donna noble stands right behind him and mouths don't you fucking dare before she makes a counteroffer: he can work in a lab (the 'very far away from active duty' is implied) as long as he meets with unit's therapist.

and he refuses, of course, loudly and profusely, right up until donna very gently but very firmly tells him that it really could help, actually.

so. therapy. the doctor assumes it won't do anything. the unit therapist is no nonsense and unflinching and very very bright, and twenty minutes later the doctor sits outside the room hyperventilating while kate finishes paperwork and kindly doesn't mention the way he's all but curled into her.

the second session ends much like the first, and the third, and then the fourth he walks out with dry eyes and a tremulous smile. the fifth, kate calls donna and she takes him home and they drink hot chocolate and he doesn't start talking again until the next day. it takes him seven sessions to be able to stay in the room for the full hour; kate pats him on the back and then finally allows him to build a shield for her office as a reward. she sits outside the therapist's office every time he has a session, even though she has to have better things to do. they don't talk about it.

unit only has files on things the doctor's done on earth, and even then, only sometimes, which means that when the doctor talks about some things he just. edits, a little. talks about two weeks in a confession dial and a month in prison, because maybe then he doesn't have to think about the enormity of it all. and every single time he does this, the therapist looks at him and very kindly calls bullshit. it's weird, being known. it's different with donna. he is donna and donna is him, in ways they will probably never talk about. but he sits in that cluttered little office for an hour a week (sometimes two or three times, if he's doing particularly badly) and he feels seen.

after four months, there are memories he can touch without flinching, and people he can talk about without crying. he starts spending a couple of hours just sitting in the vortex, not because he's hiding or running but just because he likes the way it feels against his skin. he cooks dinner every other night and washes up when he doesn't. he takes out the bin every week even though it's rose's job, because he loves her. and he can say that now, and he doesn't think about her short lifespan or about all the other people they've loved and lost. he can say that and just mean it.

part of his contract is an agreement to never offer a trip to a member of unit unless it's actual life or death (the small chemical leak in the lab doesn't count; he takes shirley to new mars anyway) but he finds himself toying with the idea of asking for a session in the tardis. just once, just to see. the therapist looks at him and sees him and it is monstrous and they keep looking anyway and now the doctor can sit through a family dinner without wanting to tear his skin off and he doesn't know any other way to say thank you.

it's funny, almost, how quickly he grows attached to this person who picks through his hurts and rifles through his traumas and holds direct eye contact while doing so. the doctor talks about their deaths and their crimes and their cowardice and the therapist nods and asks him how he feels and it's. it's terrifying. it's beautiful. it's the worst thing he's ever ever been through, and the best. he feels ripped apart and put back together in a way that few people have ever been able to— huh.

after his sixty eighth session (he's unable to not keep count) the doctor walks outside to where kate is annotating a schematic and says, thoughtfully, they're the master in disguise, aren't they. and kate says oh 100% and please don't let them know that you know because they will definitely go to the second stage of whatever long con they've been hatching and they're too good at this for us to let them go

[lovingseventeen]

Hiii could you pls write about how seventeen gets their s/o to sit in their lap?? Thanks so much

svt getting their s/o to sit on their lap

a/n: i hope this is sufficient for my very delayed return (please).

seungcheol: 

✿ it's truly just second nature for him at this point

✿ he'll just casually guide you onto his lap and you don't really question it either

✿ say you're about to sit next to him on the couch

✿ as you're about to sit he'll just lightly pull your wrist in his direction and there you are

jeonghan:

✿ loves to rest his head on your shoulder when you sit on his lap

✿ the simplest "come here" and you're following

✿ he loves this because you don't even have to pay attention to him but he has all the access to wrap his arms around your middle

joshua: 

✿ pats his leg when you want to show him something on your phone

✿ "josh look at this thing i just saw-"

✿ immediately, he's sitting up and spreading his legs so you can walk in the space between them and sit on one of his thighs

✿ "let me see, pretty"

jun: 

✿ will gradually shift you onto his lap over time absentmindedly

✿ neither of you two really notice but you just wind up there

✿ you were watching a movie on opposite ends of the couch (which is fine) but now you're there??? (no one is complaining)

hoshi: 

✿ so annoying about it (i mean this in a loving way)

✿ why should you sit anywhere else when his lap is literally right there??

✿ even if you sat somewhere else without thinking about it he's jokingly scoffing "so you hate me"

✿ (it's okay, just go sit on his lap and peck his cheek and he's all giddy again)

wonwoo: 

✿ pulls you towards him by an article of clothing

✿ it could be your pants loop, the sleeve of your hoodie, or the back of your shirt

✿ he doesn't need to ask you twice :')

woozi:

✿ always asks for your opinion when he makes a new beat or writes new lyrics

✿ "i want you to listen to this" he says with a hand stretched out

✿ he likes to have you sit on his lap while he places the headphones around your ears

✿ he gently presses his forehead to your back as he waits for your thoughts

dokyeom: 

✿ perpetually wrapped around you anyway (his love language is physical touch)

✿ it doesn't take long when an arm around your shoulder as you're sitting next to each other moves to your waist

✿ then he figures this isn't close enough and he'll also maneuver you so you're eventually on his lap. he'll quite literally wrap his arms around your middle so he can move you

✿ "this is better" as he nudges his face into your neck

mingyu:

✿ will manhandle you if he has to

✿ you try teasing him just to see him get pouty and as you're trying to get away from him, he uses a little bit more of his strength to pull you towards him

✿ but as you're sat you feel him mumble against your shoulder "do you actually not want to?"

minghao:

✿ i think he's a pretty straightforward person

✿ a simple tucking your hair behind your ears and he's caught your attention

✿ "i want you closer" as he holds your arm to help you move

seungkwan: 

✿ dances around the subject instead of just telling you what he wants lol

✿ "did you know that sitting on wooden chairs is actually bad for your back? there's no cushioning"

✿ "oh really? should we order cushions then or-"

✿ "you could sit somewhere else"

✿ "but i need the table for my laptop and i get so lazy on the couch-"

✿ "then maybe you could just sit here" he offers, moving his chair back to welcome you. then it all clicks (he's a dork)

vernon: 

✿ also probably someone who just tugs you gently in his direction

✿ i don't think he'd need to use words for you to get it either

✿ even if you're standing around him doing anything else and you feel him lightly pull the back of your sweater you follow him without giving it much thought

chan:

✿ as long as you're in his vicinity he pulls you with him as he sits down

✿ both of you just came home from work? he's dropping himself down on the couch and you're coming with him

✿ has most definitely missed at least once and you both landed on the floor

[sttm99]

Bakugo understands that he spends a lot of money on you for just being his personal assistant. But he can't help it.

You honestly deserve it. You're smart, responsible, diligent. You're a hard worker with principles, and your work ethic is something he respects.

It didn't matter how many people were against him promoting you from secretary to PA so soon in your career. Your work was top notch, and you kept him organised.

Sure, you were pretty as well, a sight for sore eyes, really. But that wasn't his fault, was it? It wasn't your fault either.

It's not like you came into work every day with full glam, diamond earrings, or elaborate hairstyles.

It had pissed him off at first, when people demeaned you or underestimated your work because of your looks, especially when he knew you worked so hard so you wouldn't be considered some dumb corporate bimbo.

But now? Now he loved it. He loved when he had clients over, and they'd do a double take when he sent for you to take notes or deliver documents to his table.

He'd noticed the modesty with which you'd dressed when you first started working for him, how you tried to dim yourself with drab colours that obviously washed you out, or plain hairstyles.

Not like it stopped anybody from being able to tell how pretty you were.

But after, when you'd started garnering his attention and racking up more bonuses from your diligence, he began noticing you wearing nicer things.

Of course, you had to up your wardrobe once you were promoted to the role of Personal Assistant to one of the biggest heroes in Japan. But that wasn't it.

Bakugo loved seeing you walk in with a new shirt or new shoes or new earrings after he'd rewarded you a bonus or a pay increase. There was a sort of high he got, knowing that you took care of yourself with the money he gave you.

Oh, he spoilt you rotten.

Month end rewards became the norm for you. He just closed a hefty advertising deal? Best believe you were getting a cut out of that. He was given a bottle of champagne as a gift? You're drinking it with him in his office.

Sure, it may have seemed a bit inappropriate to some people; him locking the doors and closing the windows, and having you sit on his lap prettily whilst he poured it out into a flute for you.

Sure, it was inappropriate for him to have his hands up your skirt as you recounted the month end figures for him, but you were comfortable that way. He was, too. Oh, so comfortable with your hands inside his trousers and his teasing at the lining of your panties.

He was just taking care of his best employee.

And maybe he did spend a lot of money on you, but you had to keep up appearances. He needed you looking your best when you were next to him.

It wasn't his fault you were so beautiful that brands reached out to him to get you to model for then after seeing you appear in some pictures by his side.

It wasn't his fault that he couldn't get anyone else to come with him to the Hero Gala. Besides, you're meant to be with him during these things to take notes for him. So having you as his date was basically killing two birds with one stone.

"Your assistant's fucking sexy," Kaminari whispered into Bakugo's ear, both of them watching you go to order a drink for your boss.

