#so if that’s the case I’m really sorry

[c4tluver02]

thinking thoughts about taking steve with you to go clothes shopping and letting him pick stuff out for you to try on and he sits on the Boyfriend Bench™️ (although he’s not necessarily the boyfriend… yet) and oops suddenly he cannot breathe you look So Good in clothes that He Picked Out and then the next outfit you come out in, steve has all the clothes you want to try on sitting right over his lap? how odd!

i also think you would clock him ogling you because poor stevie’s brain doesn’t work quite right when he sees a pretty face and it doesn’t occur to him that you could totally see him checking you out by looking at him in the mirror… tragic, really 🤧

shopping trip

wc: 2.4k

summary: You asked your best friend Steve to help you pick out and outfit for your date. Being the amazing friend he is, he helps you in more ways than one!

cw: r is shorter than Steve, fem!reader, friends to lovers!, a little possessive steve tehe, nothing rlly :)

a/n: anon….. ooooo this was ssoooo good!!!!! i’m so sorry it took me so long to get out, i hope u enjoy it :D

Steve was just trying to be helpful, really.

You had recently been asked out on a date by some guy at a coffee shop. One normally you and Steve frequent but unfortunately he wasn’t there that day. Maybe that's why that guy made a move on you, Steve thinks. A cute girl like yourself, all alone because Steve had to cover for Robin.

That night you had called Steve to tell him all about your daily endeavors as you two normally do, and you managed to slip this guy's name in right at the end. When Steve was all sleepy-eyed and barely registering anything but the sound of your soothing voice. But hearing the retelling of how some guy charmed you enough for you to say yes to a date? Now that knocked Steve out of his sleepy state right away. He asked the normal questions like where the two of you were meeting and when just in case. For safety reasons, of course.

But deep in Steve's mind was him cursing himself for not saying no to Robin and coming to drink coffee with you. That’s how he ended up here, with your honey sweet voice coming through his home phone asking for him to go shopping with you. You wanted something that would be nice and who better than your best friend to go with you? The person who you call nightly even if you saw him earlier that day, and who gives you kisses on your head when you cuddle into him during your sleepovers. The definition of a great best friend.

However, the minute Steve picked you up in his dark red car he knew he was in trouble. It started with how sweet your Stevie was for helping you despite him having to work the next day, but quickly turned into how excited you were to finally go on a date. That this guy asking you out must have been the universe telling you something or whatever. Steve thinks he must have been going 90 on the freeway just to get this whole thing over with.

When you did arrive at the mall the first few stores were a bust. Nothing really popping out to you nor Steve. You did ask for his help after all, he was just wanting to make you happy. And the puppy dog eyes paired with the frown you sported wasn’t his favorite compared to your perfect smile and gorgeous laugh. He was sure he wouldn’t be asked for help ever again if he couldn’t fix this.

Luckily once you walked into the next store there were immediately some things you liked. A lot of flowy and short dresses ready for the spring weather to take over Hawkins. The two of you split off naturally to find separate things. Steve has known you long enough to find things for you that he’s sure you’d like, again a duty of being friends.

When you found a few items of clothing you met back up with Steve while he was looking through the men’s section.

“Didn’t know you were needing a date outfit too?” You joked playfully. Steve had no intention of buying things for himself on this trip but it doesn’t hurt to look.

“I was just lookin around, you ready?” He’s talking about the long awaited fashion show.

This wasn’t your and Steve's first shopping trip, over your many years of friendship you’ve had many fashion shows.

You nod and walk towards the fitting rooms, Steve sits on a bench that's placed right in front of your small room. The door is traded for a velvet curtain, the fabric is heavy to hold its place but leaves gaps 0n the sides. If Steve weren’t here to watch for creeps you probably wouldn’t even bother staying to try things on. But thankfully he’s sat right in front, ready for the curtain to open with you showing off a nice dress.

His lap is full of the clothes you have to try on, there being no hangers in the fitting room for you to place them, Steve was put on clothes duty. He didn’t mind, and if it was another way he could help make your life easier he would do it in a heartbeat anyways.

“Steve, can you hand me the white tank top from the pile?” You ask poking your head out of the curtain.

The fabric of the curtain is pressed to your chest making it completely modest but when Steve stands up his height betrays him. The big gap above your head allows for his eyes to see the mirror behind you.

Your red bra was normally hidden by the black long sleeve you were wearing. Now it’s bright color was all Steve could see, it was only your back but it was enough for his face to flush. He couldn’t believe his reaction was this severe. Steves seen plenty of bras in his life, even boobs. And yet here he was stuttering a ‘n-no problem’ when you thanked him and took the top while you closed the curtain.

He was thankful you didn't linger and ask about his small malfunction, maybe you hadn’t caught his reaction. Hopefully you didn't catch his reaction, he’s acting like a victorian boy who just saw an ankle for the first time.

When you come out the red bra that was plaguing Steve's poor mind was still peaking through but at least a little covered now. The white top didn't do much to hide the fact that you had a red bra on, but it didn't show the details of it.

“So? Whatcha think?” You ask, doing a small twirl.

This was an outfit you picked and Steve thought you looked good in it, it was a simple tank top and skirt. In any normal circumstance he’d tell you to get it but this wasn’t normal. This dude didn't need to think, let alone see, what type of bra you were wearing.

“I think it’s nice, maybe not first date worthy?” He doesn’t want to come off harsh, you do have a few more outfits to try on anyways.

“Okay, fair enough. Next outfit please.” You have your hands out ready, this time it was an outfit picked by Steve.

You thank him and return to change. And when Steve feels that same tank top you were wearing hit his head you let out a laugh.

“Did it get you?” The giggle was loud and you couldn’t see the eye roll but you heard the huff coming out of him. It was enough to tell you that it did in fact hit him.

“Are you changing in there or sling shooting clothes at me?”

“You’re not talking and all this changing is making me hot.” You say but the last part comes out with something close to a whine.

It immediately made Steve's ears perk up and he would say something immature about you being hot if you hadn’t called him out in the first part of your sentence.

“‘M sorry, I think I am just tired. And I don't wanna work tomorrow.” He says leaning his head against the wall.

The gap is teasing him in the worst way possible. Everytime you move you touch it and Steve’s waiting for the moment it shows just enough. Maybe he’s awful for thinking like this about his best friend but he doesn’t have much time to fight with himself because you open the curtain wide.

The full length mirror in front of you shows Steve sitting and his head laid back. You are on your tippy toes trying to imagine the whole look with heels. And to say Steve did a great job isn’t an understatement. The dress you have on fits you extremely well, accentuating everything that it needs to.

In the mirror you can see Steve taking you in. His full attention is now on what’s in front of him and the idea that his reaction could be seen by you isn’t one he’s thought about yet. But his eyes travel all over you, starting at your chest lowering to where the corset meets the fabric around your ass.

You slowly turn to face him so he has time to recover from his blatant starring.

“I really like this one.” Steve says finally looking at your face.

“Yeah? You don’t think it’s too much?” The smile on your face defeats the worried question. He looks totally infatuated with you, the idea of hiding you away from your date is no longer in his thoughts. Only the way it presses your boobs up in the most perfect way and the length of it hitting your thighs is what takes up his mind.

“No, no, not at all. It’s actually perfect I think.” He says it so factually it makes you laugh.

“Well you did pick it out, maybe you’re a little biased.” This time you turn to look at yourself in the mirror. No longer watching Steve, just taking in if you actually like the dress.

“I only get the best things for you, c'mon you look amazing.” Now he’s getting up and stepping into the small dressing room with you.

When he gets close enough you lean back just enough that his chest meets your back. Your head leans against his chest and you look at him in the mirror, he’s still looking at you and then finally feels your eyes watching him.

He gives a sheepish smile, suddenly feeling caught even though he wasn’t really doing anything necessary wrong.

With his hands on your waist he spins you around to face him and now the room is feeling even smaller. It’s as if his hands are on fire since they burn right through your dress, the heat of his palms so easily felt on your hips.

“Okay well if you think it looks so good I guess I have to get it?” The smile on your face makes Steve smile. Your head is tilted and he can tell changing clothes made you warm because your cheeks are red. Well they’re red because his hands are still on you, burning like lava actually, but he doesn’t need to know that.

“Yeah I mean we could keep going if you don't feel good— or maybe jeans would be more comfortable?” The fact that you haven’t said you actually like it is quickly getting to his head. Maybe he was too lost in his own infatuation that he didn’t realize you weren’t feeling it. The last thing he would want is for you to feel pressured to get something just because of him.

“Stevie, if you say it’s good I trust you. Plus I actually really like it. You did good.” You end with the sentence with a wink and place your hands over his.

He barely has time to register the way you looked winking, were you being seductive? The feeling of your hands on his erases his thoughts and he lets you go. Slowly backing out to return to his seat on the bench where now another man was sitting. He also had clothes near him but instead he was constantly checking his watch, like he was waiting to get out of there. Steve stood with all the clothes, patiently waiting for you to get out. The guy was full of huffs and puffs but when Steve closed his eyes he tried his hardest to re-visualize what you looked like with the dress on. Maybe that’s the last time he’ll see you in it. God he hopes that’s not the last time he sees you in it. He could be for you to wear it for his birthday, but is that a relationship type of thing?

“Ready to go?” You ask with the dress in your hand, your regular clothes back on.

“Yeah, let's go.” Steve grabs the dress from your grasp with one hand and interlocks his other with your own. He doesn’t know if it’s the way this whole experience made him feel or if it’s this guy who stole his spot on the bench eyeing you down that made him do it but he quickly brings the two of you to the check out desk.

Placing the dress on the counter he slips his wallet out of his pocket. You almost missed it due to the fact that his hand is still holding yours.

”Steve you really don’t have to, I mean I dragged you down here—“

“I picked it for you, my treat.” The fact that you are wearing a dress he picked and paid for on your date does something to him, the possessiveness within him lighting up easily.

”Boyfriends should always pay.” The girl at the front counter says with a giggle.

Neither of you correct her but instead leave with a polite wave. Hands still intertwined you wonder if this will make him crack. This stupid date isn’t supposed to go through, Steve just wasn’t getting any of your previous messages. You were hoping this whole trip would break him to tell you not to go but now you leave in his car with a dress he picked, paid for, and still has his hand tightly wrapped around yours with no word.

The ride to his house is silent besides a few lines of songs being sung out loud. When you do arrive at Steves he finally lets go of your hand to get out of the car. Both of you get out and before you even have a chance to open the back door to get your dress out Steve stops you.

”Are you sure you should really go on this date?” He asks leaning against the door you were about to open.

You take a second to think about his question, it wasn’t him outwardly asking you not to go but it was close enough.

“Y’know now that I think about it I really don’t know anything about this guy.” You say biting your nail, with a faux worried expression.

”I mean he could be a total douche, or worse like some killer they haven’t caught yet!” Instead of grabbing for your hand he goes to your waist. Both of his hands pull you into him, and his legs spread to let you in closer to him.

Like it was the most natural thing, you wrap your arms around his neck. “I think you’re right, it’s best I stay here with you” His eyes are on your lips as you say it.

“Yeah, I think that's a good idea.” Steve says before giving you a slow kiss. It’s soft and gentle, he tastes like the mint gum he was chewing before the mall. It’s everything you thought and more it would be with Steve.

The dress will still get used, just for something else.

[anthotneystark]

No it’s fine I’m not crying I’m not thinking in an endless loop about how in the middle of overwhelming grief Greez still recognized that Cal was spiraling and letting his perceived guilt start to drown him, how he refused to let that happen and his voice is shaking but he needs Cal to really hear that the betrayal isn’t on him, Bode made his own choices and it’s not Cal’s fault, and he emphasizes this because he knows even if Cal gets it, guilt still has its teeth sunk into him like he does for so many things that aren’t his fault, he feels so much but Greez can’t let him carry this like everything else

Definitely not thinking about how Greez calls him kid and shows he cares with sarcasm and food and how he didn’t trust Cal when he first saw him but how quickly he trusts Cal so much over and over even when he doesn’t want to, how he wants Cal to be safe and happy even though he understands Cal needs something different. Not thinking about how trust is a central theme in everything and every time it doesn’t end well it’s another reason to never trust anyone but Greez explicitly trusts Cal to make the right choice even when Cal isn’t fully sure of himself

[selfloverrrrrr]

Can you please do fem!reader using her t*ts to tease Gojo and then she proceeds to noncon Gojo? But in this case, Gojo is reader's step brother. Thank you!!

I didn't write with siblings or step siblings.... sorry.... so I'm writing it like reader and Gojo are roommates 💗

You like it ?

Warnings : smut , heavy smut, unprotected sex, Noncon, Kidnapping, physically and emotional abuse, biting, torture, size difference....

