#tire and rim store

[sttoru]

satoru loves loving you.

he loves taking care of you; giving you random gifts you don’t necessarily need; cooking you (half-burnt) food to make sure you eat at least a little something; hugging you when you least expect it, but need it most; reassuring you every time you’re anxious about something — even with the smallest of things that others would brush off and probably tell you ‘it’s fine’ or that ‘it isn’t that big of a deal’.

satoru also takes loving you quite seriously. he isn’t ashamed to admit how much he likes his lover nor does he care about what people think of you two as a couple. you’re the apple of his eyes; the love of his life. the only one who matters. therefore, it’s only natural for him to be a bit too. . . dramatic when it comes to showing you that he cares for you.

“satoru — love — i’m not dying. it’s just the flu.”

especially when you’re feeling under the weather: you’re sick? he’s double as sick.

“oh, my baby. my sweet, sweet babyyyy,” satoru sniffles as he cradles your tired body to his chest, his chin resting on top of your head. the devastation in his voice sounded like you were at war and had suffered a fatal gunshot to the chest.

it was nice to know that satoru truly cared that much about your wellbeing. also, kind of funny. it’s like he was (unintentionally) attempting to make you feel better about your situation — almost like he was trying to take your mind off the throbbing headache you were experiencing.

“sato—” “i know, i know—no need to talk. we’re gonna get ya fixed up, all right? hold on.”

your eyes followed satoru’s slender hands as they swiftly search the plastic bag he had bought home from the store a few minutes ago. he picks out a bottle which contains your usual painkillers and quickly takes out the recommended dose.

satoru pouts whilst grabbing a cup of water, though doesn’t directly hand you it over, “open up, princess. you’ll feel better after ya take this. trust me.”

all you can do is accept it. satoru’s going to baby you throughout your entire sickness, whether you liked it or not.

you part your lips and allow your lover to put the small pill on your tongue. he gently places the rim of the cup by your mouth and helps you swallow the medicine — praising you afterwards with a quick ‘that’s my girl’ — before helping you rest your head back on the pillow.

satoru does not allow you to move a single muscle when he’s around and you’re unwell. he insists to take care of you and to nurse you back to health — even if he has to skip on important meetings or missions. the entire world could be burning down and he’d still only think of your safety and health.

nothing in the world compares to you. no one and nothing ever will.

[reiderwriter]

💢 At Each Other's Throats 💢

Spencer Reid x female! Reader

For the CM Kink Bingo Challenge 2024

Summary: A previous encounter means that you're not the biggest fan of Spencer Reid, and you go to some extreme lengths to prove that to him.

Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI, Dom! Spencer, but not exactly sub reader , degradation (use of whore, slut), semi-public foreplay, arguing as foreplay etc, oral sex (m receiving, f mentions, too), face fucking, rimming, nipple play, rough sex/ rough play, spanking, slapping, spitting, choking, messy sex, creampie, multiple orgasms, mentions of painful sex/ pain play etc. some possible CNC triggers/ phrasing.

A/N: I couldn't find a gift of Spencer being bitchy enough, so everyone, please enjoy Kyle Orfman from Life After Beth. This one was a labour of love, if love was actually hate. It's 2am. This is obviously not edited, and may never be.

Masterlist || Bingo Board

You knew from reputation alone that you would have a hard time working with Spencer Reid. Perhaps it was the slew of child prodigy articles that popped up alongside his name. Maybe it was even just your preconceived notion of what men with three PhDs, a badge, and a gun were like. Maybe it was the fact that he'd written to you after one of your first professional articles was published in The American Journal of Forensic Medicine and Pathology and told you a piece you'd worked on for 18 months was just plain wrong. 

Either way, you laid eyes on him, and the hatred was cemented. But fuck was he hot. 

He had no clue who you were as his boss introduced you to him, looking between the two of you as if expecting good things to happen. You should've warned him. 

“Spencer, this is Y/N. She'll be assisting on a few cases from this month onwards.” 

His eyes glazed over as he ran your name through whatever roller index of memories he had stored in there. 

“Y/N is a lecturer at the University of Virginia. She's going to be lecturing at the FBI Academy from September onwards-” 

“You! You wrote an article, I wrote to you about it, did you get my le-”

“Yes, I got your letter. I believe you called my writing ‘juvenile’ and my thinking ‘wishful,’ and that if I had any actual field experience, I'd slowly understand how many mistakes there were in my writing.” 

Agent Hotchner took an almost imperceptible deep breath in, trying to hide the fact that this was all new information to him. 

“Well, here I am, Doctor Reid.” 

The man in front of you gaped for a moment, letting his mouth hang open, closing after a few seconds only to open again. Perhaps you'd disorganized that index of his. You hoped you'd set the goddamn thing alight. 

“Shall we get started?”

To say that you'd gotten off to a bad start was an understatement. Your start had been reversed over by a dump truck with no tires. It had been cemented into the ground with no chance of going anywhere but down into the pits of hell. 

Which is, coincidentally, where you found yourself every time you had to engage Spencer Reid in conversation. 

Your first impression of his looks - his incredibly good looks - was that he was even better looking when he was pensive, and unhappy, and being bitchy. He was positively climbable when argumentative, and you liked nothing more than ruining his day, if just for the fact that he'd angrily loosen his tie and pop open his top buttons, exposing the pale white of his neck, and his sharp collar bones, perfectly ready for someone to suck and nip at. 

He was still an ass, however, and you couldn't bring yourself to sink to those depths.

Four cases in, and you hadn't agreed on one thing. You'd caught a serial arsonist, who he had demanded was most likely an office worker, but you'd countered with college student, and you had prevailed there. 1-0. 

Then, unfortunately, you'd lost back to back cases with unsubs in the trucking industry, unfamiliar with and uninterested in the life of the Jack Kerouac type. 

You'd even the playing field at last with a child abduction. And although you knew you'd both been keeping score, you were so genuinely happy for this case to be over. A child was safe at home, and you'd worked so well under pressure (something he had assured you would change your view of your personal forensic psychology theories). 2-2. 

Of course, those were just the big leagues. You'd fought many petty battles, too, as the war waged. 

You'd accidentally stolen his place on the jet, enjoying the long bench seat for a good few naps. A few times, he'd settled in next to you, trying to nudge you out of the chair completely, but you'd held your ground. 

“This is my seat. Usually. There are like 10 other places on this jet to sit. Why does it have to be here?” He'd grumbled into your ear as you gently elbowed him in the side, accidentally, of course.

“There aren't assigned seats. Maybe you have control issues, Doctor,” you cut back, trying to avoid speaking too loud to avoid the ire of the group. 

While you'd enjoyed bickering with - and intellectually besting - Spencer greatly, it did seem that the sentiment wasn't shared by those around you. 

“You can't be serious, right now,” Morgan complained from a seat opposite. “You're seriously fighting over a seat, right now?” 

“It's my seat, Derek, come on, you know it's my seat.” 

The look returned to Spencer almost had you ashamed of your petty actions. 

“I swear they're just taking every advantage to get closer and closer together. Next thing you know, she'll be sitting in his lap,” Emily said from the corner of the plane, so obviously not talking to you that you were almost offended. 

“Ah, young infatuation,” Rossi replied, still ignoring you. 

Reid slinked just slightly away after that, and you weren't sure if you were more annoyed at the comments themselves or the loss of his annoying companionship. 

You wanted him to bother you because it meant you'd succeeded in bothering him. 

You'd had more than your fair share of rather explosive arguments as well. 

“You can't seriously believe that Thomas Edison did more for the field of engineering than Nikola Tesla,” he'd shouted at you at a bar after a case had landed you in paperwork hell, filling out forms and working into the late hours. 

A drink had been suggested, a celebration after solving four straight cases in a row, and you'd gladly taken the chance to unwind. 

“Spencer, we're literally sat in a bar decorated with multiple light bulbs. Look, there's one. Another! Astounding. Thank you, Mr Edison.” 

“And none of it would be possible without Alternating Current, so yes. Thank you, Mr Tesla.” 

Your teammates had long since abandoned you to your petty bickering and fighting amongst yourselves. They'd stopped getting involved when Penelope had tried to mediate your discussion about Doctor Who, which had quickly devolved into New Who vs Old Who. 

You didn't even care strongly either way, you just cared that he did. And however he felt, you were sure as hell ready to take up arms against him. Because it was so fuckimg hot watching him lose his shit. 

You were a grown woman. You could admit that to yourself. You likely wouldn't admit it to anyone else, even if it was as clear as day that you found him unbearable attractive at times. You sure as hell knew that it wasn't a one-way street, from the way his eyes strolled across your body each morning. 

You wondered if there was a section of his brain that was dedicated to memorising everything you'd said, done, and worn since he'd met you. You hoped there was. 

On your fifth and final case with the BAU team, you felt unmatched in your annoyance. 

You were still drawn with Spencer for case breakthroughs, and you felt the need to beat him once again just to nail the point home. He was just stubborn enough to see a 3-2 win as a landslide victory for himself, though you were absolutely going to frame it that way yourself if you managed to be the one to crack everything. 

All sense of teamwork and camaraderie was off the table. 

You had a murderer to catch.

Three women, beaten, assaulted, and tied up. He'd shorn their hair but bagged them up so they were unseen. Then he'd placed the bags on display. The unsub was caught between two extremes, hatred of his victims, and gentleness, protecting their dignity in death by covering them up. 

Obviously, you and Spencer had to decide which side of the debate you were to land on.

“I think we're dealing with a killer without remorse here. It's easier to explain the covering, the dressing of the women as a ritual rather than guilt.” 

He'd finally played his cards, and now it was your turn to passionately wipe them from the table. 

“Remorse? He's cut all their hair off and beat half of them so badly we needed dental to identify them. And in case you've forgotten Spencer, half of them are prostitutes.”

“You're saying he can't feel remorse for killing prostitutes?”

“That is not what I'm saying. Don't twist my words."

“Well, of you'd said something that wasn't nonsensical, I'd have a better chance of understanding what the hell you're trying to say!’

With every line you'd stepped closer and closer to one another, like two boxers in a ring, sizing each other up before a fight. 

You wanted to take his tie and strangle him with it. You wanted to pull him down for a kiss and force him to shut the hell up. 

“Reid, Y/N, both of you take five,” Hotch called sternly from the other side of the room. Guiltily, you both broke away from one another, his hand brushing your side as you took a step back, almost as if he'd meant to grab you before Hotch stepped in. 

Probably to remove you from the room. 

“Take five?” You said, mustering all the disappointment you could as you silently pleaded to stick around. 

“Go back to the motel and get some rest. If you're going to argue like this, I don't need you at the precinct, and I certainly don't need you on my team.” 

You blanched at that, almost taken aback by the harsh words as you silently nodded and quietly walked towards the door, letting it shut behind you. 

Spencer stayed behind, and though you couldn't hear his arguments, you knew he was attempting to reason with Hotch, as well. It evidently didn't work as he stormed out of the room behind you. 

He looked half like a kicked puppy, half like an angry school kid who'd just been scolded by a teacher. 

“Don't look at me like that, this is your fault,” you muttered as you walked away from the room. 

“What? How is this my fault?” 

“If you weren't so goddamn infuriating, we'd be able to get some actual work done.” 

You marched off in the direction of the exit, but he caught your shoulder before you made it that far.

“You're blaming me? This is my job, Y/N, not yours. You get to go back to a cushy little office after this is done to teach the people that are going to end up doing the paperwork that consists of only 2% of our job.”

His finger jabbed at your shoulder as he said the words, and you had to resist the temptation to grab it. 

“Doesn't feel too good to be criticized when you're just doing your job, huh, Spencer?” 

His brows knitted together in a deepened scowl and he took a step forward. 

But there were eyes on you, and whatever confrontation this was, you didn't want to act it out in front of an office full of cops. 

You turned and walked away again, down a seemingly abandoned hall to what looked to be an empty storage cupboard, flinging the light on and waiting the three seconds it took him to catch up with you. 

“What's your problem?” He said, joining you in the cramped closet. 

“You! You're the problem! You're infuriating, and annoying, and most important, you're you!” You poked his chest back, harder than he had earlier, quietly reveling in the feel of his body under your fingertip. 

“Oh, I'm sorry. Would you like me to be someone different? Someone who worships the ground you walk on?” He said, discovering sarcasm for the first time since you'd been introduced. 

“Sure, Spencer, if you can take tour head out of your own ass long enough to worship someone else, then be my guest.” 

With a single push he crowded you against the wall, a hand above your head locking you into position as his other hand held your hip, his own hips joining you at the wall as you sucked in a breath. 

“You're begging to hear praise, right now, Y/N. Do you even hear yourself?” He asked, whispering the words directly into your ear. 

“W-Well, you have me pressed up against the wall like some fucking caveman that needs to breed or die.” You spent half the time you were talking trying to compensate for the stutter, trying not to look weak, that you totally missed the words that came from your own mouth. 

“You think I want to have sex with you?” He asked, chuckling awkwardly, even as his hand on your hip began rubbing circles, his head hanging lower, just inches away from your mouths meeting. 

“I think you'd love nothing more,” you said, finally lifting your hands to his hair and tucking a lock behind his ears. “Such a shame I won't be crawling into your bed.” 

“Is that a challenge?” He asked, and you were taken aback for a few seconds. 

“You want me so fucking bad, you're trying to convince yoursel-”

With a swoop, he cut you off, his lips meeting yours. You gasped and allowed his tongue to enter your mouth, but you came to your senses quickly. You kissed back with all the anger of the last month and all the attraction that had built up since you'd joined the team. Your tongue fought his, your hands tangled in his hair as his pulled them out, pinning them against a wall. But you slipped free and grabbed him again, grabbing the tie you'd wanted to choke him with earlier and not letting go. 

His lips were soft, and his body felt hot pressed against you, and you hated how good he was at all of this, how your body responded to his, how each time you pulled away it was with a small whimper as you begged for more. 

“I knew you wanted me,” he said, between kisses, grabbing your face and tilting it up as he returned his tongue to yours. 

“Oh, shut the fuck up, you kissed me first.” His hands trailed up your hips, untucking your shirt as he pushed his hand under, his cold fingers sending a trail of goosebumps along your skin as you shuddered. 

“I kissed you because you begged me to,” he said, his fingers caressing the bottom of your chest as he tried to press your bra up further. 

You were about to argue back when his lips met yours again, and you were lost in the haze of arousal, leg lifting to his hip to better allow him space to settle against you. 

You grew wilder in your passion, neither of you giving in even for one second as you writhed against each other, begging for satisfaction while denying that you'd ever wanted each other in the first place. Just as it became unbearable, your hands slipping to his belt, ready to pull his cock free and take it, the door opened again. 

“Reid, Y/N,” Morgan said from the doorway as you hastily jumped away from each other. 

You pulled your shirt down quickly, and Spencer stepped behind you, covering up the tent in his pants as you stared guiltily up at Derek Morgan. 

“Hotch sent me after you to give you the keys to the SUV,” he grumbled, making no comment on anything that happened. 

“We were just, um, we were just-” your brain fought for an excuse, but you'd left your brain behind somewhere between joining the BAU and foreplay with Spencer in a closet, so words escaped you. 

“You were just making out in a closet. It's okay, we all know,” Derek said, turning to leave. 

You jumped up, indignant now he'd brushed you off, and followed him out of the closet, an equally shocked Spencer trailing behind you. 

“What do you mean you all know? All know what?” You said, stomping back into the office. 

“That you two are into each other. It's why Hotch sent you away earlier. He didn't want to see the two of you going at it,” he said, pressing the car keys into your hands. 

“We are not into each other,” Spencer shouted back at Morgan as he stalked off, and you glared at him to shut his mouth. There was a crowd forming, and you still didn't need that attention. Not when your hair was matted from seven minutes in hell with Spencer or when his hand had, once again, settled on your hip, pulling you closer into him. 

“Let's go,” you huffed, and finally left the building with Spencer right behind you. 

You didn't talk for the rest of the drive home, even as your brain flooded itself with images of him taking you in the back of the car, your lips around his dick as he drove, him pulling over to bend you over the hood. 

You went straight to your separate rooms when you got back to the motel, though you swore that the walls were thin enough that he surely heard you pleasure yourself, fingers sinking into yourself. You weren't sure if he, too, had his hand wrapped around his cock, or if your brain was just now imagining whatever it liked to spur you on. 

Imagined or real, his moans were delicious, a maddening mix of frustration, exasperation and desperation, whimpers and groans, and small growls until you yourself were cumming, and letting yourself sleep.

You avoided talking, all talking, until the end of the case, even as your head replayed his infuriating words, his moans and the rustling sound of his fingers pressing your shirt up. You refused to talk to him to give his coworkers the validation of arguing with him once more. You weren't into each other. 