Bakugo smirked to himself, his eyes raking over your body, clad in the tight fitting dress he'd bought for you to wear. He'd also bought the earrings you had on, and the shoes and the necklace. Sure, it cost him quite a lot, but he just couldn't help it when you looked so good.

"She's single, isn't she?"

Now, that had him snapping his head in Kaminari's direction. "Don't even fucking think about."

Kaminari whined, "But why? She's your assistant, not your sister or your girlfriend."

"She's my assistant," Bakugo seethed, standing up from his seat. "She's my employee, and I won't have you lowering her efficiency." He murmured as he made his way to where you were.

You smiled brightly as you turned around to see him, handing him the second glass of champagne in your hands. "You look like you'd rather be somewhere else." You laughed softly.

He grinned down at you before downing the drink quickly. "I would," he said before dropping his glass back on the bar. "Come on."

He spoilt you rotten, but he couldn't help it. You looked so beautiful in your tight dress and pretty hair and beautiful face.

Sure, being seated on the sink and having your legs spread before his lips in the bathroom at the Hero Gala may have been a tad inappropriate, but how could he stop himself?

You were quivering for him, thighs pressing down and shaking on either side of his head, and your fingers gripping harshly at his hair, pulling him even closer as you rutted your heat against his lips.

He let out a desperate groan, burying his face deeper into your cunt, eating you out shamelessly, hungrily.

"Fuuck..." He growled into you.

You'd been so shy the first time he had his way with you, refusing to touch him, grind on him, behaving so meek and cute.

Now look at you, so selfish and desperate, almost suffocating him as he feasted. He spoilt you rotten, sure, but you deserved every morsel of it.

"Katsuki..." You whined desperately, your back arching off the mirror, the hand not pulling at his hair tightly gripping the edge of the counter. "Katsuki, I'm so close... I'm so fucking close, baby-"

His hands dug into the flesh of your ass, pulling your harsher into him, your clit pressing against his nose as his tongue made a meal of you. He was always so desperate for it, digging the wet muscle so far into your pussy you saw stars.

And he was messy too, his saliva and your arousal staying your thighs, dripping from the marble counter unto the ground as he ate from you.

Anyone who came in after would probably be able to tell from the smell of the bathroom alone. The cum leaking unto the floor would only solidify it.

But the thought of someone finding out that your boss had his face buried deep in your pussy wasn't exactly what you were thinking about when you came for him, hard and rough, your hips shaking and raising off the counter as you rode out your high.

"We shouldn't be doing such during events, sir." You whispered to him as you both walked down the corridors back into the hall where the gala was being held.

He had his large palm over your ass, groping you just in the dark of the hallway, letting go just as you stepped into the crowded hall.

"Just be a good girl and wait for me to fuck you on the way home, hm?" He smirked at you, a small sheen still visible on his lips.

He never cleaned his mouth properly after eating you out during such events. It was inappropriate, sure, but he just couldn't help himself.

[sunderwight]

Thinking about a scenario where (pre-Plot Happening) Mobei Jun and Shang Qinghua have a tiff, and Shang Qinghua goes back to his peak and honestly he isn't trying to make MBJ apologize first or anything, he just gets so busy that he doesn't have time to grovel (kind of forgets they had an argument in the first place because it's not like MBJ is going to kill him YET unless he does something really egregious, they're on a schedule), but Mobei Jun is just fuming in his ice palace like "that asshole thinks I can't replace him, I can absolutely replace him, he's sooo replaceable" and etc.

So Mobei Jun tries it. He's going to hire himself another evil advisor. Another groveling rat minion. Maybe a dozen groveling rat minions! He's a demon king, these sorts of people are not hard to find. They can't all be working for his shitstain uncle!

And they aren't, of course. Finding a minion who is loyal to Mobei Jun (well, relatively) rather than any of his rivals actually isn't that hard. Mobei Jun is the most promising demon strength-wise of his generation, he's the direct heir, and he's less absent from court than his father and less treacherous and scheme-y than his uncle. There's a whole crowd he appeals to, who serve him readily and have no motive to turn on him.

But.

Turns out that there is a specific combination of traits which Shang Qinghua brought to the table, and none of his new groveling sycophants have it. The ones who are the best at sucking up also tend to be the worst at having actual skills. The ones who are good at their assigned tasks don't have much of an interest in complimenting his tits or telling him this or that cloak really brings out his eyes. The ones who do tell him those kinds of things also keep turning up in his bed, which is unwelcome and annoying. No one can offer him nebulous sort-of-prophetic insights to the goings-on of his realm either, or if they try to, they turn out to be hacks and charlatans with woefully low accuracy rates. A lot of them just outright lie to try and manipulate him against their rivals or enemies.

Within a week Mobei Jun is frazzled, exhausted, and finally ready to apologize.

He shows up on An Ding Peak and slaps Shang Qinghua across the face. The most self-debasing sign of desire that he can extend. Open palm and everything. He's practically on his knees begging Shang Qinghua for forgiveness (he's not actually, though, after all he's still extremely arrogant demon royalty).

Several years into the future, Shang Qinghua will dimly recollect the incident after actually learning about demon courtship customs (he wrote them, doesn't mean he was actually paying attention to them) and ask what that was about, and Mobei Jun will have a Hollywood style PTSD flashback both to that and to the second time he and SQH had a big fight and SQH left, and not properly answer him.

[6lostgirl6]

A Night To Dismember

Pairing: Michael Myers x Fem!Reader

TW: Detailed Gore, Mentions of Murder, Mentions of Sexual Assault [Not by Michael], Slightly Possessive Michael, Protective Michael, Mature Audience only!

A/N: Requested by my bestie @prettywhenibleed! I really hope you enjoy this and it was an absolute pleasure to write this for you!! Love you, my favorite slasher whore! ❤️ This isn't my best work, I'm afraid, forgive me.

The Smith's Grove Sanitarium operated according to a schedule that was consistently set in motion without interruption. No authorized doctor employed by the sanitarium, however, would have foreseen this. Medical specialists thought they were completely familiar with Michael Myers' behavior. He was docile and kept to himself, despite being the most dangerous and threatening patient in the hospital. 

But if you left him alone, there was a chance he would treat you in a similar fashion. The sole exception would be if touching his masks or otherwise bothered him. Even being among other patients was something he never enjoyed.

You were a new patient, recently exiled from society and your family because of your dreadful infatuation with fire and burning objects of interest. Your arrival left the building in absolute shock. On your first day, you were assigned to the recreation room. When you entered the room, your initial instinct was to walk over to the largest and most dangerous man within the sanatorium while grinning brightly. You only watched him work on a paper mache mask while standing over his hunched figure in the corner of the room, his hospital-approved supplies scattered along the table. 

You thought the colors were stunning, which you happily expressed. 

As a precaution against Michael harming you, guards stood by the recreation room's entrance wielding batons. Michael, on the other hand, did the exact opposite, giving you a cursory glance before grunting and slackly pointing for you to sit next to him. 

It was like you and Michael had your own timetable inside the sanitarium, and this went on for the next few months without fail. As directed by his psychiatrist, Michael was permitted to create his masks in the recreation area in the mornings. You would follow not far behind and take your normal seat beside him at a table chosen at random, apart from the other patients. You would merely watch him create his masks and ramble about whatever was on your mind. Michael never responded to the conversation, but that didn't stop you from talking to him because he had his own style of doing so without words. You have grown accustomed to deciphering his thoughts from his basic grunts and gestures.

"Hey, Mikey." You said with a smile, taking a seat at your usual spot next to Michael's side, placing your tray of food onto the table.

Michael was in the middle of placing wet paper mache on the face mold for his mask, his fingers caked in colors of paint and residue from the paper mache. He paused for a moment, giving you a small grunt as acknowledgement before returning to his activity.

You smiled more, chuckling at his usual ways of communicating as you watched him craft. You've always been interested in his masks and the variety of patterns he would use for each one. Many of his masks had their own unique qualities. However, you knew to only look, not touch.

"I see you're adding bright colors this time; are those happy pills finally working?" You teased him, nudging him softly with your body.

Michael huffed through his nose, which you learned was his way of chuckling as he shook his head at you. In the past, It took a while, but you had a better understanding of Michael's gestures and emotions than the doctors.

Simply because you treated him like a person, not an experiment.

"Maybe next time then." You replied, turning towards your tray before glancing at his project once more. "You're really good at that, Mikey. You're really talented."

Once again, Michael paused his movements, his stained fingers holding the paper mache while his eyes remained downcast. His fingers twitched before he resumed, and you almost thought you said something wrong.

"I didn't mean-"

You were cut off as Michael grabbed another mold from the table, pushing it in your direction. Your eyes widened slightly as you pushed your tray out of the way as Michael's slow movements brought other materials in your direction.

Still in slight awe, you watched him turn towards you, and your eyes connected through his favorite orange mask. You couldn't help the way your heart skipped a beat at the way his eyes stared into your own, seemingly piercing into your own soul.

The doctors were wrong; his eyes weren't soulless, nor were they black, resembling a massive void of nothingness. They were blue, similar to a clear sky or the glimmering waves of the ocean.

He huffed before pointing a finger at the materials and then towards you. He wanted you to mold with him.

"Thank you, Mikey." You said softly, a bright smile on your face.