( All characters are aged up/18+)

Minors Do Not Interact

Read the warnings carefully....if you don't like my stories block me not report

Gojo's POV

It started on move-in day. I was halfway through organizing my manga shelf when the front door slammed open. "Hey, roommate!" her voice chimed. Y/n. I turned. And choked. Shorts. So short. Tank top. No bra. And a big, toothy smile like she had no idea that her outfit had just sent his brain into nuclear overdrive. I adjusted my glasses. “H-Hey.” I replied. “Oh, you're cute,” she said casually, brushing past me with her duffel. “I was expecting some sweaty gamer guy with anime body pillows.” My ears turned red. I had one. It was under the bed. “I—uh…” she cuts off my words. “I’m kidding,” she laughed, plopping on the couch and stretching like a damn cat. “This is gonna be fun.”

One morning she bent over the fridge in those tiny ass shorts that might as well be underwear, humming to herself like she wasn’t ruining my life one inch of exposed skin at a time. I swallowed hard. "Morning, Satoru!" she chirped, glancing over her shoulder with a sweet smile. "Did you sleep okay?" No. Not really. Not when I kept dreaming about her riding me in that tank top she wore to bed last night. The one where her tits practically spilled out the sides every time she ride.

"Y-Yeah," I managed, adjusting my hoodie to hide the problem in my pants. "You?" She walked over with her yogurt, plopping into the seat across from me at the kitchen island. “Like a baby,” she said, spooning another bite into her mouth. A drop landed right on her chest, between the curves of her breasts. I stared. I didn’t mean to, but fuck—it was like that glob of yogurt was mocking me, sliding down the slope of her cleavage as she dabbed at it with a napkin. “You okay?” she teased, catching my gaze. “You’re looking a little flushed.” I ripped my eyes away and pushed up my glasses. “It’s just... hot in here.”She grinned like she knew. Like she’d noticed the way I always turned red when she walked around braless. Like she enjoyed it. She probably did.

Y/N’s POV

He's my roommate. He’s tall, nerd, never brings anyone home, and wears his oversized shirts like armor. Shy around girls, Keeps to himself. But then I noticed things. The way he turns red when I walk around in a tank top and no bra. How he fumbles with his glass of water when I lean over too far. How his eyes always flick down to my chest, just for a second… but then he punishes himself with guilt, looking away like he committed a sin. So I started playing with fire. Because who won't want the hot nerd of the university...?

Gojo’s POV

I was in my room one night. On my bed. Laptop open in front of me. I pressed the play button. And the hentai video started playing. I didn't use to watch hentai a lot. Very few. But y/n making it too hard for me to survive. I needed sex so bad. Hentai is the only thing that helped me. I chose the video in which the girl has the same size hair as y/n, same hair colour, same eye color and same height.....

The guy ripped off her clothes and pushed his dick inside him. Fuck I wanna do that with y/n....I pulled down my sweat pants and started jerking off. What would it feel if she's beneath me, spreading her legs... Begging me to put my cock inside her. Then I'd tease her and finally put it inside. Thrusting and she's trying to take breath but can't. Fuck she looks so hotttt.

I leaned down and captured her nipple in my mouth and she moaned. Grabbing my hair and I sucked harder and harder. God I loveeee her boobs. I was too close. I imagined her begging me to cum inside. I was about to cum when *knock* *knock* *knock*. I almost got scared. Fuck.... This this messed up. I quickly shut my laptop. Took the wet wipe, wiped my hands, pulled up my sweat pants and went to the door. I opened the door. And y/n standing in a tank top with no bra again.... But this top? A bra covers more than that top. And shorts.

Y/n's POV

I was passing by his room when I heard him moaning behind the closed doors. It's not the first time I heard. But I got an evil idea tonight. I knocked on his door. He took some time then finally opened the door. He's sweating and god he's not wearing a tshirt just his sweat pants? He looks so hot. His face flushed slightly. "Umm..... Y-yeah?" He asked. I cleared my throat. "Yeah Gojo, I was struggling with today's project... Can you help me?" I asked.

"Oh.... I-i.... Y-yeah.... Sure. Come in" He said. And I went inside. "I've already done it.... This one. Here" He said and handed me the project. I turned the pages. "This one. Professor said to do a slide show for this one. Did you made that?" I asked him. "Yes I've... It's in my laptop" He said and handed me his laptop. But suddenly he paused for a moment. 'Wait shit... The hentai is on the screen' he thought. "W-wait he said and raised his hand to stop but I've already opened the laptop.

Gojo’s POV

My heart plummeted. She opened the screen. My soul left my body. I hadn’t closed the damn tab. I could see the moment her expression flickered. Her eyes widened slightly. Then narrowed. Then... she smirked. A smirk. Like she knew. Like she understood exactly what she was looking at. “Oh,” she said slowly, voice soft but laced with wicked amusement. “Interesting taste.” she said. I stammered. “It’s— that’s— I mean, I didn’t—”

She looked at me. Not at the screen anymore. At me. And stepped closer. “Is that what you think about?” she asked, lips curling, voice low like sin. “When you moan my name behind your door?”she asked. I felt like I was about to get a huge heart attack. I froze. My mouth was dry. My brain—completely gone. Her fingers grazed the waistband of my sweats and I nearly jumped. My dick twitched like it had hope. But I didn’t say anything. Couldn't. Wouldn’t. She leaned up, whispering against my ear, “You didn’t even bother to clear your history. Naughty.”she whispered.

I felt like I'm about to bust. A whine left my throat embarrassing myself more. my knees buckled. My body was reacting faster than my brain—hell, my dick was already straining against my sweats like it wanted to make the decision for me. But no. No. I grabbed her wrist, firm but trembling. “W-Wait.” My voice cracked. I sounded like a damn virgin anime protagonist. Fitting. She pulled back just a little, that wicked grin still painting her face, eyes glinting with mischief like she was daring me to keep pretending I was innocent. “I—It’s not what you think,” I blurted out, still holding her wrist like that would ground me. “I—I wasn’t thinking about you.” A lie. A bad one. Even I heard how weak it sounded. "When did I said that you WERE thinking about me?"

Y/N’s POV

His throat bobbed. He looked like he wanted to melt into the floor. Still holding my wrist like it could stop this train from crashing, like he had any control left. I leaned in, real slow, my breath ghosting over his flushed ear. Flushed cheeks, swollen lips, pupils blown wide, and his cock visibly twitching through those thin sweatpants. One more nudge and he’d probably cum untouched. How pathetic. How cute. I pushed him on the bed and got up on him. When I sat on his lap his whole body was shaken and I could feel his dick pulsed through the fabrics. He gasped and his hips bucked upward.

I leaned closer. He looked like he was about to cry. "You know.... I heard you moaning my name last night..... I wanna know what were you exactly thinking?...... Me riding you, begging you to cum inside me?" I asked and grinded my hips. He whimpered. WHIMPERED. I looked at him. He clenched his eyes closed. And he's crying.... Awwww he's crying now? I smirked. "Look at me when I'm with you" I said. He slowly looked at me..... He's whimpering and crying just from one grind?!

I rolled my hips again—slow, lazy, and unkind. He gasped, a choked little sound, hands fisting the sheets like if he let go, he’d fall apart completely. “Oh, baby,” I cooed, brushing his silver hair back from his damp forehead. “You’re shaking.” I said. “I-I’m not,” he whispered, voice breaking like glass. His hips twitched involuntarily again, dick straining so hard against the fabric it must’ve hurt. He looked so edged. So ruined already.

I learned close and kissed him. He moaned in the kiss and I deepened the kiss. He's so desperate. I tugged his pants down enough to reveal his dick. His clenched the bedsheets. He's kissing me like his life depends on it. I pulled down my panties. I went up and cupped his chin with my one hand. "Are you a virgin?" I asked. He just looked at me with teary eyes. I tighten my grip on his chin. "I asked you something" I said. He nooded. Tears still falling from his eyes. I smirked. "That means I can make you mine" I said. I lined my entrance with his dick "Please please please please........ please...." he whimpered.

I started riding him. Going as fast as I can. We both were moaning like sluts. Noone could ever imagine that his dick could be that long. His dick was touching the deepest parts inside me. I knew I couldn't hold it long. He's only saying two words please and yes. My pussy clenched around him and he moaned out so loudly. After a few minutes I came. I learned down and buried his face in my boobs "I love your boobs" He whimpered.

I laughed and kept thrusting up and down. He's drooling. His throat bobbed. With the last thrust he screamed and came. Gojo became so weak he fell on the bed and I fell on top of him. We both breathe heavily. "I-i.... I'm s-sorry–" He said. I cut him off "for what?" I asked. "I.... Came... Inside" He said. "Did you hear me ever telling you that I don't want you to cum inside?" I asked. "C-can we..... Should.... D-does than m-means–" I cut off his sentence again. "Yes...... You can date me" I said and gave him a kiss.

Give me your requests guys.....

I love when you give me your requests💗

[mossyswritingcorner]

Okay so, I’m kinda struggling with ViriPV Pt2, so if yall have any ideas for that, please send them into the ask box, but I did manage to finish Archivist!Reader x Professor!Sage of Truth Pt 2, with this one being a more meaty chapter, so please enjoy! ❤️

Pt 1

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Witches.

Witches witches witches witches WITCHES!!!

This was absolutely TERRIBLE news!

Why was he here? How did he find you out? What did he think about you now??? Did he think you were some kind of stalker creep??? Was he here to give you a warning before he reports you to your superiors???

Yet, he seemed all too chipper for that to be the case…maybe he still wasn’t sure. Maybe this was a test to see if you’d admit it. Maybe this was all just a big misunderstanding, and he wasn’t even sure of who was really behind it all. You just have to play your cards right and do everything in your power to make this disappear.

So you force a smile onto your face and draw a hand to your doughy chest, disguising your genuine alarm at being discovered as a simple startle from your unexpected guest, “Ah! You must be the Sage of Truth, my apologies, you…surprised me. I didn’t see any scheduled appointments during my office hours today and wasn’t expecting any…visitors. Excuse my negligence, your…uhm…” You trail off, oh god what do you call a sage?

You weren’t exactly in a position where offending the cookie by referring to him by the wrong title would go over well, and most intellectuals of his stature who come to teach at the academy place great importance on how they’re addressed to - much to your chagrin - so you shakily settled on a meager, “…your…sageliness…”

Which you regretted the second it left your lips…especially when the Sage let out an amused snicker in response.

“Now now, there’s no need for formalities. After all, we’ve been around each other more than enough to consider ourselves familiar - more than mere acquaintances needing prissy titles for each other, really.” He hums, his sharp smile stretching even wider as he eyes you eagerly.

Oh witches, he’s already jumping to accusations.

You were screwed…unless…?

No, this was good, great even. You get to make the first move.

This was your chance to clear your name. He was presenting a bluff, a goad to get a confession out of you, but this hard and fast approach won’t shake you. Just be calm, remember you haven’t done anything wrong, and keep it to the snippets of truth in this elaborate lie you’re spinning.

“Pardon? I’m sorry, are you thinking of another archivist? I don’t believe we’ve ever spoken.” You answer simply, with a steadiness in your voice that even surprises you. Well, it was technically true, so perhaps that helped your fibbing to not falter.

His blue and golden eyes narrow into thinly creased expressions of mirth, “Ah, well that’s because we haven’t, but I’m quite sure I’m in the right office. I even cancelled class without warning just to confirm. The head bibliosoph told me that you’re the only archivist who takes their lunch at this time, and consequently, you’re the only archivist who was missing from your office during the time I would be lecturing.”

Just double down, you’re not screwed over yet.

“…I don’t understand what you’re getting at…I was not in my office because I was on my lunch break, that doesn’t mean I’m…what? Spying on you?” You reply simply with a bit of forced indignation, though you can’t help the bead of sugary sweat that glides down your face.

“You’re right, it doesn’t. But the fact that you’re back here so soon does. You were gone for four and a half minutes, and notably, there’s a two minute walk from here to my classroom. Now, accounting for the time it’d take to walk to my class, read the note, realize it was cancelled, and walk back, that would take roughly four and a half minutes. Far too convenient to be mere coincidence, don’t you think?” He explains in that same matter of fact glee that tilts on the taut tightrope between a well of scholarly knowledge and a showman’s theatrics.

WITCHES.

You knew the Sage was clever, but setting a trap of pure intellect just to catch who was eavesdropping on his lectures was absolutely insane. You’d already been outwitted from the moment you stepped into your office, but you were in way too deep to stop now.

“…but…I…uhm…well…I only came back because…because…” You stammer out, straining your useless brain for any out here, yet the twisted truths you’ve been relying on fail you entirely, leaving you to talk out of your own ass, “…because…I forgot something in my office…”

“Lie.”

Your brows raise, “What?”

“That was a lie. Rubbish, hogwash, baloney~! I’ve found the truth of the whom, when, and where; I’m just waiting on that precious little why to show itself.”

“Well, how would you know?” You huff defensively.

“Great question, always question your sources,” He praises with that familiar teaching tone he saved for students, “You see, the role of Sage of Truth is a great one, bestowed to me by the witches themselves and manifests its power in the form of my soul jam. Now, since a little cookie like me is tied to such a big idea like truth, I’m privy to a few little details most cookies can’t see. The truth sings to me through my soul jam, and your little lie did anything but resonate with me as truth. Also I saw a cookie leaving my lecture in a hurry yesterday in an archivist icing with your frosting features, so the longer I look at you, the more sure I am that my hypothesis is correct.”

