#who simply needed to put a little more effort into standing right

[fatal-blow]

sometimes i really don't think we've fully absorbed the realization that humans are animals. we keep trying to find new and spectacular ways to delineate between us and them, even as we try to deconstruct the beliefs of past western science

first we were put above other animals, who in the name of science were declared nothing more than organic automatons devoid of personality. today we know this isn't true, that every animal is the culmination of billions of years of chance and choices, and then a lifetime of experience to fine tune the rest.

so the discussion moved to the question: why are we different? breaking ourselves down to try to separate out the True Human Experience. we have tools--but so do other animals. we build homes and cities--likes termites and coral. we are intelligent--but then, what even is intelligence? we have culture--and yet again, so do other animals.

so we venture in vain to other traits. humans must be uniquely violent, destructive, upheaving the ecosystems of the world in a way no other creature has

but hundreds of millions of years ago, photosynthesis evolved and spurred one of the worst extinctions earth has ever seen. a species can encounter a new habitat and spread like wildfire, sometimes as destructive as one as well.

so surely our systems and our hierarchies set us apart in their depth and complexity. but it's myopic, naive even to think that other creatures don't form their own complexities outside our purview. we see our complexity because we are born and raised in it, but it's hardly what makes us different.

and in this journey to find out what makes us so different, instead we've found out the many ways that we are similar. the way our brains are similar to those of other mammals, how our bodies are all stretched out from the same general base tweaked and formed over an inconceivable number of generations. how the further we trace ourselves back, the more and more animals we share ancestors with.

i don't know where I'm going with all this. i think im frustrated with our medicine, how so much of it is grounded not in biology but in our own culture.

when we see a human not performing well, we call them lazy. when it's an animal, then something must be wrong. we understand the physiology of other animals and treat them within those bounds, yet despite what we know about the human body the way we discuss it seems frustrstingly disconnected.

maybe it's because we can talk to each other and so we assume that we can verbalize the problems we're experiencing, but language is a dismal thing to base healthcare on when most of us don't even use the same words to describe things. it's a subjective, moving target, and it assumes that the patient themself knows what's wrong. we rely too much on the ability of a patient to describe what they are experiencing, and not enough on observations of their behaviour.

my dad's shoulder hurts. he dislocated it a while ago, and it never stopped bothering him. but when i watch him he holds both shoulders forward and tense. slouching has for a long time been deemed lazy and improper, but it doesn't line up--the way my father strives for a healthy, active body but can never seem to make it work. the way he loves to be active, the way he wants to exercise, to walk and run, but it seems no matter how hard he tries he can't.

he told me his shoulder hurts, but the more i watched the more i saw that he doesn't move with the relaxed, easy movements that a man who's as active as he is should be. a human is an animal that loves to walk, and in many ways we've developed anatomy to this end, from the balanced efficiency of our bipedal forms to the way we utilize momentum as the driving force of our movement. we have science that says all this, so why does this not seem to hold true for some people? and why are we looking at them and calling them lazy? why aren't we looking for something gone awry, like the way we would a dog with a limp? we wouldn't blame the dog for not standing up the way a dog should, so why does this not hold true for humans?

[mercy-burning]

A Study in Anchored Souls

Pairing: ghost!Spencer Reid x fem!Reader Summary: In which the ghost of Spencer Reid discovers that in order to unveil his unfinished business and finally lay at rest, he must somehow enlist the help of the woman who now inhabits his apartment. Category: MATURE (18+) Content: Strong language, mention of weed, ghost shenanigans (?), female masturbation, fingering, oral sex (fem receiving), brief handjob, unprotected p in v sex, Spencer is invisible for all of that LMAO Word Count: 11.8k

MASTERLIST

NOTE: God, I love ghost smut. That was a goddamn blast to write! Like you don't even know how giddy it made me putting these words to the keys. I even put in extra effort and made a little photo banner, which I’ve never done for a one shot before, and I’m kinda obsessed with it ngl 😂 I hope you love this one as much as I do! <3 Written for @imagining-in-the-margins Autumn Air writing challenge!

———

ACT I: Girls' Night

Spencer Reid always knew he would die.

It was a cold, hard fact of life that at one point, everyone would die. It was unsure when or how, but it happened. There was no escaping it. That thought alone was enough to squander most of his anxieties about death— even after a few near-death experiences and the constant danger his line of work tended to throw at him throughout his lifetime.

Still, the one thing he couldn't stand to think about was the "after". He wanted truly to believe that what happened after death was just nothingness, but after his encounter with Tobias, it stirred up all sorts of questions and unexplainable possibilities that were just too vast for even his brain to try and comprehend.

Then, of course, there was the fact that he was currently standing in his old apartment, watching somebody else live her life, completely invisible to her. He tried talking to her, too, but nothing. It was like he wasn't even there.

But why? It's not like he had unfinished business or anything. The unsub who shot him was shot down immediately afterwards. He watched him die before passing out himself. Why was he "awake" now, nearly 5 months after the fact, and not when his friends were grieving him? Where were his friends, and why has the afterlife chosen to tie Spencer to a place rather than the people that knew and loved him?

Logically it seemed reasonable but really, he just missed his friends. He missed his life.

He hated the afterlife, he decided then. There was no reason he needed to keep doing this when he couldn't even leave the confines of the apartment. He couldn't walk through walls or touch anything or sit down on the woman's gross floral couch. If he wanted to enter another room, the door needed to be opened, otherwise he was stuck right there in the living room, the kitchen, and the open dining space that connected the two. If he was allowed to live his afterlife with his mom, or playing Chess with Gideon, or travelling the world, free to go anywhere and see anything without hardship, it might have been different.

But no. He was stuck watching this woman struggle to move furniture by herself.

He didn't know her. Had never seen her before. She wasn't a student of his or a victim he'd saved or even a fling. She was a complete stranger. A complete stranger who unfortunately had terrible taste in decor and an even more unfortunately beautiful face.

Her name was Y/N. From what he could gather, she didn't have any family, at least not nearby. Her two best friends were the only other people in her circle that he'd seen in the apartment, and when they were all together it was... interesting. There was a lot of loud laughter and wine, and oh God, the sex talk...

It felt intrusive, but he couldn't leave. He could migrate to another room, maybe, but his ears still worked, even a little too well. His eyes, too, seemed to be as sharp as ever, any imperfections to his vision completely mended. He was simply over aware of everything, and yet hollow at the same time, and he hated everything about it.

But what could he do? He couldn't even touch anything or communicate to anyone, so how could he possibly figure out what was keeping him here and how he could get out of it? Did his new roommate hold some sort of knowledge or ability to help him solve this mystery, or was he destined to watch her live out her life in this place that he once called "home"? Was there any connection between them at all?

He didn't know.

Usually he liked puzzles, but this one was rather annoying.

He just wanted to rest.

Y/N had been moved in for just over a month (yes, there was a whole month of just standing there learning everything about a stranger because there was simply nothing else for Spencer to do) when finally, there was a small glimmer of hope.

Heavy on the small.

It was Girls' Night. Friday. It always consisted of too much wine and movies and snacks and discussions about whatever they were reading or watching. Despite the differences in the routine, the camaraderie made Spencer miss his friends. He wondered what they were all up to. Maybe, if this all worked out, he could actually find out.

But for now, he had to focus on the baby steps.

When the girls showed up with a Ouija board, he couldn't help the incredulous laughter that escaped him.

Y/N, it seemed, felt the same disbelief. "You guys, what the fuck is that?"

"What does it look like?" the first friend, Maya, retorted.

The other, Robin, added, "You were the one that said you felt like you weren't tooootally aloooone in this apartment..."

Her haunting inflection elicited a backhanded thump to the arm, Y/N groaning as she closed the door behind her. "Yeah, but that doesn't mean I would want to know what or who it is! Besides, I'm probably just paranoid. It's just being in a new place and the anxieties that come with it, that's all. You guys are insane."

"Only one way to find out!"

Was Spencer really going to entertain this? A goddamn Ouija board? He enjoyed his fair share of spooky things and researching superstitions, but that was out of his realm of belief. On the other hand, one could technically consider him a ghost... He could look down and see himself, but nobody else could see or hear him... Y/N had obviously voiced a concern for feeling a presence to her friends, but how much of that feeling was accurate and how much of it was, in fact, 'new home anxieties'?

As the girls unboxed the board and set up their things, Spencer sighed, mumbling to himself, "Only one way to find out..."

Maya closed the curtains and turned all the lights off, meanwhile Y/N and Robin were collecting and lighting any candle they could find. They cleared off the low coffee table in front of the couch where the girls sat and set everything up there, Spencer taking a seat on the floor opposite the group. It was then that Y/N said something that made him laugh.