When your eyes met Michael's, he was unable to comprehend the sensation in his chest. Usually, when his sight fell on their figures, individuals would tremble or turn away. He wasn't concerned by their fear of the facility's most dangerous patient. He actually benefited from the fear he instilled in the hearts of many who came to the sanitarium.

Yet you didn't...and he liked that.

He liked that you weren't scared of him, speaking to him, or even touching him like you've been these past few months. The thought of you being scared of him made him feel...hollow.

When you started working on your own mask using the materials that were laid out on the table, Michael couldn't help but covertly place a palm on his chest to feel how his heart was refusing to settle down. He almost wanted to groan in annoyance, hating the way he liked being around you and having your attention.

He had been content with his solitude for a long time, He preferred being alone and had been for many years. However, the notion of you leaving him made the murderous itch inside him threaten to resurface.

He decided that he would keep you with him, protect you with everything he has, and extinguish anyone who threatened to ruin that. With darkened eyes, he returned to working on his mask.

On that day, you and Michael became closer.

You weren't born yesterday and you certainly weren't born stupid. Trouble was afoot in the institution and it was either happening under the doctors' noses or they simply didn't care enough to investigate. Over the past week, you would hear feminine screams down the hallway in the women's section of the institution during the late hours of the night. Last night, the screams could be heard two doors down from your room.

The screams and cries began when a new guard was appointed to the institution, supposedly replacing a well-known guard who was at the age of retirement. Due to your paranoia, you would sit on the edge of your bed, watching the door in the chance of someone entering your room when they weren't supposed to.

During the days, you would spend all you could with Michael, hoping that your association with him would make you seem off limits to mess with, or you hoped. Yet, Michael couldn't protect you when the sun went down and the men and women would return to their respective cells on opposite sides of the institution.

Tonight, you were following the same routine, sitting on the edge of your bed and watching the door. Your mind was in shambles, trying to come up with a plan in that chance, that horrid chance of the new guard coming for you. You hoped it wasn't what you were thinking, and for once, you prayed.

God never heard your prayers, and he certainly didn't now, especially when the jingling of keys were heading down the hallway, towards your room.

Michael couldn't sleep and when he couldn't sleep, he would simply pass the time by creating more masks or painting designs onto them. He was sitting at his desk, the surface covered in paper mache, markers, paint, and crayons. He was in the middle of adding a touch of red when he heard the distant sound of screaming.

His annoyance was disguised under his mask as he sighed and tightened his grip on the crayon in his hand to the point that it almost broke in half. He puffed again at the commotion and went on, indifferent to the screams. Perhaps a patient was making a scene during the nightly check-ins.

In order to block out the noises, Michael withdrew within the walls of his mind. It was a way that allowed Michael to escape freely from the confinement of his cell. He would always imagine a life outside the institution, with you. He would imagine the way he would protect you and provide for you. The thought used to sicken himn, but now he enjoyed it, the possibility. The sound of keys jingling, seemingly opening his cage, caused him to pause, though. With a loud crash, the cell door swung open, and shouting could now be heard outside of his room.

"Want some, freak?" The guard asked him in an mocking manner while Michael remained at his desk, his back to the guard. Michael immediately understood what the guard was pulling when he heard the feminine screams and intended to ignore it. 

He continued to ignore his surroundings, ignoring the rage building within his chest. The sound of his bed creaking didn't deter him from continuing on with his activity. However, it all changed when the victim screamed one word.

"Michael!"

You.

Your trapped figure on his bed, with your nightgown pushed up so that only your thighs were visible, caught Michael's attention as his head whirled around. Your eyes were filled to the brim with tears, which streamed down your cheeks as you sobbed and struggled. His eyes quickly shifted to the guard hovering over you, and he developed tunnel vision instinctively.

A ferocious roar erupts from Michael's mouth and takes hold of the guard by the neck and collar of his shirt, throwing him off balance. In the midst, you shakily brought yourself to a sitting position, fixing the bottom of your nightgown to cover yourself. Your eyes watched as Michael picked up the guard, pinning him to the wall with eerie silence. The man in his grasp was yelling in pain and fear as Michael kept him pinned, his legs dangling in the air.

"L-Let go! Let go, you fucking punk!" The guard cried out.

Michael did not like that, not at all. Without a second thought, Michael hurled him into his desk, his art supplies falling to the ground in a cluster of clangs while the man groaned in pain. Like a predator stalking his prey, Michael's towering form stalked over to the smaller male, his eyes black as night and void of any life or mercy within. His large hand reached out to grab the same red colored pencil,

Michael's next action seemed to be a blur, he body launching onto the guard and stabbing him with the colored pencil, his resiliant strength making the pencil tear through flesh and muscle.

You watched in a sickening twist of fascination and awe, watching as Michael stabbed the guard over and over, leaving no body part untouched, the man;s screams filling the room. Your heart felt warm, knowing that Michael was willing enough to kill someone for you.

Lastly, Michael stabbed him until his chest, stomach, and face was shrouded in punctures, cuts, and wounds. With one last jab, the colored pencil stabbed into his neck, making the man gurgle on his own blood.

"Michael..." You whispered, your eyes taking in his bloodied form as he slowly turned to you, heaving himself up and moving towards you. It was as if he was a trained dog hoping he made his master proud. However, you were nothing of the sort. When he was close enough, you wrapped your arms around him, pressing yourself into his strong form. "Thank you..."

Michael gave a small huff, hesitantly touching your head with his bloody palm, staining your strands with the bodily fluid. Without another word, Michael pushed you away and grabbed your hand, pulling you off the bed and heading towards the door.

"Where we are going?" You asked in confusion, following behind the behemoth of a man down the stark white hallway.

In response, Michael tugged on your hand and you decided to go along with whatever he had in his mind. He saved you after all; even when he didn't have to, he did. It made you feel safe and protected in his presence.

"Alright, Alright." You muttered, your figures turning a corner and out of sight.

Red and white.

Those were the colors you would never forget. The way the walls were coated in blood and bodily fluids of various nurses and guards that laid along the floor in mangled messes.

Michael was strong, very strong. You remembered the way he smashed a guard's skull in with his fingers alone. You shuddered at the thought, crossing your arms and staring at the wall in front of you as you waited for Michael to finish off his last victim. A nurse arriving at the right place at the wrong time as Michael ambushed her, his hands around her throat as he strangled her.

Michael walked over to you, his muffled huffing practically hovering over your ear as he showed you shoes and coat. You stared at the items with a blank expression, wondering what he wanted you to do with these.

He huffed before shaking the items in his hands, motioning the items towards you. You sighed before taking the items with a small smile, throwing on the shoes and coat. You felt the warmth of the fabric soothe your cold figure.

"Thank you..." You muttered softly, looking up at him as he stared down at you.

He couldn't help but think you looked...cute.

He offered you his bloodied hand, which you instantly took and followed him to the exit. You both were finally going to be free and it was all thanks to him.

After a few hours of walking, your feet were beginning to ache and the adrenaline from earlier was wearing off.

After your fifth yawn, Michael stopped in his tracks, turning towards you in the middle of the field. He simply stared at you as you bent forward to rest your hands on your knees.

Michael, I need to rest for a moment. Please my-" Your words were cut off when Michael stormed over to you, grabbing you roughly around the hips, hoisting you into his arms. His arm went around your waist, while the other held your back in a bridal style fashion.

Your eyes widened from his sudden roughness, however you couldn't complain as you basked in his warmth, nuzzling your face in the bloodied fabric of his robe.

"Thank you." You said, closing your eyes and allowing yourself to finally relax for the first time tonight. You didn't notice the way Michael was staring at you in his arms, his darkened eyes filled with something unknown, dangerous...maybe even a little bit of caring.

Silently, he turned and resumed walking through the field, making sure to keep you safe as you began to doze in his arms.

Finally, you were his.

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Tagging: Comment to be added!!

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[howtofightwrite]

So. There is no safe place (in the body) to be shot. There are places that are slightly safer than others to be stabbed (i.e. being stabbed in the meat of your calf is less likely to be lethal than your torso). For the purposes of an arrow wound, which feels like a combination of shot+stab for a swords n sorcery world, is there a “less lethal” place to take an arrow? My character is traveling with companions and gets into a fun little goblin skirmish. I need her to catch an arrow somewhere that will be concerning, but not immediately fatal. Magic Bullshit™️ will keep the wound from healing properly for a few days, but I’ve accounted for field wound care (cleaning and bandaging and such) as she’s being taken on horseback to get proper treatment.

Not deeply.

So, the problem with all of these is tissue disruption. If the injury gets deep enough, the chances that it will hit something vital (especially on the torso) increase dramatically. So, getting stabbed and having the blade catch bone, instead of getting in deeper is “relatively” safe. Similarly, getting stabbed (or shot) in the hand or foot is unlikely to kill you (though, those injuries are likely to result in permanent damage impairing the use of injured appendage.)

Arrows are a little different, in a couple of ways. First, if you get shot, you do not want to pull that off (nor break it off and push it through.) That will increase the risk of bleeding out. Arrows make fairly large holes in people, but if the arrow sticks in the wound (which, it should) it will actually limit the amount of bleeding. Effectively the wound has a partial plug in it. Pulling out the arrow means that plug is no longer there, and they can happily bleed to death on the spot.