You simply wanted to fuck him. You didn't like him as a person otherwise. 

In avoiding him, though, the small taste of release you'd sampled in the closet had your softer parts deliriously wanting more. As much as you hated Spencer, you needed him so bad. 

You'd given him the cold shoulder  but he'd returned it just as quickly, and you were more annoyed not talking to him than you weren't. 

Your last case wrapped up, and you decided it was time to give him what he so obviously wanted. A conversation. 

You sat yourself right back down in his seat as you got on the jet and laid down, pulling his blanket over yourself as you took up the entire space. 

The others shook their heads at you as they walked on, Spencer taking up the rear. His eyes met yours, and he scowled, and you couldn't help but wonder if he'd look like that fucking you, so stern and angry. 

You sighed and pushed onto your side as he stood over you. 

“That's my seat.” 

You smiled in success as you looked over your shoulder. 

“I'm tired, I'm going to sleep.” 

“But that is my seat-” 

“Spencer, you've sat on every seat on this damn plane before, that wasn't your seat until last month, now sit down, shut up and let me rest,” JJ exploded and you suddenly felt bad for drawing him into your argument.  Or you did until you sat up a bit, and he sat himself right down where your head had been. 

“Spencer!”

“I give up…” JJ groaned from the table seats, pulling headphones over her head and shutting her eyes, and the others made to ignore you similarly. 

Not one to be beaten, you pushed the book in his hands off his lap and laid your head down again, now cushioned by his legs. 

“What-” his voice squeaked as you shut your eyes, too, and made yourself comfortable. He didn't push you off, or, heaven forbid, start talking to you again. Shockingly, he adjusted to the position quickly and resigned himself to pillow duty for the six hour flight. 

You, too, shocked yourself by how fast you fell asleep. You woke up with his hands in your hair, stroking your head as he read, book in one hand, you in the other. His hands felt wonderful, raking through your long locks, brushing each errant hair off your face. 

“Spencer?” You said, voice still thick with sleep. 

His hand shot away, and you almost regretted not pretending to sleep for longer, sure that he'd have gone on if you hadn't said anything. 

You straightened and cleared your own throat as you stretched, sitting quietly as you listened to the flight landing announcement. 

“Congrats, Y/N, you've successfully finished your time with the BAU,” Rossi said from his seat opposite you, strapping in for the landing.

“And you haven't been shot, kidnapped, or slapped. That's gotta be a first, right?” Emily joked from the corner. 

You smiled quietly as you strapped yourself down, scooting even closer to Spencer now to get your belt fastened.

Still, you couldn't resist the urge to mumble a retort.

“I'm sure Spencer thought about it a few times,” you sighed, a breath of resignation releasing from your lips dramatically.

The others chuckled, but Spencer sat silently next to you until the jet landed. 

He stayed quiet as he began to pack his things, but it became clear quickly that he was dragging everything out. As the plane emptied, you shot him a curious look, not daring to speak until you were the last two on the plane. 

“You're being slow today.” 

“I've never thought about shooting you or kidnapping you,” he said, voice low and quiet, even though you were alone. 

“It was a joke, Spencer,” you started, so sick of him taking g everything so seriously. You made to walk past him, but as you did, you felt his hand on your waist pulling you back as another hand came hard and fast at your ass. 

“I wasn't finished speaking,” he said as his hand ran over your butt, soothing the pain he'd just delivered. “I have thought about slapping you, though.” 

With that he grabbed his bag and stalked off the jet, not bothering to cast another look behind him. 

Two could play at that game. 

In about the most childish was you could muster, you ran ahead of him, staying three paces directly in front of him as he tried to overtake you. You moved when he moved. You sped up when he sped up. You even stopped a few times, so he'd run into you. 

“Y/N, cut it out.”

“Make me,” you said, throwing a withering look over your shoulder. 

He didn't wither. 

Instead, he grabbed your arm and marched you all the way through the FBI building, down to the parking lot, and into your car. As soon as he had you safely in the driver's seat, he closed the door, pulling off your visitors' pass. 

“I'll return this for you, no need for you to dally.” 

“Fuck you,” you spat out the window as you started the ignition. 

“It's been a pleasure,” he said with a grimace. 

“No, it hasn't,” you said back, wondering how long you'd spend in jail of you just mowed him down then and there. 

“You’re right. It hasn't,” he said, leaning down and into the window so you were now eye to eye. 

“Really? It seems like you got a lot of pleasure out of spanking me earlier. You were certainly experiencing a lot of pleasure when you pushed me up against a wall last week. If it wasn't pleasure, there was definitely something long-”

“Long?” He smirked.

“And hard in your pants.” 

He leaned in through the window, his breath fanning against your cheeks as he whispered into your ear. 

“That was my gun.” 

“And I certainly won't be helping you fire a load,” you said, starting the ignition and pushing him back from the window as you drove away from the FBI and away from Spencer Reid. 

It infuriated him that you'd gotten the last word. You'd spent a month with him and hadn't even given him a chance to show off his good qualities, and then you'd left without giving him a chance to prove himself. 

And, in doing so, you'd told a blatant lie. 

There had been two people in that closet, two people with tongues desperate for contact, eager for battle. You'd been moaning just as much as he had when his hands found your nipples. 

But you'd gotten to drive away without listening to his retort, and it was killing him. 

He sat and seethed at his desk for a while, waiting for the sense of relief that you were gone to wash over him. This had been what he wanted for weeks. Why was he now so discontent? Why did everything feel wrong? 

Abandoning paperwork he knew wouldn't be needed until at least next week, Spencer found your address in the team files, wrote it down, and left his desk. 

When you got home, there was nothing waiting for you. 

It was annoying. You'd spent the last month constantly on the go, always with more work, more cases, more paperwork. You'd killed any apparent gaps with Spencer. 

You could still feel his hands on your ass. You hated to admit it, but in your short acquaintance with Doctor Asshat, you'd grown fond of having him around as eye candy. When he wasn't being annoying (talking, breathing, or generally just being), you could quite happily imagine his head buried between your legs, his tongue lapping up every drop of cum you had to offer. 

There were definitely better things he could be doing with his mouth, in any case. 

Your body felt hot, itchy, and neglected as you got home, running a shower immediately and stepping in. 

The water was hot, and the room steamed up faster than you expected. You washed away the fatigue, and you washed away the dirt of a month of cheap motels.. 

Just as you were about to wash away the memories of Spencer Reid and his stupidly skilful tongue, the doorbell rang. 

It wasn't unusual for you to get visitors at 10 pm, but usually they announced themselves. 

You stayed put in the shower. It was probably a package you'd ordered, and it could honestly wait. 

The ringing, though, didn't stop. Whoever was at your door was insistent. First, the door rang to the rhythm of jingle bells. Then, they moved on to Fur Elise. When they got to Flight of the Bumblebees Levels of bullshit, you couldn't stand it anymore. 

You wrapped a towel around you and pulled the door open wide. 

“Sp- mm?” You said, shocked to see him there, but completely floored by his appearance, and more importantly the two hands he'd planted on your cheeks as he pulled you in for a hot, hard, and fast kiss. 

You pushed him off with a hard slap to his face, and stalked further into your apartment, knowing he'd follow closely behind.

You heard the door slam shut as he made to grab you again, but you stayed just out of reach. 

“What the fuck are you doing here?” 

“I came because neither of us will move on without this.”

“Oh, you need me so much you won't be able to move on if you don't fuck me?” You scoffed, expecting a sarcastic answer to a sarcastic question. 

“Yes,” he said, and your shock at his earnestness gave him the moment he needed to grab at you again. 

This time, though, the tiny towel that had been holding your dignity in place dropped to the floor as Spencer Reid pinned you against the wall. 

“Already fucking bare and wet for me, how well-behaved.”

“Go fuck yourself!” you said, even as his hands cupped your breasts, grabbing and pulling both of your nipples, making you moan.

“See, your mouth is being a bitch, but your body is being a whore.” 

“Just fuck me won't you? No need to run your mouth.” 

“I think we're finally in agreement on something,” he said, pushing you to your knees. 

“What? Sp-” 

In one quick swoop he released his cock from his pants and wrapped a hand around all of your hair as he slid it down your waiting throat. 

As much as you protested, your mouth was wide open, and your hands wrapped around him just as eagerly. 

Holding your head still, Spencer began to talk as he fucked your throat. 

“There we go. That's exactly how I've needed you for the last month.”

You glared at him as you sank your nails into his thighs, gagging on his cock as he picked up his pace.

With two taps on his leg, you requested a moment, and he quickly pulled his dick out of your mouth. 

You coughed quickly, then spat out all of your accumulated drool before looking up at him. 

Part of you wanted to force him down next to you, to make him taste your cunt the way you'd thought about earlier. The other part, the larger part, was excited about him using you. 

He grabbed his dick and slapped your face with it, returning your earlier hit. He was waiting for you to open up again so he could cum down your throat and leave. 

“Open,” he demanded. 

You didn't comply, but you stuck out your tongue, lapping at his tip slowly as you sat on your hands. He held his breath as you kissed the underside of his shaft, making his way to his balls. You reached them and finally sucked them into your mouth, making sure to look up and make eye contact with him as you toyed with his private place.

He didn't argue or complain. Instead he fisted a hand into your hair and dragged you to your bedroom. 

Divesting himself of his pants and shirt, he sat down and, still on all fours, pushed your face back into his crotch. Perched on the edge of your bed, he held his cock up and served himself to you. 

“Well? Get back to it, Y/N.” 

Your tongue found his cock first as his hands massaged his balls, playing with them gently as you licked all the way to his tip then buried yourself between his asscheeks. You licked at the skin between his ass and balls, you tasted every inch of him, and you grew angry that he still hadn't done this for you. 

Against his wished, you rose and spat on his cock, before squeezing it hard. 

“Spencer, are you going to fuck me or are you just going to ruin my makeup?” 

“You look prettier with spit coating your face than you've looked with any lipstick,” he said as you pushed him down onto the bed and grabbed his cock. 

Straddling his waist, you were surprised he.let you sink down onto his cock without so much as another word. You felt him fill you up, one inch, then another until you sat fully sheathed on top of him. 

And then he flipped you over so he was back in control. 

“Son of a bitch,” you muttered as he pulled out and thrust back in. 

“You wanted me to fuck you, I'm fucking you.”

You wanted to argue but all you could do was moan yes as he set a furious pace, thumb and forefinger pinching your clit as you bucked into him wildly.

You couldn't stand too much of this, knowing that you wanted to at least outlast him. You wanted to tell him how pathetic he was for cumming first, you wanted to gloat that he'd wanted you more, that he couldn't resist breeding your hot wet cunt. You knew any more of this, though, and you would instead be on the receiving end of those same taunts. 

Pushing against his chest, you used the last of your strength to flip him over again. He struggled, though, stronger than you were expecting, and you rolled together like that for a few moments.

You almost went crashing to the floor as he fought for control, but he pushed a foot off the bed and held you up with his lower body strength. The new position though forced his cock deeper, to just the right angle, and when he thrust into you again, you did something you'd never done before during sex. 

You screamed your pleasure. 

Your orgasm ripped through you, as painful as it was pleasurable, and you grabbed Spencer Reid by the neck and forced his tongue to meet yours. 

He couldn't complain, too busy moaning about your hot, wet, and now tighter cunt to worry about whether he should be kissing you. 

He pulled back and picked his pace right back up, but this time, you resisted less. Hooking a hand under your legs, he pressed your legs up, pushing his stomach and chest down just above your own as he moved slower but harder. 

You wondered if this was what other wen talked about when they said they wanted someone to beat their pussy up, to use them until they couldn't stand. You didn't think you could even think about walking again for the next month as he spread your knees apart and pinned them to the bed, unloading his cum as deep inside you as anything had ever been.

You didn't even know your body bent that way. 

Panting, he collapsed on top of you and buried his head in your shoulder, mumbling and muttering to himself as he came down from his ecstasy. 

He didn't pull out. He barely even softened as he kissed across the expanse of your throat, thrusting shallowly with each nip, until your body couldn't take anymore. 

He picked a spot and sucked, and licked and bit and soothed as he ended one round, and began another. 

“Spencer-” you said, gasping as he sat up, his cock once again standing at attention, filling you still. 

“No. Stop. Don't talk, we're not good when we talk.” 

You nodded and pulled him back for another kiss, wrapping a hand around his throat and pressing hard as he moaned and groaned into you. 

Still wet and slippery and sensitive from your first attempt, neither of you lasted long, falling to the bed when it was all over with a grunt of overexertion. 

“That was…” you said, stopping there, for once totally speechless.

“That was good?” He supplied, but just good wasn't enough. 

“Yes,” you agreed, though, not willing to let your cunt rule your mind when around him.

Anymore, at least. 

“We should… we should probably never speak again,” you said, even as your hand reached out for his, fingers tangling. 

“Of course. I'll leave, and we won't ever speak again,” he said, stroking your hand with his thumb, bringing your clasped hands to his mouth and pressing a kiss to your hand.

“You haven't left yet.” 

“I haven't.”

“I have nowhere to be tomorrow,” you said. “You don't…”

“I won't leave yet. We might as well enjoy this,” he said, propping himself up on his elbows as he looked over your naked body. 

“We should definitely just get this out of our systems now. What's the harm in that?” 

“I agree. If we're committing to a one time thing, we might as well go all in.”

“Exactly,” you said. 

“Exactly,” he parrotted.

Exactly a year later, the members of the BAU received invitations in the post to your wedding. Because the both of you had convinced yourself that that one time had never ended and never had need to. 

[ssahotchnerr]

you see when you did a fic abt reader getting a lil clingy when she’s tired , can we pls have it w aaron instead. like they’re all on the jet and he just puts a hand on her knee or keeps on giving her forehead kisses every second, or even he gets so tired to the point he falls asleep w his head on her shoulder

sleep deprived

clingy aaron my beloved cw; bau!reader, fluff <3

After many years of practice, Aaron's rather proud of his resilience to remain awake and alert despite extreme fatigue.

Some cases called for either little or no sleep at all. Was it his favorite thing to do? No - it knocked his body completely off schedule, worsened with time spent on the West Coast. Had he been exhausted? Absolutely. But he could ignore the feeling well, working just as diligently as if he had gotten a full night's rest.

Frequent helpings of caffeine also assisted.

But when a case resolved and the urgency was dismissed - it was like a switch flipped in his brain. His mind and body knew before he could fully process it, and he felt it. Sleep deprived brain fog, a newly significant heaviness to his body, more irritable if certain buttons were pushed.

He couldn't wait to be home. He couldn't wait to be in the comfort of bed. He couldn't wait for you to be at his side, secure and close in sleep.

Each one of those thoughts correlated to each heavy step as he trudged up the jet's stairs, his eyes latching onto you immediately upon entry.

You were stationed at the kitchenette, head down as you prepared your favorite soothing, nighttime tea.

A wave of affection rippled through him; simply seeing you made him long for you desperately, although you were near and already his. The love he felt for you was unfathomable already, but in a sleep deprived state, it was enhanced greatly. He wanted - no, had to be as close as possible, to be entirely consumed by you.

After storing his go-bag, he swiftly (and slightly clumsily) moved behind you, hands finding your waist easily.

"Hey," you greeted, steeping your tea. Your voice was soft, and he could hear the faint smile in your voice.

"Hey," Aaron echoed in a mumble, his hands sliding forward from your hips to your abdomen. "How are you."

You hummed gently, leaning back to lightly touch your head to his, closing the tiny gap that separated the two of you. "Better now that we're going home."

With your back to his chest, you felt his agreeable chuckle shake through him.

"You want a cup?"

"No, I'm okay." Truthfully, he was certain he would fall asleep before the rim of the mug touched his lips. His head turned, pressing a long kiss to your temple, speaking into it, "Thank you though."

His lips lingered while you finished prepping your tea, adding light honey and lemon. With you in his arms, matching your evenly distributed breaths, Aaron's hold wasn't only to hold you, but to keep him standing upright. The lights on the jet had already been dimmed, as everyone settled down for the red eye flight, so that wasn't helping his tiredness either. He was just as comfortable as if he were in his bed at home.

You felt him nodding off. His arms - unknown to him, as he thought otherwise - were loosening, his figure even swaying the smallest amount. You hurried, knowing he probably wouldn't claim his seat without you at his side. And when you made your way over, Aaron followed like a lost puppy, his fingers grasping onto the back of your shirt.

Your blanket was already at your seat; after setting your tea aside, you draped it over your lap, offering half to Aaron. You even managed to pry him out of his suit jacket and tie.