"Wait, shouldn't we give the couch to the ghost?"

"What?"

"Well, what if it's an angry ghost? And then we make it sit on the floor, and it decides to exact vengeance on us? Maybe we should... I don't know, be more hospitable?"

"Hmmm, maybe you're right," Robin said, standing up. "Do you hear that, Ghost? We're only being nice to you, so please don't kill us, m'kay?"

Spencer sighed. Little did they know, he couldn't actually sit on the couch. Or a chair. Or anything that wasn't the floor. It was like the ground was the only physical thing he was anchored to. Still, the girls had no way of knowing that, so they shuffled their way to the other end of the table, flipping the Ouija board so it would face the other way. Spencer got up and moved then. He'd have to stand uncomfortably in the small gap between the table and the couch, bending down at the waist to use the board, provided he could even touch it.

He had no idea how this was going to work, if at all.

It was all starting to sound and feel absolutely ridiculous.

The girls each put a finger on the planchette, nervous laughter emanating from them, and Spencer gave one last deep breath before reaching out to touch it himself, anticipating the moment of truth.

His hand hovered over the board, feeling a block just before he would make any contact. He couldn't touch it. His hand wouldn't even go through. He retreated and huffed, wondering if there was something he could do to communicate with them otherwise. He tried to blow out one of the candles, but with no luck. He could feel his breath against his own skin (could you even call it that at this stage?), but the objects in front of him were completely oblivious to his presence.

He was about to give up and call it a night, leaving the girls to have their fun, but then one of them gasped.

"Wait, don't we have to use two fingers? Is that how it works?"

"Shit, I think you're right."

They adjusted their positions and Spencer sighed, but indulged them just in case.

His hand lowered again, middle and pointer fingers approaching the planchette in anticipation. He half-expected there to be resistance again, but this time, a cool rush of wind gusted up in between them as his fingers made contact with the wood.

"Holy shit!" all four of them exclaimed in unison.

"Did you feel that?" Maya squealed excitedly. "Wicked..."

"No, not wicked!" Y/N whined. "We should stop!"

"Really? You know for sure now that there's a ghost living in your apartment, and you're just not going to ask it questions to make sure it's not harmful? Be smart about this, bitch," Robin countered playfully.

Spencer wanted to cut to the chase. He moved his hand, spelling out a word, and the girls collectively gasped before reciting each letter out loud hesitantly, like they couldn't believe what was happening.

"H-A-R-M-L-E-S-S"

"Oh my God! You have a Casper!"

Y/N shook her head furiously. "You guys, stop fucking with me, I mean it. This isn't funny."

"I didn't move it!" said Robin.

"Me either," said Maya. "Besides, you felt that wind right? How could either of us have done that?"

"I don't know, because you're a fucking wizard or something! Cut it out!"

"Hey, if you didn't want to do it that badly, you would have taken your hand off the planchette... Hey, Ghost, have you ever seen Y/N naked?"

"Robin!"

Maya cackled and Y/N went pale. If he wasn't already dead, Spencer would have probably gone pale as well.

The truth was, he had. Seen her naked, that is.

He wasn't proud of it. It happened by total accident. Sort of. He was following her around the apartment all day because he was bored, and he'd ended up locked in her bedroom with her. Either he was truly horrible at reading people (which seemed impossible considering his profession) or she had just gotten a random spurt of excitement, because the moment her door closed, she whipped her shirt off, exposing her bare torso to him, and he couldn't move. He was frozen, completely shocked at the sight before him. She reached down to take off her pants, and he turned around then, quickly becoming aware of the situation.

She rustled behind him and he tried desperately to walk through the door. Any time he got close, the barrier would stop him. He couldn't do anything but stand in the corner and pray to whatever that she was only changing.

She was, in fact, not changing.

Spencer swore in that moment at the table that he could still hear the low hum of her vibrator and every single sound that came from her body and mouth that night, and he was absolutely mortified.

He'd only dared to glance back when he heard the end, her breathing slow and the humming gone. It was silent for a while before he turned around entirely, only to find her asleep, sprawled completely bare over the covers. He wished he could have draped a blanket over her, but his hands were more or less tied.

Thankfully she was only asleep for about a half hour before she forced herself awake to clean up and actually go to bed.

Spencer never followed her around the apartment ever again. Just in case.

"Don't answer that, Ghost," Y/N rushed, "Robin's just fucking around. We promise to ask you serious questions from here on out."

Maya faked a snore. "Come on, Y/N, this is supposed to be fun. The ghost is harmless."

"No, the ghost said it was harmless. Doesn't mean it is."

Spencer thought for a moment as the girls went back and forth, and then he spelled out another word— or an acronym, rather.

"It's moving again!" Robin gasped, spelling out the letters.

"F-B-I"

"Holy shit did you work for the FBI, Ghost?" Maya inquired.

Spencer moved the planchette to the "YES" at the top of the board.

"Maybe... Maybe we should stop calling them Ghost..." Y/N took a shaky breath and closed her eyes for a brief moment before nodding. "Ummm... Spirit Who Resides Here..." Robin and Maya snorted. "What is your name?"

Spencer wished he could tell her she didn't need to be formal, but it was amusing watching her do it anyway. He spelled out his name, first and last, and the girls made a collective hum of acceptance. A normal name and not something concerning.

"We should Google him," Robin said matter-of-factly.

Maya hummed in agreement, but Y/N swallowed and asked another question. "Spencer, you're not... Going to hurt me, are you?"

He moved the planchette to "NO," and watched the relief take over her body, relaxing her muscles and her posture for just a brief moment. He could tell she was still wary, but it was a step in the right direction.

"See? Told you he was harmless."

"He still could be lying," Y/N mumbled. Then she sat up straight. "Not that I don't believe you, Spencer. I'm sorry. You just have to understand that I'm a woman living alone, and the thought of a man I can't see haunting my apartment is just... It's extremely terrifying."

He felt bad for her. As annoying as his situation was, he couldn't imagine being in hers. He almost wished he hadn't entertained the Ouija board at all and put her worries to rest, but since it was too late, all he could do was try and reassure her that he wasn't a threat.

His fingers moved again.

"U-N-D-E-R-S-T-A-N-D"

And then a pause, before: "S-O-R-R-Y"

Y/N's eyes dropped, and her friends made a collective "Awwwww," before a knock sounded at the door, jolting them all to move away from the Ouija board.

Spencer was knocked backwards, and he expected his newfound sense of touch to disappear once the connection had broken, but to his surprise, he found himself safely seated on the couch. His hands reached over the fabric, testing, and despite his distaste for the floral pattern on it, the cushions were suddenly the greatest thing he'd ever touched. He was grateful for this couch. And for the Ouija board, and for Y/N and her eccentric friends.

Speaking of which, Robin yelled out, "Pizza's here!" and got up with Maya to abandon the board. Pizza apparently seemed more interesting than a ghost, but for two women who Spencer could now tell (no thanks to his upgraded sense of smell) were a little high, that seemed reasonable.

As her friends happily greeted the pizza delivery man, Y/N reached out to touch the planchette again, just for a moment, and gently whispered, "Thank you, Spencer."

He returned it with an earnest, "You're welcome," but he wasn't sure if she'd hear or not. She looked around the area for a few seconds before turning around, and it wasn't clear whether she had.

But she seemed relaxed now, and that was a start.

As the girls sat at the dining table and ate pizza, Spencer tested out his new senses just a few steps away. He found himself thankful to be in a familiar place, even if the decor was different. The walls were the same and the bookshelves still stood, now filled with bright Romance novels and trinkets and photos that laid out Y/N's personality quite perfectly. He smiled, running his fingers along the spines of the books, missing the feeling even if they weren't his own.

He wanted to see if he could read one, just for the sake of feeling a book in his hands again, but he figured he'd wait until Maya and Robin were gone and Y/N was asleep.

Until then, he continued to touch things without making them move, not wanting to raise anyone's eyebrows.

And then, a gasp sounded from the dining table.

"I found him! I have his obituary right here!"

"Holy shit, let me see!"

Spencer made his way to the table to observe.

The girls passed around Maya's phone, looking at his obituary photo. Robin made a low whistle, then called out into the air on her left. He was standing to her right, unable to help the dry laughter that escaped him at the irony of the situation.

"Spencer, you were hot!"

Maya shook her head and sighed. "Yeah. What a damn shame. Sorry, man."

Robin seemed more amused than anything, turning to Y/N, who was reading through the obituary. "Hey, at least you can rest easy knowing you've got a hot FBI ghost watching over you."