It’s over. You’re through. You can kiss your job, your research, maybe even your degree goodbye, all because you were the idiot who convinced yourself that lying to the Sage of Truth was a good idea

The words start spilling out before you can stop them, instinctively leaning into damage control with your speech, “I…all I’ve done is attend a few classes, I-I’m not some creep-“

The Sage hums in reply, “Yes, that I am also certain of. You only seem to have any interest in my lectures, which I will say, is quite flattering to hear that someone regards what I teach as so intensely intriguing that they resort to such secretive methods.”

“…I’m sorry…it won’t happen again. I won’t disturb your lessons anymore…and I’ll accept whatever punishment the administration deems appropriate for me…”

His iced brows raise at that, seeming surprised by the notion, “Disturb? Punishment? Now, what on earthbread are you apologizing for? You’re not in trouble.”

“…I’m not…?”

“Of course not. Why would I fault someone for seeking out knowledge? It’s exactly what I stand for.”

You blink at the Sage with thorough confusion, “…because it’s against academy policy for employees to attend lectures?”

“…are you serious?” He deadpans.

“…yes…?” You hesitantly reply.

“…that is the stupidest rule I’ve ever heard of. I just assumed you were were too shy to come into class in earnest when I clearly left the door open for you, but the Parfaedia Institute policy is the real obstacle in this case?”

“Wait, the door was open for me-?”

But it seemed the Sage of Truth was far from done with his tirade, blinded by passionate frustration, “Staff at an educational institution should constantly be committed to extending their knowledge to pass onto the next generation which they teach, yet how on earthbread do they expect their staff to continue to learn and grow as educators if they can’t even attend a lecture! Just the principle of barring someone from the truth for such a foolish reason is absolute nonsense! I’m truly sorry that you’ve had to endure that. Craving the truth is as natural as existing, and it’s not right to have that stifled by stiff procedures by crumbly old cookies.” He huffed with a righteous glower.

“Wait wait wait…you’re sorry for me??? You’re not going to report me and get me fired?”

“Fired??? They’d really fire you over this? Witches, that explains the secrecy. No, I am not reporting you, though I will be having a stern debate with the headmaster, that’s for sure.” He replies.

“Please don’t, really it’s no issue. I-I was going to stop listening in after today, and I don’t want to cause you any trouble, Sage.” You reply quickly, already imagining all the ways the higher ups would phrase your letter of dismissal.

Yet the cookie only waves his hand dismissively at you, “Nonsense! It is a crime to see such brilliant budding minds tossed aside and criminalized for their curiosity. You have the makings of a great cookie; I couldn’t help but take a small peek into the research drafts left on your desk, and these theories are really something worth pursuing, yet you’re not going to get anywhere with an administration like this.”

That had your head reeling, the Sage of Truth himself had read your drafts and believes they’re feasible? He thinks you’re brilliant?

“You…you like my theories?” You utter so softly, your eyes wide with that tentative hope so fragile a stray breath could shatter it entirely.

He seems to be tipped off the track of his tirade by your question, his fussy frown soothing into a gentle smile unlike the amused smirks you’d earned from him before - this seemed to be a more genuine mirth lining his iced features, and you’re not sure what to do with it. He takes your dough in his, gently clasping your hand with gentle reassurance, “Like them? They’re incredible. The key to true knowledge is often pretty small, and I think your research might be the linchpin that brings the whole puzzle together. We’re going to develop this idea to the fullest, because your concepts truly deserve to be heard.” He answers eagerly.

“We?” You echo, your eyes widening.

“Of course! Now, you can change your lunch period around easily, can’t you?”

You nod hesitantly, tilting your head a bit at the random question, “I…yes, but-“

“Perfect! I get off for lunch at 1:00, we can discuss your thesis further over tea. I really think we can finish this up in a few weeks before it’s ready to publish.” He grins, that eager tenacity returning to his gaze

“Wait…you want to help me with my research?!”

“Absolutely! This is just something I cannot miss!I noticed how you pulled some ideas from my own writings and teachings in class, and I’d love to be able to assist personally in your research…that is, if you’d allow it. I wouldn’t want to intrude if you’d rather be the sole author-”

“Yes!” You blurt eagerly.

He blinks at you curiously, “Yes, it would be intruding?”

“No no no! Yes, I’d love your help! It’d be an absolute honor to work with you, Sage!” You stammer out.

His smile widens at that, “Well then, I’ll be seeing you at 1:00.” He replies, beginning to approach the door, “Oh, and one more thing…”

“Yes?”

“No need for ‘Sage’ now that we’re research partners, call me Blueberry Milk Cookie.” He answers jovially before slipping out of your office.

By the witches, you were going to work with the Sage of Truth himself.

Or well…Blueberry Milk Cookie…oh witches you couldn’t wait until 1:00.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Notes: So I took the liberty of making Sage of Truth’s real name Blueberry Milk cookie bc I’ve been seeing it floating around and it seems appropriate for him, also I hope it isn’t too OOC, I tried my best. There’s probably gonna be four parts in total for this one, so I hope you guys enjoy this one. Let me know any suggestions or ideas you have in the ask box, I always love getting inspo from ppl :)

[theseventhdimension]

Tugging on Your Patience

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Top! Gn! Reader

Word Count: 2.8k+

DNI: Minors (-18)

Author's Note: Oh my stars I think this is the longest fic I've ever written?? What can I say, I get carried away just thinking about him 😼 Ugh this is so sexy, I might just have to go back and reread (Reid, hah.) some of my own works..

Hope you Enjoy! :))

If you asked Spencer why he grew his hair long, he couldn’t answer you. Not really. He’d fidget, offer up some excuse about avoiding barber shops or how it saves time in the mornings. Maybe even try to spin it into something intellectual — evolutionary biology, facial framing, historical figures with long hair.

But none of that’s true.

The real reason? It’s you. It’s the memory of your fingers fisting in his hair, dragging his head back with just enough force to make his breath hitch, spine arch, knees buckle. It’s the pain that bloomed at the base of his scalp, sharp and hot, overridden only by the absolute authority in your voice when you leaned in close and said, “Look at me when I’m talking to you.”

He dreams about it. Not just at night — during briefings, on the plane, when he’s alone in the file room pretending to reorganize. His mind goes hazy at the mere thought of it: the way your grip made everything else go quiet, the way his mouth stayed open but nothing came out, because all his words had been yanked out of him with that single, commanding pull.

He lets his curls grow longer now, unruly and soft, a silent invitation. Daring you to take what’s already yours. He never says it out loud — not even to himself — but every time he catches your gaze lingering, he wonders if you’re thinking about it too. Wondering if you remember how pliant he went under your hand. How he didn't even want to fight it.

God, he wants it again.

Wants to feel your breath against his ear as you remind him who he belongs to. Wants to feel powerless beneath the weight of your gaze, your grip, your voice — low and cruel in the way he secretly adores. Wants to fall apart from nothing but the pressure of your fingers tugging hard, harder, dragging his attention back to you when it dares to stray.

You don’t need cuffs. You never did. Not when you can unravel him with nothing but your hand in his hair and a quiet, razor-sharp “Focus.”

And so he keeps it long. Keeps waiting. Because one day, he knows, you'll get tired of pretending. And when you do, he’ll drop to his knees for you without needing to be told.

You noticed, of course. How could you not?

The way Spencer’s hair has been getting longer, wilder, almost defiant in the way it brushes the collar of his shirt. At first, you figured it was just laziness — too many cases, not enough time. But it kept growing. Past his ears. Curling into his eyes. Falling in soft waves that beg to be grabbed, yanked, twisted.

It’s not laziness. It’s bait. And he’s been dangling it in front of you like a dare.

You’ve caught him watching you. Not in that wide-eyed, doe-like wonder he used to wear when he thought you’d never notice. No — now it’s darker. Intentioned. Testing. Every time he tucks a lock of hair behind his ear, he glances up from beneath his lashes, just to see if you’re looking. Every time he sighs and it flutters into his face, he waits. Waits to see if you’ll snap.

He wants you to snap.

And you’ve been good — patient. Cruel, even, in the way you let him stew in it. But tonight, he’s pushing.

He’s late. Purposefully so. Slow, dramatic steps into your apartment like he wants to be scolded. His hair’s damp from the rain, curls sticking to his forehead. His tie is half undone, shirt sleeves rolled up, lips already parted like he’s expecting to be told to shut them.

“Sorry,” he says, too casual. “Got caught up.”

You don’t say anything. You just lean back in the chair, watching. He’s already fidgeting.

The silence stretches.

He shifts his weight, mouth twitching like he wants to fill it. Instead, he steps closer, slow, deliberate. Testing again.

“You’re staring,” he says.

You hum. Still no words.

He swallows. His hands twitch at his sides.

And then, soft — almost innocent — “You don’t like my hair?”

There it is.

You lift your eyes to his and tilt your head. “You think I haven’t noticed what you’ve been doing?”

A flicker of something hot flashes across his face. Satisfaction. Shame. Lust. All tangled together.

“I don’t know what you mean.”

Lie. Bold, reckless. You see the way his pulse jumps in his throat, the way he shivers under your voice. The air between you sizzles with anticipation.

You rise, slow enough that he freezes. And when you reach out — fingers threading through his rain-damp curls — you feel the sharp gasp he tries to swallow down.

“Oh, sweetheart,” you murmur, tugging just enough for his breath to stutter. “I think you know exactly what you’ve been doing.”

He lets out a choked sound, knees threatening to buckle. His pupils blow wide.

“I grew it for you,” he admits, voice trembling. “I wanted— I needed—”

You yank harder. His mouth drops open in a silent moan. “Fuck—”

“I know what you wanted,” you growl into his ear. “You’ve been practically begging for it.”

He’s shaking now, and it’s beautiful — how easy he crumbles. How quickly he melts into obedience the second you take control. But not fully. Not yet.

Because then — the little brat — he smirks. Smirks.

“Maybe you should’ve done something about it sooner.”

..Oh?

Oh. He wants to suffer tonight.

Your grip tightens. You twist your fist in his curls and wrench his head back until he gasps, mouth parted, neck exposed, every breath frantic.

“You think being a smartass is going to get you what you want?”

“No,” he whispers, the smirk on his face unwavering. “But disobedience usually gets your attention.”

Your laugh is low, dangerous. You lean in until your lips just graze his ear. “Oh, Spencer. You want punishment that badly?”

He whimpers. Actually whimpers.

“Then kneel.” He drops so fast it’s pathetic. Like he was waiting —aching— for the command.

And when you release your grip, he stares up at you, hair wild, lips parted, chest heaving. Desperate. Beautiful.

Yours. He kneels like he was made for it.

Hands behind his back, thighs shaking just enough to betray how hard he’s trying to behave. Eyes blown wide with need. Mouth open, waiting. Wanting. Worshipping.

And you just stand there. Watching him.

He shifts under your gaze, the silence wrapping tight around his ribs. You can see him fighting not to speak. Not to beg. But his restraint is already unraveling.

You step closer. Let your fingers trail under his chin, tipping his head up. His breath hitches — caught halfway between anticipation and panic.

You lean in, close enough that your breath ghosts across his lips, but you don’t kiss him. No. That would be a reward. And he hasn't earned it yet.

"You know," you murmur, voice low and dangerous, “I could ruin you.”

His eyes flutter shut for a second, the words hitting him like a physical blow. But you’re not done — not even close.

“I could make you sob just by tugging your hair and whispering all the filthy things I want to do to you. I could keep you on your knees for hours, hands tied, mouth stuffed, tears running down that pretty face.”

He lets out a shaky breath, his back arching ever so slightly.

“I could have you begging,” you purr, bending until your mouth is at his ear. “Begging for release, begging for mercy — and I’d give you neither.”

You feel the shiver ripple through him, the way his thighs press tighter together, trying to ease the ache. But you’re cruel tonight. Merciful only in restraint.

“But I won’t,” you whisper, lips brushing the shell of his ear. “Because I like you just like this. Flushed. Shaking. Desperate.”

You smile when he whimpers. It’s a pretty sound.

“You think I don’t see it? How hard you try to provoke me? Acting out like a brat because you want to be punished?”

He nods frantically. “Yes—yes, I—”

“Ah, ah.” You grip his jaw, firm but not painful, forcing his mouth shut. “Don’t speak unless I ask.”

His pupils dilate, chest heaving. He nods again, smaller this time, obedient. Good.

You crouch slowly, lowering yourself to his level. He watches you like you’re divine — untouchable. You can feel the tension radiating off him, like a coiled spring just waiting to be snapped.

“You don’t get what you want just because you’re beautiful,” you murmur, brushing a knuckle down his cheek. “But lucky for you…”

You lean in, mouth barely grazing his jaw as you whisper—

“I’m feeling generous.”

He exhales a soft, broken moan, and it makes you grin — wicked and slow.

Because he still doesn’t know what kind of mercy you’re willing to give.

And you plan to show him. Inch by inch.

You rise to your feet slowly, letting the weight of your gaze drag over every trembling inch of him. Spencer’s still on his knees, chest heaving like he’s run miles, though you haven’t even touched him properly.