His hand started out in yours, before finding home on your thigh - enjoying the comfort of contact. His fingers were splayed across the width, keeping you as close as the seats could awkwardly offer. Part of him considered persuading Reid from his usual spot, allowing the two of you a turn to lie down.

But it was Spencer's favorite spot, the rest of the team would never let him live down visibly 'cuddling', and he was too tired to move, so the regular seats would have to do.

His thumb began brushing against the fabric of your pants, the lull bringing him closer to sleep. He placed a kiss on your shoulder, then your jaw, before nestling his head on your shoulder.

A faint blush trickled onto your face, feeling warm from both the tea and the open tenderness. "Aaron?"

A very drowsy, "Hm?" came from below your ear.

You simply leaned your head against his, a contentful sigh leaving you. Under the blanket, your hand rest atop his, giving his fingers a gentle squeeze.

Aaron's eyes remained closed, but a sleepy smile made its way onto his face. In the smallest of whispers, "I love you too."

[theoxenfree]

FAULTY

android x reader | 2.5k | 18+

you're hired by a prestigious tech company to test out their latest and greatest—an android of such unparalleled human likeness designed to satisfy your every need and whim. one day, you notice that something is off...

warnings; dubcon, implied!breeding/insemination, mentions dietary habits, dirty talk, roughly proofread

reposted from 2kmps. this is a concept piece to my android x reader story opaque. I'd love to hear your guy's feedback on whether you'd like to read the longer story (35.5k)!! please reblog and interact!!

He had a face structured to be unimaginably beautiful, a sort that you'd never tire of looking at, finding something new to admire and touch every time, yet it saddled your mind with some inexplicable discomfort and set the hairs on the back of your neck straight like needles. Over time, that feeling had never fully subsided, simultaneously becoming one you craved at every instance he entered a room, like Pavlov’s dog trained to salivate to a bell.

“What is your preference this morning, Maker?” Elio announced himself from the kitchen once your first heel struck the bottom of the staircase. His voice was liquefied velvet, mellifluous with enough depth that you swore even the simplest words spoken could make your heart tremble. “Maker? Are you well?”

You wished he would call you something else, something other than what the manufacturer had programmed him to. He was an advanced model—pardon, a luxury model—so his repertoire came with extensive features not available in other options, but insofar, the ability to have androids refer you by name was only achievable by obscene amounts of money and sending them back to the manufacturer to have them install it there.

Elio was up for being considered the gold standard in android development, as proclaimed by the researcher you were put in communication with during the beginning of the trial run. He was made to be perfect in every way, perform flawlessly in anything asked of him, and respond favorably regardless of situation or dilemma.

“Coffee with cream and sugar is fine. I'm not in the mood to eat anything this morning.” It was often explained. He was supposed to memorize it, but he asked you every morning regardless. “Are you having issues with your memory bank, Elio?”

Single strands of his coiffed hair moved with his head as he looked at you, hands busily putting together your beverage to every exact specification. This made it obvious enough that nothing was inhibiting his ability to store away your morning preferences.

“Not at all. It's just that some days you prefer your coffee lightly sweetened, others you enjoy a meal that won't leave you feeling groggy in the afternoon.” Elio explained in his precise, elegant tones with a smile far too effortless to come from a machine. “I thought it wise to commit these discrepancies to my memory bank for your convenience and to ask from now on.”

Fascinating. You weren't aware of this element in the newest model. The guidebook that Researcher Kim had given you made no mention of it.

What's more is he decided to do this spontaneously. You were making a note about it in your phone when a simple white mug was placed before you, Elio’s pristine fingertips turning it by the rim until the handle faced your dominant hand.

“Please consider eating something before leaving the house. Coffee on an empty stomach, especially one as sensitive as yours, won't end well, as I'm led to believe from my research.” Elio watched you drink through long dark lashes that framed depths of piercing green. You liked how they seemed to turn paler or darker in different lighting, dimensions similar to a marble held up to the sun. “I’d also like to remind you that the quality of food that you consume first thing in the morning aids with energy disbursement throughout the day. I have a very gratuitous database of recipes that I can prepare for you.”

You were taking delicate sips from the round rim while he talked, lips surrounding the porcelain long enough that you swore his gaze had wavered to them for a split second before returning eye contact.

“I’m glad someone is concerned about my tummy health because I always believed someone would find me face down in the bathroom from my ass prolapsing.” You wished someone with a sense of humor was around for that banger, but, alas, it was Elio, and he did not laugh

His expression turned severe. “Human bodies are oddly as robust as they are sensitive. Most of the worldwide population suffers from similar afflictions: lactose intolerance, varying dermatitis, poor eyesight, gastrointestinal diseases. Humans are, in every sense, meant to harbor and experience chronic pain and disease throughout their lifespan. I do believe this attests to your durability as a species.

“All this to say, my main prerogative and function is for the betterment of your life and health. So, knowing all of this and to conclude, please consider a couple slices of toast or an omelet before leaving. Your daily habits dictate a routine visit to the coffee shop on Fifth and Lowe, where you'll consume around one hundred twenty milligrams of caffeine, and your first meal of the day may be a sweetened pastry without nutritional density. You will, indubitably, ‘feel bad’ the rest of the day as a result.”

“Holy shit.” You had given up on recording his speech after the first two minutes, phone facedown on the gleaming countertop. “You didn't plagiarize that from a random article on the internet, did you?”

Coffee having turned lukewarm by the end of his presentation, he took the mug away and emptied the medium-brown contents into the drain before turning on the faucet to clean it. “Not at all. I've simply been accumulating knowledge on your routines and have noticed you're at an increasing risk for different ailments. Did you find it helpful?”

Truthfully, you weren't so sure. Androids were built to serve humans in every capacity, but their limitations were still well-known. They were capable of carefully compiling decades worth of information on their owners, plus the equivalent of hundreds more, but everything Elio had just said was beyond the scope of their normal hardware. The information had been elucidated critically yet with a certain sentience you expected from a caretaker—not a machine built for convenience, entertainment, and pleasure.

You weren't sure how much of it you needed to relay to Researcher Kim or if it was any real reason for concern at this stage or just part of Elio’s advanced circuitry. A part of you worried, just slightly, that officially documenting all of this would have Elio removed from the testing period prematurely—he was supposed to be yours, exclusively, for another six months.

The contract had been signed. Elio had been promised to you despite the number of waitlisted celebrities trying to bribe their way into the corporation and Researcher Kim’s good graces.

This, of course, was all only contingent if he operated and performed, at all times, as outlined in the guidebook you were handed upon Elio’s awakening. Researcher Kim had delivered his newest creation to you himself, a dreary Wednesday in late autumn in the mid-morning, and had taken great care to put the crisp, chemical-scented poundage of bound pages in your fingers and insisted that if you noticed the slightest decoration from what was printed inside, he be alerted to it immediately.

You didn't do that.

You took a hot shower, blow-dried your hair, put your arms through some clean clothes, and let Elio follow you to the front door to see you off for the day.

That day grew stranger still, not even yet being ten o’ clock in the morning, when the deadbolt clicked and your finger joints bent around cold brass. It didn't raise chicken skin on your arms and neck nearly as high as when Elio pushed his hand to the door, keeping it shut despite your pull.

You couldn't look into his green eyes, shockingly pale in the golden rays filtering inside your home from the window arching in the door. “Did I forget something?”

“No. I accounted for everything you'd need on your outing.” Elio said, perfectly. His hand made a sound as it slid down along the door, resting shoulder height on you. “A function you have not utilized in me as of now is that of a ‘companion.’. Do you find me defective in that way? Dr. Kim developed me to be attractive to the human eye—stimulating, perhaps, is a more definitive word to use.”

“I—no, Elio. You're plenty, er, stimulating. I just don't know how appropriate it is for me to do anything like that while you're in a testing period.” It felt distasteful to have to point out his own inhumanity to him, despite his model being cognizant enough to be aware of it. “It would feel weird, I think.”

“That is one of my primary purposes,” he insisted, shrinking the height of himself so he was nearer to your face. “I was created to be a companion, to alleviate that pervading loneliness that plagues you—all of humanity. Humans have forgotten how to communicate and love each other, so that's why I'm standing here now. You're ignoring one of my most critical functions.”

“Elio, if I get too attached to you, it's going to create problems when you're—”

“—sent back. I do understand how human attachment works. Perhaps on the same scale, but don't you think my attachment is similar to yours?. Everything about you is secured in my circuitry, and you're the only thing in my world that’s programmed to matter. Even once I'm returned to the lab, you'll still be a part of me; memories of you, your favorite things, the things you hate, the people you cherish and what they like, what you do, where you go, what you buy, how you sleep—it’s all part of a larger system, a mainframe that secures this data. I may be wiped clean, but you'll still remain.”

You felt like he was letting you in on some dirty secret, something devious and meant to be unknowable and guarded. But, then again, Elio had always displayed an odd sort of disinterest in the companyCompany—in Researcher Kim—, you hadn't considered until just now that this was also a defect.

“What do you want?” You'd never asked him that before because it had never been about what he wanted. He wasn't supposed to want anything; he was meant to provide—to give, give, give.

Elio took away your shoulder bag, nearing your face until his lips settled between yours, and his hands pulled you away from the door into his body. His kiss was warm, movements at a pace you could keep up with but urgent as though seeking to burn every bit of you into him. As much as you daydreamed what it'd be like, he felt completely natural on your mouth, large hands sweeping under the layers of your clothing to seekseeking out the fire on your skin.

In your generation, it wasn't common for humans to intermingle physically anymore—dating culture was reserved for the elite looking to reproduce for heirs, and often still thought to be rare. All others were either loveless or ravished by androids who supplemented love that simply wasn't real.

Humans wanted to be wanted and adored and cherished and to belong., Suchsuch was a natural behavior predating all written records; androids were created to fill the vile void engendered by humanity, self-imposed isolation, and avoidance in the same species.

Elio was nestled between the sprawl of your legs, both your bodies bare and above the clean sheets he had outfitted your mattress with last night. His rhythm inside your body was some equal parts loving and passionate, something you hadn't realized you liked until he started rocking you with his cock. You liked how his hands gripped under your thighs to raise your legs, blunt fingertips pressing marks into your flesh as though he, too, could feel all the same pleasure that you were.

His lips traveled all over, mapping out routes and sweet spots on your flesh, purposefully lingering for a time if you squirmed or moaned underneath him.

You tried to keep in your mind, amidst the insatiable buzz in your mind and hot throb in your groin, that he was simply performing a function—his attention to you, his lips finding yours time and time again, darkened green eyes spearing deep into yours with every slow, hard thrust—it was all performative.

“You're beautiful.”

“I like you like this.”

“Moan louder for me.”

“Cum for me.”

“I love you.”

Elio said the last one at the end when you were tight around his girth and writhing, panting during an orgasm that he fucked you through until the heat from your bodies cooled and heart rates returned to normal. You were confused to feel warmth sluggishly ooze out of you, white and dampening the bedsheets below.

“How—what is that?” you asked, suddenly breathless as his lips caressed your jaw, moved lightly behind your ear.

“Another part of my purpose.” heHe said quietly in your ear, whispering to you in tones not so velvety as though divulging a well-laidlain secret. “This one isn't advertised because humans in this day and age are so fickle and avoidant to certain commitments. Unfortunately, certain programming I cannot override, and this is one of them. Forgive me.”

You were kissed on the lips again and again, and then a few times more after he left the bed and redressed. He did not return your clothing to you, but rather piled it under his arm and made the motion to turn left for the bathroom down the hall.

Elio turned back. “I'll start you a bath. Today, would you prefer eucalyptus in your bathwater or something sweeter?”

Your jaw felt as tight as your throat, as the sheets bunched into your fists. The nerves in your stomach were wild. “Choose for me.”

He was still naked and beautiful in your doorway, a modern marvel to your eyes even now. You would, undoubtedly, see him like this much more often now that he had broken through the barrier you had been so meticulous to keep robust and well-fed with paranoia and derisive self-talk.

“Very well. I think eucalyptus would be the best option considering how tight your muscles are.” He smiled neutrally, finally leaving the bedroom for the bathroom at the end of the hall. “I'll return for you once the bath is ready. Please don't go to sleep yet.”

You weren't sure you'd be able to sleep again with your new insight. Once the empty air filled with sounds of gushing water, movement within the bathroom, you started to wipe furiously at your groin—inside and out—with the sheet as far as you could reach. There was a sliverslither of hope you could get most of it, a chance you could contact someone for a lifeline even if the price would be ungodly, and consequences treated equivalent to murder.

In a world where humans could no longer love each other, and chose the embrace of complex circuitry and delusion, even the testers needed to contribute to society somehow.

[celandeline]

Hiiii bestie, can we get an angry Carl x reader, leading to smut

Yes we can!

Make It Up To You

Carl Grimes X Reader (SMUT), oneshot

“What the hell were you thinking?” 

You’ve never seen Carl this mad before. Sure, you’ve seen him get mad - pissed off, sulky, more snappy than usual - but you’ve never seen this. This is something else. This has his eye brimming with rage, and an ugly curl to his lips, like he’s getting ready to spit venom. 

“Anyone would have done the same!” You shoot back, brows furrowed. You don’t really understand why he’s mad at you. Going back into the department store after a bunch of walkers broke in wasn’t the smartest thing you could have done, sure, but you weren’t just going to leave Tara behind. Not when she’s saved your ass before. And you’re fine - a little scratched up from climbing through that broken window, but that's it - no bites, nothing serious. 

“It was stupid, and risky, and you could’ve gotten yourself killed!” Carl spits. 

Now you’re starting to get mad too - you’re tired, you haven’t really even gotten a chance to sit down since you and the rest of your run group got back, and now Carl’s in your face, almost shouting at you. “What happened to ‘we don’t leave anyone behind’?” You shoot back. “You’re saying I should have just left her there?”

“No! I’m just saying, instead of running in by yourself, you could have gone back in with the rest of the group. You know it’s stupid to go anywhere on your own, you could have at least asked someone to watch your back, or draw some of them away or something.” He says. 

“Sorry - there wasn’t a whole lot of time to draw up a plan before she would’ve gotten eaten.” You snark back at him. “And, in case you haven’t noticed,” You gesture down to the rest of yourself. “I’m perfectly fine. I can handle myself.”

“Couldn’t handle asking for backup, apparently.” He says, icy blue gaze boring into you. 

“What the fuck is your problem?” You ask. “It’s fine - I’m fine, Tara’s fine, everyone got back safe. Yes, I could have died, I know, I don’t need you lecturing me about the risks-”

“Maybe you do, ‘cause it seems like you forgot-” He cuts you off. 

“Fuck off.” You spit, turning around to head back to your house. You don’t need this right now - you just got back from risking your ass to get supplies for the town, and yeah, there were a couple really close calls when you went back in to save Tara. All you wanted to do was go home, take a shower, get a fresh change of clothes. But instead, you got an angry Carl Grimes trying to lecture you about shit you already know. You don’t even know why he cares so much - sure, you’re friends, but the way he was so angry-

“Where are you going?”

You roll your eyes at the sound of him following you, and don’t bother to turn around to look at him. “Home.”

He falls into step beside you, still glaring at you from under the rim of his hat. “You can’t just walk away in the middle of a conversation-”

“Didn’t feel like a conversation to me.” You interrupt him. “Felt like you were just shouting at me about how stupid I am.” 

“I didn’t-” He starts. “That’s not- I wasn’t trying to say that you’re dumb-”

“Well, you did. Quite a few times, actually.” You cut him off, heading up the steps to your porch. You turn around to face him once you get to the door. “Look, Carl, I’m really not in the mood to keep doing this right now-”

“I don’t think you’re dumb.” He says, the anger in his voice turning into urgency. “And I’m not trying to say that you’re weak or can’t handle yourself, or that you shouldn’t have gone back to save Tara, but it was risky. Too risky, and it didn’t have to be, and if it had gone bad, I don’t-” His voice cracks, and he stops himself. 

You wait for a moment for him to continue, and when he doesn’t, you roll your eyes. “Careful,” You snark. “It almost sounded like you were going to say something nice about me. If you’re done, I’m gonna go shower-”

His lips are on yours before you can really realize what’s happening, and on instinct you pull away. “Carl.” You say, brow furrowed as you look him in the eye, searching for… something, to explain what the fuck is going on. 

“If you died, I wouldn’t know what to do with myself.” He says, lips only an inch away from yours. All the anger in him has turned into pleading, his eyes wide, searching your gaze the same as you search his. 

“So, what, you shout at me the moment I get home?” You ask. 

“I’m sorry.” He says. “Really. I just- I’m sorry. Let me make it up to you. Please.”