"Yeah, but... Why? Do you think he lived here? In this apartment?"

"I don't know. Maybe we should ask him."

Y/N sighed, handing Maya her phone back. "I'm sure he has more exciting ghost stuff to do on a Friday night than entertain us three. All I know is he promised not to hurt me, so I don't really care if he stays."

He was glad for her ease of anxiety, but he certainly cared if he stayed. However, she sounded exhausted, and it was fair. Finding out your new apartment was haunted by a ghost (even a harmless one) sounded like a reasonably stressful situation. He wanted desperately to figure out how to finally move on, but for now he could accept the simple fact that he could actually touch things now, and let Y/N rest easy.

Even if he couldn't yet.

ACT II: X's and Oh's

Every time she came home, Y/N would greet Spencer kindly. Probably out of precaution (you know, just in case he really was lying about being harmless), but brightly all the same.

"Spencer, I'm home! I... I don't know if you're haunting me or the apartment, but... I hope you had a good day, just in case it's me."

He smiled, wishing he could greet her back.

Eventually, he found small ways to do it.

He fogged up a spot on her bathroom mirror, that way the next time she showered before bed, the heat would reveal a message on the glass: "Good night. —S.R."

Y/N talked to him that night, dressed in her pajamas and walking around the apartment like she was deciding where to talk to him. Eventually she decided on standing in her bedroom doorway.

"Spencer? You said good night so you might not even be in here, but... I guess this is me saying good night back...Thanks for being a nice ghost, I really appreciate it. If... If there's anything I can do for you, let me know, okay? Okay... Goodnight."

If only there was a way she could hear him. Communicating in mirror-notes was hardly good for anything more than a simple "good night," and despite the fact that he could touch things, he couldn't grip them, so writing on paper was out. He'd kept trying to open a door with the handle, and with no luck. It was starting to get irritating, wondering what the next step was to evolving as a ghost.

He couldn't even believe he'd thought up the phrase. Ghost evolution sounded absolutely insane, but he supposed it was his current reality regardless of how it sounded...

Tonight Y/N was out rather late. For a brief moment Spencer started to worry, but then the key turned in the doorway and relief settled in when she finally stepped inside. She seemed rather tired, but greeted him with a gentle smile all the same.

"Hi, Spencer."

"Welcome home, Y/N."

She didn't hear him, obviously, but it still felt rude not to say it back. He wondered if he could try to touch her in greeting. Maybe a brief brushing of hands or a tap of acknowledgement on the shoulder. But he didn't want to scare her, so he'd have to figure that out.

Thankfully, she seemed to have felt his curiosity somehow.

Later that night, as she laid in bed, she called out, drawing his attention from the living room where he tried to open a cabinet. Still no luck there.

"Spencer? Are you there?"

He wandered over to the bedroom, glad to see she'd left the door cracked open so he could get in. He hesitated before moving, hoping she wouldn't freak out when she saw the door open.

When he did finally gather the courage to move the barrier and step inside, he heard her gasp as she sat up in bed.

"Spencer? Was that you? Um... Move the door again if it was..."

He obliged, swinging the door shut gently as he stepped inside the room. The second the door clicked, he realized his mistake.

Now he was trapped in here with her. Not that it was a bad thing necessarily, but the last time this happened, he'd accidentally intruded on a rather intimate moment. His essence warmed at the thought.

"Holy shit. Um... This is kind of weird... I've gotten your notes and talked to you through the Ouija board, but... seeing you move things in front of me is... only slightly terrifying."

Her nervous laughter endeared him but also made him want to comfort her.

He walked over to the side of the bed closest to her body, hoping she'd be willing to communicate more thoroughly somehow. The two of them together could surely come up with something.

Again, their brains seemed to be on the same wavelength.

"If I hold out my hand... Would you touch it? Just to... let me know that it's you?"

Her arm outstretched, and Spencer slowly brought his middle finger down to touch hers, ever so lightly.

The second there was contact, there was a shock. Spencer jolted and Y/N yelled and yanked her hand back, her whole body shuddering as she kicked her legs. "Oh my God, holy fuck!" And then she laughed, reaching out to search for his touch again. He felt... different somehow, but he was still invisible to her. Her fingers wiggled and Spencer helped her out, gently holding her hand to keep it steady, as if to convey, "I'm right here, and it's okay."

"Hi," she said through a smile, her breathing heavy. "It's... Nice to... finally meet you. Kind of. Kind of meet you, I mean... Not kind of nice. I'm sorry."

He rubbed his thumb gently over the top of hers in response.

"I'm still wrapping my head around this whole thing, I... I guess I just wanted some extra confirmation that you were really here. Can I ask you some questions, Spencer?"

He rubbed her thumb again, and she breathed out with a smile.

"Okay um... Maybe draw a circle on the back of my hand for yes and an X for no... That sound good?"

Spencer traced a circle against her skin, and she nodded. "Good! Okay, cool. This is cool. Um... Did you live here? In this apartment?"

A circle.

"Is... that why you're here now?"

An X, and then a question mark.

"No... You don't know why you're here then?"

A circle.

Y/N pondered for a moment. "Could there be something of yours that's holding you here? Something we have to find or a mystery we have to solve?"

Spencer drew another question mark, then sighed. As much as he liked Y/N, he was pretty sure she would not be able to answer any of those questions. But there had to be another way to... level up, so to speak. To make him visible or audible.

"I'm sorry," she said somberly. "From what I've read, you seem like you were a good person. I hope you figure it out, whatever it is. And... I meant it. If there's anything I can do to help you, I will."

He drew a circle on her skin, but kept going around a few times, his symbol of appreciation.

Y/N warmed at the sentiment, smiling and hanging her head to look down at the hand he was holding. He didn't know it, but her skin was tingling at his invisible touch.

"Spencer... I know this is probably going to be weird... But the night I first met you, when my friends were with me... Robin asked you if... you'd uh... If you'd seen me..."

She wouldn't look up, like she was afraid to look at him even though she still couldn't see him. She didn't finish her sentence, seeming to be embarrassed about the punchline, but Spencer didn't need it. He knew exactly what she meant. Before she had time to retreat or move on, he drew a slow circle on the back of her hand.

Her head lifted. "You did see me? Naked?"

Spencer let out a shaky breath. Hesitated. Then drew another circle, followed by S-O-R-R-Y.

"Oh, I'm not upset, I promise. You don't have to be sorry."

Something shifted in her eyes then and she paused, and Spencer realized that before when she'd asked, she wasn't embarrassed. She was simply feeling the water before diving in.

He swallowed hard.

"Did you like what you saw?"

Her voice was soft, but simultaneously hard with mischief. He looked at her then— truly looked at her with his overly-perfect Afterlife vision, and even in the dim light emanating from the open curtains and the streetlights beyond it, he could see her clear as day. Rather than the big tee-shirt she always wore to bed, tonight she was wearing something lacy and lavender.

And her door was closed. He couldn't leave this room.

Although, he had a feeling right then that it didn't matter anymore. Because his hand tightened over hers instinctively and he felt himself get hard beneath the suit pants he'd been buried in.

That's new, he thought through a sigh of excitement, quickly recalling that night he'd seen her. And heard her. Feeling was growing in his joints, and he found himself flexing his hands with a new strength he hadn't felt since being alive.

"Fuck," he hissed, shaking his head in disbelief.

I think she may be slowly bringing me back to life.

He drew a slow, sensual circle on the back of her hand, and she laughed through a grin. "I was hoping you'd say that. I was also hoping that maybe we could try something a little... unconventional. The truth is, I've always hated living alone. It's too lonely, and I hate it... Now that I have you to keep me company, though... It's not nearly as bad."

She shifted her fingers, grabbing his hand and slowly bringing it to her face. Spencer caressed her as he came closer, his knees now touching the edge of her mattress. She closed her eyes and reveled in his touch, goosebumps forming along her skin.

"Will you touch me, Spencer?"

His name falling suggestively from her lips was quite possibly the greatest thing he'd ever experienced, among life and death. The afterlife. Whatever. None of it mattered, nothing mattered right then except for Y/N and her needs.

He drew a circle on her cheek and she laughed, the sound dissolving into a rather wanton sigh when he traced his middle finger down her jaw and over her throat. Just the gentlest of touches, barely even a touch at all.

"You want this just as bad as I do, don't you?" she asked, lolling her head to the side as his finger traced her collarbone and then her shoulder.

"I do." He focused on the way her chest heaved, slowly up and down as she melted into his touch, and then traced the strap of her nightgown until he reached the front, just at the curve of her breasts.