You like that. You like knowing he’s undone by nothing but your voice and the promise of your hands.

“You want to cum?” you ask casually, circling him like a predator.

He nods, frantic. “Yes—please, I—”

You stop behind him. “Did I say you could speak?”

He chokes on the breath he tries to form into words, head bowing. “No. No, you didn’t. I’m sorry.”

“Mmh,” you hum thoughtfully, letting your fingers drift into his hair. You grip it at the roots, tight, and yank his head back until his neck is exposed, mouth parted, eyes fluttering.

“You’re always sorry,” you murmur against the soft skin behind his ear. “But you never learn.”

He shudders violently, moaning through clenched teeth as you tug again — hard enough to hurt. You hold him there, suspended in that delicious edge between agony and ecstasy.

“You think if you push me hard enough, I’ll break and give you what you want.” Your tone sharpens, dangerous. “You think if you pout and whine and act out, I’ll lose control and just fuck you senseless.”

He whimpers — and you feel his spine twitch. He’s close. Closer than he deserves to be.

“But here’s the thing, Spencer,” you whisper, biting at his earlobe before you release his hair and step back. He sways without your touch, completely unmoored. “You don’t get to have control over me.”

His hands twitch like he wants to grab you, but he doesn’t. He knows better.

You walk in front of him again, crouching low, forcing him to look you in the eyes. He’s glassy and flushed, pupils eclipsing every trace of honey brown. You press your fingers to his jaw.

“If you want release,” you murmur, “you ask. Properly.”

His lip trembles. “Please…” he breathes. “Please, I need it—need you. I’ll be good, I swear, just… please let me cum.”

You tilt your head. “Hmm. That sounded like begging.”

“It is,” he gasps. “I’m begging you. I can’t—I’ll do anything, just please.”

You consider him for a moment longer, watching him fall apart from the inside out.

And then—only then—you lean forward, letting your lips brush the corner of his mouth, featherlight.

“Good boy,” you whisper.

And you let him have it.

You grip his hair again, yank him into you, grind against the sharp curve of his desperation. You don’t need to say the words. His body understands your permission the second the pressure breaks — the second he shatters with a sob, mouth pressed to your wrist, tears streaking down flushed cheeks as he cums so hard his whole body jerks.

You cradle the back of his head as he collapses against your thigh, murmuring low praise into his hair.

“There you go,” you coo, stroking his neck. “That’s it. Let it all out.”

His fingers dig into your legs. He’s trembling, whimpering, absolutely wrecked.

And you’ve never seen anything more beautiful.

He hasn’t moved from his knees. Can’t, really. Not with the way you’ve stripped him down to nerve endings and shameful need. You haven’t even given him permission to breathe deeply, and he knows better than to overstep again. Not when you’d made him beg so pretty last time.

You rise slowly, watching his gaze trail after you like a dog tracking its master, lips parted in a silent plea. His thighs are trembling. His hands are clenched into fists at his sides, like he’s fighting every twitch, every instinct to reach for you.

You stop just in front of him. He blinks up at you, glassy-eyed.

You lift your boot.

And press.

Right into the soft heat of his pelvis. Lightly at first, just enough to make him gasp.

“Go on, then,” you murmur, grinding the ball of your foot in slow, deliberate circles. “You wanted to be used so badly. Let’s see how pathetic you can be for me.”

His moan is ragged, nearly torn from his throat. You watch the flush crawl down his chest as he ruts forward against your boot like an animal starved. So desperate. So willing. His hips jerk forward with every breath, chasing the friction, his eyes locked on yours like he’s terrified you’ll pull away.

But you don’t.

You lean in.

“You know I could make you do this all night,” you whisper, the edge of a sneer curling at your lips. “Could keep you on the floor, humping my shoe like a needy little bitch while I sit back and watch. Would you like that, Spencer?”

“Yes,” he gasps. “God, yes—anything.”

You apply a little more pressure, enough to make his voice crack.

“Oh, I know you would,” you coo, dragging your foot just a fraction lower, enough to make him tremble. “You’d thank me for it, too. Wouldn’t you?”

“I—thank you,” he breathes, panting through gritted teeth, “thank you, thank you—”

You laugh, slow and cruel and fond all at once.

“God, look at you,” you murmur. “What a mess.”

He whines at that — broken, needy — grinding harder against your foot now, sweat sticking his hair to his face, lashes wet with the threat of tears.

But still, you don’t let him cum. Not yet. Not until he learns how to suffer for it properly.

You watch him grind against your boot with single-minded desperation, every inch of him trembling, taut with need. He’s soaked with sweat, flushed to the tips of his ears, panting like he’s just run miles — but he hasn’t moved more than a few inches, just rutting in helpless, pitiful thrusts against the smooth leather of your shoe.

You tilt your head and click your tongue. “That’s it? All that genius and this is the best you can do? Grinding like a virgin on prom night?”

He lets out a whimper, humiliation blooming hot across his face. But he doesn’t stop. Can’t.

You lean closer, voice low, warm, dripping with venomous affection. “I could let you cum like this,” you breathe, your fingers ghosting under his chin, tilting his flushed face up to meet your gaze. “Could let you ruin yourself all over my boot like the needy little thing you are.”

Spencer's lips part, a moan hitching in his throat.

“But I won’t,” you continue, sweet and sharp, dragging your thumb over his cheekbone. “Because I like watching you suffer.”

Your foot pulls back just as he bucks again — and he chokes on the denial, collapsing forward with a strangled cry, forehead hitting your thigh as he gasps through it. Desperate. Shaking. Almost sobbing.

“Oh, Spence,” you sigh, carding your fingers through his damp hair with false sympathy. “Were you close? That’s such a shame.”

He nods against you, his voice broken. “P-please—please, I was—please, I’ll do anything—”

You grip his curls and yank his head back, just hard enough to draw a hiss from his lips. His eyes go wide, lips swollen, breathing ragged.

“Anything, huh?” You smirk, eyes dark. “You’ll beg, you’ll cry, you’ll grind yourself raw and still thank me for the privilege.”

“Yes,” he whispers, wrecked. “Yes, please, I’ll—I need it, I need you, please I'll do anything, you can fuck me I promise, please just—”

“You don’t need to cum,” you snap, low and cruel and loving it. “You need to learn. And you don't need tell me you'll let me fuck you, I was already planning on it.”

And with that, you press your foot back to him. Not enough friction. Not enough to get him there.

Just enough to torment.

He gasps, whines, sobs. And still, he moves.

You watch, calm and content, as Spencer Reid fucks himself on your boot like the desperate little thing he is, crying from the overstimulation, from the aching tension in his gut, from how badly he wants it.

And how perfectly you won’t give it to him. Not yet. Not until he’s completely broken.

[gothamite-rambler]

Dick and Kory (Starfire) stood in front of Damian, 8 years old, who was called in to meet her. Damian hadn't noticed any tension between Dick and Kory to Bruce, and was more annoyed that he had to pause his Bob Ross painting tutorial for this.

Bruce was hesitant about his youngest son meeting Kory, mostly due to his bias toward her, but Dick had been with Kory long enough to know she was always sweet to children and had changed since her wilder days with the Outlaws.

Kory had confessed to being nervous about the meetup, but Dick promised her that he would be there to defend her in case Bruce or Damian insulted her.

Dick: Damian, this is my girlfriend, Koriand’r or Kory for short. Since we've been dating for a year now, she wanted to finally meet you outside of hero work.

Kory waved with a sweet smile on her face. Damian looked the woman up and down with a suspicious, raised eyebrow.

Damian: Hm, Starfire, from the planet Tamaran. I was told about you. Former princess. Fought with the Titans, then teamed up with my brother Red Hood and the Outlaws, where you went through a phase of being a—

Bruce (scolding father tone): Damian, what did I tell you about mentioning inappropriate topics when talking to strangers?

Damian pouted.

Damian: Not to do it. Hm, well, it’s a pleasure to meet you, Starfire.

Damian held out his hand, coming off like a little businessman making a formal introduction. Kory turned to Dick wondering if the young boy was seriously asking for a handshake.

Dick (nodding): He wants you to shake his hand.

Kory obliged, taking Damian’s hand and shaking it for a few seconds before pulling away.

Damian: You have a strong grip, and you’re very beautiful. You look like one of those models from the old magazines my father keeps.

Bruce spat out his drink, coughing so hard he nearly fell out of his chair. Kory could only laugh in response, especially at her boyfriend’s expression, part shock, part blushing embarrassment.

Dick: Bruce... what magazines?

Bruce (exclaiming, gruff voice): Nothing. Damian, did you go through my stuff again?

Damian: I needed some reading material, and those old magazines have good stories.

Dick (after sighing with relief): Thank the Lord, he's an innocent summer child.

Kory raised an eyebrow, but remained calm since she saw how blissfully unaware Damian was currently.

Kory: I’m not sure what magazines you’ve been reading, but I’m not really like those women, especially these days.

Damian: Father did say you used to dress and act like a… father, what was the name you called her when talking to Superman? A hustler?

Bruce (stammering): I— I… He's misremembering what I said! Damian, what did I tell you about eavesdropping?!

Damian: Not to do it. I'm innocent that time, I was going to ask you for a pen while you were on the phone. I don't get it though, how is she a hustler in her old outfits?

Bruce: Damian, drop it.

Damian pouted again, crossing his arms.

Dick: Sorry, this isn’t going well. We can come back later.

Kory: What? No, I adore your little brother so far. He’s curious and inquisitive, just like you mentioned.

Damian: That’s to be expected. I’m a treasure. You have green eyes like my mother and I, but where are the whites in your eyes?

Kory: It’s how people from my planet look. I’ve been told my eyes are similar to those in an old alien movie.

Dick: Except you’re way prettier.

Dick kissed Kory on the cheek, making her giggle.

Damian: Gross. Ms. Starfire, Dick and Father told me you’re a skilled fighter and a great warrior back on your home planet. Is that true?

Kory: It is. I’m glad Bruce remembers I’m more than just a “hustler.”

Bruce coughed, pretending to read contents on a cereal box.

Damian: Mm-hm. I will need to see you fight in action to give my full opinion on your heroing, but you're doing well so far.

Kory (sweet tone): Glad that the introductions are going well, then.

Damian (after nodding): After reading Father's journals and seeing you up close, I’m curious, why do you sometimes dress like a pin-up girl on a teenage boy’s poster? That was exactly how I worded it, right, Father?

Bruce's grip tightened around his water glass, nearly crushing it in his hand, his right eye twitching as he fought to contain his anger. Dick glared at him, arms crossed in silent disapproval.

Damian looked around, sensing the tension but unaware that he was the cause. Kory chuckled softly, seemingly entertained by the rising tension and Bruce's usual stoic attitude being thrown out the window.

Dick: Bruce, can I talk to you in private?

Bruce: Yeah, yeah. I can explain, though. I think what Damian read must’ve been novels I’m working on.

Damian (doubling down): But you labeled the front covers as journals.

Bruce: Damian, stop talking.

Dick: Kory and Damian, keep chatting. Bruce, the cave?

Bruce: I'd rather not.

Dick yanked Bruce by his shirt collar, maintaining a tight grin to contain his frustration. Kory, left with Damian, smiled gently and led him toward the couch.

They sat down so she could explain why she dresses the way she does; she was accustomed to Earthlings questioning her attire, and a little kid’s innocent curiosity wouldn’t offend her, since he didn’t know any better.

Kory (calmly explaining): Tamaraneans have a different view on modesty. What I wear now is simply comfortable for me. I know what you Earthlings see as a swimsuit, but for us, it’s like your sweatpants. I understand it can seem puzzling when you see me in my hero costume or some of my civilian attire, but it’s what I like. And the solar rays give me and my people energy. So dresses, shorts, and yes, my hero suit help me look fabulous and give me the energy I need to fight. Be glad you didn’t know me a few years ago, that’s a time I don’t look back on fondly.

Damian: Yeah, I heard you were kind of cold and acted out of your usual character for a few years.

Kory: I did. My mind was subjected to some altering brainwashing, but today, I am much more chipper and a warrior. I hope you get used to my energy. I’m a hugger.

Damian: Thank you for the warning. If I asked anything too personal, I’m sorry. I have some trouble knowing when to ask certain questions.

Kory: You’re fine. I’m used to it and also used to blurting out the wrong thing.

Damian: Hm... That’s actually comforting to know. And if you don’t mind me saying again, you are as pretty as my mother.

Kory (wincing at the mention of Talia): I’ll take that as a compliment. Would you like some candy? I carry some in my purse.

Damian (holding out his hand): Yes, please.

[rhettmotel]

Uh hiii 😝 first time asking you something kinda nervous (jk I am NOT nervous at all)

Sooo how are you doing this nice day/night? I was wondering if you would do something with Bob Floyd! I am an absolute sucker for aftercare so maybe shit was getting real rough 😏 like reader had a rough day and was lowkey becoming super bratty and needed to be put in check and Bob obvi has no problems with that and then like the aftercare is super sweet and fluffy!

(Love your works btw- you have been feeding my obsession 😣) Also! If you need more info or anything just lmk!!