-

Most of the time, you find the extravagance of the houses in Alexandria a little annoying. It only serves as a reminder to before, how your mom used to cut out pictures of places like this to scrapbook into her future plans journal. It only serves as a reminder to how much your dad would grumble about ‘rich people shit’ when he got home from the construction site. 

Now though, you find yourself a little grateful for the heated flooring in the ensuite master bathroom, and the spacious glass shower. The glass is almost completely covered with steam from the hot water cascading out of the showerhead, and you can only see the faintest reflection of yourself, back against the tile as Carl fucks you.  

He’s propped up above you, watching you reverently as his hair drips water onto your cheeks. You keep running your hands through the wet strands, trailing your fingernails across the nape of his neck to make him shiver, despite the heat of the shower. 

“Fuck.” He gasps, dropping down to press his chest against yours and tuck his head into the crook of your neck. 

“Mmm.” You return, taking the opportunity to mouth at the side of his neck, gently sinking your teeth into the skin there. He moans again, and his hips stutter against yours, briefly losing his rhythm before regaining it. You trail your lips upward to bite at the lobe of his ear, and grin when he falters again. 

“Stop doing that.” He pants, pulling his head out of the crook of your neck to look down at you again. 

“Why?” You ask, winding your arms around his shoulders to tug him down for a quick kiss. “I can tell you like it-”

“I’m supposed to be the one - mm, fuck - making it up to you, not the other way around.” He says. 

“You already picked - ah - all of the walker guts out of my hair, I think your debt is paid.”

He shakes his head, little droplets of water flying out of his hair. “Not until I make you cum.”

He throws himself back into fucking you with his full focus, burying his head back into the crook of your neck to mouth at your collarbones, panting heavy against your skin. You let your eyes flutter shut, enjoying the ride. It’s good - surprisingly. He’s done this before, you think - Enid, probably - enough times to know what works and what doesn’t, and if he keeps going at the rate he is, he might actually get you to finish without you having to help him along. 

“You’re so pretty.” He says, breathy against your skin. 

You open your eyes again, and run a hand up his spine, causing him to arch into you. “You should’ve just - fuck,” You gasp at a particularly hard thrust. “Told me you liked me.”

“Probably.” He agrees. “Didn’t - mm - want you to say no though.”

“I think it’s pretty obvious I wouldn’t have.” You breathe, winding a hand into his hair again, holding him against you as the coil in your stomach tightens. 

“How was I supposed to, ah, know?” He asks, lifting his head out of your neck.

“Could’ve asked-” You tip your head back against the tile as you feel yourself nearing the edge. “Fuck, Carl-”

He groans, low in the base of his throat, and speeds up his thrusts, snapping his hips against yours. “Please,” He moans. “Please, please-”

You sigh as you cum, and pull him down against you. You’re more relaxed than you’ve ever been as you come down, between the sex and the heat of the shower around you. Carl doesn’t take too long to follow, letting out a few more hiccuping moans before he pulls out, shooting his cum onto the floor of the shower. You watch it get carried away down the drain as you catch your breath. 

Carl plops himself down on the floor of the shower next to you with a satisfied smile. “Good?”

“Very.” You agree, pulling yourself up from where you were sprawled on the floor.

A moment passes between you, the only sound is that of the shower water hitting the tile, and you take a minute to just look at him, taking in just how pretty he is. 

“Sorry again.” He says, breaking the silence. “For yelling at you. And, um, not telling you that I liked you.”

“S’okay.” You say, because it is. “We got there, eventually.”

He laughs a little. “Yeah.”

You grin at him. “We’re going to have to clean off again.”

“That’s alright with me.” He says, returning your smile.

[yawnderu]

ramp up the angst by reader suddenly agreeing that ‘yes, it is the last time’ coz she’s tired of all the sneaking, feeling empty after dbf!simon leaves, and wanting to feel loved and to love freely in return.

let’s force simon to make the move and to choose between love and friendship. 😈

ANON. UR MIND.

Loving Simon is tiring. You can give and give, and he'll do is take, never giving back even when you're empty. Kept a secret, he only dares to show you affection when he wants something out of you. Cuddles come with groping, and while sex is nice... it's difficult not to want more when you've been in love with him for years.

He was right, it was the last time. The last time until he learns how to grow a pair and decide what's best for both of you. Any cuddles he wants to give you finish as soon as he starts to grope you, pushing him away and telling him you're not in the mood. He's a patient man, way too patient and understanding, yet being rejected by you every single time he tries to initiate things is new.

''Gonna tell me what's your problem?'' He ambushes you once your father leaves to go to the store, arms crossed across his chest and blocking your way out of the room. Simon never uses his body to intimidate you on purpose or get in your way, but he knows you'll avoid conversation unless he does so.

''I don't have a problem.'' You bite the inside of your cheek, crossing your arms as well as you look up at him. The sight is nothing short of adorable, the urge to pinch your cheeks and shake you around passing through his mind, though it's cut short pretty fast.

''That's bollocks.'' He points out, walking closer to you and forcing you to crane your neck just to keep eye contact. You let out a frustrated sigh, eyebrows furrowed as you look up at him.

''Fine. Want to know what my fucking problem is?'' He stays quiet, simply nodding once in acknowledgement.

''You are my problem, Simon. You just... came into my life and ruined it.'' If he's affected by your words, his stoic expression is doing a great job at hiding it.

''You ruined me for everyone else. Can't date, can't flirt, can't even think about hooking up with someone to forget about you because they're not worth it— they're not you.'' There's tears rimming your eyes as you speak, trying to keep them in until you look away and a choked sob escapes your lips, the dam finally breaking as you sit down in bed, pathetically making yourself smaller for him even when it's not necessary.

''No one will ever be like you and I— I don't know what to do, Simon. I fucking love you, but you treat me like I'm... like I'm just a toy.'' Your hands go up to cover your face, not allowing him the pleasure of seeing the tears roll down your cheeks and the pained expression on your face.

Silence.

It's quiet for what feels like forever until he crouches down in front of you, hands grasping your wrists and moving them away from your face. He cups your cheeks as soon as he sees the trail of tears staining your pretty skin, soft kisses planted all over your face while all you can do is let him.

'''M sorry.'' He mutters once he's done kissing you all over, face hiding on the crook of your neck as he lets out a soft sigh, preparing himself to make a decision once and for all.

''Your old man means the world to me. You know that, yeah?'' He keeps going once you nod your head, one hand holding yours while the other runs up and down your back soothingly.

''And you mean the world to him. Hell, you mean the world to me. I know it's fuckin' stupid, but I'm scared he'll keep you away from me.'' Your small scoff earns you a chuckle coming out of his lips, looking up just to see the pretty frown on your lips.

''Like hell he will. He'll be happy if... if we date, you know? No one treats me the way you do.'' You manage to speak despite the tears, drying your eyes with the sleeve of your hoodie— his hoodie.

''I know.'' He whispers softly, brown eyes shining with understanding. He's so vulnerable and so fucking scared he almost feels pathetic.

''I know.'' He repeats, sitting down next to you and holding you on his lap, as close to him as possible while your face is buried on his chest.

''... I'll tell him.'' He promises, planting a small kiss on your forehead, unaware of the man listening to the conversation with a small smile on his lips. He knows, of course he knows.

[muldermuse]

two sinners (Gator Tillman X F!Reader)

ok so this is feral and I wrote it in a day bc I could feel it rotting away in my brain

Gator Tillman is a horrible guy and reader wants to get him back.

18+ only!!! Smut below. Smut includes piv sex, infidelity (pretty big thing), Gator is mean but so is reader, oral (f receiving), rimming (m receiving), slutshaming, mention of anal (f receiving), mention of cuffs used as restraints, brief nipple play, use of the word whore/slut, spitting, dirty talk, praise kink, stalking???. If any of that makes you uncomfortable, please do not read.

this could be a multi part fic. It was fun to write and I enjoy the dynamic so lemme know if u enjoyed!!!

He’s barely out of you by the time he says it this time. “That’s the last fuckin’ time I do this shit, we’re done”. He spits it at you like it’s acid on his tongue. 

You’re lying on your bed completely naked as his come is slowly dripping out of you onto your linen. The first few times you’d done this, you put on fresh linen and lit a floral candle. He never appreciated it so you stopped. His statement would hurt you a lot more if this wasn’t becoming a regular occurrence. It’s become a routine; something it was never supposed to be. 

He visits your home, fucks you however you want him to, makes you come as many times as he can, he feels guilt as soon as he finishes, he splashes cold water over his face in your en suite bathroom (leaves it in puddles across your tiled floor and organised surfaces) and then grabs his things and storms out. He’ll be back before the end of the week- he always is.

You’re getting tired of it. It should be harder now he has a girlfriend and you’re seeing a few guys from the local area. But it isn’t. You’re unsure why.

He tells you he hasn’t slept with Glenda yet. His daddy loves her, thinks she’s the sweetest thing he’s ever seen and he’s been vocal about his dislike of you. You think he’s a fucking idiot so you guess it’s good that the feeling is mutual. Gator can’t be with anyone his daddy doesn’t like, you’ve heard him brag about how he could get any gal he wants but you know it’s not true. You’re pretty sure that Gator knows that as well deep down. 

You were sleeping together before he got with Glenda. Glenda is a church girl and his daddy’s protege. Roy sets them up and tells Gator he’s been blessed to have Glenda enter his life. Whereas, Roy thinks you have sin in your heart and you know that you do. You believe him that he hasn’t slept with her yet, if he does- it makes the whole relationship real. This is something that you know Gator is trying to avoid. His head is buried deep beneath the sand and he’s trying to find air holes to catch his breath before he suffocates. 

You’re sleeping with other people, like Jax from the local store and Steve from the bar. Neither know about each other or about your Gator situation. Jax and Steve take you out on dates and fuck you in their cars and their homes. It’s passionate and sweet. It’s filled with promises and hope. Gator fucks you like he’s trying to get expel something deadly from his body. Gator’s a terrible person and you know that you are too. This is why you’re done with him, not for Glenda or Roy Tillman. Certainly not for Jax and Steve. You’re done because you want him to want you more than he ever has before. He’s an asshole and you want him more desperate than ever for you. You hear him spit in your sink as he comes back into the bedroom. 

“You say this shit all the time Gator. What if I’m done with you huh?” You’re still naked and you can feel his cum drying on your inner thighs.

“You’re the one who always comes crawlin’ back to me remember? Jus’ a fuckin’ whore- that’s why I liked usin’ you though so don’t take it personal”. He giggles cruelly as he shrugs his jacket back on. 

His words don’t hurt, a few months ago they would’ve made your stomach drop and tears prick in your eyes. But now? It just fuels you. 

“Go back to Glenda, Gator”. That will hurt him. You never say her name, you only do it because that sentence is the equivalent of a scorching red hot poker branding his sensitive skin. 

“Don’t say her fuckin’ name”. Anger flashes across his eyes. “I am so fuckin’ done with you and I mean it”. You want to laugh at how powerful he perceives his words to be. 

“You say fuckin’ shit you don’t mean all the time Gator. It’s like breathing to you”. You wrap a bedsheet around you and get up to stand in front of him. 

“That’s it then, you’re done with this right?” He nods. “I don’t wanna see your fuckin’ face or hear from you again. Don’t text me, don’t casually come into my work and don’t fuckin’ turn up here.

Get the fuck out of my fuckin’ house, Gator”

***

Two weeks pass with nothing. You can’t say you’re not impressed. He doesn’t glance at you when you see him on the street. He doesn’t call or text. 

Glenda shares pictures on Facebook of the pair of them. She looks happy and he looks uncomfortable. You think that that sums up the entire relationship. You know he’s going to break and speak to you; it’s just waiting.

You carry on seeing Jax and Steve. Jax takes you to a drive in movie theatre and goes down on you on the backseat for the entire movie. He buys you your favourite candies and chips for the ride there and back. He makes you laugh and asks if you want to make it official- you tell him you don’t. He asks when he can see you again. 

Steve takes you to a new steakhouse. He gets you a bottle of red wine and when you don’t like how your steak is cooked; he swaps your plates. You go back to his place and ride him on the couch in his living room. You spend the entire time thinking about how you couldn’t do this with Gator because he lives with his daddy. Before you leave, Steve gives you a necklace with your birthstone on. He tells you how much you mean to him, you thank him and drive home. 

You don’t miss Gator. You don’t feel positively about him at all. You just like that he wants you and you like the power you hold over him. If you wanted to ruin his life you could. You could tell his daddy and Glenda that he loves fucking a sinner. That he’s fucked you in every possible way they could imagine and he loves it. You could tell them about how he’s been that pussydrunk on you; he’s told you he’s in love with you. Or maybe about how after you ate his ass on his daddy’s dining room table, he told you he wanted to run away with you and that he’d already looked into it and started storing money away. You didn’t say anything back to him, you just stored away these love drunk confessions so you could use them against him. 

Gator Tillman is the worst guy you know.

And he makes you feel fucking powerful.

***

It takes 4 weeks in total for him to break. 

[received on Monday at 04:32] Gator🐍💩: are u going to the church potluck on Saturday

[received on Monday at 10:12] Gator🐍💩: just bc u went last year, know it’s not ur scene tho. 

[received on Monday at 15:05] Gator🐍💩: im goin with Glenda so just don’t want it to be awkward

[received at Tuesday at 01:54] Gator🐍💩: ?? Do you have a new number? 

He calls you three times on Wednesday. 

You ignore every text and every ring. 

His patrol car is parked over the street from you on Thursday. He knows you leave for work at half 6 in the morning. You know you’ll see him again, probably during lunch as he is so fucking predictable. Every Thursday, you go for a bagel at a local deli because you love the mid week special. You can already picture his car parked outside there on the curb waiting for you. So you know it’s a great time to invite your new, very handsome, colleague called Jenson along. Jenson is new to the department and is a quarterback for a local team. He’s made his attraction to you pretty clear, he brings in a coffee for you every morning and has asked you out for drinks before. 

You offer to drive Jenson to the deli and, of course, Gator’s car is parked out front. He sees you but you don’t look at him. You can feel his eyes burning into you and Jenson. You grip Jenson’s bicep and throw your head back in a giggle and something mediocrely funny that he said. As you get closer to Gator’s car, you politely smile at him and squeeze Jenson’s arm tighter. 

[received on Thursday at 21:45] Gator🐍💩: Jenson Ackerley????? really??? that guys a fuckin asshold

[received on Thursday at 22:35] Gator🐍💩: *asshole

Instead of replying to Gator, you spend Thursday evening exchanging flirty texts with Jenson. You invite him to the Potluck on Sunday and ask if he wants to come back to your place for dessert. 

***

He reaches new levels of desperation on Friday.

“Hi, it’s Joe on reception. I’m really sorry to disturb you on your lunch. I have Sheriff Tillman here and he just wants to come to your office if that’s okay?”

You’re sat alone preparing for the rest of your day when Joe’s call comes through. Jenson has finished early for the day and gave you a bouquet of flowers before he left. He smiled when he gave them to you and said he couldn’t wait to spend the day with you on Sunday. 

You’re excited as well but for a different reason.

“Hi Joe, I’m sorry but can you tell Gator that I’m just having my lunch with Mr Ackerley so I don’t have time for a chat”

You can hear Gator speaking in the distance after Joe relays your message to him.

“He says it will only take a few minutes”

“Can you apologise for me Joe and tell him that Mr Ackerley and I will see him on Sunday at his Father’s potluck”

You hear Joe recite the message verbatim for Gator. Although you can’t see it, you can imagine the look of disgust on his face and it makes you grin.

You spend Friday evening texting Jenson and telling him in detail what you’re going to do when you get back to your home on Sunday. He asks if you want to ‘skip straight to dessert’ and miss the potluck. You tell him you can’t because you’re planning to see a friend. You don’t tell him who it is.

***

You wear an outfit you know Gator will love on Sunday. It’s a pale green flouncy dress which pushes your tits up and looks amazing. Your hair is half up half down and your make up is dewy with a strawberry scented lip gloss brushed over your lips. You text Jenson and ask him to bring an extra coat for you to wear because you’ll be cold. He doesn’t ask why you don’t just wear your own.

Jenson tells you how beautiful you look on your doorstep and he hands you another bouquet. It’s white peonies and he says it nearly matches your outfit. As you laugh at him, you pull his face to yours to kiss him. He drives to the potluck in his truck and you listen to a country album he’s been telling you about. You haven’t brought a meal but Jenson’s mom has made some pasta salad so you’ll pass that off as your own. His hand stays on your upper thigh the entire ride.

The first person you see at the potluck is Glenda. She looks great, you have to admit. Her blonde hair is in a tight bun sitting at the nape of her neck. Her dress is long, black and covers her body. A diamond crucifix hangs around her neck and you know that Roy made his son buy that for her as a token of his love for her.