The second thing about arrows is that they actually pin muscle together. Think of it a bit like holding two pieces of meat together with a toothpick. If the toothpick isn't there, the pieces can slide across each other without issue, but that's not possible when there's a wooden shaft running through them. Your muscles are a complex web of meat, that slide over each other as you move. Pinning those together means that part of your body will actually lock up. For example, if you're shot in the shoulder, you won't be able to adjust the position of your arm. It's been toothpicked, and it's not going anywhere.

Arrowheads can get wedged in bone. If it's a broad head, or hunting tip, that will be obnoxious to get out.

At the risk of reading too much into your setting, goblins often means poisons, or other nastiness. Though, really, even just getting a tetanus infection (it used to be called “lock jaw”) from their blades is a pretty horrific potential fate. Even if the wounds themselves were relatively minor (cuts and scrapes, maybe a graze or two), a couple days might still result in some pretty horrific harm after the fact.

Also, remember, it's unlikely that bacteria will be understood by the medical science of your setting. So, first aid would still run a real risk of secondary infections.

Depending on their skill in first aid, anything outside of a severed artery or catastrophic organ damage should be (technically) survivable, though the wounds could easily result in permanent impairments, depending on exactly what was hit. A punctured lung might not kill her, but it could result in permanent respiratory issues, such as a cough, and chronic pain while breathing heavily from then on. It could also result in pneumonia and death, which is also, usually, pretty permanent.

Some of this depends more on where you want to land on a spectrum between dark fantasy and swords & sorcery. The genres are similar (and potentially overlapping), but can scatter out into dramatically different works. But, you do have some options on how you want to proceed.

-Starke

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[savanir]

continuation of this thank you again @mynameisjag for the inspiration, this prompt currently has me by the throat

Death of the Father, Death of the Son

The evening is dreary, rain pouring from the skies like tears. Typical Gotham fare to be honest.

This evening was the stage of the latest gala in the crime filled city, another fundraiser for something, or at least pretending to be. 

Vlad brought his dear Madeline as well as Jasmine with him, he was planning to do some light networking but this was also his latest attempt to cheer his sweetheart up. The new experience might distract her a bit.

She had not taken the news well… when the search party found Daniel’s clone corpse in the woods.

It’s been months since the funeral, but her spark for life still has not yet reignited.

And in those past few months Jasmine has seemingly taken over Daniel’s job and has become a most persistent thorn in Vlad’s side, absolutely refusing to let him make any sort of progress with Maddie.

But this evening wasn’t about any of that. There would be no bickering between Vlad and Jazz about him aiding her in finding her lost brother. Not like she even needed his help, she and Daniel’s old friends were probably doing the best job possible in finding the boy.

And it’s not like he could tell her he knew her brother was probably being kept by one of the world's greatest mercenaries. 

Revealing that would open a whole new can of worms he didn’t want to explain.

Maddie was mostly distracted at the gala, staring morosely at Wayne and his brood.

The sight fills Vlad with an insidious sort of anger, the kind that lays heavy and molten on the bottom of your stomach. She better not get it in her head to try and replace one bumbling oaf for the next.

Also… getting rid of a Wayne is apparently a weirdly difficult thing to do… Vlad would rather not bother.

And even though he feels bitter, it is rather nice to see Madeline cheer up when she gets to introduce herself to the boys. Vlad again thinks about his plan of conceiving a new son of their own, not to replace Daniel of course, the boy is irreplaceable but… well, yeah to replace him.

After all, is it really worth it to find Daniel anymore at this point?

—✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*---*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧—

The gala is uneventful right up until Vlad leaves the main area for a breath of fresh air, hopefully find the designated smoking area and have a cigarette (it’s not like those things can kill him anymore anyway) but on the way there he saw a shadow darting around the corner and he just couldn’t help himself.

If there was any illegal activity afoot, he rather be on top of it himself, that way he’ll know what he can pull and get away with.

It wasn't until he entered a room and promptly got ambushed that he thought that maybe he had walked into a trap of sorts, oh well, nothing Plasmius wouldn’t be able to fix.

Gotham is a city of freaks but none of them are on his power level after all.

Still, precious decisive reaction time got wasted because he’s thinking of an approach that would not result in him having to permanently silence his assailant. Murder is probably rough to cover up in the city that’s home to the world’s greatest detective and bribing the corrupt police force is such a hassle… a scuffle of a mugging/abduction or whatever gone wrong is much easier to explain.

Instead Vlad finds himself tazed, tazed of all things. Perhaps an ecto infused blast into the nearby wall isn’t such a bad idea after all.

But then he finds he can’t access his powers anymore, and a mild sense of dread takes root in his chest.

That taser… it couldn’t have been….

He isn't given much time to think about it as he’s expertly incapacitated and worked against the ground.

Vlad thinks he hears the faintest mutterings, something along the lines of “we do rely too much on our powers” perhaps it’s some veiled insult directed at his current situation. Uncalled for in his opinion…

Of course he struggles, he fights back. His attacker is way smaller than him, lighter and quick with their moves, whomever this is they certainly know what they are doing and Vlad hates to admit it, but without Plasmius he’s actually outmatched.

That leaves plain ol’ shouting for help.

An idea that quickly got snuffed out when a big army knife that crackles with sickly neon green energy gets pressed against his throat and a detonator gets shown off in his assailant’s hand.

“Quiet now, or I’ll blow this place sky high”

“That seems counterproductive” Vlad can’t help but snarl.

“aww, worried about me? there is no need I’ll be just fine, them on the other hand…”

the attacker puts a tablet down that shows a video feed of the main gala area with all the people milling about.

None of them matter to Vlad, but his Madeline and her daughter are there as well, he easily spots them too.

“What do you want, money? I’m sure there are better targets for that out there”

All of a sudden there is a strangely familiar staticy growl in his attacker’s voice, “I want two things from you, I want you to suffer and then I want you to die”

this is personal then… not good.

His attacker takes a moment to more firmly incapacitate Vlad against the floor before redirecting his attention to the video feed on the tablet screen. In the main gala area a big screen of it’s own has come down from the ceiling, usually meant for big fancy presentations (but those had already been carried out for the evening) and was now showing Vlad’s latest illegal activity for all the people to see.

Inside the room people are worriedly looking to and fro, wondering what rogue attack this will lead to, others are already gleefully taking to social media and broadcasting the events happening to the rest of the world.

Personnel are scrambling about to figure out what’s going on, and a couple Wayne’s have now subtly left the area.

“There we go, all out in the open. No more secrets”

Vlad’s eyes darted over the screen in horror.

“I like this right here,” his attacker zooms in on Maddie’s face as she’s realizing in real time that Vlad paid someone to kill her husband, “that’s a good face”

People are looking around and starting to notice Vlad is not among them anymore.

“You cannot possibly expect to get away with this, the Gotham bats are most likely already aware and hunting you down”

“I know-” His attacker shushes, “don’t spoil my fun, at least let me enjoy this show. Even if you somehow manage to get away from me now your life is completely ruined” 

Vlad makes another attempt to escape, growling, “who are you and why are you doing this, how do you even know about half of these things-”

He gets his hands ran through and pinned down fully on the ground with the knives in return.

Vlad figures he must have made some noise but the painful pressure that his assailant keeps on his back is also making it harder to breathe.

“C’mon now, you always boasted about how you’re better and more experienced in every way. Surely you can use that big brain of yours and figure this mystery out, here I’ll help-” the attacker painfully twists his head to the side, “have a look”

It’s dark and the figure is still very much in the shadows but the first thing that catches Vlad’s eyes is the mask over his assailant’s mouth that’s black on the right and orange on the left, a rather obvious hint towards ties with a certain mercenary.

The dark hair styled in that one familiar way brings someone else to mind.

“Daniel”

The boy doesn’t hesitate to twist one of the knives in his hand.

“Don’t call me that”

“Danny-” Vlad doesn’t hesitate to correct even though it does come out rather strangled because of the pain, this is a bad situation and he’s not stupid, “whatever he said-”

there is a faint crackle and it’s only through Vlad’s still slightly enhanced senses that he hears the gruff voice talking to Daniel.

“Wrap it up Memento”

Danny glances at the live feed on the tablet. Proper security is starting to swarm around.

Maddie is holding Jazz close and appears to be talking to someone in charge. One of the Wayne brood has decided to stick with her, the eldest son. How kind of him.

Vlad is still trying to get Danny to listen to him.

Danny sighs, “I kind of wish I could drag this out longer, but this is fine” he twists his knee against Vlad’s neck and now properly restrains Vlad’s legs before pulling out something new.

“This is something my dad was working on before you got him killed, I was planning on sabotaging it and getting rid of the blueprints but... things change”

Danny puts it in the middle of Vlad’s upper back, “I’m sure you’re dying to know what it does. Well, it’s the Fenton Ghost Core Crusher. A bit of a mouthful admittedly. I’m still workshopping a better name, but at the very least the purpose is obvious”

“Daniel-” Vlad is starting to sound like a parent who is realizing that their kid is about to do something dangerous and stupid. It's honestly too bad that he’s not a parent and Danny is not his kid, otherwise it might have actually had it’s intended effect.