Y/N arched her back and pulled the covers away from her body, revealing herself to him in full as she got comfortable. She scooted and leaned back against the headboard, pulling Spencer along the side of the bed. He gladly followed.

"I give you permission to touch me in any way you see fit, okay? I... I want you to do whatever feels good to you. How does that sound?"

At the invitation, he quickly let his mind wander to extremely filthy places and wondered if he had the ability to taste again...

The thought alone made him twitch beneath his pants, and suddenly there was no going back.

He let out a long breath and touched the bottom hem of her nightgown. It was already short to begin with, but since she'd moved around in bed and her feet were flat, knees pointed upward, the fabric rode up to the very tops of her thighs. He drew another continuous circle right there, just below where it ended, and Y/N instinctively started to spread her knees apart.

Spencer stopped her, gripping one knee and spelling out W-A-I-T before slipping his shoes and jacket off. She arched an eyebrow, confused at first, but then looked down to the floor when she heard his shoes being kicked back and his clothing falling there.

And then, when he was ready, she looked back to the bed in front of her as Spencer climbed and knelt, positioning himself in front of her. Her eyes watched the mattress move, and a flicker of excitement danced over her features, amusing him.

He placed his hands on her knees, and even though she'd given him permission, he asked anyway, drawing a question mark against her skin.

She nodded. "Please."

Slowly, his hands pulled her legs apart. He drew it out as long as he possibly could, curious to know how long he could test her anticipation threshold. He still planned to give her everything she wanted, of course, but there was something oddly erotic about being touched by somebody you couldn't see that she was obviously keen to explore. So he would take his time until she begged him otherwise.

Sure enough, her stare was laser-focused on her body as he moved it to his liking, her breath hitching once her legs were far enough apart for him to realize she wasn't wearing anything underneath her nightgown and he paused. Already she was glistening with arousal, a sight that nearly made Spencer go completely slack.

"How long have you wanted this..." he wondered aloud, overwhelmed and in awe as his hands traveled firmly down her inner thighs. She squirmed under his bold touch, and leaned her head back against the headboard with a soft thud.

"Please," she whimpered, her hands reaching out to grip whatever bunched up fabric she could find on the bed.

He had planned to test the waters a little longer, ever so the scientist at heart, but figured that was as good of a plea as any to give in and finally give her what she wanted.

And so, Spencer ran a gentle, steady hand down through her heat, dragging his middle finger along the seam until he barely entered her, then came back up.

The long, desperate moan that Y/N drew out was like Heaven to his ears, and he'd never been more grateful for his heightened senses than in that moment. Every breath she took, every gloriously wet sound her body made as he explored her, every rustle of her hands through the sheets... All of it was sharp and crisp, and no other symphony had ever sounded so beautiful.

He wanted more of it.

One finger became two, and Spencer looked up to watch her face as he fingered her slowly. Parted lips and focused eyes fighting to stay open despite the pleasure she was feeling made for quite the perfect view, he almost didn't want to look away. But there was so much to beauty see between her soft facial features and the curves of her body and the obvious arousing sight below him. It was overwhelming how hot he felt in that moment, he could have sworn he was glowing.

His pace quickened, and Y/N had finally given into the temptation to close her yes, her head falling back again as she rolled her hips. He was getting impatient now.

With his other hand, against the inside of her thigh, Spencer spelled out "T-A-S-T-E-?"

"Oh, God, please. Yes."

Still hesitant to scare her even though his fingers were already deep inside her, rather than diving in as he so desperately wanted to, he slowly brought his head down to meet the area between her legs. He turned to press his cheek to the soft flesh of her thigh, and she gasped, the sound fading to a low laugh as she took in the feeling of his mouth and his hair caressing her skin. He kissed her then, tentatively darting his tongue out to taste her and sighing with relief once he realized he could actually taste again. Once he had that revelation, there was no going back. He was a man starved, his kisses growing more hungry as they traveled up and up and up...

Once his tongue made curious contact with the hood of her clit, Y/N gasped again, clutching her bed sheets and rolling her hips up to meet him. Spencer groaned, and a selfish part of him wished she could hear it. He wanted her to know just how crazy she was driving him, how much he wanted her. She could certainly feel it, her reaction to the vibrations causing her muscles to flex and her toes to curl, and he decided then that it would have to do. He was just going to have to make her feel his desire so deeply that it rattled in her bones and lingered there for the rest of eternity. He wanted to ruin everybody else for her, to stay with her until the end of time.

She reached and felt around for his head, fingers threading through invisible curls as she cried out.

"Spencer, you're so— so good..."

He hummed his approval at the praise and continued to work her, adding a third finger and sucking on her clit to feel her fingers tugging at his scalp. The sensation alone had him nearly lightheaded, and he wanted to stay there forever, lost in her taste and her touch and her noises.

God, her noises...

She sighed and whined, and stretched and squelched around his fingers, and he was convinced that had he not already been dead, he would have begged whoever was listening to keep him alive just to experience her forever.

The second she struggled to keep her legs open, trapping his head between them, he knew she was quickly approaching her orgasm, and he couldn't wait. He'd heard her climax before, but being right there as it was happening felt like a privilege he would always be grateful for. He wanted to replicate everything he'd heard that night and get to feel it, too— get to be the one to make her feel that way.

"Fuck, don't stop, I'm s— so close..."

Spencer groaned into her as if to say, "I know, I can feel you." Oh, how he wished he could talk her through it, to tease her with his words... Alas, he had no choice but to encourage her with his actions, so he used his free hand to search for one of hers. She gave up her hand to lace their fingers together, and his thumb continued to draw mindless circles into her skin as she clenched and released, over and over again until she was coming.

"Spencer!" she cried to the air, over and over again as if she could will him into existence again. It was a desperate plea, a manifestation, and the both of them secretly hoped that it would work.

She wanted to see him

He wanted her to see him, too.

He felt her climax subside, and then he slowly eased his fingers out of her and trailed his tongue down to keep tasting. A part of him was scared to realize he might not actually be visible like he hoped, but he pushed the potential disappointment aside and luxuriated in the way she tasted. He delved in and gripped the underside of her thighs to keep them steady, and with a delighted groan as he pushed his tongue inside, Y/N gasped.

"Fuck, I can hear you..."

The words excited him greatly.

"Thank God."

Spencer kissed her, tasted her until she was writhing and begging him to stop.

"Please, Spencer, kiss me."

He pulled away and looked up at her, smiling even though she still couldn't see him. "I am kissing you," he replied, pressing his lips to her thigh.

"You know what I mean. Come here..."

He laughed and obliged, kissing his way up her legs and crawling up her body. He slowly dragged his hands up her stomach, bunching up her nightgown and sliding it up her body the farther he got. Her eyes watched in allure as the fabric rode up and up and up, seemingly on its own. But she knew better, she knew who was undressing her and worshipping her, and it made her squirm.

She lifted her arms over her head and let him take the clothing off, revealing her chest to the chilly air. She watched as the fabric flew to the ground, and then felt Spencer's hands return to her skin, gentle fingers raising goosebumps all over. Her nipples pinched and hardened the closer he got to them, and soon enough he was palming her breasts as he pressed his forehead to hers, wedging his body between her legs.

"Kiss me," she breathed, feeling his nose touch hers. His breath was hot against her own, and her eyes fluttered shut. "Please..."

"Anything for you, sweet girl..."

She sighed as his mouth finally collided with her own, the heady and prominent taste of her arousal growing stronger the deeper he kissed her. Their bodies couldn't stop moving, wandering hands and urgent hips, and with his newfound ability to speak to her, Spencer spoke in gentle praises. He sighed out her name reverently, telling her how good and sweet and perfect she was, and she returned every word with a whimper, in awe that he was really there. He was becoming more and more present, and she couldn't get enough.

"I want to feel you," she said against his lips, dragging her hand down his invisible chest. She fingered through every button of his shirt until it was loose and open, and the cool hum of his skin as she explored his torso made her hands numb.

Spencer kissed her jaw and groaned, feeling himself throb at her words. "Let me help..."

He grabbed her hand and guided her to the bulge in his pants, even though she could have just as easily stumbled onto it herself. The intimacy of it all was almost overwhelming, so much so that when her grip tightened softly on his clothed erection, Spencer almost came undone right then and there.

"Fuck, Y/N... I'd say you're going to be the death of me, but..."

They laughed together until she kissed him again, deeply and with a sigh. "You're becoming more and more real, but... this feels like... it feels like a dream."

He understood what she meant, and it filled him with a tinge of sadness, but her hand slowly palming him was becoming harder and harder to ignore. He gripped her wrist and his breath hitched in her ear as he nipped at it.