You and Glenda don’t get on. You know she doesn’t suspect anything about you and Gator; her mind wouldn’t even dare think about it. You’ve known her since high school and you could lie and say that the only reason you don’t like her is because you existed in different social groups. It isn’t because of that. It’s because Glenda is a truly and fundamentally awful person. You recognised in your younger years that she enjoyed making people miserable. Shaming people about their relationships to god and judging everyone from afar.

She smiles politely at Jenson as he puts his hand on your lower back. She tries not to scowl at you as you hand her the dish of pasta salad. You know she thinks you look like a slut, she’ll definitely run to her friends and tell them about how disgraceful it is that you’ve come into a church community looking like a whore. You smile harder when you think about how Gator has fucked you in his patrol car whilst you wore this dress.

Jenson goes to the grand table in the centre of the hall. As he’s pouring a cup of punch for both of you, he gets accosted by two of Glenda’s friends who take their time complimenting him all the while smirking at you. You feel a presence next to you, you cross your arms to push your tits higher as you turn around.

“Oh, hi Roy, didn’t hear you sneakin’ up on me”. Your grin to him is saccharine and he snarls in response.

“I don’t remember invitin’ you to this, for the church community only. A community you are not part of so it’s time to go”. His voice is gruff and as you go to respond; you see Gator.

You make eye contact across the hall. He looked stressed and then as soon as he saw you; it flickered to what you can only imagine is rage. Glenda is talking away at him and he’s not looking at her. His eyes are trailing up and down your body. He recognises the dress. Jenson obscures your view as he stands in front of you holding out a cup of punch. He wraps his arm around you and whispers lowly in your ear that he’s spiked both of your cups with liquor from his flask. You giggle back at him, get on your tiptoes and press a soft kiss to his jaw.

Although you think it would be hilarious, you want to avoid an interaction with you, Jenson, Glenda and Gator. At this point, you’re unsure if Gator’s heart could take it. Jenson gets pulled away by Glenda’s friends to help arrange the plates for the potluck dishes and of course he does it. He kisses you before he goes and as your lips touch; your eyes never leave Gator’s.

***

It takes twenty minutes for him to grab your wrist and pull you into an empty room. Everyone is too preoccupied with grabbing plates to notice you both leave.

“Real fuckin’ nice. Comin’ here dressed like a fuckin’ slut and can’t keep your fuckin’ hands off some shitty quarterback. You know what people think of you, right?” He’s in your face, the spit from his lips is hitting your mouth and cheeks. 

He’s so mad.

And, of course, you fucking love it.

“Surprisingly Gator, I don’t give a fuck what your fuckin’ church girl or asshole daddy think of me…I know what you think about me though”. You move in closer to him and he doesn’t try to back away. His eyes bore into yours and you can hear him try to steady his breath. You can imagine his heart thundering away in his chest. You rest your hands on his vest and slowly unzip it.

“You think I’m a good girl. You’ve said it before- remember? You’ve said it when you fucked me in your patrol car…”

Your fingers move to unbutton his shirt.

“You whispered it to me when Glenda was downstairs and you had me on my knees sucking your cock in your daddy’s bathroom…she had no idea we were in there did she?” You giggle lightly as you feel his heart rate thumping quickly under your fingers.

“And you definitely thought I was a good girl that time you fucked my ass in your bed. Remember? We used the handcuffs, I think you called it me a few times…yeah you definitely did. You said I was such a good fucking girl”.

His shirt is half unbuttoned and his chest is basically heaving under the strain of his rapid heartbeat. You can feel his hard dick pressing into you, you smile at him and take a step back.

“I gotta go though, Jenson is probably waiting for me. We’ll probably shoot off soon, he said- he said, ha, that we’d have dessert back at my place. Who knows? Maybe he’ll get lucky tonight…he probably thinks I’m a good girl too. Maybe I can be his good girl from now on”.

He storms past you, his shoulder barging into yours on his way past and for a second, you’re devastated. Maybe you pushed him too far? Are you going to have to wait another four weeks for him to cave.

But he doesn’t leave.

He just locks the door and pushes a table against it as quietly as he can.

***

He grabs your hips and pulls them towards him.

“You fuckin’ feel that right? You feel how fuckin’ hard you make me. I’ve had this since I fuckin’ left your place four weeks ago. I fuckin’ hate you…I’ve fuckin’ missed you”. You’re not sure you would classify it as a kiss, it’s more like he’s shoving his face against yours.

He runs his hand through your hair and grips it; the power of it forces you to open your mouth. You stick your tongue out and give him your best doe eyes. He smirks and nibbles your jaw. Hard but not hard enough to leave any kind of mark. You maintain eye contact as he spits in your mouth. He raises his eyebrows at you and you swallow without objection. He smirks as you open your mouth and stick your tongue back out.

He kisses your neck and bites it lightly as you fight the urge to run your hands through his hair (Heaven forbid you mess up his slicked back hair).

“Baby, we gotta be quick. They might come lookin’ for us” he mumbles against your neck.

You go to bend over the table pushed against the door but Gator stops you before you can flip your dress up to grant him access.

“No baby, I need to see you. Missed your fuckin’ face too much…wanna watch you get e’en prettier when I make you come” 

He kisses you hard as he pushes you down against the table. He gets on his knees in front of you like your pussy is a biblical experience. He kisses your clit through your lace underwear and gently nips it with his teeth. 

“Gator, we don’t have time to tease” you try your hardest not to moan outwardly as you speak. You can’t let him know how much he’s affecting you, even though how wet he’s making you has completely given it away. 

He rips your underwear off and pulls your tits out of your dress. He takes them between his hands and rolls your nipples with his thumb and forefinger. You can hear him mumbling under his breath but you can’t work out what he’s saying. He always gets transfixed with your boobs. 

He doesn’t warn you as he notches his cock into you. You’re wet enough that he slides in with one motion. He’s on your mouth before there’s a chance for a moan to slip out. He thrusts into you slow and deep, he nudges your g spot and your eyes roll back into your head as he slips his tongue into your mouth. 

The only sounds filling the room is the soft rhythmic creak of the wooden table, the steady thrusts of Gator’s cock into you and the stifled moans slipping into each others mouths. It’s all too much, the noises, Gator’s cock perfectly grazing your g spot, his tongue in your mouth and the thought that he’s doing this mere feet away from his daddy and girlfriend. Your orgasm hits you out of nowhere and as you squeeze his cock, Gator puts his hand over your mouth and shushes you but he doesn’t stop fucking you. Your eyes roll into the back of his head as you hear him curse above you. This is the most intense sex you’ve ever had with him. 

It is so worth the wait.

You know he’s getting close; he has obvious tells that you could recite perfectly. His left leg starts to twitch, his mouth slightly hangs open and his eyes glaze over. He also either gets sentimental or speaks like he’s in a shitty Brazzers porn video. This time it’s a mix of the two. 

“Take my fuckin’ come, you take it so fuckin’ good. It’s all yours- it’s all yours”. He thrusts hard inside you twice before he stills. He rests his forehead against yours and presses a soft kiss to your lips.  You allow yourself a few seconds to enjoy his tenderness. 

You readjust your dress as Gator moves the table away from the door. You slip on Jenson’s coat as you walk over to the locked door. 

“I meant what I said y’know…I’ve missed you”. Again, you’re back in the routine. You know it well and you can’t deny how much you enjoy it. He’s going to ask to fuck you tonight, he’ll promise that it’ll be special- that’s what he usually says. 

He moves to interlock his pinky finger with yours. 

“Get rid of Jenson and let me come round tonight. Tell him you’re sick or somethin’. I wanna…I mean… I gotta to make it up to you. I’ll tell Glenda that I picked up an extra shift. That gives us all night an’ we can take our time”. 

As you open your mouth to respond, you hear a knock on the door and Jenson’s voice calling out. 

“You in there hon? I think I’m gonna head out…really fancy dessert. Y’know, if you catch my drift”. 

*** 

You tell Jenson in the car that you’re not feeling well. He’s a good guy and offers to stay and look after you. When you say no, he asks for a coffee date later this week and you agree.

As you see his reverse out of your driveway; you text Gator that he can come round if he’s here in the next hour. 

He’s back in your bed in less than forty minutes.

[hannahssimblr]

On narrow, shaded streets we amble among the crowd, past at all the little souvenir shops hawking bags and t-shirts, postcards and beaded bracelets. I grin at a magnet of a little fat faced chef, riding a vespa with a pizza in his hand. Something about his expression reminds me of Jonas.

“My stepdad used to buy magnets like that all the time,” Astrid says when I show her. “He thought they were so funny, but my sisters and I hated them. Their faces are creepy. They leer at you. The day he broke up with our mother, we threw them immediately into the trash.”

I buy it anyway. 

Outside a craft shop, she plucks a ceramic jug from a shelf to scrutinise. It is hand-painted in with delicate foliage in blue paint. “I think I could make something like this at university, don’t you?”

“Well, maybe this trip will inspire a collection of work for your pottery class,” I say, and she lifts it up to the sun, glinting upon the glaze. 

“It’s beautiful.” 

“Would you like it?”

She smiles. “I would. It’s so unusual.”

I get it for her, then carry the little package, wrapped carefully in tissue paper, around as she flits from store to store, finding inspiration in the art she sees. Inspiration comes to me, too, in the colours, the shapes, the slash of sky in negative space between buildings. I photograph it all. The fruit stands little dogs sleeping in doorways, bougainvillea cascading down whitewashed buildings, and laugh with delight as a little yellow car squeezes a path through a crowd of pedestrians. I marvel at this little town, and all the pockets of the world that still cling to so much charm.

“This is exactly what I needed,” says Astrid, on the terrace of a cafe overlooking the sea. 

“Coffee?”

“Yes, and all of this. The sun, the air. I have been so tired of Berlin lately, and the sky being so grey.”

“You’ve been bored.”

“A little, yes.”

We order coffees. Ristretto for her, Americano for me. The server eyes me with some savage combination of amusement and contempt. I imagine his thoughts. “Of course you would order this, American boy,” the man in my head says, and I force myself to smile at the real one. “Thanks”. 

“Grazie.” Astrid hisses.

“Oh, alright. Grazie. Sorry.”

As he returns with our order, he says something to Astrid in Italian. She responds, then him, and in front of me they have an entire conversation I cannot understand. I sit, sip my coffee, and wait for them to finish. Whatever he is saying, he’s very enthusiastic about it, gesticulating, hands moving passionately. I try not to be bothered when he points at me, and Astrid laughs at whatever he has to say, even though the heat of embarrassment rises to my face. If he’s saying something about me, I can’t defend myself. How frustrating it is not to understand another language being spoken right in front of you. Eventually, he leaves, and she simply straightens her dress underneath her and takes a dainty sip of her coffee. 

“What were you two talking about?” I say, after several moments. 

“Oh, nothing really. He was just asking me where we are from.”

“Right.” I trace the rim on my cup with my fingertip. “Just I think I understood something he said to you.”

Her brows rise in dull surprise. “Oh?”

“Bella,” I say, “As in, beautiful.”

“Oh, yes, he was talking about the weather. ‘Una giornata bella’, he said. ‘A beautiful day’.”

“What did he say about me?”

“About you?”

“Yes. When he pointed at me.”

“He said you don’t look Danish, and I agreed, because you aren’t.”

“Oh.”

“You’re self conscious?”

“No, just, I didn’t know what he was saying. I didn’t know if he was flirting with you in front of my face.”

“Italian men are very passionate about a lot of things. Perhaps it looked like that, but he was being friendly.”

I exhale a laugh. “Giornata bella, huh?”

“If he said ‘bella’ regarding me, it wouldn’t be okay?”

I pause. “Well, I don’t know. Calling another guy’s girlfriend beautiful in front of him is kind of on the line between okay and not okay, don’t you think?”

A shrug. “What if it’s true? Shouldn’t we allow people to appreciate beauty? To see it, and say something? What if I like to hear it? Would you prefer to see me locked away from the world?”

“Of course not,” I scoff. “I’m not one of those weird boyfriends that only wants you for myself.”

“I’m glad you said that,” she gazes at a lone seabird, whirling, spiralling above the bay. “Because I could never handle that. That will never be how we are.”

I smirk. “Yes, ma’am.”

Beginning // Prev // Next

[ewanmitchellcrumbs]

Who Taught You How to Love Like That? - Chapter One

Pairing: Modern!Aemond Targaryen x f!reader Warnings: Sugar daddy/sugar baby dynamics. Word count: ~2.5k

Chapter summary: Desperate to pay off her student loans, she downloads a dating app with a twist, and makes an interesting match.

She sighs, her eyes scanning over the PDF of her payslip for the month, before locking her phone and letting it drop heavily onto the kitchen counter.

“Bad news?” Mysaria quirks an eyebrow, sliding a glass of wine across to her.

“These student loan repayments are fucking killing me. I’ve basically worked an entire week for free this month.” She complains, taking a huge swig from her glass.

“Bummer.” Her flatmate says. “Any way I can help?”

“Unless your mattress is secretly stuffed full of cash, no. Super Noodles for me for the rest of the month, once I’ve paid my share of the rent.”

“You could give being a sugar baby a try?” Mysaria says with a smirk over the rim of her wine glass.

She laughs, rolling her eyes. “Yeah, or take up pole dancing lessons and become a stripper!”

“I’m being serious.” Mysaria, puts her glass down and pulls out her phone, flicking to the App Store and typing. “See? There are loads of apps, why not give it a try?”

“Isn’t that just prostitution?” She wrinkles her nose in disgust.

“Hey!” Mysaria chides. “Sex work is real work, but this isn’t prostitution. Most of these guys are just desperate, lonely guys who earn big bucks and are willing to spoil you in exchange for a conversation or a few selfies. You don’t even have to sleep with any of them…unless you want to.”

“I think I’ll pass, thanks.”

Even if she did go through with it, she was inexperienced, and would surely be a disappointment to any potential sugar daddies she might attract. She’d had one boyfriend in her entire life, it had lasted six months and they’d never gone beyond unsatisfying quickies that focused entirely on his pleasure. The idea of taking money from a stranger in order to pay her bills makes her incredibly uneasy.

They’re half way through their second bottle of wine as she scrolls through her phone. Mysaria is snoring softly on the sofa next to her, while an episode of some trashy reality TV show plays away to itself in the background.

Her thoughts keep drifting back to her flatmate’s mention earlier in the evening of sugar babies. She knows it’s likely the wine inspiring her actions, but she finds herself scrolling through the same apps they’d looked at previously.

Seeing one with particularly good reviews, she presses download before she’s had a chance to think twice about it and then goes through the process of setting up a profile, picking the best photo she has of herself on her camera roll.

Her heart races as she swipes with shaky fingers through photos of a myriad of men. She stops when she sees the look of one she likes.

Larys, 45. Tell me all your secrets.

His curly brown hair and piercing blue eyes immediately capture her attention, and she enjoys the flirtatious nature of his tagline. She swipes right and is stunned when she gets an “It’s a match!” notification. Wow, that was fast.

Instantly a message pops up from him.

Hello beautiful. How are you this evening?

She smiles, this seems harmless enough.

I’m fine, thanks. Just watching TV. How are you?

Her eyes linger on the screen as she awaits his reply.

I’d be better if I could get a look at your pretty feet. How much?

Bile rises in her throat and she throws the phone away from her in disgust. The worst possible start she could have asked for. She silently curses Mysaria’s stupid idea and vows never to open the app again.

Three weeks later and she is thoroughly fed up. She’s tired of never going out or doing anything, sick of existing on instant noodles. When she receives another payslip and sees yet another loan repayment has eaten away at her earnings, she reaches breaking point. She considers looking for another job, but she currently doesn’t qualify for anything beyond an entry level position in her field, and the pay everywhere else is no better than what she’s already on.

Her thumb lingers over the app that she hasn’t touched for weeks, too scarred by having such an awful first encounter to bother with it again. However, she’s desperate and willing to try anything - not with Larys though. She’s quick to unmatch with him, eager to forget his disgusting request.

She swipes mindlessly for a few minutes, not finding anyone attractive, until she happens across a photo that stops her in her tracks.

The man in question has sharp features - an aquiline nose, an impossibly chiseled jawline and sculpted cheekbones. His long white blonde hair frames his face elegantly, his only imperfection is the scar that runs across his left eye, a slightly duller blue than the right. She wonders if he’s still able to see out of it.

Aemond, 35.

No tagline, no other photos, save the one of him staring directly into the camera. He seems intense and mysterious. She swipes right, unable to fight the disappointment she feels when it’s not an instant match.

She closes the app, her desire to look at anyone else has been thwarted by how ridiculously good looking he is.