-> Hi I'm doing so good!! I'm feeling better than I have in MONTHS which you can probably tell by the amount that i've been writing in the last few days. Lol Thanks for the request! I'm so happy you're here 🥰 <-

You love Bob's friends, you really do, the daggers were becoming a real family and that made you - by extension - part of the family too. The thing was... you hadn't seen Bob in three weeks so when he said he wanted to spend the night out at the hard deck, you were more than a little disappointed and even a little annoyed. If Bob wanted a night out instead of a night in, fine, but you intended to have fun too.

By the time you got home, you knew what you were in for. The car ride home had been filled with so much tension that you almost choked on it. Even the quiet click of the door behind you made you tense up.

"You were quite the brat tonight, my love. Did you know that?" Bob asks, not stepping forward by standing tall with his back against the door.

Now, you turn around to face him. "Was I?" You ask, voice raised an octave and eyelashes batting. "That's not what I would call it."

"No?" Bob tries to frown but you can see the way his mouth twitches, he's trying to hold back a smirk. "What would you call it then, sweetheart? Bending over the bar like you kept doing, Your perfect ass on display for every single Navy man in there to ogle at. Then, just for good measure I assume, you refused to sit in your own seat and kept grinding that same perfect ass against me.”

"Well I had to get your attention somehow, Bobby." you explain, a slightly childish whine in your tone. "I haven't seen you in so long and you made me share you with all those flyboys tonight," you pout.

Bob hums like he's actually considering your argument, but he shakes his head anyway. “You know what happens to bratty little girls, don't you?"

Now it was your turn to smirk, not even trying to look innocent anymore. “They get spankings,” you bite at your lip.

“That’s right, now strip and get over my knee,” He doesn’t give you anymore direction but he moves now, to sit on the edge of your bed, still fully clothed. Bob wasn’t taking it easy on you this evening. The slaps to your bare ass came hard and fast. He didn’t stop until the skin was red and he was sure that you were crying. Sniffling and pathetic, tears dripping onto his khaki uniform.

“Do you have anything to say for yourself?” He asks, pausing in his punishment.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, i’ll be good, I promise.” You sniffle, hiccuping over your own breaths.

“Oh you’re saying all the right words, my love, but… I don’t think you’ve learned your lesson just yet.”

That’s how you ended up face down, ass up on your own bed, screaming and slobbering on your own pillow with your boyfriend driving into you so hard there was sure to be hip shaped bruises on your ass. Bob didn’t stop until you had cum at least three times and left your whole body trembling. Then, things started to calm.

Bob is gentle as he pulls out of you, more focused on your shaking limbs than the demands that was leaking out of your pulsing cunt. “You did so good, sweetheart, you’re such a good girl. I’m gonna go get a warm cloth to clean you up, but i’m gonna come right back. I’m not leaving you, i’m just going across the hall to the bathroom, okay?”

All you can manage is a soft grunt in response. In certain cases, Bobby would make you use your words, but tonight had been a lot, so he takes your grunt, rubbing his hand up and down your thigh before he leaves.

Just as he promised, Bob was back in a matter of seconds with a warm, wet cloth. He makes his way back to the bed, wiping down your sweaty skin as gently as he can. As soon as you’re clean, he climbs into bed and pulls you into him. “How are you doing, Love?”

You peel your eyes open, just enough to look at him. “I feel good,” you answer this time but your words are slightly slurred, “Was I a good girl?”

“Oh, you were the best, sweet girl, you’re always so good.” He takes a moment to run his fingers through your hair and kiss your forehead. “My perfect girl.”

-> I’m sorry if this wasn’t enough smut for you, i’m still pretty new to writing it and I wanted to focus on the aftercare. 😅 I hope you enjoyed! <-

[ranunculussy]

enigma | part 07.

ꕥ part 01. | part 02. | part 03. | part 04. | part 05.| part 06. ꕥ pair: Spencer Reid × BAU!fem!reader ꕥ warnings/tags: canon-typical violence, kinda graphic description of the next crime, swearing, somewhat oblivious Reid and reader, age gap, moderately jealous Spencer, slow-burn, mutual pining, rivals to lovers, english isn't my first language so bear with me pls, if there are other warnings or tags i should add let me know ꕥ small author's note: hey guys, i'm back from the nine hells! i'm honestly really, really sorry that i disappeared for such a long time but i discovered that the ao3 writer's curse is, in fact, real as fuck. i've been sick for 2 months on and off, which resulted in me, ending up in the hospital and even spending my birthday there lmao. anyway, i think i lowkey reached the end of my recovery and i am back!! hope you'll enjoy this chapter and thank you so much if you're still here after so much waiting, i love you with all of my heart <3 ꕥ small author's note 2: i'll be describing a rather weird(?) crime this time that was inspired by a song (i'll attach it at the end of the chapter, i heavily recommend it - check it out on youtube too, it has a nice mv). i was very hesitant at first about whether i should write this or stick to the good old, bit more basic plots but then i was like fuck it, i have creative freedom for a reason and this series is already filled with weird crimes so why not ꕥ small author's note 3: i am also working on the sapphic knight!Emily × princess!reader, so you can expect that very soon ^-^ let me know if you're interested in it and would like to be notified when it's published ꕥ word count: ~2.6k ꕥ summary: Spencer can't quite figure you, his rival out and this annoys him more than it should [this fanfic is also available on AO3 with the same title and username]

wednesday

“We got a case. A bad one. Like really, really bad.” The word ‘anxious’ couldn’t even describe exactly how Garcia speedwalked through the bullpen in her neon pink high heels with her rhinestoned tablet in hand. The rest of the team—except for Hotch, were all gathered around Rossi’s desk since he was showing pictures of his grandson with a puppy that he got for his birthday.

“Dare I say Florida?” you murmured audibly enough for some of them to snort at your comment, which was only half a joke. With the amount of utter bullshit that went down there and resulted in the ‘Florida man’ news nothing was surprising anymore. Let’s just say, you accidentally hit the bull’s eye.

“Brace yourselves, my sweet, sweet crimefighters, because what I’m about to show you is very gory.”

You lowered your gaze to the bright screen of your tablet, where photos of the crime scene popped up. Well… Garcia was right. It was gory.

Not even half an hour ago divers found the second dead woman on one of the beaches in Florida. It looked like she got sewn into a seal’s skin and laid down there, making it look like it was a deceased animal, swept to the land by the stronger waves. Lucky for you, since this exact thing happened a few days ago, people were more cautious and thus, the scene remained in its original, uncompromised state.

“Sarah Moore is the second victim in three days. Today, the Florida Police Force has invited us in officially.” took over the word your unit chief, shifting everyone’s glance from the tablets —and printed out files in a particular doctor’s case—towards him.

“What, they didn’t find this” Derek pointed at the device still displaying the graphic photos of the scene in front of him, “freaky at the first time!?”

“There has been a rather public scandal involving the police in Florida, which resulted in replacing almost every person at command there. I think the new chief wanted to show that he can handle things by himself, since many eyes are on him and his work.” explained the man on your right, gesticulating with his big, slender hands. As your eyes unintentionally traced the line of his fingers, you wondered if he ever played the piano. He had the hands of an artist.

“Great. I wonder how much of an asshole he will be to us. I bet he’ll try to demonstrate his superiority.” your let out a groan at the thought of having to handle a grown man who acts like a demanding child, thinking that he is better and smarter than everyone else there. You had problems with people like him. Swallowing your pride when you knew that you were right was challenging for you.

“I wouldn’t exactly use this wording, but Y/N is right. Chief Miller will do everything to make himself look good in the eye of the public, even if it means undermining us. We will have to be exceptionally careful. Wheels up in 30.”

You sat at the window in one of the lounge seating areas of the jet. Next to you was Emily, Reid sat in front of you, Derek next to him. The laptop—making it possible for Penelope to join in the briefing that took place on the plane—was set up on the table between the four of you. Hotchner, JJ and Rossi gathered around your seats with tablets and case folders in hand.

All of you were reading the detailed police reports, that seemed more like a plot of some series than an actual crime committed by actual humans. None of you have met with things like this before.

Both victims got partially skinned ante-mortem, then sewn into a seal that was cut open from its jaw to its belly. The only skin remaining on Sarah and the other poor woman, named Ruby, were on those parts of their bodies that didn’t get covered by the animal. This meant the area of their stomach, chest and face. Even their scalps got removed.

“Garcia, do we know if the seals were real or a costume?” asked the doctor after looking up from the files.

“What am I, if not the queen of supplying you with all kinds of unsettling information? I already checked, however, and couldn’t find anything on this.”

“They didn’t check?” asked Emily in a dumbfounded tone.

“Well, if they did, there are no records about it anywhere.”

“Wanna bet that Chief Whatever-the-hell-his-name-is—” you started but got interrupted by Reid, chiming in, correcting you with a slight smile on his annoying face, as usual.

“Miller.”

“Yea, that. So, wanna bet that Chief Miller wanted to wrap this case up as quickly as possible by finding a fitting culprit and putting them away, whether they’re the real killer or not? Wouldn’t surprise me if he simply forgot to check this detail.”

The briefing went on for a long time. Ideas from everyone kept popping up the more you thought about the crime, its meaning, what it tells about the UnSub, the mode of display and basically everything regarding to the case. You even debated against each other if you found some holes in the other’s logic, but everything remained civil. Even between the doctor and you. Which was rare, but not impossible. It just so happened that none of your ideas went directly against the other’s so there was no use of wasting your time with bantering.

“We are landing in 15 minutes. JJ, Prentiss and I will set up at the station. Morgan, Rossi, go to the M.E., find out what you can about the victims, C.O.D., and ask for an exam on the seal. Reid, L/N, go to the latest crime scene. We have to find out if this is a ritual or some sort of radical activist statement.”

The warm weather and the smell and sound of the sea would’ve been calming in any other situation, just not when you were squatting next to a blood soaked, dead victim. It was impossible to tell whether the animal that looked like it’s consuming Sarah was real or not. Its size, texture and smell were very lifelike. You couldn’t see the insides, not until the M.E. cuts the poor woman out of the mammal.

“It’s obvious that the UnSub was careful with the sewing, it’s very precise. Can you see the thread from where you stand?” you looked back at the man who was standing a few steps behind you, taking in and analysing the bigger picture. He slightly furrowed his brows and narrowed his eyes, trying to spot even a tiny amount of straying yarn with little to no success. From where he stood, it looked like the human and animal were one and the same. Like they were meant to be this way. He shook his head as an answer, then walked right behind you and leaned down, so that your heads could be at the same level.

You felt the warm air leaving his nose as he breathed out near the small of your neck, causing goosebumps to run across your covered skin. Thank fucking God for the long sleeves, I’d look like a fool.

These past few weeks moments like this became a common occurrence. You were convinced he pulled these antics to make you flustered, to make you look like a fool, for his own amusement. You caught him staring, more often than not, but he never looked away, just slightly raised his eyebrows and challenged you to a silent staring contest. His comments or arguments became vague or had double meanings, trying to catch you off guard. He also became more physical, which baffled you the most. Dr Spencer ‘Germaphobe-and-Social-Distancing’ Reid, who he himself said that kissing would be more sanitary and safer than a handshake, was initiating physical contact with you. You didn’t understand this at all. Things were rough between the two of you ever since you started working at the BAU, so you were careful, so fucking careful not to touch him accidentally whenever you handed him anything, since you didn’t want to worsen anything. But now… Now he made a habit of standing closer to you than to anyone else, making his fingertips brush your skin whenever you gave each other something, and so on. These would’ve been small things with anyone else but not with him. You were silently fuming whenever he did something like this. You worked so hard trying to make him comfortable. Yes, you were arguing all the time, but that was strictly professional, you never crossed any personal lines. And now he seemed to take a 180°.

Of course, you saw this as a challenge. You weren’t kidding when you said, “Game on, doctor.” in that hotel room a few weeks ago, when you first noticed how strange he behaved. Did he want to make you less competent than him by making you look like some silly girl that blushes at every small thing a man does? Well yeah, you would never let that happen. Two can play this game, and you held yourself true to your word. You fought fire by fire, acting like he did. You’d never shy away from some teasing, especially when your honour was on the line.

You turned your head towards him. He was so close, your nose almost touched his left cheek. “What are your thoughts, doctor?”

He faced you, so his eyes could find yours. What he foolishly didn’t calculate is how awfully close you two would be. His breath hitched as his gaze flickered between your irises for a few seconds, taking in all the variations of colours that danced around your pupils, then he lowered his eyes to the tip of your nose that almost touched his, finally, he stopped at your lips, barely out of reach, before finding his way back to your eyes. All of this happened in split seconds, but you noticed it all. You would’ve been a hideous profiler if you didn’t. A victorious smirk formed on your face and your confidence was through the roof as the not so collected doctor’s cheeks took up a light shade of pink, barely visible to anyone else. You won this round.

The team got set up at the conference room of the modern police station. A few hours after landing, everyone gathered there. Dave and Derek arrived with crucial information regarding the first and second victim and the seals, while you shared details about the latest scene.

“According to the M.E., the cause of death was exsanguination in both cases.” said Morgan, who was fidgeting with a mustard-coloured pencil.