“I would have loved to see you deal with the full aftermath and consequences of your horrible choices in life but I don’t really feel like dealing with you as a full ghost so I guess this is it, goodbye forever, it really sucked to have known you”

Vlad has a second to fully regret Deathstroke taking Daniel and not taking it as seriously as he should have and then he’s too busy feeling what must be a supernova and a blackhole manifesting in his chest at the same time somehow.

After that he hears, or perhaps he just feels… a sickening crack and everything fades away.

—✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*---*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧—

There is a corpse at Danny’s feet. It’s Vlad, fully dead, the not coming back kind.

Danny figured he’d feel different, there is some vindication, and the slight satisfaction of a death avenged, but other than that he just feels rather empty, and kind of tired.

Danny doesn’t realize he’s getting a little lost in his head until Slade’s voice cuts through his mental spiral and snaps him out of it.

“Memento, time to move” 

“right”

A part of Danny wants to stay, be found. As he goes invisible and floats right through the ceiling he takes some time to fantasize about it. Would it be a bat? or perhaps one of the security guards checking the rooms, maybe it would even be one of the attendees, they would probably scream once they noticed Vlad on the ground. A security guard would be smarter about the situation, but not by much.

A bat would probably attack him once they realized Vlad was already dead.

Later on they would put a little addendum in their rogue list at Deathstroke’s name, a little side file that’s just for Danny, affiliated with Slade Wilson, name; ???, gender; male, age; somewhere between 14 and 18, threat level; capable of killing people, something like that.

A few buildings away Danny catches up with Slade on the roof.

“Did you have fun? did you get it all out of your system?” Slade folds his arms over his chest.

Danny just growls at him.

“In that case it’s time to move on” The man is already turning away.

Well, Danny can agree on that, so he follows Deathstroke away from the mess he caused at the gala and away from his mother and sister.

And here is my idea for a Deathstroke affiliated Danny

[machveil]

How would our sweet shy Konig act when dealing with a reader who is openly down bad for him, and isn't shy about expressing it? I'm talking openly staring/making eyes at him even when they're caught, sighing when they see him bent over or squatting (I know he got a fatty, I just know it), saying "wish that were me" when sparring and seeing him put someone in a headlock, hears someone mutter "fuck the colonel" and goes "I'm fucking trying", etc. I just wanna (probably poorly) rizz this man up, I'm trying to climb this tree of a man like a coconut crab, ya feel me? -🐸

we are the same person I fear I wrote this in one go, pray for me

CW: inexperienced!König, give my boy a smooch, he deserves it!!

König doesn’t know what to do at first - his poor brain is dizzy and running in circles trying to figure out what’s happening! he’s never been popular amongst people, especially romantically. throughout his childhood and teen years no one had a crush on the social recluse, let alone approached him to be friends

so when you start publicly talking about how much you like him? König isn’t sure if it’s a mean joke or if you’re serious. he’s been on the receiving end of pranks in high school, peers asking him out as a dare or bet only to not show up. but you? he’s not really sure if it’s a joke with how persistent you are

König is beet red under his hood, eyes wide when he hears you make comments about him - he’s caught on to your smitten gaze, how you whisper to other soldiers about his physique, how you tell him face-to-face he’s cute despite never seeing… him, unmasked and vulnerable. it baffles him, genuinely. he’s not sure if this some weird game you started, maybe it’s just playful teasing?

König wasn’t sure until he heard someone curse him out in passing - a new recruit that had gotten on his nerves. König was about to have a word with them, but then he heard you. “God, who shoved a stick up that prick’s ass? Fuck the Colonel, he—“ “I’m trying to.”, a little quip that had König frozen. “I mean, sorry, but have you seen him? God, I mean really, have you seen his thighs?”

König isn’t sure if he’s breathing or not when you notice him, an innocent smile and a cute wave thrown in his direction, “Oh— König! Hey, I was just talking about you!”, god help him, all he can do is swallow and nod, giving you his own awkward wave

König who works up the nerve to talk to you about what’s been happening - is this a sick joke? is this a prank? he’s floored when you tell him you’re being genuine, that you do really, really like him. he’s heard you thirsting over him for weeks and you’ve meant it?

it takes a couple more conversations before he’s hand in hand with you, palm a little sweaty as he leads you to his room. for as big and intimidating as he is, he really is inexperienced. when he told you that he’d only had tipsy, bad sex after bar nights he didn’t expect you to say you’d treat him right - he didn’t expect you to want him to begin with though

maybe that’s why he’s a little quiet at the beginning, big hand shaky as they awkwardly sqeezes your hand. he’s not confident in what he’s doing, not sure what would feel good. all he knows is that he wants his sniper hood off. so he flicks the light off in his room, submerged in the dark where you won’t see his face - you won’t see the scars and freckles that dot his skin

but when you sit him down on the bed, kiss his face and cup his cheek, he melts when you pay attention to his roughed up skin. biting back little moans when you straddle his thigh and nip at his neck. he can’t help it when his hips buck involuntarily, squirming when you grind against his jean clad thigh. it’s all a blur of sweet words cooed at him, your clothes tugged off and slow, sweet prep. he’s drooling a little, jaw slack and broken moans leaving his mouth when you sink down onto him. it isn’t like those bad hookups after drinking, it makes him feel loved

his hands glued to your hips, he cracks a dopey, fucked out smile when you murmur about doing this again - a whine resonating in the back of his throat when you kiss him, “Ah— Liebling, please— please—“, hips clumsily bucking up to meet yours

[reiderwriter]

🕯 Ring of Fire 🕯

Pairing: sub!Spencer Reid x dom!Female reader

For the CM Kink Bingo Challenge (sort of lol)

Requested: could you do glasses sub!spencer realizing he has a wax play kink? yk maybe reader accidentally spills her wax melt off her desk at work and it goes on to spencer making him realize he’s into it so the next day he picks up sex wax and he asks her to do it when they get home?

Warnings: BDSM themes, standard case details mentioned, temperature play, wax play, dry humping, thigh riding, hand job, penetrative sex (p in v), overstimulation, implied cream pie, choking, mentions of rope play, sub!Spencer and dom!reader, dumbification/bimbofication.

A/N: This one was just for fun. I literally already crossed off the free space. This is just for shits and giggles. Well. Enjoy?

Masterlist || Bingo Board

“So you're telling me our vic was turned into a candle?” Morgan mused from the corner of the room, frowning down at the new body in front of him. Or at least where the body had been a half hour ago, the only sign remaining being the errant drops of wax strewn about the bed and the caution tape closing your entire crew into the room. 

“Not exactly,” Emily said from the other corner, pulling up a pair of fluffy handcuffs with a pen from her jacket and dropping it into the evidence bag JJ held out to her. 

“So a kinky candle, got it,” you smiled, looking over at the other goodies Emily had uncovered. 

“Morgan, those candles, can you check what kind of wax they are?” Spencer said from the corner, looking up with that look on his face. Half curious, half flipping through the deck of index cards he had stored in the filing cabinet of his brain, looking for the right piece of information. He pushed his glasses up his nose and stared intently over at Morgan, waiting for his answer.

“It says they're organic beeswax candles.”

“There's also some soy candles stored here in the closer, Spencer,” JJ pointed out, waiting, as you all were, for his brain to click the right information into place. 

“The victim seems obviously well versed in BDSM. He seems to be a seasoned submissive, but…” 

“But what?” You asked, trying to distract yourself from the excitement the words submissive coming from Spencer created in you. 

“The melting point of beeswax is 143-149° Fahrenheit. It's unsafe for temperature play, and it would have caused intense pain if not second or third-degree burns on his body. That's why he has the soy candles. Their melting point is as low as 114°. Those are the candles he was expecting.”

The shared looks around the room said that you were all contemplating the implications of his rambling. 

“So that candle isn't part of his collection, but something the unsub bought himself,” Hotch concluded for the team. “Good work, Spencer.”

The room cleared quickly after that, with each team member assigned different roles and tasks to keep the momentum going until it was just you and Spencer left, searching for anything else that could be helpful. He had a keen eye, and you… well, you were great at directing him. 

“That was clever,” you said, pulling on your rubber gloves and getting to work rooting through the kink closet. “With the wax.”

“Thanks,” he said, and something aching and feminine crushed through you as you noted the small stammer in his voice, the hesitant blush on his cheeks.

“You have such a lot of knowledge up there,” you said, tapping your forehead, so he could get the full picture, making sure you had his attention before you dropped to your knees and started your searching. 

“Hmm?” He said, and you knew he wasn't listening anymore. His eyes had glazed over behind those glasses, and even the glare in them couldn't hide that his gaze was entirely on you.

Spencer had always been sharp as a whistle, thinking too much for his own good. Until you had crawled into his bed that first time and convinced him that giving up thinking altogether really was for the best. 

Since then, it really hadn't been all that hard to convince him to turn it off and release that stress. 

“You know a lot about wax, is all,” you said, shrugging him off with a bored look and not bothering to look back at him. You knew that you'd just see a man desperate for your attention staring back at you anyway. 

“It seems like you had experience.”

“Ah, um, no, ahem,” he squeaked, clearing his throat quickly. “No…experience, I just... read about it once?” He was so nervous, he seemed suddenly so unsure of himself.