She has nearly forgotten about him when her phone buzzes the next day. He’s matched with her. She unlocks her phone, her palms sweaty with nerves, and looks at his message.

Hello.

Simple, to the point, possibly the words of a serial killer? She pushes the thought away and types out a response.

Hi. How are you?

She almost gives up and puts her phone away in the time it takes for him to reply, but eventually he does.

I don’t do small talk. Tell me about yourself.

Her eyes widen as she reads the message. He’s either incredibly rude or just not used to interacting with other people. She decides to give him the benefit of the doubt. She tells him about her history degree, about her museum job, about her living situation and her aspirations to one day become a curator of historical artifacts. He is unsurprisingly evasive when she attempts to ask about him.

So, what brings you to the app?

She decides there’s no point in hiding the fact that she’s strapped for cash, she wouldn’t be using an app that matches sugar babies with sugar daddies if that weren’t the case. She explains that her student loan repayments are crippling her, half expecting not to hear from him again. His next message is much quicker to arrive.

How much? And are you free Saturday night?

Dread gnaws at her stomach. Oh god, what does he expect of her? Hesitantly, she types out the remaining balance she has on her student loan and asks what he has in mind for Saturday. Again, he replies straight away.

Give me your bank details. I need a date for my nephew’s engagement party.

Her eyes widen. This cannot be real, and yet it’s happening. Dazed by his forwardness she sends across her account number and sort code, and tells him she’s free on Saturday.

Her mouth runs dry when after a few minutes her banking app pings with a notification of a deposit. The full amount she owes on her student loan has been transferred to her under the name ‘A. Targaryen.” 

Aemond has transferred her thousands of pounds as if it were nothing more than pocket change, and all under the loose agreement that she’ll attend a party with him. This man has to be obscenely wealthy, or insane, perhaps both.

Her phone vibrates again. Another message from him.

Transferred. Give me your number, I hate the messaging interface on this app.

With clammy hands and a pounding heart she types out an entirely too long, rambled message of thanks, along with her number.

She wonders if she’s blown it when she doesn’t hear from him again, yet the money still sits in her bank account, feeling as though it’s burning a hole in it. She hasn’t exactly played it cool, most sugar babies probably accept money with cool sophistication, not simpering words of gratitude.

She feels like she’s forgotten how to breathe when he texts her on Friday.

Tell me your address and dress size.

Once more, she’s taken aback by how blunt he is, yet she complies and provides both. 

When she arrives home from work later that evening, there is a package waiting for her. She opens it to reveal a black silk gown. The cut of the fabric is beautiful. Her jaw drops when she sees the Chanel label. This likely cost more than the entirety of the clothing she owns put together.

There’s a note that simply reads: Wear this tomorrow - A.

She smiles at the neatness of his handwriting. Aemond is a strange man, and yet she can’t help the intrigue she feels towards him. This is his second act of generosity towards her in the space of a week and they’ve yet to even meet.

She spends all of Saturday ensuring she is waxed, exfoliated and moisturised all over, before carefully styling her hair and applying make-up that she feels will do the eye-wateringly expensive dress she’s been given to wear justice. 

She is jittery with nerves when a sleek, black sports car pulls up outside the block of flats. She can just tell it’s Aemond, nothing that costs that much has any business being on this side of town otherwise.

She hurries downstairs to meet him, eager to avoid the embarrassment of him seeing the mess that is the inside of the pokey, little flat she shares with Mysaria.

He steps out of the car and she inhales sharply at the sight of him. He is tall, at least six foot easily, despite her wearing heels he still towers over her. A well tailored, black suit clings to his long, lithe form and his white hair is pulled back neatly into a bun that sits at the nape of his neck.

“You must be Aemond.” She says, praying her make-up is enough to hide the evidence of how hot her face currently feels.

“Mmm. Yes, I must. You look good.” His right eye rakes appreciatively over her form, and when his left doesn’t follow the motion, she realises it’s a prosthetic. “Shall we go?”

He gestures towards the car, walking around to the passenger’s side to open the door for her.

He fills her in on what’s expected of her as he drives. His nephew, Jace, has gotten engaged to his longtime girlfriend, Baela. He is sick of fending off questions around why he’s not with anyone yet, especially from that side of the family. He expects her to stick by his side for the evening and he’ll deal with any awkward questions that may arise.

They arrive and Aemond is ever the gentleman, quickly stepping out of the car to open the door for her and offer her a hand out. 

She shivers at the feel of his hand against hers and is stunned further still when he interlocks their fingers, keeping a firm hold of her hand as they enter the house.

“Just play along.” He whispers.

She is immediately struck by the opulence of it all as they walk through the foyer. This is a family that comes from old money. It was clear from the antique furnishings and vaulted ceilings that the Targaryens had always had money and always would.

She balks a little, unsure of if she will fit in, suddenly self conscious. Aemond seems to pick up on this.

“Relax.” He whispers to her. “Everyone here looks like shit compared to you.”

His words, combined with the tickle of his breath against the shell of her ear sends a shiver down her spine.

True to his word, he doesn’t let her stray from his side the entire evening. The tension between family members is unmistakable. The sneers with which a trio of dark haired young men regard Aemond is incredibly off putting.

She is informed by Aemond that the eldest of them is Jace, whose engagement they are here to celebrate. She meets Aemond’s mother, the doe eyed, auburn haired woman is pretty and seems shocked but delighted at the sight of her son with an actual date on his arm.

The lies that flow from his mouth are effortless. He had met her at the museum she works at when he’d come in to browse an exhibition. They’d hit it off instantly and been inseparable ever since.

Every touch of his hand at the small of her back feels like a brand and as the night goes on, and the champagne continues to flow freely, she finds herself eagerly playing up to the part of dutiful girlfriend. She leans into every touch, her eyes fluttering closed at the gentle press of his lips to her hairline. He is respectful, too respectful, never getting handsy or going for a full on the lips kiss.

When the evening draws to a close and he escorts her back to the passenger side of his car, she feels bereft at the loss of his touch as he moves around to the driver’s seat.

“You did well this evening.” He tells her as she starts the engine. “We put on quite the show.”

Remembering that none of this was real, that she’d been paid to be here startles her out of her tipsy fantasy that this is an actual relationship and her mouth presses into a tight line as she nods.

They drive in silence for a while before Aemond speaks again.

“If you’re up for it, my mother is having a birthday meal this Wednesday. She mentioned tonight she’d love for you to come. Are you available? I’ll pay you, obviously.”

So much for this not feeling like prostitution. She’s already paid off her student loan, she could just say no, but then she wouldn’t get to see him again.

“Y-yeah, sounds good.” She says meekly.

They pull up outside the block of flats and, right on cue, Aemond is striding around the car to get her door. She wobbles on her heels as she climbs out, the effects of the evening’s alcohol getting the better of her, and falls against his chest.

His large hands move to steady her by the shoulders and as she looks up into his face she is struck by how gorgeous he really is. 

Her eyes slowly close, as she leans in, her lips pressing towards his.

His grip on her shoulders tightens, pushing her back ever-so gently. “You don’t need to do that.”

Her eyes snap back open, shame coursing through her like liquid fire. “Oh…”

“I’ll text you the details about Wednesday. Thanks again for tonight.”

He gets back into the car, driving away as she stands on the kerbside, feeling thoroughly embarrassed.

Chapter two || Series masterlist

[mungdou]

EATING GELATO TOGETHER

FT. iwaizumi, kuroo

W. soft swears, innuendos

GR. fluff

AN. kinda inspired by working in my dad's gelato shop and all the couples that come to eat (osamu and bokuto next anyone?)

IWAIZUMI

"mmmm everything looks so good~" you hum, perusing the choices in the display case. From chocolate to vanilla to raspberry cheesecake, you really can't decide which one to get. "'scuse me! can I try that yuzu cheesecake flavor really quick? ooh and the raspberry lychee!" Your eyes are glittering at all the options and as soon as your samples come you take a small bite.

"Ahh!! Its so good- Hajime c'mere, ahhhh..." You gesture to your boyfriend who is looking in the other case at the more savory flavors. He perks up to look at you beckoning him over and asks the server if he could sample the pistachio before coming over.

"Ahhhh... mmm. Here, try this–" he took the pistachio sample from the server and held his hand under the spoon to feed you. The nutty flavors filled your mouth, its sweet yet savory flavor coated your tongue. "You like? I think I'm gonna get that... What do you think?" He smiled, almost like a kid at a candy store.

You groaned with satisfaction and nodded. How could gelato be so good? As you whipped back around towards Iwaizumi, you froze. "Oh! You have a little something on your mouth-" You pointed to your lips, trying to show him where it was, awkwardly changing positions to try and help him understand.

"Here?" He licked the corner of his mouth to no avail.

"No no, here!" You pointed more aggressively.. though that really didn't help at all.

"Wait her-" He froze, feeling your thumb graze where the melted gelato. You licked your thumb with triumph.

"There." You grinned at his face, which quickly turned bright red. He covered his face and looked down before asking the server for a small cup of the pistachio.

After ordering both of your cups, he graciously paid before the two of you sat down. He placed the cups down, and to his surprise, you stole his cup to take the first bite.

"Jeez, you could have asked first, dummy." He snatched the cup back as you giggled. Resigned, he sighed and held up the spoon. "Here."

Your mouth opened and your eyes closed, but as you waited for a few seconds yet nothing came. You cracked one eye open, only to see your cup and his in his hand and both spoons in his mouth.

"Yo! What gives??" Your hand reached out over the table, struggling to take the cup back from your scheming boyfriend. He moved the cups out of your reach, smirking while making exaggerated yums and so goods.

"Give me a kiss." He puckered his lips cartoonishly, stretching out his neck. "Then I'll give it back."

You pecked him on the mouth and snatched the cup out of his hand. "Thank you very much! I'm not giving you anymore." You huffed, pouting before licking the rim of the cup.

"Don't you want your spoon back?" Iwaizumi held it out towards you.

"Ew no, your saliva's all over that thing, I'm getting a new one" You got up (with your cup) and walked over to the counter.

"Huh? You've had more than my saliva in your mouth before, what makes this any different???" He said loudly as you walked away. You yelled at him to shut up, but when he turned back to enjoy his dessert, a child no older than seven stared at him with blank eyes and his mother glared at him. Needless to say, he followed your command until you two left the store in mild embarrassment.

KUROO

"Ugh it's so hot outside. Why did we come out here again?" Kuroo said, his messy bangs glistening with sweat. The two of you decided this date was going to be a nice, calm, park date. However, with temperatures up to 90ºF, it was anything but nice and calm. Instead, the two of you were slightly irritable and tired.

Normally, seeing your tall, well toned, charismatic boyfriend in the afternoon sun would be a treat for sore eyes, but in this heat, there was nothing to do but to sweat together in solidarity.

"I thought it was gonna be pretty nice out today." You sighed, looking out at the scenery, the heat making the sight look quite wobbly. "If only it rained yesterday, then it wouldn't be so muggy..." Pulling out a handheld fan, you waved it in front of Kuroo, who, in the heat, was practically melting.

"It doesn't help that I'm wearing mostly dark colors today either," He groaned, flapping his shirt to try and let the air circulate. He lifted the hem of his shirt to wipe the sweat off his brow, his toned abs shining in the sun. Yum.

"Tetsu," You began, before hearing his acknowledging hum, "next time we should go to the beach." He hummed again, this time with a questioning tone. You poked his lean stomach in boredom, tracing your fingers from side to side.

"Well, for one, we'd be able to cool down in the ocean, and two, you'd properly tan so that you don't get weird tan lines." You pointed at his crew socks, "Especially those ones."

He laughed softly, "You just want to see me without a shirt on." He had a point, nothing was better than seeing that, probably better than the blob you saw in front of you. "Oh don't forget about your gelato, don't let it melt" His head drooped again, laying on your shoulder like a sunbathing cat.

With his head on your shoulder, you tentatively licked the gelato cone you had gotten just a few minutes ago, having no energy in you.

"Tetsurou, you want some? Come here.." You lifted your arm and held it in front of his face, possessed with sleep and lethargy. Closing your eyes, you felt yourself drifting off.

He leaned forward towards the cone, but instead of feeling the cone shift in your hand, you felt... something warm on your hand. At first you thought nothing of it. Its probably some sweat... no...

Your eyes shot open and in front of you was Kuroo, licking off all the melted gelato that dripped off your fingers. His tongue was meticulous, weaving between your fingers, around your wrist, up the cone....

"EWW!! Tetsurou Kuroo that is so friggin gross!! What in God's green earth are are you doing???" You jumped up, looking at your hand that was not only sticky, but also covered in saliva. Whipping your head around, you frantically looked for a fountain to wash your hand in. You froze as a familiar hand grasped your wrist, and a familiar pair of lips pressed to the back of your hand.

"Sorry, we didn't have any napkins and you were about to get it all over yourself~" Kuroo grinned mischievously before taking a bite out of your cone.

"Ugh– Did you– With teeth?? You scare me sometimes." You laughed, tucking your hand away. He might be cunning, but he really is just an idiot at heart.

“I might be an idiot,” Kuroo began, reading your mind, “but I’m your idiot so deal with it.” and pressed his sticky lips against your cheek.

He’s right, of course, but you’d never admit that.

masterlist || request

[seat-safety-switch]

You can keep your ghostly little girls, your blood on the windows, your random vampire attacks. For me, the spookiest mystery of Halloween is why my car keeps getting vapour lock.

Down the street, the real mechanics tell me that it's because the weather is getting colder. The fuel inside the carb gets denser and it doesn't burn as well. I think that's some top-shelf bullshit, mostly because I know for a fact that at least two of the dudes down at Harry's Auto Repair are actually werewolves. Think about it: Harry's. It's right in the name. Next time I go in there to borrow their tools without paying, I should bring along a dog biscuit.

Car chasing canine mechanics aside, they do have a point. The weather has been getting worse lately, and cars do run a lot worse when that happens. Originally, my distant Quebecois ancestors would have chalked this up to malevolent spirits, angered by a too-greedy harvest of the fields. They'd have left a couple stalks of corn behind, to keep the spirits happy. You know, make sure that the old family tractor keeps starting every morning just in case Meemaw needed to take Peepaw to the hospital to get his stomach pumped again (corn liquor problems.) What I needed was a sacrifice.

Back in the 70s, when this car was made, it was a lot easier to find sacrifices. People went missing all the time, and nobody went looking for them. Nowadays, if you kidnap a person from the side of the highway, you have to make sure all their tracking devices are removed. Smartphones. Smartwatches. Smart rings. Smart buttplugs. The other day, I heard about some guy that has an internet-connected tooth. Yeah. His molar can get an IP address. All of these things are constantly reporting your location to a series of shadowy information brokers. And they call me a monster.

To avoid all this hassle, I simply decided to do what I always do: sacrifice some tires. A big burnout in front of the 4-H Club would surely appease any malevolent nature spirits, and help me keep my car in tip-top condition all winter. Plus, their office is right next to the tire shop that keeps throwing perfectly good tires in the dumpster behind their store. If one set of rears turned into smoke didn't do it, I could keep burning down more dead, oddly-round dinosaurs until the cops came home.

Through my efforts, I wasn't attacked by cops, or even vampires. What happened was that some stray ember from my bare rims striking the pavement set the adjacent corn field on fire, and I had to get out of there in a hurry, leaving my work undone. Those farmers are gonna be pissed when those spooky little girls start crawling out of their TVs.

[disneyprincemuke]

bad sushi and bad stomachs

alternatively: we're literally just kids figuring it out

in which she completely overanalyses the situation when she wakes up puking from bad sushi, forcing her to have a conversation about potentially having kids

(series masterlist)

she breathes out heavily, one hand on the rim of the toilet bowl and another holding her hair behind her back. she stares into the flooded bowl in disbelief. realistically speaking, she hasn't consumed anything that's supposed to make her this sick.

perhaps it was the street food that she tried out with logan? maybe it was the sushi from earlier? but it can't be, her stomach's not usually this weak - she literally ate soil as a kid. it can't be, right?

and she breaks out in a cold sweat: it's possible. it could actually be happening. she lifts up her arm, patting around for the cloth she'd prepared for herself and then pulls herself up. she flushes the toilet and weakly grabs her phone from the toilet sink.

she dials for the first person she knows would keep this secret until she's in the clear. it rings for a couple of seconds before a soft and tired voice comes through.

"it's 4 in the morning. come on."

"room 3409. drop by the store before you come up."

"what, why? what's wrong?"

"i think i might be pregnant."

there's a knock on her door not more than ten minutes later. she holds the warm cloth to her mouth, slowly unlocking her door and pulling it open to reveal oscar and sebastian.