"Trust me, sweetheart... I am very real."

She shuddered at his words and squeezed him tighter before fumbling for his belt.

"Spencer... Do you think..." Her hands successfully undid the confines of his pants and started to slide them down over his hips, trying not to mess up her words as he sucked marks into her neck. "Do you think that if you fuck me... I'll finally be able to see you?"

"Mmm, God, I hope so," he groaned earnestly, repositioning themselves so he could kick off his pants and rest her head on the pillow. She let him take the lead, her breath getting heavier with anticipation as he positioned himself between her legs and grabbed her wrist. Once again, he was guiding her hand to his cock, hard and, this time, bare. She cursed under her breath as she gripped him and he helped her languidly stroke himself in exploration. His fingers were strong over hers, and he applied just the right amount of pressure to draw out a groan from the both of them.

"Please," she sighed out desperately through shallow breaths. "Spencer, please, I need you..."

How could he resist?

He didn't even want to entertain the thought of trying.

"Then let me take care of you, sweet girl," he cooed, hiking her thighs to rest over his hips and slowly sinking into her with ease.

Once he was all the way in, he leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to her temple, comforting her through the low burn. He slowly rolled his hips forward as she cried out his name, her fingers coming up to grip his shoulders. "You feel that?" he whispered into her skin. "How perfectly I fit inside you? It's like you were made for me..."

"Uh-huh," she stuttered in agreement.

He stopped teasing her then, pulling back to start fucking her nice and slow as she adjusted to him. Her fingers curled and knotted into the loose material of his shirt. She would have slid it off of him, but the grip on something steady was nice as she let him focus on his ministrations. He seemed to be doing just fine with the shirt on, anyway, and it was hard to even think about anything other than how good he felt.

She wondered then, as he picked up momentum and started peppering kisses down her jawline, what she looked like to the night. If she were standing there, outside her own body, watching herself being thoroughly and beautifully wrecked by something invisible and obviously enjoying every second...

Her eyes rolled back at the image, just as Spencer started going harder. His hips snapped into hers with a strength and precision that felt like it was rattling worlds. It very well could have been, and neither of them had any mind to care; They were so intensively intertwined with each other that it was a different world entirely.

They started to burn hot, that familiar warm chill of impending pleasure creeping up through their bodies and setting them alight. Y/N snaked her arms up to Spencer's neck and brought him down for a searing kiss as she melted into him, and he returned it with a fervor that elicited the most beautiful sound he'd ever heard. He felt it all the way in his bones, felt the waves of pleasure start to drag him under as she squeezed him with her limbs and started to come undone herself.

The atmosphere around them was purely electrifying, bright snaps of skin and sharp whispers of mouth combining to brew a perfect storm that nothing would ever survive. It was wild and unconstrained, glimmering and grand, and in their wake, the two entities left their desire lingering in the air for the dead of night to stew in for as long as it would allow.

Spencer collapsed on top of her with a hefty sigh, and he was grateful to be able to finally share his voice with her. The mystery and simplicity of the X's and O's were fun to indulge in at first, but now that they'd grown closer and created something beautiful and memorable together, he had to tell her exactly how he felt— no symbols, no mysteries...

He kissed her softly and pulled back to look into her eyes, dragging a thumb over her cheekbone as he told her the truth.

"You're perfect."

Her eyes went wide, welling with tears as she reached up and ran a finger softly along the bridge of his nose.

"You're beautiful."

Relief and something else—something warm—stirred in Spencer's chest at the confirmation that she could finally see him, and that she was moved by what she saw. Who she saw...

He couldn't help the smile that adorned his face, and the soft joyous laughter that escaped him as she continued to explore his features with the pads of her fingertips, like she was trying to memorize him from touch alone in case he suddenly disappeared again.

"I mean it, Spencer, you're... even more beautiful than I imagined."

"You imagined me?" he inquired rather suggestively.

With a laugh, she brought him down for a slow, searing kiss. "Duh..."

Even though they were tired, they stayed like that for hours, kissing and exploring and sighing until the sweet lull of sleep took hold and carried them through the night.

For a solid few hours until he awoke, Spencer completely forgot that he wasn't alive.

ACT III: Unfinished Business

Y/N had never done so much research in her entire life. She liked Spencer, and she was more than happy to help him out, but man... Reading dozens of articles and textbooks and blogs about the different types of spirits and how to lay them to rest was a long, exhausting road that led pretty much nowhere. There was no way to know what type of ghost Spencer was or how to help him move on, not that she could see, anyway. She didn't know if he'd age with her, or be 'undead' long enough to become vicious and bitter like a lot of the spirits she read about, and Spencer's research was just about as inconclusive as her own.

A selfish part of her hoped she'd never find out, to keep him around forever... But she also knew that wasn't fair to him. No matter how lonely she was or how much fun they had and how they enjoyed each other's company, well... The fact of the matter was, he was dead.

And he deserved to rest.

In the meantime, in the hours between headache-inducing frustration at the lack of answers, Spencer told her about his life. His friends, mostly— the best people he'd ever known. The way he described them, she had a feeling that they might hold the key to his dilemma. If not directly, perhaps there was something about him that they knew, something that might give Y/N some insight into his ghostly purpose, so to speak. Not that she couldn't ask Spencer directly, but they'd already discussed a lot of back-and-forth on enemies and people that could have wanted to harm him, all of which were surefire impossibilities. Not to mention the fact that he seemed tied to this apartment and not anything else. Maybe that didn't have anything to do with it, but neither of them knew.

It was the only other option she had.

They laid next to each other in her bed, her head laying on his chest. Her ear warmed gently, and tried as she might to hear a heartbeat, all she could hear was a faint white noise, almost like he was merely a figure of tangible energy rather than a body. She supposed that was technically what he was, but as much as she'd grown to know and like Spencer, it was hard to think of him that way. It was... sad to think of him that way.

She frowned and nestled into him, trying to push away that petulant nagging in the depths of her soul that screamed "This isn't fair!" and she told him the most difficult thing she'd ever had the courage to push past her lips.

"I think I have an idea... You can say no if you think it's too weird, but... It might help you. Maybe."

"Mmm, what's that?" he responded, curious but not audibly hopeful. It made Y/N even more sad to think he probably figured he'd never find peace.

"What if I go talk to your friends? Do you think they might know something you don't?"

There was a beat of silence before she felt his chest heave with gentle laughter. "Derek Morgan definitely wouldn't think so..."

Recalling some of the funny stories he'd told her about him, she smiled. Still, she pressed. "I mean it. What other outlets do we have? Where else is there to look? If there's anyone who knows you better than anyone else, wouldn't it be them?"

Spencer sighed, giving it a thought. His fingers raked through her hair and massaged her scalp to the point of gentle, comforting numbness, another one of those domestic moments that had her feeling absolutely conflicted.

And then, he said, "Actually... I think I know exactly who you should talk to..."

———

There was a deep chill in her bones as she approached Penelope Garcia's apartment building, but not because of the lively, rustling October wind. In fact, she wanted to throw up at the thought of having this conversation. But not because she didn't want to help Spencer. She did, more than anything.

She was just afraid of being arrested.

Spencer assured her that it would be fine and that Penelope was harmless, and while the latter she could believe, it still nerved her to wander up to a woman's door and announce that she lived in the apartment of her beloved dead co-worker and needed to help him fulfill his destiny as a spirit. It sounded like a cruel joke.

"If anyone would believe you, it would be Penelope," he'd said, comforting her with a pat on the shoulder.

Maybe it was true, but she didn't want to find out if it wasn't. It was one thing to have the door slammed in your face by a grief-stricken loved one, but a grief-stricken loved one who worked for the fucking FBI was ten times worse; There were a lot more horrifying outcomes that came with that combination.

Still, she trusted Spencer on a level she'd barely trusted anyone else, and he wasn't even alive for God's sake... So she strapped on her boots, threw on her most comfortable jacket, and braced the wind and whatever fate blew with it.

For Spencer.

"For Spencer," she muttered under her breath as she rapped on the door. Three times. Third time's the charm, three's a crowd, three clicks of the heel and you're home... Three seemed like a lucky number. Three was inviting, friendly, not intended to inflict emotional damage.

Please, God, don't let her hate me, Y/N prayed to whoever was listening. Don't let this go horribly wrong.

A bright voice was yelling beyond the door, and with every millisecond that it got louder and closer, her heart started to beat faster. Blood thrummed in her ears, and she kept repeating, "For Spencer, for Spencer, for Spencer," on a loop to remind her why she was going through all this anxiety.