You finally smiled up at him from your place on the floor, watching him move around trinkets on the victims desk before looking back at you. 

“Good,” you said and stood up, confident that his eyes and thoughts wouldn't leave you now. 

“But if you ever find yourself curious, you know where I’ll be.”

You weren't expecting him to accept your invitation quickly. You'd admitted to yourself that anything remotely case related quite so soon was probably in poor taste. One case opened and closed and then another, and you'd fucked him in countless motel beds and against various walls before he mentioned it again. 

But there came a knock at your door one night, and you knew. 

“Spencer,” you said, smiling as innocently as you could, a little breathy from the quick sprint over to the front door of your apartment. 

“Hi.”

“Hello,” you said, eyes tracing down his body to the traces of fatigue scattered across his body. The shirt sleeves pushed haphazardly up to his elbows, the tie undone, the shirt crumpled. You grinned harder as you saw the bag in his hand. 

“I… I thought we could..”

You softly grabbed his tie and walked back into your apartment, pulling him along with you as he still struggled to find the right words. 

“You thought we could try something new?” You asked. He nodded.

“Is the something new in that bag?” You asked. He nodded again. 

“Is that something new going to make your big cock nice and hard for me?” You asked. He blushed a fierce red and nodded again, as you stepped forward and started stroking him over his pants. 

“You know I want to hear your voice, Spencer. You need to be a good boy or we can't play with your nice new toy.”

“Y-Yes.” He said, eyes already squeezing shut in pleasure as you pressed against him, free hand wrestling his bag from his grip. 

“On the bed. Shirt off, pants off. Leave your underwear on for now, and don't you dare start without me,” you ordered and he quickly ran to obey your orders. After all, he already knew what happened when he didn't listen nicely. 

"Oh, and Spencer?" You said as he paused in the doorway. "Keep the glasses on."

You grabbed the candle out of the bag, finding the box of matches you kept in your kitchen drawers, and stepped out of your own clothes before joining him, the red set you'd donned that day being more than sufficient for teasing him. 

“Look at you, so pathetic for me,” you giggled, as you climbed over him, straddling his thighs as you lit the candle, making sure to avoid his crotch, to avoid giving him any accidental pleasure. 

“Y/N,” he whimpered, hands strewn up above his head, tangling in the sheets. He was so very used to not being able to touch that you didn't even need to tie him up these days. 

As you ground down into his thighs, effectively riding him and pleasuring yourself, he moaned and shook beneath you, the pressure of restraining himself almost unbearable. Almost.

You knew his limits, and he knew his safe word. 

“I think it's ready, my sweet. Shall we sate your curiosity?”

“Yes, yes, please, Y/N,” he whined, as your hand finally found its way to his cock again. 

You held the candle just above his stomach and let a single drop flow out, landing on his abdomen. He twitched and arched his back up, thrusting his cock further into your hand. 

You did it again, and his moans were electric as you rubbed your pussy against him harder, needier than before. 

You covered his stomach and chest in the hot wax as he fucked your hand, your fingers pushing under his underwear to grip his cock, letting him hiss at the skin to skin contact with each spasm.

“Good boy,” you said, but your heart wasn't in it. You were too taken with him, his cute sharp face, his rounded glasses, his lips spread in a delicious moan. You were too desperate for him to truly tease him at that point. You needed your pleasure as well. 

Already soaked from his sounds and his strong thigh, you pushed your red panties to the side and dropped yourself down onto his cock. The only thing stabilizing you at that moment was the hand that had slipped to his neck, your other too busy making sure the candle was upright as you pushed up and down on him, desperate to not ruin your sheets with wax. 

They were already sure to be soaked through after this, but you'd washed cum out of them before. You weren't sure you'd be able to wash hard wax out. 

You took your pleasure in him as he continued to thrust up into you, like an animal in heat that is simply desperate for any release it can get. 

With the wax still hot, you pushed upright and let it drip on him again. 

“Fuck, Y/N…”

“How does it feel?” 

“H-hot. And good. Really good.” He winced, hands covering his face as he held back his orgasm, knowing you gave the orders.

You yourself felt hot. You felt good. And, most importantly, you felt curious. 

“S-Spencer,” you said, leaning down so your lips were practically kissing just below his ear. 

“I want you to burn me.” 

His eyes shot open, his hands racing to cup your ass cheeks as he stilled himself, forcing air in and out of his lungs. 

You put the candle on the nightstand and rolled onto your back, bringing him with you until your legs were wrapped around his waist and his head was pressed between your breasts, aa if startled by the movement and seeking comfort.  

His cock twitched inside you again and you were sure you were close. You just needed to feel him again. 

“Show me, Spencer. Show me what it was that made you so desperate to cum for me,” you whispered, pushing your hips up to meet his, urging him to move. 

Steadily, his hand reached out for the candle and he held it in his hands, moving back to a kneeling position as he got ready to use it. 

You sat yourself up on your elbows and watched as he pushed into you, one hand on your hip, and finally, agonizingly slowly, sent a single drip towards the tops of your breasts. 

“FUCK,” you screamed, grabbing his hand on your hip as you threw your head back onto the pillow. 

It was hot. It was so hot you thought for sure it'd burn right through you, but it felt good. 

You looked to the wax on your breast as he let another drip fall out and decorate the other. 

Your hips twitched, you pushed upwards and you came on his cock, whimpering and moaning just like he had done earlier.

“Good job… Good boy,” you panted as he let another drip go, never content to leave you with just a single orgasm if he himself hadn't cum yet. 

He thrust harder and harder as he put the candle down, pushing his nose into the crook of your neck and nuzzling in there. His glasses were an uncomfortable weight at your shoulder blade, but you welcomed the pain.

“Thank you,” he repeated, again and again, until you were certain it was the only thing he could remember, his hands tracing the bumps of wax over your body. 

You did the same, stroking his stomach as you grabbed his ass, pulling him closer to you. 

He came with a grunt, and you pushed him onto your back and rode out his orgasm as you chased your second, letting it crash through you moments later. 

Collapsing onto his chest, you let his hands wrap around you, pulling you in, ever as you were aware of the uncomfortable notches of hard wax decorating both of you. 

“Soy wax, right?” You asked, catching your breath. He nodded. 

“It washes off, right?” You asked. He nodded, blinking his eyes open again and staring at you quickly. 

He sealed your mouth against his ans held you tenderly there for a second before pulling you up into a sitting position, cock still warmed in your cunt. 

“We should go and find that out,” he said, shyly nodding towards your bathroom as you smiled and grinned straight back at him. 

[familyvideostevie]

day after tomorrow

joel miller x reader

summary: joel drops you off and picks you up from the airport. you are definitely falling in love with him. 

warnings: modern no outbreak au, game!joel or hbo!joel, fluff, really just a fluff fest honestly, new-ish relationship, falling in love, sweet enough to make your teeth ache | 2.7k

A/N: this is a christmas gift for my dear friend @strangerfreaks who makes my life better in every way possible. i love you! hope you enjoy this <3

___

He's leaning on the side of the truck when you hurry outside with your stuff. 

"Morning," you call. It's barely that, sky still dark and air still carrying the bite of the night's chill. 

Joel straightens up and gives you a tired smile. Most of his smiles are tired but they're always genuine when directed at you. He tugs the backpack from your shoulder and presses his lips to your cheek, beard scratching your skin gently. 

"Howdy," he says in your ear before pulling away.

The travel mug Joel pushes into your hands is warm to the touch. 

"Tea," he says before you can tell him it's too early for coffee. His voice is deeper than usual, still warming up from sleep. It's not a cup from the local shop -- they're not open yet -- so he must have made it at home. "No caffeine before flights." 

"You remembered?" 

He gives you an unimpressed look and grabs your bags. They go in the backseat of his truck and he jerks his chin at the passenger door. "Get in. S'chilly."

It's also early. So early you were not going to ask him to drive you to the airport but when you mentioned you had to go on a work trip he offered. Insisted, actually, once he found out what time you needed to get there.

"You ain't takin' a cab that early," he had said. "Hell, you ain't takin' a cab home, neither. I'll pick you up."

This thing between you isn't new anymore, not exactly, but it's not solid yet. It doesn't have a name. But it's been a few months and you know what his sheets smell like and the feel of him pressed against you in the middle of the night and how he laughs with his head thrown back, mouth wide and eyes creased at the corners. He likes to take you on long walks around the lake a few towns over and you know all about his daughters even if you haven't met them yet. Your life feels a little more solid with Joel in it and the swell of your heart in your chest when you talk to him, when you see him, when he looks at you, is a welcome feeling. It's nice to want and be wanted in return. 

The inside of his truck is warm, your seat heater already turned on. The radio is down to a low hum and there's a silver cup similar to your own in the holder between the seats. Joel gets back into the truck with a slight groan and glances at you to see if you've got your seatbelt on before he clicks his. 

"Ready?" he asks. You nod. He settles his hand on your headrest and looks out the back windshield as he reverses the truck out of the driveway. "Shouldn't hit much traffic," he says. 