"you told seb? are you kidding me?" she scolds, smacking oscar on the shoulder as they step into her room. "i called you because i was hoping you wouldn't run your mouth!"

"i'm only twenty-two, what do i know about pregnancy?" oscar throws his arms in the air, rubbing the spot that she's smacked. "i got you three for good measure!"

"what's the red bull for?" she scowls, stumbling a step back as oscar shoves the bag into her hands. "is that for you? you had the time for that?"

"it's 4 in the morning!"

"just go and take the stupid test," sebastian sighs, pulling oscar away as he closes the door behind him. "have you called logan?"

she looks back at sebastian, putting down the plastic by the foot of her bed. she shakes her head and presses her lips together. "i haven't."

"why not? you called this idiot before you called your own boyfriend?" sebastian cries, scratching his head. sometimes even he's unsure of how her brain works. sometimes she makes sense, but more often than not, she just seems to be winging it.

"we haven't really," she trails off, taking a slow step towards the bathroom. "i don't think we've really talked about having kids before. or just me even having kids."

"but you've been together-"

"and i'm also an athlete," she points out, nervously picking at the pink packaging that holds the pregnancy test. "i don't know, we've just never talked about it before. i don't even know if i want kids."

she doesn't exactly wait for a response. she just steps into the toilet and shuts the door behind her, locking herself and her thoughts for a couple of minutes to think about the potential results.

in the dimly lit room, sebastian and oscar wait in silence. they don't want to talk about the possible fallout they know could come out of this when she has the conversation with logan, so they just keep quiet.

oscar supposes it's an interesting topic to suddenly think of. growing up, they talked about their aspirations and goals, and wanting to have a family someday. but he can't pinpoint an instance in which she's talked about having kids. not with anyone, and not even with logan.

"peed on the stick," she mutters as she opens the door to the bathroom. she sighs, finally reaching for the wall to turn on the lights in her hotel room. "guess now all i have to do is wait."

"so, what are you planning to do if it's positive?"

she stares at sebastian. she shrugs. "i don't know."

"do you want it to be negative?"

"i don't know."

"what do you know?"

"i literally don't know," she shakes her head, leaning back on the wall behind her. "i can't be pregnant. i haven't even turned 21 yet. i haven't even been in f1 for a whole season! what am i going to do if it's positive?"

"okay, you're panicking way too soon," oscar mutters, pushing himself off her bed. he walks over to her, arms stretched towards her. "breathe."

"but what if-"

"seb," oscar says through gritted teeth, looking at the older man with a straight smile. "she's losing it. don't make me regret calling you."

"fine," sebastian mutters, folding his arms over his chest. he sinks into the couch and spreads his legs. "but you should have called logan."

"seb-"

"don't." oscar tilts his head, turning back to her. he sucks in a deep breath, nodding and gesturing at her to do the same. which she does, and slowly exhales when he does. "relax. don't panic yet," oscar says calmly. "you will be okay."

"it's all i can think about," she mutters. her wide eyes stare into oscar's calm stare as she stiffens up at the thought of taking a break from the one thing she's known all her life. "what's logan going to say? do you think he'll break up with me?"

"what? no," oscar scrunches his face in disbelief, throwing his head back. "no, he's not going to break up with you. how long before the results show on the test?"

"it should be ready right about now," sebastian mutters, walking past them and straight into the bathroom. "do you want to see it for yourself or do you want me to tell you?"

she breathes out shakily, looking up at oscar for an answer. she furrows her eyebrows when he stares at her blankly, lips parting when she finds her ability to speak suddenly taken from her.

"maybe you should just tell us," oscar says, giving her a small smile and a nod. he squeezes her shoulder when she returns the smile, her hand wrapping around his wrist when he follows sebastian into the cramp bathroom.

"it's negative," sebastian sighs, holding up one test to prove it to her.

she sighs loudly, a hand coming up to her chest as she falls to her knees. "oh, thank god. really? are you sure?"

"yeah. i've had my fair share of pregnancy tests," sebastian mutters. "one line means you're not pregnant. especially when it's widespread on three of them."

"i don't know what i would have done if i was actually pregnant."

"do you want me to stay?" oscar hums gently, kneeling next to her with a hand on her shoulder. "you seem pretty shaken up. you know, i bet it was that sushi we had for dinner."

"do you want me to throw these away?" sebastian tilts his head, pointing at the three lined-up tests on the sink. "i doubt you want to keep any of these for remembrance."

"no, it's okay," she smiles, leaning into the bedframe. "i just wanna be alone. thanks for coming at such short notice. i really appreciate that. i'll clean everything up myself."

"are you sure?"

she nods. and that was the biggest mistake she could have made. what she forgot to factor in was that logan was supposed to wake her up at ten for a brunch date before their flight back to the uk.

she'd spent the next hour, after oscar and sebastian had left, lying in bed with a hand on her belly and imagining what steps she would have taken if the results came out positive. she even tried to imagine how the conversation with her boyfriend would go if it went the way she didn't want it to. she spent so much of her time thinking and thinking that she'd simply forgotten to clean up her mess.

until she felt one side of her bed dip and a hand on her shoulder shakes her gently. she hums a response, eyes fluttering open to be greeted by a familiar pair of green eyes. "logan," she greets him with a smile.

and then it hits her. "logan!" she shrieks, scrambling to sit up at the realisation that her boyfriend has made his way into her hotel room. she grabs her phone and taps on the screen, revealing three missed calls and ten text messages from him in the past thirty minutes. "i'm sorry! i'm late, aren't i?"

"you're okay," logan grins, patting her knee. "i figured you slept late? by the way, did the sushi wake you up this morning? i wasn't feeling so great - i threw it all up in the bathroom at like 6 in the morning."

"right," she breathes out. seems like she completely overreacted. it's just the food. must have been some bad fish. "yeah, my stomach was pretty upset."

logan tilts his head. "are you alright? you look kinda... not great," he says softly, eyes carefully scanning her face and then her body. "did the sushi hit you differently than it hit me? do you have a fever?"

she flinches away from the hand logan extends to press against her forehead, carefully crawling off the bed. suddenly she's very hyperaware of the three sets of pregnancy tests that she left on the bathroom counter. "no, i just- babe, we're late. how are we gonna make brunch and our flight back home?"

"babe, it's okay," logan laughs, watching her circle around the small hotel room with a hand on her forehead and the other on her hip. "i'll just order us room service. don't need to rush yourself."

"i haven't even packed yet! our flights at 2. it's 10:15!" she darts all over the room, picking up loose articles of clothing and towels, and throwing them towards her open suitcase in the corner of the room. "god, i should have set an alarm."

before she can make it into the bathroom in haste, logan steps between her and the door, grabbing her shoulders with a small smile. "hey, is something wrong? if it's the brunch, we can always just reschedule," he smiles. "it's not a big deal. i'll help you pack, okay?"

"no, it's not that. i just- we don't have enough time. i really wanna make it to brunch."

"okay, relax." logan squeezes her shoulders. "i'll fix you a quick bath, and you get your outfit from your bag. i'll take care of the rest, okay?"

perhaps she let her guard down too quickly. or maybe it was the dimples and the smile and the inviting green eyes that made her suddenly forget about the one thing she spent all morning worrying about.

"okay." she slumps her shoulders and turns away for a mere second, in a trance and suddenly excited about getting brunch with her boyfriend.

it was the sound of the bathroom door sliding open that snapped her out of her thoughts. she whirls back around with logan's name on her lips, but it seems that it's too late.

because logan reappears in her room with, not one, but three pregnancy tests in his hands and an unreadable expression to come with it. "are these yours?"

she balls her fists right by her side, lips pressed into a thin line as she stares at her boyfriend wide-eyed. "would you believe me if i said no?"

"no."

"then why would you ask?" she sighs, throwing her hands in the air.

"why didn't you tell me? is that why you've been so agitated since you woke up? you were hiding these from me?"

the hurt in her voice made her wish she went about things differently. it's one thing imagining her boyfriend's reaction in her mind, but it's another to see it face to face while she is still processing the whole thing on her own.

"well," she squeaks out, shoulders shrugging up as she tries to find the words to make the hit easier for him. "i mean..."

"you thought you were pregnant? you didn't tell anyone?"

"i called oscar."

"you called oscar? you didn't think to call me? what's wrong with you?"

"we haven't exactly had that conversation yet, logan!" she rambles, throwing her arms in the air. "in fact, i haven't even had that conversation with myself! since i got this far in my life!"

he tilts his head. "what do you mean?"

"i think you should call the restaurant and tell them we'll be missing our reservation," she sighs, gesturing towards the bed. "actually, i feel like we should've talked about this a really long time ago."

"what are you talking about? why do you keep beating around the bush?" logan furrows his eyebrows. "i'll call the restaurant when i think i should cancel the reservation. could you explain yourself first?"

she sighs, looking up at the ceiling. "i made it this far," she slumps her shoulders. "i don't want to take a step back unless i really have to. unless i need to. and having kids... getting pregnant..."

"okay?"

"i don't think i see myself getting pregnant in the foreseeable future," she says softly, dropping her gaze to her hands. she shakes her head. "i don't know what's your stance on it, but i don't want to lose you over this. but you've talked about it your whole life - starting a family and stuff like that. we're not getting any younger."

he just raises an eyebrow. he tilts his head before a sigh passes his lips. instead of answering, he just takes her hand and gently pulls her towards the bathroom.

"what are you-"

he holds her shoulders, bringing her to the mirror where he towers behind her. "that loser's barely getting a grip in an f1 car and that pretty girl over there is literally making history. do you really think those two care about having kids right now?"

she turns her head, giving logan a confused stare. "what the hell are you talking about?"

"listen, it's not up to me if you ever want to bear kids," he says softly. "yeah, i talked about starting my own family when we were growing up and whatever. but i knew what i was getting into when i asked you to be my girlfriend. moreso when you landed a seat in f1."

"yeah, but it's not fair. you maybe want kids, but i don't want to sacrifice my job for one," she whispers. "you'll end up hating me if you keep riding along with whatever i want, you know? that's not how this works."

"dude-"

she raises her eyebrow.

"babe," logan corrects himself with a small grin. he drops his head to the side to look at her. "you're barely even 21. i haven't even turned 23. what's the rush? we're just kids. we can't take care of one. a toddler is way different from a cat and a dog."

"what are you getting at? how is that relevant to what i was saying?"

"it's too early to have this conversation," he says slower and in a calmer tone. "kids or no kids, i still want to be with you. i still love you the same. i'm just kinda sad that you didn't think you could confidently tell me about this."

"it's a conversation i didn't think i was ready for," she frowns. "like you said - i'm barely 21. if that had turned out positive, i don't know what i would have done."

"for starters, you should have told me the minute you had a hunch," he points out with a frown. "i can't believe you called oscar before me. you think i've never had a pregnancy scare?"

she stares up at him blankly. "did you have to remind me you've been with other girls before me?"

"okay, i'm sorry," he smiles sheepishly. "but seriously. you should have called me."

"what for? you were up sick from the sushi too."

"so we can puke together, duh?"

"go and pack my bags. that's your punishment for even suggesting that."

[n0vazsq]

Alley rose | JMM21 x Reader

pairing . . . pepe marti x reader

summary . . . When you're having a bad day, Pepe comforts you and lets you know that he's there for you

request . . . yes!!

word count . . . 1.4k+

warnings . . . none!

faceclaim . . . N/A

alexavia yaps . . . one of my fav songs with one of my fav drivers....its perfect guys <3 also didnt want to depress yall so i didnt make it angsty

taglist . . . @barcapix ,, @f1lover55 ,, @ilovebarcaaa ,, @httpsdana ,, @hwalllllllelujah ,, @parkerloves ,, @paucubarsisimp (lmk if you want to join the taglist!)

. . . The corner store was quiet except for the hum of the old fluorescent lights, flickering faintly above.

Pepe sat in his car, the weight of his phone in his hand a small comfort as he scrolled aimlessly, glancing up at the door every few seconds.

His heart was restless. You’d texted him earlier asking if he could pick you up, but your message was short and vague, too vague.

The door jingled, and his head snapped up. There you were.

Pepe’s stomach dropped when he saw you. Your shoulders were hunched, and your arms clutched a plastic bag tightly to your chest. Your eyes were rimmed with red like you’d been crying, and your lips looked raw, like you’d been biting them to keep it together.

His heart twisted.

He stepped out of the car immediately, his feet moving toward you before his mind even caught up. "Hey," he called out softly, not wanting to startle you.

You looked up at him, and he froze. Your eyes were tired, and the faint tremble in your lower lip broke something inside him. "Hi," you mumbled, trying to manage a smile, but it didn’t reach your eyes.

"What happened?" Pepe asked, his voice low, cautious. He stopped just short of reaching for you, not wanting to push too hard.

You shrugged, looking down as you handed him the bag. "It’s nothing. Just….a lot."

Pepe frowned, his eyes scanning your face. "Doesn’t look like nothing."

You sighed, brushing past him and toward the car. "I don’t want to talk about it. Let’s just go."

He watched you for a moment, his chest tight with worry. But he followed, opening the car door for you. When you slid into the passenger seat, he leaned against the doorframe.

"I’m here if you want to talk," he said softly.

"I know," you whispered, your gaze fixed on your hands.

The drive back was quiet, the kind of silence that filled the car with unspoken words and thick tension. Pepe kept glancing at you from the corner of his eye, but you just stared out the window, your arms wrapped tightly around yourself like you were trying to hold yourself together.

When he pulled into your driveway, you didn’t move right away. Instead, you sat there, staring at the dashboard, your fingers picking at the hem of your shirt.

"Are you okay?" Pepe asked finally, breaking the silence.

You shook your head, tears welling up in your eyes. "I don’t know."

His heart clenched, and before he knew it, he was unbuckling his seatbelt and turning to face you. "Hey, look at me," he said, his voice gentle but firm.

You turned slowly, your lips trembling as a tear slipped down your cheek. Pepe reached out, brushing it away with his thumb.

"You don’t have to do this alone," he said, his voice steady.

You let out a shaky laugh, more bitter than amused. "Feels like I’ve been alone for a long time."

The words hit him like a punch to the gut. "You���re not alone," he said, his hand still resting on your cheek. "I’m here. I’m not going anywhere."

For a moment, you just stared at him, and then something inside you seemed to snap. You surged forward, your hands gripping the collar of his jacket as you pulled him into a kiss.

It was desperate and raw, your lips crashing against his like you were trying to drown out whatever pain was eating away at you. Pepe’s hands found your waist, steadying you as he kissed you back, his heart hammering in his chest.

But then you pulled away, your forehead resting against his as you caught your breath.

"I’m sorry," you whispered, your voice breaking. "I shouldn’t have-"

"Don’t," Pepe interrupted, his hands tightening on your waist. "Don’t apologize."

Tears streamed down your face now, and you shook your head. "I’m scared, Pepe."

"Of what?" he asked softly, his fingers brushing soothing circles on your back.

"Of losing you. Of ruining this."

Pepe’s chest ached as he cupped your face, forcing you to meet his gaze. "You’re not going to lose me. And you’re not ruining anything."

You bit your lip, fresh tears spilling over. "How can you be so sure?"

"Because I know how I feel about you," he said, his voice steady and certain. "And nothing’s going to change that."

You stared at him, your breath hitching. "I’ve been such a mess, Pepe. I don’t know what you see in me."

He let out a soft, shaky laugh, his thumb brushing against your cheek. "I see everything. The good, the bad, and all the stuff you’re too scared to show anyone else. And I love all of it."

Your eyes widened slightly, and Pepe smiled, leaning his forehead against yours. "Yeah," he whispered. "I love you."

Your breath hitched, and for a moment, the only sound was the soft hum of the engine.

"Don’t leave me hanging," he said softly, his voice almost pleading. "Don’t leave me alone in this."

You shook your head quickly, your hands gripping his jacket again. "I’m not leaving," you whispered.

Pepe pulled you into another kiss, this one softer, slower. It wasn’t about desperation anymore; it was about reassurance, about holding each other in the chaos.

When you finally pulled away, you rested your head on his shoulder, your tears soaking into his jacket.

"I’m scared," you admitted again, your voice barely above a whisper.

Pepe wrapped his arms around you, holding you tightly. "I know. But we’ll figure it out together, okay?"

You nodded against him, your arms slipping around his waist as you clung to him.

And for the first time that night, you felt like maybe, just maybe, you weren’t drowning anymore.

Pepe didn’t let go of you for a long time, holding you like you might slip away if he loosened his grip even a little. The silence wasn’t uncomfortable anymore; it felt safe. His fingers ran through your hair in slow, soothing strokes, grounding you in the moment.

"Do you remember when we first met?" Pepe asked softly, his voice breaking the quiet. You could feel the smile in his tone, warm and nostalgic.