The voice got closer, but still muffled, until the door swung open. Then it stopped altogether. Y/N blinked and stood there with a stiff back and sweaty palms, in front of Penelope Garcia. The woman was obviously expecting somebody else to be at the door, but she didn't look disappointed, just confused.

"Oh. You're not Luke. How can I help you?"

"Um... My name is Y/N. I... Before I tell you why I'm here, I need you to know that I'm not trying to play a trick on you, and I don't want to make you sad or upset, and if there's anything you need or want to know about me in order to trust me, then I'll gladly give you that information, but this is really important and I need you to know that I'm not crazy or harmful, I just want to help him."

Penelope's eyes went wide as she reached out and grabbed her hand. The thrumming in her ears got louder as she took a deep breath and waited for the yelling to start, her body to be thrown to the ground, or a sharp piercing sting of a backhand.

The only thing she felt, however, was a tug at her heart and the gentle dissipation of nerves as Penelope spoke one simple word.

"Spencer."

"How... How did you know?"

"Ever since he... Since he's been... I just knew something didn't feel right. Everyone told me that it was just grief, and for a while that's also what I told myself, but... That feeling was just too... Wait, who did you say you were again?"

Y/N stuttered her name and gripped Penelope's hand tighter, hoping to create some rapport. "I live in his apartment. He's been... Visiting me."

Something in her eyes softened and then saddened at the confirmation that her friend was somehow still among the living. "A visitor in his own home... Poor Boy Genius..."

She couldn't help but smile at the nickname. "He said you called him that often..."

Wide eyes welling with tears, Penelope nodded and tugged at her visitor's hand. "He was the smartest person I ever knew. Kindest, too. Here, come on inside, I'll make you some tea. Do you like tea? Maybe some hot chocolate?"

Her hospitality as she ushered her inside was both comforting and saddening to Y/N. It was in her nature to be that way to guests, even strangers, sure, but it also acted as a shield from the somber feelings she'd been rushed with at a moment's notice, no thanks to said stranger.

"I'm so sorry to bother you, Penelope," Y/N rushed as she shrugged her coat off. "You don't have to make me anything."

"Oh, I know I don't have to, but would you like something warm to drink?"

She was practically begging for the distraction, something to do with her hands as she had time to process and prepare for what was about to happen.

"Tea would be lovely, thank you."

"Perfect, I'll get it started. Make yourself comfortable, Sweets."

She carried her coat over her arms, holding it to her chest like a tether to reality. None of this felt real, even though she could still feel the warm glow of Spencer's energy all around her, like it had burrowed into the pores of her skin and made a home there.

As she looked around at Penelope's bright and colorful space, she thought about him... How often had he been here? What did they do together, and where did they hang out? She imagined the laughter and the stories and the cooking... She wished she would have known him then, been a part of his life. As scary as he told her it was at times, she knew there were also plenty of bright spots, and she knew Penelope was definitely one of the brightest.

Y/N smiled, hugging her coat tighter.

"I like your apartment," she complimented, sitting down at a small dining table in the corner.

"Thank you! I always told Spencer he should get some more color, but... What can I say, he really loved his neutrals."

The familiar detail brought a smile to her face. "That doesn't surprise me. He told me that even though he likes me, he really hates my floral couch and that it looked weird in his apartment. I told him he was boring." And, that technically, it was her apartment now. In fact, her exact words after the fact were, "What are you going to do, haunt me?" before they both laughed and continued making out on said couch.

But she didn't need to remind Penelope of the fact that he was gone. Or to inform her that she was intimately involved with his ghost.

Just the thought alone was enough to make the low, ever-present hum of his imprinted memory on her skin even more intense, and she smiled.

"Oh... I know that look."

Y/N looked up at Penelope, who was grinning with the most mischievous gleam in her eye.

"What look?"

"You think he's cute, don't you?"

"I... I don't..."

"Well, I suppose even if you can't see him, I'm sure he's charmed you anyway. And you probably Googled him."

"How did you—"

"It's what I would have done... So?" she prompted, still waiting for an answer of some kind.

Y/N sighed, defeated and impressed by Penelope's skills at quickly retrieving information. But she also didn't want to lie to her, so she had no choice but to answer her questions with the truth anyway. "Well, I can see him. But I couldn't at first. My um... My friends came over one night, and they brought a Ouija board. We used it for shits and giggles because I'd joked to them after I moved in that I didn't feel totally alone, and well..."

"It wasn't a joke?"

Penelope brought over the tea, steaming and aromatic. Y/N took it with a nod of thanks and sighed as she sat down across from her.

"No. But I didn't actually think I was living with a ghost, I mean... I didn't believe in that stuff. But I also wasn't going to risk pissing him off, so I tried to be nice to him. I only knew his name, and then my friends looked him up and we read his obituary, and... I don't know, I guess I just thought he seemed like a good person, so he deserved some kindness in the afterlife. I said hello to the air every time I came home from work, I yelled out a good night before going to bed... And then he started leaving me notes on my bathroom mirror, and I guess... I don't know, the more he and I got to know each other, the easier things became. Eventually he could touch things, and then soon after he was audible, then visible..."

She conveniently left out the details of that journey, though her skin warmed again at the memory.

"And now that we can communicate, it's become clear to me that he doesn't know where he's going— Why he's not at rest... I feel bad for him. He deserves..." Her breath caught in her throat, and she swallowed hard before looking down at the mug in her hand. "He deserves to move on."

Penelope was quiet for a moment as Y/N sipped her tea. Her hand reached out to grab hers, and the gesture almost had her in tears.

"You sound... Sad about that."

She couldn't help the pressure that pulsed behind her eyes, stabbing at her throat... Still, she made herself speak, barely above a whisper to prevent that inevitable cracking of the voice that would surely break the dam she was trying so hard to keep still and strong. "I... I know it sounds absolutely crazy..."

"You're falling in love with him."

Though the words didn't come from her own mouth, they came flying at her like a sucker punch to the gut. The wind was knocked out of her for a moment, until all she could do was exhale and let the tears fall silently as she nodded.

Penelope let her cry for a minute or two without a word while holding her hand, until she was ready to elaborate. "But I can't... I can't keep him here, it's not right. If he doesn't have any unfinished business, then he should be put to rest. And I... I don't know how to help him. I thought maybe, if I could talk to the people who knew him the best... I could get an idea."

"Oh, Honey, I... I'm sorry, but I don't know any more than you do." She was talking through tears herself, and Y/N squeezed her hand back. "His mother's been gone for years now, and there's no other family that he was close enough with to even consider, other than us, but... Truthfully I don't know if we really count in the grand scheme of things... I'd like to think that we do..."

"You might not be blood-related, but you were his family. He loved you so much, I could tell by the way he spoke about all of you. He... He misses you a lot. I just wish he didn't have to feel that loss anymore."

Penelope frowned. "I wish I could give you an answer... When you go back to him... Will you at least tell him that we love him?"

"He already knows. But yes. I will."

"And I'll keep on thinking. Whatever you need, you got it. I have access to pretty much everything so if there's information to be had, I will get my paws on it, and you will know. Thank you for coming to see me. And for telling me that Spencer's okay... He is okay, right?"

Y/N hesitated. She wasn't entirely sure how to answer without giving away their extra-curricular activities. "I think so. He's tired, I can tell. But I do my best to keep him happy. The last thing I need is to have him angrily haunting me."

Penelope laughed, then sighed. "Unfortunately, I think that means you better get rid of that glorious couch, then."

The laughter was a welcome break from the tears, which had already started to dry on her skin, leaving her cheeks itchy. "I really appreciate you being so kind, Penelope... Losing Spencer must have been absolutely impossible, and having a complete stranger show up at your door and pour salt in the wound... I couldn't imagine..."

"Y/N... If there was any person on this planet who could have moved into his apartment and helped him through this... I think I speak for the whole BAU when I say that he's lucky it's you."

The sentiment made her chest tight, and an involuntary pout tugged at her mouth. "You... You really mean that?"

Penelope laughed and squeezed her hand again. "Oh, Darling, you even pout like him... You're kind of perfect for each other."

"I don't know whether to be happy or sad about that," she replied through a fit of hysterics, and Penelope joined her.

It was clear then that these two women were meant to bond seamlessly over the loss of someone dear, one in life and the other in death. They were two sides of the same coin, a best friend and an anchor to the other side. It was a solace that neither of them had expected, but welcomed with open arms and warm understanding.

They exchanged stories and laughs and phone numbers and hugs, and joked about exchanging addresses, and a while later, just as Y/N was about to go home, fastening her coat, Penelope stopped her.

"Wait... I don't mean to make you sad or anything, and maybe this isn't the answer that either of you were looking for... But after today? If I didn't know any better, I'd say that Spencer's unfinished business is you."