You take a sip of your tea and watch him as he drives out of your neighborhood and towards the highway. Part of you wishes you would hit traffic so you could look at him longer. Even in the dark you know his face pretty well by now. His hair is getting a little long, the dark threaded through with some grey and falling over his perpetually lined forehead. The scar on the bridge of his nose that you love to run your finger across and the bruises under his eyes from too many nights up late working on site plans and employee schedules. You don't think you've met a man who works as hard as Joel, and yet here he is driving you to the airport when he could be sleeping. 

Maybe it's because he's tired or maybe it's because it's dark or maybe it's because you're leaving for a few days but Joel lets you look without teasing. His eyes catch yours for just a second and he smirks.

"Why don't you drink coffee before a flight?" He takes a sip of his own thermos. You watch his throat work as he swallows and look away this time. The sky is starting to look purple out your window, the trees and fields and occasional buildings flying by too fast for your eyes to settle on anything. Joel drinks coffee like it's water. You're still leaning things about each other -- most days you find yourself thinking that you want to be learning things about him for the rest of your life -- and this is a new topic of conversation. You haven't had to be on a plane since you met him.

"I don't really like flying," you say. "Makes me nervous. I figure caffeine will just make it worse."

"Don't like it much either." You look at him again and find see smirk turn to a frown as he merges onto the nearly empty highway. "You gonna be okay?"

He asks like it's within his power to make flying something enjoyable, to cancel your work trip, to squash everything in this world that makes you nervous. Mostly you're just glad he's not teasing you about it. Maybe someday you can take a trip and be grumpy about it together.

"I'll be fine, Joel."

"Hm."

He rests an elbow against the window and rakes his hand through his hair.

"What are you up to this week?" you ask. 

He sighs. "Not much," he says. "Lumber shipment but Tommy's handlin' it. Ellie says her shower head is actin' funny so I'll go to her place and look at that. Probably sit my ass on the couch and try to watch a damn football game or somethin'."

"So what I'm hearing is you're going to miss me." It's meant to be a tease but it comes out a bit more earnest than you'd like. 

He sends you that unamused look of his but the mirth in his eyes betrays him, tells you he sees through it. You're learning that he's good at that -- seeing what you really mean, what you really want, who you really are, all the way down to the core. "Course I will," he says. "What man wouldn't miss cold hands bein' stuck up his shirt when he gets in bed?"

You scoff and Joel snickers. You could remind him how he usually catches your hands in his before you make it to his hemline on the rare nights he does wear a shirt, how he cradles your fingers and blows on them softly while rubbing them with his perpetually warm palms. The memory makes your breath hitch just a bit. 

It's only three days. Some conference your boss wanted you to go to in his stead. It won't require much of you -- you just have to attend a few panels, a dinner or two, and schmooze a little bit. You'll be back before you know it. You tell yourself it's silly to feel this apprehension at the distance, the time apart. But you're used to Joel by now and damn if you won't miss him. Used to him taking up space in your kitchen, used to his arm around you on the couch, used to his short texts and heavy gaze. You know by now that it's only a matter of time before you love him.  

"I'll miss you, too," you say softly. Joel eyes you, smirk turned soft again and reaches for you. He settles his palm on your thigh and you cover your hand with his. 

When you get to the airport aren't many cars around and you're pretty sure the attendants won't yell at you for idling. Joel seems to think the same thing as he gets out of the truck to set your luggage on the ground. You leave your now-empty to-go mug in his car and throw your arms around him when he gets to the curb with your suitcase. His chest rumbles in amusement but he hugs you back, one palm rubbing between your shoulder blades until you pull away. 

"Thank you for --"

"Nope," he interrupts you. "No thanks allowed." He hands you your backpack and you shoulder it. "I'll pick you up on Wednesday," he says. 

You wave him off. "I get in way too late, don't worry about it --"

His hand cups your cheek and the words sputter out in your throat. "I'll be here," he says again. 

"I'll call you," you say. "When I get there." It sounds like a question.

His eyes crinkle at the corners. "Please do."

"Thanks for the tea --"

"Now, what did I just say?"

You wrinkle your nose at him and he rolls his eyes before leaning in to press his lips to yours. You sigh into the kiss just a little though it remains chaste, mouths closed as his thumb strokes your cheek once, twice, before he pulls away. It's the kind of kiss that feels fond, feels familiar. A kiss that becomes routine and for a second you imgaine the press of your mouths a thousand times over just like this. 

"Safe flight, sweetheart."

You smile at him and grab your suitcase before you stand here kissing him all day. "Bye, Joel." 

6:04 am: you make it to your gate okay?

You send him a picture of your breakfast sandwich and the sun rising through the window, painting the sky purple and orange. 

6:05 am: don't text and drive!

He replies with a photo of a full mug of coffee on his counter. It's a silly one, a dinosaur wearing a Santa hat. You think Sarah got it for him as a gag gift. 

6:05 am: home already. let me know when you land

6:06 am: will do. have a good day!

The flight is pretty okay. You spend the bumpy moments thinking about Joel's hand on your leg and get through it just fine. A shuttle takes you to your hotel and you have to hurry a bit to be ready for your first panel. 

You're busy all day. So tired by the time you get back to your room that you flop on the bed with a groan. 

"Ugh," you say, face smushed into the sheets. You're tired and hungry and...you miss Joel and feel a little silly about it.

That sense of puppy love, as most people would call it, hasn't faded. Your feelings for Joel are more than the crush they were when you first started seeing each other but they still linger in the realm of infatuation. You like to look at him, to feel the solid warmth of him beside you, above you, underneath you. You like being near him. But you're also starting to love things. You love the way his voice sounds when he wakes up, the way he says your name over the phone, the way he asks you what you want, how you are, how your day was. You love to see him on your couch, in your kitchen, in your bed. You've started to miss him when he's not around. 

And what you said to him in his truck is true. You do miss him. It's an ache that sits in the center of your chest, an ache that feels like the best kind of bruise -- because it comes from something good. And because you know it'll be soothed soon enough. 

But, because you're only human, you doubt that it's as serious for him. Joel keeps his cards close to his chest and while you feel like you know him pretty well by now you also have so much to learn. So, though you really want to, you don't pick up the phone and call him. Maybe the next time you're away. 

7:54 pm: day 1 done! ready to get in bed. why do men talk so much?

He texts back immediately. 

7:54 pm: god knows. don't forget to order room service on the company dime. sweet dreams.

You laugh and do as he says. 

The rest of the conference goes the same. By day three you're exhausted and your face hurts from smiling at so many people. Your shoes are no longer comfortable and as soon as the closing keynote ends you're out of there, changing into soft clothes and taking the shuttle to the airport. You text Joel a picture of your airport dinner and then your eye bags and he replies with a cute that has you giggling a little too loudly in public. 

You just want to get home to him. Your own bed is a bonus. 

But then your flight gets delayed. Twice. Joel tells you not to worry, he'll pick you up in the middle of the night if he has to. Once you board you get stuck on the tarmac for another half hour before finally taking off. It's a decidedly less relaxing experience because you're so anxious to be home but you make it. When you land it feels like you're sitting in your seat for ages. You're tired and feel gross and you want to go to bed. Your phone turns back on and you've got one text waiting for you.

10:34 pm: i'll be by baggage claim

That was 15 minutes ago. He must have been checking your flight in the air to get here at a reasonable time. God, you want to touch him. You want to stick your nose in his neck and inhale. 

You try very hard not to run through the terminal to the escalator that goes down to arrivals. It seems to move really fucking slowly once you're on it. As soon as it gets far enough for you to see the baggage claim level and everyone waiting there your eyes search for him. You see some families, a few tired children sleeping in arms that hold them tenderly. A group of girls with a sign that reads WELCOME HOME RACHEL!

And then there's Joel.

Once you spot him it's hard to keep a smile from your face. He's standing there with his hands in his pockets, eyes glued to the escalator. Jeans, jacket, boots, and a firm set to his jaw that might be intimidating to anyone else but to you it's familiar. It's him. Once he sees you he stands a little taller and you see his cheek twitch. If someone wasn't in front of you you'd be down the steps in seconds but you wait until you're at the bottom to race forward. 

It's probably a bit dramatic. You drop your suitcase and backpack at your feet in front of him.

"Hi," you say, and then you throw your arms around his shoulders. Joel laughs. 

"S'like you're comin' home from war, or somethin'," he says, though his hugs you back just as tightly. "Should'a made a sign."

"Feels like it." Your words are muffled by his shoulder. 

"That bad, huh?" His palm drags up and down your spine. "Let's get you home, then."

Neither of you pull away. "I missed you," you say softly. 

Joel breathes deep and pulls away, hand on the back of your head as he makes sure you're looking at him. 

"Missed you, too," he says gruffly. Then he kisses you. It's less chaste than your goodbye kiss but still perfectly acceptable for airport arrivals, you think. 

"You hungry?"

"I sent you a picture of my dinner!"

"Not what I asked." You shrug and tangle your fingers with his. His thumb strokes the back of your hand. "We'll get you somethin' on the way home."

"Do you want to stay over?" you ask in a rush, realizing too late he's got no reason to want to. It's late and tomorrow is a workday. "I'm just gonna shower and go to bed but I--"

Joel's nostrils flare. "If you want me to I will." Simple as that. 

"Okay," you say. He squeezes your hand.