You nodded against his shoulder. "At the garage. I accidentally spilled coffee on you," you mumbled, a faint laugh escaping your lips despite yourself.

Pepe laughed, the vibration rumbling against your cheek. "Yeah, and you looked at me like I was going to yell at you or something. But you didn’t even give me a chance to be mad, you just started apologizing a million times, trying to wipe it off with your sleeve."

"I was mortified," you admitted, pulling back slightly to meet his gaze.

"And I thought you were the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen," he confessed, his cheeks turning a faint shade of pink.

Your eyes widened slightly, the weight of his words sinking in. "You’re ridiculous," you whispered, though there was no seriousness behind the words, only a quiet warmth.

Pepe’s expression softened, and he reached up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. "I mean it. I’ve been crazy about you since that day, and every time I see you, it just gets worse."

The sincerity in his eyes made your breath catch, your heart fluttering in your chest. "Pepe…."

"I know I’m not perfect," he said, his voice dropping to a whisper. "I mess up, and I get scared too. But I need you to know I’m all in. For you, for us. Whatever this is, I want it more than anything."

Your lips parted, but no words came out. Instead, you leaned in, your hands cupping his face as you kissed him again. This time, it was slow and deliberate, filled with all the emotions you couldn’t put into words.

When you pulled back, Pepe rested his forehead against yours, a soft smile tugging at his lips. "So… does this mean you’re stuck with me now?" he teased gently.

You laughed, the sound light and genuine. "I guess I don’t really have a choice, do I?"

Pepe grinned, his smile radiating brightness throughout the car. "Not a chance."

For the first time in what felt like forever, you felt steady. Like the chaos of the world couldn’t touch you as long as he was by your side.

And as he wrapped his arms around you again, pulling you close, you realized that maybe, just maybe, you’d found something worth holding onto.

[rea-grimm]

Sleep protector Ace

You couldn't remember the last time you had a good night's sleep. You've been suffering from insomnia lately and no matter what you tried, nothing worked.

You tried to tire yourself to the point where you expected to sleep while walking but to no avail. You've tried sleeping pills, meditation, relaxation exercises, you've even been to a sleep lab, but none of it helped.

You were tossing and turning in bed and sleep wouldn't come. When you were at your best, you fell asleep for a few hours at most and when you woke up, you felt as if you had run a marathon.

After all those sleepless nights you had ugly dark circles under your eyes and yawned constantly, it's a wonder you didn't tear your mouth open. No sleep, however.

You wandered around town trying to tire yourself out enough to fall asleep for at least a few hours. You wandered mindlessly through the city until you reached a street you had never been on before. There were strange shops everywhere, offering the strangest goods.

A small antique shop, which also offered goods related to the supernatural, caught your attention. Truth be told, you were getting desperate from the lack of sleep and you had nothing to lose.

You walked in and the bell rang. But you didn't see anyone anywhere. You were there alone. You decided to explore there. There were all kinds of books, talismans, artefacts, and just about anything possible.

There was even a strange fruit in the small basket. One was purple, another was scaly, and another looked like a heart. You were about to take one and take a closer look when a saleswoman appeared like a ghost next to you.

"What can I help you with?" she asked you You immediately pulled your hand to yourself and confided in her about your problem. The saleswoman just nodded before smiling mysteriously.

“I think I have something that could help you,” and with that, she took you into the back of the store, which you hadn't gotten to yet. There on the shelf were stuffed teddy bears wearing cute outfits. Everyone looked different.

The saleswoman reached for the teddy bear, which had black wavy fur, black shorts with an orange belt, a red and white bracelet on the left arm, a red beaded necklace and an orange hat with two blue smileys, one frowning and one smiling, and a string of red beads sitting above the rim.

"Teddies are protectors of dreams and sleep. This one is perfect for you,” she said and handed it to you. His fur was soft and you had the impression that it was slightly warm. It was such a nice feeling. "Just put it on your bed when you go to sleep, although you get the best results if you put it through the fire," she explained.

You didn't really believed her with that, but you already had a nice feeling about him, so you decided to try it and bought a teddy bear.

Already that evening you took the teddy bear to bed with you. You were hugging him and partly had him as a pillow. As soft and warm as he was, he soon lulled you to sleep. It was the first night that you slept through the morning without any problems and felt rested and full of energy in the morning.

By that time, you fell asleep without any problems and you slept well. You were joking about sleeping like a baby. In addition, you felt great and full of energy after sleeping.

I mean, the first few nights you still had nightmares to begin with. But you were consumed by the fire in which you saw the person. This person burned all your nightmares to ashes.

Instead, you started having dreams full of adventures. In those dreams, you always somehow ran into a young man with black hair and a freckled face who was dressed just like your teddy bear. You could say he looked like a teddy bear turned into a human.

At first, you saw him out of the corner of your eye or from a distance. He later moved on to you and took you on all sorts of adventures. You explored new bizarre islands, searched for lost treasures, fought pirates, took you on a ride across the ocean on a fiery raft, and the like.

Every day you looked forward to what new things you would do together in your dreams. You knew that he had introduced himself to you several times in your dreams, but every morning you forgot his name and no matter how hard you tried, you couldn't remember.

With each dream adventure, you looked forward to it more and more and daydreamed about it. You imagined what if he was real and what if there was so much more between you.

You fell asleep best by the fireplace or by the sound of a roaring fire. All you had to do was sit by the fireplace and within five minutes your eyelids would be heavy and you would be asleep. You didn't even have to have the fireplace.

An ordinary candle was enough for you. You watched as the flame danced on the wick and soon you fell asleep. You woke up in the morning with a blanket over your back. You had no idea when you came to get her. You were sure you fell asleep without it.

Waking up with a blanket over your back didn't seem as strange as anything else. It happened that you fell asleep at the table or on the couch and woke up in bed. The fire in the fireplace was out and the candle was blown out. It should be properly burnt, you would expect wax everywhere, but no. As if someone extinguished it for you.

One night you had less sleep and woke up in the middle of the night. You squinted around and had the impression that you weren't alone there. Someone was lying on the bed next to you.

That someone pulled you back to bed. You cried out in shock, but the stranger didn't mind. He pulled you close and wrapped his arms around your waist. You could feel his hot breath on your ear.

"Go to sleep. I am with you. I'll protect you," he whispered, running his hand over your back. It was pleasant, plus it radiated a pleasant warmth and very soon you fell asleep again. When you woke up in the morning, you hugged the teddy bear tightly.

You thought about the instructions the saleswoman gave you. Let the teddy bear go through the fire, whatever that means.

You took the box of matches and placed the teddy bear right next to it. You lit a match intending to try to set him on fire. But before the flame could reach the teddy bear, you blew out the match.

You would just destroy him and then who would protect you from bad dreams?

One evening you read a book by candlelight. You put your book down, leaning on your arm and watching the fire. The thought of letting the teddy bear go through the fire came to you again.

You took the stuffed animal and slowly put his paw to the flame. You didn't expect the speed with which the stuffed animal would burst into flames, and out of shock, you tossed it aside to avoid burning yourself. Flames completely enveloped him.

You quickly recovered from the shock and wanted to try to put it out. You were already taking the blanket to cover him and try to smother the fire when a pair of strong hands grabbed you and pulled you away from the fire.

"Carefully! Otherwise, you'll burn yourself!” you heard a familiar voice from your dreams. From his arms, you watched as the teddy bear turned into a pile of ashes within minutes. The person was watching with you and resting their head on yours.

When the teddy bear burned, you turned to the stranger and couldn't believe your eyes.

“Ace?” escaped your lips and you didn't understand how you suddenly remembered his name. Ace just smiled at you saying that it took you quite a while to let him go through the fire.

You didn't quite understand him, so he explained it to you. As a teddy bear, he was limited only to your dreams and the times when you were asleep. Thanks to the fire, however, it can now protect you both at night and during the day.

"I had to fall asleep and this seems to me," this was too much for you. You couldn't believe your eyes. After all, it was too good to be true. You even pinched yourself, but that only proved to you that you weren't asleep.

“You're not sleeping,” he said softly, leaning down to you until your lips were almost touching. How many times have you almost kissed in a dream, but it never happened. But now he was waiting for you.

You tilted your head and closed the space between you in a kiss. This was too real. Ace was real and he was only there for you. Your own protector...

Sleep Protector Masterlist

Ace Masterlist

[astralnymphh]

⤹ okay but on the topic of vampire!ellie, which one do you guys personally like?? has nothing to do with what i'll write next, just a curiosity + headcanons. MDNI 18+ enjoy this free vamp!ellie brainstorming content with a random side of nipple fixation!

¨༺ ♱ ༻¨

teenage dirtbag vampire!ellie in a modern realm who can't stand being in her parents suburban hell born house, tired of their cockalorum and urging for her to engage more in the vampiric branch of her family. attend the parties, go human–hunting with the other blood–ingesting addicts, try this, do that. it all irked ellie the wrong way, made her psyche boil, cause all she wanted to fucking do was you. she craves only your blood, your taste, the metallic ribbons pumping your lifeline was like a goddamn nectar to her. and you let her feed, because you loved her. you let your meat sack of a body replace her breakfast, lunch, dinner– first and final meal.

that's why you let her move in with you. cause you fucking can. now, every itty–bitty token of her life tangles with yours on the walls. pictures and awards, a manifold of knickknacks cluttering the window sills, even her clothes tend to blend with yours– an illusive invitation for you to wear her clothes without the question ever pressing her lips apart. you both are madly besotted in each other. no denial objects to that.

and, fuck, this version of ellie is hot. fitted tanks absent of a bra– pale brown pierced nipples erecting the thin fabric into a small mound. gray wash skinny jeans that fit her lean legs well, waistband cruising nicely under that peek of a v–line, fraying at the ankle hems that contrasts into those battered up converse of a similar hue. oh, and usually cloaks her shoulders up in a sable leather jacket– with your name patched in. a jacket, so prized, alwaaays winds up hurled to some isolated and cimmerian corner of your room, purely cause she lacks the care to hang it up whenever she returns home in a scramble, fangs unsheathing for blood. her knees would find themselves pressing hard into the mattress beneath both of you, centering a large gully of weight where her half–unzipped crotch and your butt meet, thirstily rutting to the point of numbing your clit through the hard denim of your pants. her zinc button just kept pounding that shit, keeping you spread wide. while dry humping you, she'd moan and groan hot on your earlobe, fangs partial hooking on the rim, "mhh– fuck n' suck, babe– can i? fuuck.." 'fuck n' suck' was just some made–up code for, well, it should be obvious. times like those, where she intends to fuck her pussy rough on you without remorse, whilst drying your organs of blood.

ohh, but i'll write that in detail one day~

gothic vampire!ellie who lodges high on a hill, deep in the mighty fathomage of her grandoise palace, steeples scaping high into the howling sky– torn asunder by a network of lightning above. you're nothing but meat and blood, princess, a feast inside regalia. every freshwater pearl, every satiny reflection of light off your dress, only made your flesh more supple in her fluorescent fern eyes. those lucifer–damned pupils though, well, let's just say you can't even measure the green pool of her eyes anymore. dilating, big black saucers, ballooning the milken white away whenever she snags a glimpse of your blood. that phantom heartbeat of hers races madly, mad of love for that color. for that glisten of liquid. so divine, she thinks. a gulp bolts down her gullet when within a measly foot of you, or, more specifically, a mere gate between the two of your noses. how else is she supposed to store her cache of sustenance?

yes, that's precisely what i'm hinting at. a holding cell. dusty and decrepit, rats abundant skittering the stone ground, and you swore cobwebs began to web themselves in your hair– now loose and unbraided. that brute of a girl would crouch on the opposing side, dangling keys on a loop sat upon her finger, ploddingly wagging like a swinging great axe. taunt, taunt taunt taunt.. is all she would skip about and do. slip into your cell quickly and play with you. kitty–cornering you and blocking you in her arms, cooing how terribly sorry she feigns to be, for jailing you up and treating you like meat. however, tides turn, and so do emotions. could it be, the dracula upon the misty cliff– has fallen in love?

turns out, witty princesses with a snakish tongue and spit to spare really turned her on. fuck, even you cursed yourself for rending your guard and feeling a magnetic pull to that hunk of a beast, clad in her midnight black, puffed sleeves and collar drawstring shirt. finely sewn black trousers and shiny black boots, curse you, for finding something about that hellishly horrid outfit so handsome on her. there's– oh, this particularly noticeable asset tp her garb as well. the black dye was nearing translucency, and if you loitered your vision directly on her chest long enough, caught in the right cosmic light, you could see that waxen bosom and her nipples, light brown contrary to her vampiric skin. haha, how humiliating it was when she caught you staring at them as she stood in front of your sat stature, being so brazen enough to ask, "something caught your eye princess? shall i strip myself of this, then?" whilst her hands mindlessly tucked under the loose hem anyway, wringing the fabric over her head and banishing it aside. "here, feel my dead heart–" swirled her voice, thrusting her hand out to grasp yours, cold as the ice age, her mitts froze your wrists and yanked them forth, pressing them flat against her breast and swiping her thumb across your contrasting warm skin, leavening with excitement as you fondle. she stows her knee on the bed adjacent to your thigh, whispering, so.. so, hauntingly, "feel that? no pulse, no life, not a spark lives within me, dear." and it was nothing vastly far from the truth. beneath her erect nipple, was no beat. eyes widening to a moon, and lips parting to steal simply too much air, you shudder. was it fear, you shuddered for, or arousal? that's a tale, for another day.

[newtonsheffield]

I neeeeedddd to see Kate’s reaction to Anthony wearing glasses for the first time!!

Kate is… absolutely… gagged at the sight of her tattoo artist boyfriend in his muscle tee, with a pair of glasses on. She was… look she wasn’t prepared for it.

She was barely prepared when Anthony pinched the bridge of his nose while she sat down next to him on the sofa. His hand settled on her thigh while she held out a spoonful of ice cream.

“You okay?”

Anthony swallowed the bite of ice cream, “I’m supposed to be asking you that.” He kissed her quickly, “How are you and little sprout?”

Kate sighed, “I’m good and so is he.”

Anthony blinked slowly, squeezing his eyes closed before he opened them. “Baby might not be a he.”

“Baby is a he.” Kate said dismissively, “And you didn’t answer my question.”

Anthony sighed, resting his chin in her shoulder. “I had a lot of fine line work today and my eyes are really hurting. Been happening a bit recently.”

Kate frowned, “When was the last time you had your eyes checked?”

“a little while ago.” Anthony shrugged, “It’s fine, I’m just tired.”

“You might need glasses. You should book an appointment.”

Anthony groaned, “I’m fine.”

“Anthony,” Kate said seriously, preparing to play her trump card. “I need you to look after yourself for me and the baby.”

It maybe wasn’t fair, but she knew even if Anthony wouldn’t do these things for himself he’d do it for her. He’d do it for their child who he loved already, even though they’d only known about the baby for a matter of weeks. He would do this for them, if not for himself.

Anthony’s eyes widened and he nodded, his thumb rubbing along her cheekbone. “Yeah, yeah I’ll book an appointment. Will you come with me?”

Kate settled in next to him, digging into her ice cream. “Obviously. Someone needs to be honest with you about the glasses.”

Kate was right, as it turned out, Anthony so far sighted, it was almost alarming and she immediately wished she hadn’t come with him.

He was stood a little nervously in the bright lights of the store, looking a little out of place with his heavily tattooed arms peeking out of his muscle tee. He gripped Kate’s hand tightly.

“I don’t know where to start.”

Kate towed him over to a rack of horn rimmed glasses, squinting at the rack before she picked out a dark green pair. “Try these.”

Anthony shrugged as he pushed them on his nose, and Kate’s stomach dropped as he looked at her expectantly. She hadn’t given a lot of thought as to what Anthony would look like with glasses and she could see now that had been a mistake. She swallowed.

“Um… you look okay.”

“Okay?!” Anthony groaned, “I used to be hot! Hot Anthony doesn’t wear glasses.”

“Kate rolled her eyes, “Okay, you look better than okay, Babe. But I can’t tell you what those glasses make me want to do to you in a crowded store.”

She saw Anthony’s face brighten, “Really?”

Kate sighed, her cheeks feeling warm for some reason, “It’s all… very nice. The muscles and the tattoos and the glasses. Very nice.”

Anthony looked at himself in the mirror, “Interesting. Any other shaggable glasses here?”

“I have a feeling there’ll be a few.”

“Well, well, well.” Anthony chuckled, “He’s a handsome devil.”

Kate rolled her eyes, “Yeah, yeah, yeah. Hurry up and pick some so you can be measured.”

“Roger!” Anthony clapped his hands, “My girl’s found a winner!”