The thought froze her entirely. It would stand to reason that they were meant to find each other, only to let each other go. Because, of course. Nobody was ever that lucky, especially neither Spencer nor his new roommate.

Sensing her overthinking, Penelope continued. "I know it's unfortunate given the circumstances, but... You did say that the more you got to know him, the more... alive he became. At least as alive as he can be. And I've only known you for about an hour, but I can confidently say that you are about as perfect for Spencer as somebody could be for anybody. And..."

She shifted on her feet, unsure of whether she should actually say what she was about to tell her, but obviously needing to make her point with as much context as possible. "You know, he's tried. He watched many of us find love and have families of our own, and he's always wanted that, but... He never got to have it. I think... that was the one thing that he always truly and completely wanted, especially after his mom passed and he had no one left but us... Somebody to go home to, somebody who understood him and cared about him and wanted to spend the rest of their lives with him... A soulmate. And... Y/N, I think it might be you."

Her head was swimming and tears were blurring her vision again. As much as she wanted to believe it, ever the lover of grand romantic endings, it didn't make sense. She didn't really believe in soulmates, did she? Then again, she didn't believe in ghosts, either, until recently...

"How could you possibly know that?" she whispered to Penelope, hoping for a switch in her brain to flip. She wanted to believe it. She wanted to dash home and confidently confess to the ghost living in her apartment that they were made for each other and that she could finally set him free.

And... Then what?

There had to be another explanation.

"I wish I could tell you how, definitively," Penelope answered sadly, "and like I said, I don't want to upset you... But it's just a feeling. And my feelings are hardly ever wrong. Hey, I mean I had a feeling that Spencer was still out there somehow, and that turned out to be true, right?"

"I... I guess," she sniffled.

"Just... Do me a favor, okay? Think about it. Spend tonight with him, like you normally do, and really really think about it. And tell me you don't feel it."

It almost sounded like a playful challenge rather than a request. Y/N wiped at her eyes and sighed. "You're really sure?"

"Positive."

Y/N wasn't really sure if she believed it still, but there was a conviction in Penelope's voice that was too sincere to ignore. And Spencer trusted her, which obviously meant a lot.

So, she promised that she would think about it anyway, bade her new friend farewell, and made her way outside, where the wind had died and left the streets lifeless and quiet.

———

Something was different about Y/N when she came home.

Spencer tried to let her go about the night and refrain from saying anything, but after regretfully informing him that Penelope had no wisdom to offer her about their situation but would get back to her if anything did come to mind, she was... odd. Perhaps she was just as tired as he was in trying to solve this mystery, or just tired in general. But he didn't want to push her if she didn't want to open up, so he did what he could and offered his company.

Still, she didn't seem right.

He thought maybe a flurry of warm, tender kisses along her skin would put her in high spirits, but the longer she let him worship her skin without so much as a sigh in return, it started to sink in that something was deeply wrong.

"Are you okay?" he asked sweetly, stroking her jaw with the back of his hand as he looked her in the eye. She looked at him for only a few seconds before averting her gaze, like if she allowed him to meet her eyes for any longer, he'd pull something from her that she'd rather not share. It sent a small wave of panic through him. "Y/N, talk to me, please... What's wrong? Did something happen?"

"No," she said unconvincingly.

"You don't... have to talk about it if you don't want to... But you're upset about something, and I want to help you. I'll do whatever you need me to. I'll listen, I'll leave you alone, I'll kiss it better... Whatever you want. It's yours."

She squeezed her eyes shut and took a deep breath, defeated. "God, you FBI people are too good at getting information out of people, it's annoying."

Spencer laughed. "It wasn't my intention to make you feel interrogated. I'm sorry."

"No, it's okay, you didn't do anything wrong. I'm just... I'm..."

She couldn't seem to get out the words, like there was a frustrating lack of understanding how to convey them. He drew continuous circles gently into her palm and waited patiently for her to open up, silently promising that he would be there for her when she finally found the right words.

It was a question that she finally settled on. "Have you ever been in love? Like... Really in love?"

Something inside him jolted at the thought of where this conversation might lead. If he had a heartbeat, it would have raced and thrummed so heavily that the organ might have failed. In truth, he'd been thinking about it for a week or two now. Ever since the night he realized that his interactions with her were the key to becoming more sentient, the thought crossed his mind that perhaps she was the thing he was tethered to.

He didn't dare say it out loud, or to her face, because... Well, it was too soon, wasn't it? And it wouldn't have mattered anyway, because once he was lain to rest, they could never be together.

It was complicated.

"I think I was, a few times," he finally answered in earnest. "And to be fair, just because things didn't work out with them, it doesn't mean I didn't really love them. I did. But... I think deep down I knew they weren't really The One... Does that make sense?"

"I think so... I don't think I've ever been in love before. Even with long-term partners, we said the words, and I felt something that was happy and I thought was love, but..." She paused, avoiding his eye again before rapidly blinking back tears. "Now I feel this... this anchor to you that I can't let go of... I want to be around you all the time and I know it's not fair because you deserve to rest, but I can't help it. Spencer, I... You're the best thing that's ever happened to me. And I'm afraid that once I really admit it out loud, you'll be gone forever."

He knew, then, that this was it. Listening intently as she confessed, absorbing every word and allowing himself to feel and admit what he knew to be true for a while now, his body began to tingle. It was so dull at first, he almost mistook the feeling for 'butterflies'. It felt cruel not to tell her that he was starting to fade, but he didn't want to ruin the moment or panic her. He didn't want to tell her that she was running out of time. That they were running out of time.

So, instead, to try and ease the blow, he told her something sweet.

He told her, "I love you."

Her eyes glossed over at the confession. She reached urgently for his hands, her grip strong and willing like she knew what was going to happen. And maybe she did. Still, she sat there and listened to him, her eyes taking in every inch of his presence and committing him to memory.

He aimed to make it a memory she would never forget.

"I don't know when we'll see each other again, but I don't doubt that we will. Not for a second. And until then, my only wish is that you keep allowing yourself to fall in love. Don't be afraid of it. You shouldn't deny yourself just because I'm gone. Can you promise me that you'll try?"

Y/N blinked away tears and tugged at his hands. "What if I can't?"

"You will, my sweet girl. And I promise, I won't be mad at you."

She laughed despite herself, then almost cried again when she felt his presence start to fizzle and break in front of her eyes. She was desperate to hold on to him, clutching his hands for dear life and breathlessly whispering, "I love you, Spencer Reid," as if the conviction alone would be enough to keep him here. As if whatever cruel deity was putting them through this would see how much she needed him and decided to spare her the misery.

"I wish I could have known you when I was alive," he told her, leaning in closer. "Maybe we could have been neighbors."

She smiled through tears and pressed her forehead to his, the contact making her skin go numb. Silently she hoped that wherever he was going, she would be sucked in with him. "Then I would have invited you over for dinner."

He squeezed her hands, already feeling his grip fading, his essence nearly numbing him. Still, he willed himself to stay long enough to paint this life for the two of them—one they would never get to have, except only in dreams and perhaps in another life entirely. Anything was possible, after all.

"And I still would have made fun of your ugly couch."

"And I would have pushed you onto it and made you take it back."

"And I would have refused."

"And I would have kissed you ."

"And I would have kissed you back."

"And I would have fallen in love with you immediately."

"And I would have sworn that I'd fall in love with you in every universe."

She closed her eyes, feeling the very last remnants of his presence as she whispered, "I think it's safe to assume that you already have."

"And I think I'm inclined to agree."

THE END

[recareels]

⋆₊˚⊹♡ sunday + grinding on his fingers while he works!

character: sunday warnings: 18+ minors do not interact, fem reader, extreme teasing, dom/sub power dynamics, pet names (darling, angel, sweetheart), tiny bit of degradation (needy slut), toxic relationship (sunday is a lil mean/controlling/overbearing), taps into sunday’s god complex  words: 1.4k

Thinking about Sunday’s fingers; long, slim, warmed by the gloves, his heat radiating off the thin material. Thinking about not even riding them, but humping them, using them while he deals with something far more important. He won’t put them inside of you, refuses to even take off his gloves as he wedges a hand between your thighs, claiming that this is more than enough to make you cum, sweetheart and he knows you can do it, he knows you can get off from just this. 

Because you’re such a needy little slut for him, aren’t you? Pathetic and acquiescent and willing to take whatever the fuck he’ll give you, even if it’s merely the very tips of his fingers, just scarcely brushing your throbbing clit. 