“Isn’t surprising in cases involving being skinned alive.” Emily’s monotone tone came as a response as she read through the tox screen. “They found a high dosage of ketamine in their system, meaning that they were possibly paralysed and awake during the skinning and sewing, making our UnSub a sadist.”

“Yes, most definitely.” agreed Reid, who was standing in front of the huge screen on the wall of the spacious room. On the screen, an anatomical drawing of the human body was displayed. “And the UnSub must have some degree of medical knowledge, because they avoided all the main arteries during skinning, making the victims suffer much longer.” during his explanation, the doctor pointed at all the pressure points of the body to show where the two women weren’t cut.

“The way of stitching further proves this; it was really precise.” you added with a slight nodding.

“So, are we looking at a doctor maybe? But then what do the scenes mean? This is one hell of an M.O., and way too specific to have no deeper meaning to it.” next to Emily, JJ was swiping between all the photos from both scenes, zooming in on the gory details, hoping she can find something, anything.

“Well, we still can’t rule out radical climate change or animal rights activists, especially since the Caribbean monk seals that were once native to this region gone extinct because of humans. They were overhunted and due to overfishing, the remaining starved to death.” Reid said this as if he was reading it out of a book.

While the others shared their ideas back and forth, your mind wandered to a different direction. Ever since morning, when you first got introduced to this case, you couldn’t shake a thought and after seeing the scenes and becoming more familiar with the details, it just got solidified, but it was a bit too out of reach. That’s why you excused yourself and quickly left the conference room. You didn’t stop until the parking lot, which was empty, to your relief. You quickly dialled the only person who was able to help you out with your dilemma, the one and only Penelope Garcia.

Your conversation was quick, but you got everything you needed and were ready to head back to the team, now confident in your theory, however, as soon as you turned on your heels, you slammed into something rather… familiar. Reid.

“Ah, for fucks sake.” you murmured as you stumbled backwards. “Do you crave physical contact this much, dear doctor? Next time just ask.”

“Why, would you comply?” he raised an eyebrow, his lips formed a somewhat cocky smile, but it was tamed enough to get missed.

“Maybe. If you beg for it.”

“Oh, between the two of us, I’m more than certain that you’d be the one that begs.” he stated confidently, as if his awkward self never existed. “But feel free to try and prove me wrong.”

“I- khm…” no matter how much you fought against the red hotness crawling up on your neck towards your face and ears, you couldn’t shake feeling weird. “You’ll have to do a lot more work to make me want to prove anything to you.” your comeback, if one can call it that, came out weaker than it sounded in your head, so before things could’ve gotten even more embarrassing for you, you decided to change the topic, silently noting that you lost this battle. “Anyway, why did you come after me?”

“For one, to check on you. For two, the others are ordering lunch and wanted to know what you would like to eat.”

“As you can see, I’m perfectly well.” you nodded, trying to solidify your statement after your previous banter, partially for him, partially for yourself.

Before he could ask or say anything else, you decided to head back to the rest of the team, with Reid, sticking close to your back.

“Mmh, I can see. No erubescence at all.” he said in a playful tone as effortlessly caught up with you, thanks to his long legs. You ignored his comment as you pushed the glass doors in and shifted your attention towards the other five people.

“Is everything alright, pretty girl?”

“Yes, I just had to confirm something real quick before presenting my groundbreaking theory to you, guys. So,” you said as you sat down in front of the laptop that was connected to the huge screen, opened Google and typed in one single word to the search bar: selkie.

thank you again for reading my work, hope you're having an awesome day! i hope it isn't a problem that this fic is getting longer, i'm just taking slow burn seriously (only thing i can do lmao) taglist: @halfbloodwriter @starrystormwritings @kspencer34 @maisyyyyyy @theseerbetweenus @throwaway-things @pleasantwitchgarden divider from @cafekitsune gif from @reidgif

[slt4kavanagh]

hi i’m back😛 #nevergettingridofme

what about gf!reader who lives with Johnny like how shannon does in the books and one night she has a nightmare so she sneaks into his room to cuddle

thank you so much🫶 you’re honestly one of my fav writers on this app

safe in your arms

pairing: johnny kavanagh x fem!reader

tw: none

a/n: sorry if it’s short

masterlist !

the night’s too quiet.

like dead quiet — no rain on the windows, no creak of the floorboards, not even the usual muffled music from down the hall. just you and the dark and your heart beating a little too fast in your chest.

the dream hadn’t even made sense. just flashes. screaming, water, the sound of something crashing. and even though you’re awake now, it’s like your body doesn’t believe it. like it’s still stuck in that place.

you kick the blankets off. sit up. wait. but nothing about your room feels right. not the familiar glow of the lamppost outside, not the jumper you left on the chair, not even the photo of you and johnny taped to the wall.

your fingers twitch.

quietly, barefoot and wrapped in your own arms, you step out into the hall. his door’s already cracked open a bit — like he always leaves it, “in case you need me,” he says, even if he never really thinks you will.

but you do.

“johnny?”

he doesn’t move at first. then a rustle, the soft sound of the duvet shifting. “hm?”

your voice catches, even though it’s barely above a whisper. “can i��� can i come in?”

he sits up a little, blinking at you through sleep. “course,” he says, already sliding over to make room. “you alright?”

you nod, even though you’re not. even though you’re already walking over, climbing under the covers beside him like it’s second nature. like you’ve done it a thousand times. he’s warm, the kind of warm that melts into your skin the second you touch him.

“bad dream?” he asks, hand finding the small of your back.

you nod again, pressing your face into the crook of his neck.

“what happened?”

you shrug. “don’t really know.”

he doesn’t push. just curls his arm tighter around you and exhales against your forehead.

“you’re alright now,” he murmurs. “s’just a dream.”

you hum.

he smells like sleep and whatever soap he uses and the faintest bit of smoke from earlier, when he stood on the balcony talking to gibs about nothing. his heartbeat’s steady under your palm. slow. grounding.

you whisper, “can i stay here?”

he gives a little scoff. “you think i’d kick you out?”

you smile. just barely. your hand bunches in the hem of his t-shirt.

“didn’t wanna wake you.”

“wake me anytime,” he says, softer this time. like it’s not a throwaway comment. like he means it. “you live here too, don’t you?”

you nod again. this time, into his chest.

“so stop actin’ like you need permission to crawl into bed with me.”

you stay quiet, let his thumb draw slow circles on your hip.

“you’re safe, alright?” he adds. “i won’t let anything happen to you.”

your throat tightens.

he feels it.

“c’mere,” he says, voice low. “just sleep, baby.”

and for once — with him warm around you, voice soft and heartbeat steady — you think maybe you actually can.

—

the morning sneaks in slow, soft gold spilling through the curtains and washing over the room in quiet warmth. your eyes flutter open first, blinking against the gentle light, but you don’t move—because johnny’s still wrapped around you, the weight of him a comforting anchor.

his breath is uneven, a little shaky, as if he’s just as fragile waking up as you are. his head rests on your shoulder, curls tousled in that wild, effortless way, and the faintest crease of worry still lingers between his brows, softening every time your hand moves to stroke through his hair.

“didn’t think you’d come find me last night,” he murmurs, voice thick with sleep and something softer, more vulnerable. “thought you’d stay in your own bed.”

you hum against the hollow of his throat, feeling his pulse under your lips. “i couldn’t. i needed you.”

he shifts just enough to press a kiss to your jaw, slow and featherlight like he’s memorizing every inch of you. “you don’t have to be scared. not when i’m here.”

your fingers trace gentle circles on the nape of his neck. “but what if the nightmares come back?”

his laugh is low, shaky but real, a tiny breath that feels like a release. “then i’ll be here to fight ‘em off. you’re not alone.”

he pulls you closer, the muscles in his arms relaxing as if your presence is all the peace he needs. his voice dips lower, trembling with something like hope. “you know… i’m not good at all this soft stuff. but with you — i want to be.”

your heart flutters, and he catches the look in your eyes, his own darkening with a tenderness that makes your breath catch.

“i don’t wanna just be the guy who messes up or gets hurt,” he whispers, voice thick. “i wanna be the one who holds you when it’s hard, who makes you feel safe.”

you squeeze his hand, your lips curving into a small smile. “you already do.”

he smiles back, shy and slow, and presses one last kiss to your temple before sighing contentedly.

“stay like this a while longer?” he asks, voice barely above a whisper.

you nod without hesitation, because wrapped in his arms, the world feels a little less scary.

and maybe, just maybe, the nightmares won’t come back at all.

[smallgear]

Hiiiii if u dont mind me asking, what drawing program and brush do you use??? Sorry if u already answered this before!

Ok so I’m guessing you came from this image since it’s pretty much the only time my art got any traction on this site. Like ever

For this one I used ibisPain X

I mostly stick to standard brushes, dip pen hard, dip pen soft (for erasing) and airbrush plus these two:

They give the whole thing a more blended look since they drag colors a bit.

On procreate and clip studio I only use standard brushes.

Honestly the program doesn’t really matter, you really only need a hard brush, a soft brush, a fluffy brush and one that’s relevant to the style you want i.e. a textured brush or like in my case one that has more painterly properties and you’re all settled.

[aviator-at-heart]

London w/ the daggers, day 3

here’s part three of the fanfic/fanfic idea/ headcanons for my London series

~

alright so everyone wakes up to intense knocking on their doors at 6 am

sleepily, everyone gets to their doors and open them to see Mav and Ice telling them to wake up

Iceman: get ready

Everyone: why? it’s so early and this is our leave-

Iceman: no shit it’s your leave, but like I said, we’re going skiing

Everyone: *forgets their exhaustion* oh yay

so they all get ready, go downstairs to eat, and then get into the car to get to the ski resort

Maverick: *after loading the last pair of skis into the car* do we have everything?

Everyone: yes

Iceman: *shuts trunk loudly* good, because we aren’t coming back until night

so they drive to the ski resort

*Iceman’s getting tickets for the slopes, everyone’s waiting on the side, holding their skis, helmets, and poles*

Worker: 14 tickets… and will you guys need an instructor?

Iceman: nah, I’m gonna teach them

so they get onto the gondola that takes them to the mountains (I do know that London has no mountains or places to ski, but for the sake of this there is ok *cutely changes the geographic features of London* there we go)

as they’re on the gondola, they talk a little bit

Bob: skiing is so fun! you guys will love it, I’m not that good at it though

Hangman: *smirking* oh I know I will

Rooster: Hangman, you probably suck. Why the hell are you acting like that

Hangman: *smugly* you’ll see.

Phoenix: I’m gonna do amazing, I’m calling it

Coyote: don’t say what isn’t true, Nat.

so they get off the lift when it gets to the mountain

Iceman: *they’re all in the snow* skis on, now

Everyone except Mav, Bob, and Hangman: how?!

so the four that do know how to put on skis help everyone else put on their skis. everyone’s kinda surprised that Hangman can do it

so they go on their first run. it has a green to the right, and a red to the left

(in case you do not know what these skiing terms are, then here they are: green slopes mean easy, blue slopes mean intermediate, red are for intermediate to advanced, black are for advanced to expert)

Iceman leads the daggers, Mav is the caboose, everyone else in the middle. They form a line, Iceman takes them onto the green to see what level they are all on

everyone kinda sucks though

Rooster had done it once, but as he hadn’t done it in ages he can’t anymore

Bob was going down pretty well, until Phoenix crashed into him and they both fell

Fanboy and Coyote were both using each other to support themselves

Payback helped Bob and Phoenix up but then he fell

But then they finally got to the bottom of the slope and were in line to get onto a chairlift

Iceman, being smart and doing a head count: 12, 13. Mav, we have 13! We’re missing one.

Maverick: shoot. Guys, who’s not here!

Rooster: Phoenix is there, Bob is there, Hangman is… shoot we don’t have Hangman

Iceman, kinda mortified: uhm… when was the last time anyone saw him?

Coyote: I don’t really know, *sees someone familiar going down a slope* holy shit is that JAKE?

Everyone: huh? *they look at where Coyote points* oh my gosh it is-

so they wait as the pilot finished his run and got to the chairlift entrance

Hangman: *does a hockey stop next to them, out of breath* hey guys… sorry you had to wait

Iceman: Hangman, have you skied before? You went down the red and that hockey stop was perfect

Hangman: yeah I kinda snuck out of the group. y’all were going on an easy one, I couldn’t help it!

So they get onto the chairlift… and all of them fall as they get onto it

Phoenix: wait, what do we do? Oh shit, it’s coming closer

Bob: just wait until it comes, and it’ll pick you right up

Payback: I don’t like this

Coyote: shoot- no! *falls and a chain reaction occurs*

Hangman: *watches them fall from the lift in front*

Rooster: *trying to help everyone not fall but falls in the process*

Iceman: *helping them as he tries not to burst out laughing*

the rest of them are on the lift in front- they surprisingly didn’t fall

Phoenix: when did you get time to learn?

Hangman: I went to a bunch of places during spring breaks at school, ended up making skiing a yearly thing for me

Coyote: how come I didn’t know all this?