You walk in easy silence for a few moments. Once you're in the car you'll ask how his week was, tell him about the gossip you learned at the conference. You'll look at him the entire drive to your place, drinking your fill of him after three days without. Yeah, you're going to love him. It's just a matter of time.

"Thank you for coming to get me," you say. 

Joel looks like he wants to argue but he allows it.

"Anytime," he says. It sounds like a promise. 

thank you for reading <3 reblog, send feedback, general masterlist here!

[gguk-n]

Chapter 1- Anonymous Conversations

Unravelling Max's Mystery (Max Verstappen x Online Friend!Reader)

Series Masterlist

Summary- Y/N formed an unexpected bond with a boy behind the screen. He doesn't have many interest it seems, except for reading her stupid poems.

{Reader's POV}

12/07/2012

Dear Diary, Stella is leaving for Canada tomorrow forever. Today was the last day of school before the summer break so I went to Stella's house after school. It's so shitty, how can she leave me like this and before the start of high school. I don't have any friends other than her, what am I supposed to do??? This isn't fair, first Faye moved back to her home country a couple years back and now Stella. It's like they don't even care about me. I made a google plus account so we can stay in touch. Actually everyone's on google plus, I'm just late to the party. I'm sure we'll still be close.

02/01/2013

OMG!! I think I'm in love. There's this new boy band, One Direction. Ava told me about them last year but I brushed her off saying they weren't my cup of tea, but OMG!!! They are fucking perfect and I love Niall so much. He's so cute and has the dreamiest eyes and his accent, I'm gonna faint. I bought the Take Me Home album yesterday!! I even put up their poster above my bed, hehe!! Sooooo, I may or may not be writing now. I think I'm gonna be an author. The stuff isn't great like Shakespeare but I'm sure I'll improve. I've written a couple poems and Aria read them and she thinks they are great. I'm gonna start uploading them on google plus. I made a separate page for it, under a pseudonym. If I really improve, maybe I can publish my work.

I was sat at my laptop, typing the latest story I came up with during lunch so I could upload it. There were a lot of people who were reading my work and even encouraged me. There is improvement, but then again, we can do better, I'm sure. My parents aren't very happy with how I'm wasting my time writing instead of focusing on my education since I'm in high school now. I finished typing the story and clicked the upload button, I got a comment on the post. It was from this guy, named Max, just Max. He always read all of my work and writes the nicest comments under them. I haven't spoken to him personally ever since my mother kept warning me about stranger danger and that it could be some 50 year old dude. But his comments are encouraging and make me want to write more. I hope he knows the kind of effect he's having on me.

My birthday is in a couple of days, I don't know what I'll do since I don't really have a lot of friends. Even Aria is away during that time, so I don't really have anyone to go out with. My parents are busy as always.

So, out of desperation or sadness, I don't know which one, I posted on google plus saying that it was my birthday. The first person who replied was Max as always. I really wanna know when this guy sleeps or how he gets any work done if he is online so much. He messaged me personally too, to wish me again and even asked what I did. I couldn't lie because my heart was heavy, so I told him. I literally just unloaded about not having any friends and spending the day alone because work was more important for my parents. He was so nice about it. He spent the next hour talking to me and cheering me up. He's apparently 15, from Netherlands. He loves cats and lives with his dad and sister. He sounds like a fun guy.

After that, both of us ended up chatting on google plus regularly. I would message him immediately after school and spend the next couple of hours talking to him. Some times, he'd be gone a couple weekends but it was no biggy. I'm sure he had other commitments instead of entertaining a dumb teenager.

Max's birthday is on 30 September. I wanted to be the first one, so I stayed up late to match the dutch timings and wished him. He replied a little while later. He wasn't very excited about it. I get it, maybe his friends aren't there or couldn't make it to his birthday. I was gonna cheer him like he cheered me up. I wish I could send him a present. He really was a light in dark time. When I had no friends in school I could rely on, he came like the knight in shining armour. I just want to be a good and reliable friend to him like he is to me. He is such a sweetheart. We've never spoken on call yet. I guess I'm still a little scared and we've only known each other for a few months. I'm gonna hold on that but Max is a genuinely nice person in my eyes. But his dad doesn't sound like the nicest person from what he says, but I can't tell him that his dad is shitty so I just read his texts.

18/12/2013

Dear Diary, Maxie is the cutest. I haven't seen or heard him yet but I feel like he is. Otherwise, why would he encourage me to follow my dreams? He was so understanding and gave great advice. You might wonder why I needed the advice, diary. I told my parents I wanna pursue a degree in literature and we had a huge fight since apparently I'm throwing my life away and I should try to get a proper degree that might get me a job. Apparently, I'm not thinking straight. I've been thinking about becoming an author for some time now, it's my one passion, I've realised. And if it means struggling, I would rather struggle and be happy than be in a dead end job. Just because they are some big shot business people doesn't mean I wanna do that do. ugh!!! I hate them. Maxie calmed me down honestly, he heard me out and told me it was okay to follow my dreams. I think he is such a good friend. I won't tell him that, he has a big ego as is. LOL!!

I've been gaining a lot of traction on my posts on google plus. I have a couple thousand followers but Max is the most active of them all. Max is so effortlessly funny. He did ask one time if we could talk on call, I told him that my microphone was broken. I'm still a little skeptical. I know, even though I'm literally sharing everything with him, I've never spoken on call or video with him. Maybe some day.

04/03/2014

Dear Diary, I got a new phone and a new number. The previous one was one of my parents multiple numbers but this one is my own. I feel like an adult, hehe!! I made a whatsapp, maybe I'll share my number with Maxie and we might start chatting on there. Google plus had become a bit of hassle and I'm not uploading on it like I used to. I usually only open it to talk to Max. I think it would be better to shift it to another service. He's been a little busy this year compared to the last, didn't tell me much but I think it has to do with him being in his final year of high school. Can't relate, but I hope I'm done with high school soon. It fucking sucks. But on the bright side, I've gotten close to Nia and Aria and I could call Aria my best friend but she considers Nia her best friend. I don't mind being her friend. I have Max anyways.

Max has been quite busy lately, but I don't blame him. I would be busy in my final year of high school too. Even with all that, he has taken time out to talk to me. I did share my number with him, so now instead of google plus, which is a barren wasteland, we text on whatsapp. I've suggested talking on call some time when he's free, which hasn't happened yet.

We had set up a time to talk, it was really early here but I didn't mind, I was up anyways. I couldn't wait to hear his voice. I was anxious as well, what if he's some pedophile; all these thoughts raced through my head when my phone rang. Max- Hi, Y/N! Y/N- Hey, Max!! How are you? Max- I'm good, what about you? Y/N- Yeah, I'm good too. haha!! This is so weird talking to you. Max- yeah, you sound pretty. Fuck was he flirting, is this flirting? A million thoughts ran through my head, no one's ever flirted with me before. I felt my cheeks heat up. Y/N- You sound nice too. I mean....you have a nice voice. Max- haha, thanks, this is the first time some one has said that. Y/N- soooo, what have you been up too?? You've been so busy lately. There was a pause on the other end. I heard shuffling. Max- yeah, I've been busy with stuff. I'll be done soon for a while now. Y/N- That's great I need my best friend back! The conversation flowed smoothly. It didn't feel like we were talking on call for the first time. I had a lot of fun talking to Max. He sounds like a teenager, much to my relief. He's just as funny on call as he is on text.

After that, we ended up calling each other regularly. Max would answer my calls whenever but sometimes I felt bad about calling him at the crack ass of dawn in Netherland so I would avoid calling him whenever. He is so kind and listens well but damn does he talk. Every one who knows me calls me talkative, if they heard Max their ears would bleed. But I like hearing him talk, he has the most random and vast knowledge, he's helped me write too many of my papers because I didn't have to research, I could just ask him; he's like a walking encyclopedia.

17/05/2015

Dear Diary, I think I'm in love. It's not some celebrity this time but I think it's Max. I don't even know that dude's last name but I'm in love. He not like the guys in school, he's so mature and funny and sweet and understanding and he supports me so much. I didn't know when or how but I think I love him. Obviously I won't tell him. It's prolly a crush since I have't dated anyone ever. I'll get over it, can't ruin my friendship over this. As is, he has gotten so busy. I think he is going to college. He didn't say it explicitly but why else would he be so busy right now if not applying for colleges. I don't know the dutch education system but I'm sure he busy pursuing higher education. He said he liked cars, I think he'll do something with cars. I didn't really ask in more details. I'm sure he'll tell me when he wants to. We have a chill friendship, we share when and what we want to. Alas, I hope this crush doesn't ruin my friendship.

09/08/2015

This is bad, my crush on Max has only gone on to increase. He's so kind to me, what am I supposed to do? Also he's the only one who can calm me down after a fight with my parents regarding my future. Sadly, he gotten so busy. He's gone for a while every few weeks. But lately he's been free. We've been talking a lot. He sounds a lot more rested lately too. I'm sure college is tough. But he's strong and I know he'll do it.

[Little did Y/N know, Max was busy racing across the world in Redbull's junior team. He was in his first year as a formula one driver, hence he was so busy. Max had no intentions of telling her, he liked being just Max, a guy from Netherlands who could talk to her. He enjoyed the disconnect he got with her]