Hangman: I didn’t want to boast

Maverick: *pats Hangman on the back* nice. just don’t run away next time

Hangman: no promises.

so they get off of the lift and no one was prepared except Hangman, Bob, Iceman and Maverick… everyone else fell

so there was a little section for beginners that Iceman had everyone go to, he taught everyone basic skiing, like pizza stops and parallel skiing once he thought they were ready. they ended up doing that the rest of the time on the mountain, by the end everyone was a lot better. they had dinner at the village and went back to the hotel for bed.

Rooster: *after just getting out of the shower* Hangman, your turn.

Hangman: thanks *goes into the bathroom and closes the door, it doesn’t close the entire way and a little crack is open*

Rooster: *sits on the bed and grabs his phone when he notices the door is a tiny bit open and freezes*…oh *tries not to look*

then he gets a call from Penny

Rooster: *relieved he gets a distraction and answers* hey Penny!

Penny: hey Bradley! how’s it going?

Rooster: it’s going great. you just caught me as I was going to bed.

Penny: to bed.. huh. and, where are you even sleeping? Airbnb?

Rooster: hotel. I’m sharing a room with Hangman

Penny: Hangman- Okay.

Rooster: Penny… no.

Penny: Penny yes

Rooster: Penny, no! bye *hangs up and throws phone to the side*

Hangman: *getting out of the shower* Bradshaw, as I live and breathe.

Rooster: you just saw me a few minutes ago-

Hangman: no shit, what are we doing tomorrow? more skiing?

Rooster: yeah

Hangman: yes! skiing is fun. get off your perch and have fun.

Rooster: stop bragging that you know everything, it’s annoying.

Hangman: well, that’s just me, Bradshaw. *gets into the bed and turns off the lamp*

they both go to sleep, Hangman peacefully, Rooster staying up. He’s staring at the ceiling when he gets a text.

Phoenix: Bradley, u still awake? I can’t sleep

Rooster: me neither

Phoenix: wanna call? it’s not like we should leave our rooms right now

Rooster: *answers the call* hey, Nat.

Phoenix: hey. so what brings you to the insomnia club?

Rooster: uh… *not wanting to answer her* I invoke the fifth.

Phoenix: don’t get so lawyery on me. anyways, I can’t sleep because of earlier. it was such a different type of fun, and I can’t wait for tomorrow.

Rooster: you can’t even ski parallel!

*they both laugh*

Phoenix: still, it’s really fun. those people that can do it perfectly… make it seem worth it. they look so free

Rooster: well… they haven’t been in fighter jets going Mach 1, much less Mach 10.4 like Mav.

Phoenix: yeah, they haven’t. *yawns*

they stay on the call in silence for a while, Phoenix is starting to doze, Rooster is staring at the ceiling

Phoenix: penny for your thoughts?

Rooster: Hangman

Phoenix: Hangman what?

Rooster: no- it’s just… I’m thinking about him

Phoenix: *chuckles* oh Bradley… in what way?

Rooster: that’s the thing. I don’t know.

Phoenix: in a colleague way, friend way, or…

Rooster: *looks at Hangman’s peaceful face* something else.

Phoenix: *smiles* so, you think you- you think you like Jake.

Rooster: I don’t know. I feel so happy when I’m with him, even if he’s being cocky and acting shitty, saying he’s better than everyone else. He saved my life, and now we’re close.

Phoenix: so then tell him.

Rooster: I don’t wanna mess up what we have.

Bob: *wakes up* I think he might feel the same way, Bradley.

Phoenix: *jolts* Bob! oh I didn’t know you were awake. was I being too loud?

Bob: nah, I want to hear this. I mean, Rooster, just come clean. With the way you guys are, I think he’ll also love you.

Rooster: what do you mean by that?

Phoenix: oh my god, Bradley. you’re so oblivious. did you not see him blushing when you guys kissed at the restaurant?

Rooster: no… oh my gosh, he might like me back.

Phoenix: and that’s why you should tell him. rest easy now. I’m gonna sleep. *hangs up*

Rooster: *groans and tries to get to sleep*

~

yes the way I’m writing this might suck but it’s bc it’s sorta like a rough draft, I’m gonna combine all of these parts into a real fic once I’m done

[espressheauxs]

we came close from far || samira mohan

summary : serendipity and samira go hand in hand

words : 1.3k of whatever nonsense this is lol

pairing : samira mohan x fem!reader

warnings : nothing explicit, lots of queer yearning, it's all very fluffy, really.

notes : wrote a little something for our resident cutie patootie for Pride ever since finding out her actor is part of the alphabet mafia IRL lol not beta read but fuck it we ball

a/n : if I see you reposting, stealing, feeding my FICS into AI or some other fuck shit, don’t. 👀🫵🏽

---

Unlike most people, Samira didn’t hate Mondays. 

Ever the positive person, she saw them as a way to refresh and restart. A new start to a new week with a clean house and a newly stocked fridge. 

Hopefully she could get to actually eating the food before it went bad. 

There was a small coffee shop on the way to work that she liked going to on Mondays. The baristas there knew her order ( “iced London Fog with regular milk, please!”) , and she even got a sweet treat today - a scone studded with candied oranges and a raspberry glaze, warmed up just right. 

It’s as good as her Monday seemed to go, until she grabs her order and turns to leave. But the scone and the coffee clatter to the ground as she bumps into someone. 

Phones clatter to the ground, and there’s a blur of rushed apologies and “oh god I’m so sorry that was so fucking stupi–” 

“Samira”? is chorused from your lips at the same time she calls your name - like an unsure, delicate thing. 

Like she couldn’t believe her eyes. 

The shock melts from her warm, brown eyes as she quickly scans over your body before they land on your face. It happens so quickly, so minutely, really, and then it’s like the sun beams on her face before she realizes it really is you. 

Of all places. 

“Wow, h-how have you–oh sorry,” The both of you move to the side to let the poor barista clean up the mess. She looks back to you, happy surprise painted all over her face, “how are you? It’s been years.” 

“It really has, geez.” You motion for a hug and she eagerly accepts. You didn’t realize how much you missed them, missed her until that moment. Samira was known for giving the best, and the right kind of hugs. 

“What are you doing here?” She asks, “Just visiting?” 

Samira doesn’t really want to think about when you left. It was all a huge fit of tears, hugs that were hard to let go and words that were hard to say in case they weren’t real. 

“Just moved back, actually.” Her eyebrows practically are up to her forehead, and her warm, brown eyes sparkle with shock. It makes you laugh bashfully, hands itching to wipe at the sheen of sweat on your nose , “Few weeks ago, haven’t really had a chance to get settled yet. It’s hard to keep track of time when you’re so busy.” 

“I feel that, honestly.” She laughs, forgetting about her caffeine conundrum, but you did not. “Ugh, I really am sorry about that mess, ‘mira. Can I get you another?” You offer hopefully, not really waiting for her answer as you step back into line with her. 

Coffees and sweet treats back in hand, Samira somehow finds herself magicked into one of the booths near the large window, sat across from you. It’s then she finally gets to take in all the details of your face, how it’s not really changed at all except for the slight signs of sleeplessness around your eyes. 

Samira catches you up on her life, her job at the hospital. You tell her about yours, and how it’s brought you back to the place you can now call home again. It’s like time between you two hadn’t passed at all, and yet there is a frail, fragile bubble of promise of tomorrow, hopefully of something more floating between you two again. 

“I gotta go,” You mention, your voice wistful as you glance at the time on her watch, “Maybe we can exchange numbers? Catch up some time?” 

Samira’s eyes light up, “of course, yeah. I’d love that!” 

You pat your pockets to find your phones, and the both of you laugh, realizing that you’ve got her phone and she has yours. The exchange is quick, and the both of you walk out of the coffee shop together. 

There’s a small pick up in the conversation as you walk down the block together to the corner light, and then the disappointment bubbles up again. 

She can see it all over your face, and it reminds her how you truly couldn’t hide anything you felt. It always showed. 

“I’m going this way.” You practically mumble under your breath, motioning with your head. 

“I’m that way.” She adds, also feeling strangely disappointed despite the connection hanging between you two again. 

Why was it always so hard to say goodbye to you? 

“I’ll um…call you later? Or text?” She adds, “I have a double today, but um..yeah, I’ll let you know when I’m done, if that’s okay?” 

“Of course, yeah.” You laugh a little, wondering if the anxious perspiration is on your nose again. “I’ll be around.” 

Of course you are, she thinks. You always are. Somehow. 

Half way down the block, you can’t help but look back to just watch, and appreciate her a little before she’s gone for most of the day, and night. 

The texts that follow that day into the following morning are not frequent, but they’re thoughtful. Even when Samira only had a small window for a break, she’d send a laughing reaction to a meme you’d send, or a heart emoji to help you decide on what kind of plates to get for your kitchen. 

Samira practically yelps when Dana scares the ever living shit out of her at the station, stuffing her phone away guiltily into her pocket. 

Dana raises a knowing eyebrow and laughs, as if she knew Samira was going to pretend she wasn’t smiling at her phone, “Yeah, yeah.” 

— 

Once Samira finally gets a break and isn’t on doubles, the texts and calls are replaced with video calls when she gets home. 

On more than one occasion, either one or both of you would fall asleep while still on the call. It was the same now, with Samira getting ready for her night shift at the hospital, and you’re all but dead on your feet as you drag yourself over to bed. 

You’re dozing off when she calls your name, and you only manage to look at her long enough to watch her gather up her beautiful, soft curly hair into the claw clip she always uses. 

“..mira, I’m so sleepy.” You mumble, struggling to keep your eyes open as you look at your phone, propped up against the lamp on your bedside table. “but I wanna keep talking.” Samira would really rather not think about the way her heart squeezes a little as she watches you curl into the blankets, half of your face hidden by the fluffy duvet.

“Let’s keep talking this weekend,” She says without really thinking , “I can come over, or you can come over mine.”

“Are you really asking me to netflix and chill?” You wheedle, and the both of you burst into a small fit of giggles. 

It was always easy to joke around with her like this. Had you been anyone else, it would’ve flown over her head. But she knew you far too long to not understand your sense of humor. 

“I have a golden weekend coming up, let me know?” 

“Yeah, I’ll let you know.” You yawn again, “Goodnight, ‘mira.” 

It’s a little easier saying goodbye this time, but not so much when Samira tries to shake the feeling that’s creeping up in her chest. Or the way you seem to come up in her thoughts as she’s charting during a rare lull in the night shift. 

She feels a little silly, or even presumptuous to think you’d want to spend time hanging out with her after work. But having her friend (yes, a friend) back in her life after all that time apart sparks a little thrill in her heart she didn’t know was there. 

She feels Dana’s eyes on her again. Only this time, it seems like Perlah and Princess know without knowing too. 

Samira rolls her eyes, continuing her charting as her proverbial middle finger to them. 

Yes, a friend is what you are. 

And catching up, she hopes in whatever way that means, is the only thing that’s happening. 

Wait, what the fuck? 

--

© espressheauxs, 2025

[wendichester]

Hi, i’m never done this before and i’m nervous lol

so i was wondering if you could write something with Sam x fem!reader, the reader is a reporter of the town where the boys have a case and she is very attached to the case because there’s a lot of murders and wanna know what’s happening so she decided to do her own research and there is when she meet the winchester

i imagine the reader sassy, impulsive and very very sarcastic (that would make Sam hate her in the beginning) but very kind, sweet and funny at the same time idk like Lois Lane type of person you know? well i don’t know if you know but yeah

well that’s it omg i hope you get the idea and i’m so sorry if this doesn’t make any sense i don’t speak english and i tried my best 😔 i forgot the grammatical tenses and everything 😭

have a good day/night you sweet person ok bye

˚ ༘ ⋆｡˚ ink-stained,

summary. you've been investigating a series of murder in your hometown. way past work-level healthy. it's getting personal now.

pairing. sam winchester x reporter!reader genre. fluff

wordcount. 561

notes / warnings. thank you for requesting bubs! i hope you like this ehe // mentions of murder investigations (no graphic content), reader gives Sam a headache and a crush at the same time

You stick your pen behind your ear, flip your notebook shut, and square up to the man currently glaring at you like you’re an inconvenient fly buzzing around his very serious man-face.

“Well, Agent Ham-and-Egger,” you say, with a sugary-sweet smile, “since the cops don’t seem to know squat, maybe you’d like to share what exactly the FBI is doing sniffing around this town’s murder scenes like dogs at a barbecue?”

He exhales hard. Tall and already regretting his life choices. “We’ve got it under control.”

“Do you?” You tap your notebook against your palm. “Because the last three victims were drained of blood and left in a perfectly staged tableau. That doesn’t scream ‘under control’ to me, G-Man.”

Sam Winchester’s jaw ticks.

You clock it. And grin.

You don’t know who this guy is—not really. He’s traveling with that other one, the smirking flirt in the leather jacket who practically winked at your recorder. But this one? This tall drink of broody fedsuit? He hates you already.

Good. That makes this more fun.

“I’m not at liberty to discuss details,” he says through clenched teeth. “And I’d appreciate it if you didn’t interfere.”

You give him your brightest, most annoying smile. “Oh sweetie, you’ll learn. I don’t wait for answers. I dig them up.”

Dean strolls over then, holding two coffees and way too much charm. “Everything okay over here, Sammy?”

You raise a brow. “Sammy? Oh, that’s adorable. I was gonna go with Special Agent Grumpy Pants.”

Sam exhales again—louder this time.

Dean smirks like he’s watching the best soap opera of his life.

You don’t mean to follow them.

Okay, that’s a lie. You absolutely mean to follow them.

There’s something weird about this case, and you know in your gut these two are more than they say they are. No FBI agent works a case this deep in the dirt, in a town this small, unless there’s something extra going on.

So when they head to the morgue, you’re not far behind.

You’re also not as stealthy as you think.

Sam catches you red-handed, lurking in the hallway like a raccoon in lipstick.

“Oh, for God’s sake,” he groans.

You grin, flipping open your notepad. “So. Vampires? Or are we going full ritualistic cult?”

He narrows his eyes. “How do you even know to ask that?”

You shrug. “I was raised on myth and murder. And my ex-boyfriend was obsessed with horror movies. I absorbed some stuff.”

Sam stares at you like you’re a puzzle he doesn’t want to solve but absolutely has to. “You’re unbelievable.”

“I’ve been called worse.”

He scrubs a hand down his face. “You’re gonna get yourself killed.”

You wink. “Not if I stay close to tall, broody, and capable.”

And just like that—he blushes. Barely. But it’s there.

You smirk. “Gotcha.”

He mutters something that sounds suspiciously like “insufferable woman,” but doesn’t tell you to leave. Doesn’t walk away either.

You lean on the wall beside him, triumphant.

“What now?” you ask.

He sighs. “Now, we talk. Because if I don’t give you something, you’re gonna tail us until you get yourself eaten.”

You blink.

And then: “So it is vampires.”

His jaw drops. “I didn’t say that!”

You smirk. “You didn’t have to.”

You have him fuming, but also kind of bothered. And Sam isn't sure it's hate or something else.

ꔛ. navigation 𓂃˖ ࣪ all drabbles ; compatibility readings ; support my work .ᐟ

[smilesatdawnmain]

Big Family Au

Pick your Adventure 1

(Day with MK Part 5)

Previous

next

-----

Mk’s eye double in size, staring at you in for a moment too long.

For a second, MK looked like he might brush it off with a laugh or a quick change of subject. But then his shoulders slumped, and he let out a long, reluctant. “It’s... it’s kind of stupid, honestly,” he muttered, scratching the back of his neck. “I mean, I’m supposed to be this big hero, right? The Monkey King’s successor and all that. But... spiders? They just... they freak me out. Like, really freak me out.” He glanced at you, his expression a mix of embarrassment and vulnerability, all with a smile. “It’s not just Ms. Chyou or her family. It’s like- All spiders. Doesn’t matter the size.” He paused, his gaze dropping to the ground as he kicked a small pebble with his foot. “I know it’s dumb. I’ve fought demons way scarier than spiders. I’ve faced down armies, taken on gods, and even dealt with my own family’s... uh, “drama”.” For a moment, just a small fraction of a second, his brows furrowed, his lips more like a scowl than a smile.

Then it was back, like it never left, “But spiders? They just... they get under my skin. Literally and figuratively- a spider demon tried once.” He shuddered, wrapping his arms around himself as if the mere thought of them made him uncomfortable. “It’s not like I haven’t tried to get over it,” he continued, his voice quieter now. “I’ve tried. Or… I”m working on it,” he corrected him, because that sounded better to him.

You two started to walk again, with no real direction or interest in the stalls as you take in his words. Through it all, MK’s smile doesn’t drop- it’s almost like it’s plastered to his face at any given moment of the day. Practiced. Perfected.

He gave you a side eye, his eyes crinkling a little to something more genuine. ”I’m… talking too much,” he realizes, chuckling at himself. You smile back at him, shaking your head no. “It’s alright, I know when I’m blathering on like my Baba~” his eyes shifted back and forth, “Don’t tell him I said that,”

You had a strong feeling however, that there was a high chance the Six Eared Macaque already heard.

MK chuckled as if he realized the same thing himself, “Well, now you know the great fear of the Harbinger-” he cut himself off, “Of the Monkey Kid~!” He says with a tad more pride. You already knew what he had almost slipped up and said. The Harbinger of Chaos.

You had heard the whispers and rumors of the one destined to Bring the end of the world. It wasn’t a secret. They say the day MK was born, Nuwa had appeared for a few brief moments to declare it so. To single this child out as the one to bring about the end of all things. You tried not to openly stare at him for too long, or think about that too obviously in case he could somehow read your mind.

You weren’t sure that was a typical Monkey King power, but better to be safe then sorry.

Still, MK wasn’t what you thought he would be. He wasn’t scary, or brutish, or unapproachable. He was... kind. A little awkward, sure, but there was a warmth to him that made it hard to believe the stories. The way he fidgeted when he was nervous, the way his eyes lit up when he talked about his hobbies, the way he tried so hard to keep that smile on his face even when it seemed like the weight of the world was pressing down on him—it all made him feel... human. Or as human as a demon prince could be.

“You’re not what I expected,” you admitted, your voice soft but sincere.

MK scratched his cheek, “Oh? Did you expect something else?”

You weren’t sure how to respond, especially since Yes you were. How could you not when you grew up outside of the mountain, where nothing but rumors flew around. It was only in recent years that MK even showed himself to the common public, slowly but surely being recognized more for being the Monkey Kid, rather then Nuwa’s cycle ender.

"You’re... different," you said carefully, choosing your words. "I guess I expected someone more... intimidating. But you’re just... you."

MK’s smile faltered for a moment, his eyes flickering with something unreadable before he chuckled softly. "Yeah, I get that a lot," he said, rubbing the back of his neck. "I notice you staring a lot.”

AH SHOOT- He’s onto you!

You almost tripped, making MK laugh and your cheeks burn. “I wasn’t staring cause you were- you know- that.” you insist. Liar. You totally were.

“Ooo?” he drawled, “Why were you staring at me so intently then?” he teased- he found this amusing.

You fumble to respond. QUICK! Say something!

[penkura]

I would like to request 'body pillow' with Sanji 👀

YES you both get Sanji with the body pillow prompt. 💚💚 @hank88999 and @sheerxfiction you're both wonderful for requesting this, I hope you enjoy it. 💚💚💚 I did my best and hope you guys enjoy a bit of Sanji today~

I'm sorry I went with jealous Sanji, I thought of my Zoro and Dimitri body pillows and this is what happened lol

He’s not jealous, Sanji swears it every time you bring it up, as a joke or being serious it doesn’t matter. Why would he ever be jealous of a stupid pillow?? So what if it has a case on it that has your favorite anime or video game character, he’s not sure which one it is, you bought it at a convention recently and have been using it ever since.

You tell him it helps your back feel better in the mornings, having the pillow between your legs and cuddling it, but it makes Sanji stay up and watch you sleep because he wants to be the one cuddled. It isn’t fair that a pillow is getting all your attention at night, something that isn’t real or breathing, when he’s literally right there next to you every night. How could you ignore him for that??

“You’re so cute, I can’t believe you’re jealous of a pillow.”

“I’m not jealous.”

Even though his back is to you, you can tell he’s pouting and it makes you laugh. Sanji has always been so adorable to you when he’s a little jealous of someone else getting your attention, but you never thought a pillow case would cause him to act this way. Not after you two have been together for years and through much more than a body pillow splitting you up at night.

It does explain why Sanji holds onto you so tightly in the mornings when you give him a hug before you run off to work, or why he hovers while you’re getting ready every day. Why sometimes you come home and your pillow is in the closet or under the bed, he’s jealous even though he denies it but it’s the cutest thing ever for you. To see Sanji envious over a silly pillow case, it’s adorable and funny all at the same time.

“You know I love more than the pillow, right?”

“Of course I do, I love you too, I—”

“Then don’t worry about the pillow, silly. I still prefer cuddling with you, the pillow is just helping my back lately.”

He gets that, it does help him feel a little less jealous about the pillow, but he still doesn’t like how much you’re cuddling it over him at night. He’s still clingy in the mornings even after this, wanting you to take off work and stay in bed cuddling the morning away, ignoring your body pillow and giving him the attention he’s missing.

He’s able to most past it somewhat, ignoring the jealousy when you two spend your evenings together and he snuggles you close before you both fall asleep, but you almost always wake up with the pillow in your arms and Sanji still feels a twinge of jealousy when he notices.

This is stupid, it’s a pillow, its not a real person.

Sanji thinks he’s moving past it until you’re extra cuddly with your pillow one night and he can’t stop himself from prying the body pillow out of your arms and bringing you closer to him, wrapping his arms around you and nuzzling his face into your hair.

“Its better to cuddle a real person than a pillow, love.”

He really thinks he’s gotten away with it until you quietly speak up.

“Yeah…you’re right, Sanji.”

You still use the pillow sometimes when your back is in pain or acting up, but the majority of the time you’re back to snuggling closer to Sanji at night and he’s less clingy in the mornings now.

Still pretty clingy, but now it’s not out of jealousy but just out of love for you, giving you lots of kisses and hugs before you have to leave for the day. Sanji will go about his day like normal, but when he catches sight of your character body pillow again, he doesn’t feel jealous but almost victorious, leaving it alone where it lies and just continuing through his daily chores.

I win, stupid pillow.

[theespressooqueen]

Whipped by a Sorrengail  Chapter 41 bonus scene

Xaden was waiting for Violet to get ready. He was sitting on the seating area of her—as of yesterday— their room, freshly showered, reluctantly wearing a dark green shirt because Violet insisted it he should wear other color than black. He didn’t argue. Not with her.

Boots laced. Jacket on. Daggers tucked discreetly into the folds.

Just in case this so-called “not dangerous” mission turned into a mess he’d have to fight their way out of.

He had just finished his second read-through of the same damn paragraph when her voice floated out of the dressing area.

“Xaden?”

His head lifted instantly, book forgotten in his lap. “Yes, love?”

And then he saw her—and forgot how to breathe, again.

Violet stepped out of the closet like a sin he’d willingly commit again and again. Her dark green corset hugged every inch of her perfect torso, and those fitted leather pants? Gods. His jaw tensed. Her hair was braided loosely, the silver end of it resting like a taunt against the curve of her collarbone.

She was going to be the end of him.

“I need your opinion. Gold or black?” she asked, snapping him out of thoughts that were headed straight toward treasonous territory.

“What?” he blinked, momentarily lost.

She stomped her foot, exasperated. That should’ve been his warning. “Shoes, Xaden. Black or gold?” she snapped, holding up each foot like a test.

He glanced down. One gold strappy heel, one black.

“Umm… gold?” he offered, because, really, she looked like a goddess in either.

“Really?” she looked at him unsure, that made him contemplate his answer.

“Yeah...”

She scowled. “Godsdammit!”

He blinked again, unsure what sin he had committed this time.

“I’m sorry?” he said carefully, watching her.

Then, to his growing alarm, she climbed up onto the coffee table.

“Violet—what are you doing?” He was already halfway out of his seat. “That’s dangerous. Please get down.”

“No. I need you to look properly,” she insisted, hands on her hips as she spun in a slow circle. “Now tell me. Black or gold?”

He tried. He really tried to be a decent man in that moment. But her spin pulled his attention straight to the curve of her ass, leather pants stretching tight, and all he could think was bite.

Focus, Xaden.

He forced himself to lower his gaze. “Black?” he guessed, though he couldn’t for the life of him remember which one was on which foot.

“No!” she groaned. “I want you to think! Not just say the first word that comes out of your mouth.”

“I was thinking,” he muttered, stepping closer, hand half-raised in case she tripped. “It’s just that you’re up there looking like sin incarnate, and you want me to notice your shoes?”

Her mouth twitched. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re standing on a table in heels.”

“I needed height!”

“You have height. In character. In power. In attitude. And now in heels.” He reached for her hand gently. “Come down before I have to catch you and make a scene.”

She grinned, then gave one more spin—just to test his patience, he was sure—before stepping down with his help.

“Black,” he said more firmly this time, meeting her eyes. “My favorite color. And honestly you look good anything, any color but I prefer you in nothing.”

She blinked at him, then smiled like she might just kiss him.

“I could wear nothing although everyone could see…” she teased.

“Absolutely not.” He pulled her closer, his hands settling on her waist. “But I know every man in that room would wish they were me.”

She smirked. “Good. That’s the goal.”

He leaned in, voice low. “Are you sure my only job tonight is to drink and relax?”

“That’s what I said.”

“You’re sure, you don’t need me to do anything?”

“I already briefed the squad. It’s not that dangerous at all. You don’t need to do anything, just be my date.”

He narrowed his eyes. “You alone are dangerous, love. I’m not used to doing nothing.”

“Just relax and let me show you how proud I am to be yours.” She leaned up and pressed a kiss to his jaw.

And just like that, Xaden Riorson, prince, warrior, wielder of shadows, was undone all over again.

—

Someone give Xaden boyfriend 101 book. 😉