It’s up to you to do all the work—you’re the one who wanted it, after all; you’re the one who couldn’t sit proper and patient and wait for him to finish with his tasks and duties, too eager and desperate for the tiniest piece of him to stand it—and he declines to put in any effort at all, simply keeping his fingers still and stiff, a hairs width from your cunt. 

As such, it’s your responsibility to make yourself feel good.

He barely pays you a shred of attention throughout the entire tedious process, gaze prim and focused on the documents spread neatly across his desktop, his free hand leafing through papers and jotting down notes. 

But despite his cool, calm, seemingly unaffected demeanour, you know better. 

Because you can see it; his cock, hard and huge and straining against white trousers, just begging for relief. You can hear it; those gentle, almost imperceptible hitches in his breath—a subtle response to your own sweet little noises, whiny little mewls and airy little moans, sounds that melt in the heat of your mouth, sugared frustration on your tongue.  

Every brush of your clit against his fingers pushes another one from your pouty lips, features pinched and tight with concentration, muscles coiled and tense as they work and flex, desperate to achieve your goal. 

Yet despite what Sunday had claimed, it truly isn’t enough, each soft swipe of his fingers only working to fuel the fire roiling in your belly, spritzing kerosene on the flames but never fostering an explosion. 

“S’not enough, Sir,” you whimper after nearly an hour of this routine, a heavy ache beginning to settle deep within your flesh, 

“It’s not enough,” he corrects you, not sparing you a glance. “And I assure you it is, darling. Come, now, be a good girl for me, and show me that you can cum from just my fingertips.” 

“I can’t, I can’t,” you hiccup, lids squeezing shut as tears nip at your vision, aggravation budding at the corners of your eyes. “I need more!”

“Don’t get greedy, now,” he chastises, an implicit warning woven into the sentence. “You’ve already taken one of my hands away, and considerably slowed down my productivity, interrupting my workflow with your neediness. Isn’t that enough?” 

A flash of guilt sears through your stomach, bitter and sharp, and you lip juts out even further,  puckering your chin. 

He’s right—You know he’s right. He’s already making a sacrifice for you by just giving you this—time is money, time is power, time is control, and you’re eating up a substantial amount with your disgraceful desire. How much more selfish could you possibly be? 

“M’sorry, Master,” you slur out, eyes shut tightly enough to crinkle your lids as you attempt to scrape together the tatters of your concentration. “I’m sorry.” 

Sunday says nothing, but the corner of his mouth twitches, curls upward with something sick and sadistic, thick authority cracking in the atmosphere around him. 

With renewed resolve, your hips begin to swivel again, grinding your swollen clit against sheathed fingers. His fingertips flutter softly, just teasing, and your movements speed up, rocking into his feathery touch, the motion just shy of satisfying. 

Something similar to vexation chokes in your throat; a half-stifled groan smothered by your determination to be good, to obey. 

You will not complain again. 

The quick, light drumming of his fingers against your clit ceases a mere moment before your pleasure crests—it’s a curse, how proficiently he knows your body, how perfectly he can decode those precious little gasps, slipping unwittingly from your lips and tinged with exasperation, and those pathetic little ruts, pelvis stuttering as it chases his touch, stomach muscles coiled and clenched. 

He can read you so well, too well, almost as if he made you himself, took blood and bone between his palms and molded it into flesh, into his personal little angel—he is your creator, and you worship him flawlessly. 

It’s obscene, just how wet you are, copious amounts of arousal soaking through the cotton of his gloves to prune his fingers, turning the material slippery, puffy clit gliding over it with fluid ease.

It’s embarrassing, just how wet you are, thick dribbles of slick streaming down Sunday’s drenched digits to collect in little pools on the webs between his knuckles. It’s overflowing, leaking onto his palm slow and steady to seep into the fabric, now stained with evidence of your desire clinging to his hand. 

You’re saturated in sweat by the time you finally manage to orgasm, thin linen of your dress plastered to your form, contouring every dip and curve of your body, outlining every heave of your chest. A garland of tiny beads is strung along your hairline and collarbone, glistening dewdrops streaming down your cheeks and neck and leaving pretty shimmering trails of damp salt in their wake. 

Strands of matted hair stick to your temples, your thighs still tensing around Sunday’s now rigid hand, hips continuing to gyrate in sloppy little circles as you chase residual sparks of pleasure, quick jolts of overstimulation rippling your flesh. 

But despite the dull, dense ache in your muscles, heavy with exhaustion and filled with sand, and the prodigal sparks of pain-dyed ecstasy, pushing sharp hisses through the gaps of your clenched teeth with each bout through your blood, you just can’t seem to stop.

“Th-Thank you, Sunday, Sir, thank you, thank you,” you’re babbling out in hiccups, words hitching in time with the motions of your hips. 

So polite, his sweet little seraph, so devoted to making your gratitude known—it is, in essence, only right to thank your god after he grants you a tiny piece of heaven, a single taste of bliss, Sunday knows. And your reverence will not go unrewarded. 

Because your reverence far exceeds great respect and high regard; your reverence bleeds into veneration, obsession, addiction. Your love knows no bounds. 

Your love is voracious in its worship, devouring any morsel of attention or affection he grants you and being grateful for it—even something as small and insignificant as a fingertip. 

It’s fucking exhilarating to experience such power, and it sends a heady shot of rhapsody straight to his brain, dazing him and infusing his blood. He can feel it oozing out of every pore, clinging to his form like a protective shield, reinvigorating his hegemony and reaffirming his authority.

Yearning against his pants, his cock twitches, the stitches threaded across the groin stretched taut with how hard he is. 

His hand is doused in you—your cum and your sweat and your arousal—and he pulls it free from your flexing thighs to examine it, holding it up in front of his face and turning it; first this way, then that, leisurely admiring the way every inch of his glove gleams in the diffused sun spilling past the stained glass. Sheathed in you, it almost looks like a shimmery satin.

“Such a mess,” he grits out, the words wispy and ragged. “Such a pretty mess you made for me.” 

A pair of gloved fingers tap together in a scissor-like motion, slow and controlled, pupils blown wide with awe as he watches the slick material stick to itself, glimmering in the setting sunlight and separating with minimal effort, strings of your cum strung between the appendages, webby, quivering slightly. 

You’ve since slumped against him, face nearly buried in his bicep as he appreciates the gift you’ve given him. Your breath is hot and humid against his neck, panted out through parted lips in uneven little huffs and stammered by soft whines.

��Rest, angel,” he murmurs, cheek laid against your head after he’s peeled the soiled glove from his skin and stashed it away in a desk drawer for safe keeping. “You did well.”

He knew you would. A god is never wrong, after all.

[nanamiscocksleeve]

"I don't know why people complain about sloppy seconds" with pervy professor nanamin after his favorite student shows up to class already creampied by someone else >_< pervy prof nanami drives me crazyyyy

My god people talking to me about pervy professor Nanami are gonna drive me insane, I love him so much. Are you the same anon that participated in the game and mentioned pervy Nanami with the ropes?

(it might be kind of obvious how much I enjoyed writing this. can't help it. I'd be his cum dump if I could).

"I don't know why people complain about sloppy seconds"

--------

You were his student. HIS STUDENT.

Kento knew better than to get involved with you but something just drew him to you like a moth to a flame. Maybe it was how you were so close to graduating but still looked like an innocent doe-eyed thing, your cute little skirts too short, those thigh-high socks you liked to wear so coquettishly inviting.

He knew you had a boyfriend, he'd seen you two hanging around campus, barely hiding his envy as the two of you got handsy and made out shamelessly in view of everyone. It should be HIM gripping your thigh like that. It should be HIS lap that you sat on while you made out. But with gritted teeth he kept his composure, keeping a cool attitude towards you whenever you were in his class.

Today however, he was distracted the moment you came in. You were walking differently, almost gingerly, like you were holding in a breath. You took deliberate, slow steps to your seat, putting your bag down then turned to talk to a friend, leaning your upper body on the desk. He swears you're doing it intentionally to tease him, to make him lose his goddamn mind, and that was when he saw it; your too-short skirt hiked just high enough to flash him a little strip of your adorable pink panties, a stain of moisture visible, bleeding into the back part of the crotch.

Jealousy hits him in the stomach like a strong punch, practically leaving him winded. You had dared have sex right before his class? With that annoying frat boy who was barely keeping a passing grade? And then had the nerve to flaunt your used cunt in his classroom? Oh, that simply wouldn't do. With a huge effort he grits his teeth and starts his lesson, unable to ignore how you kept squirming in your seat, clearly struggling to keep whatever load your boyfriend had given you inside, to keep it from dribbling into your panties and down your thigh...

It was merciful when he was able to dismiss the class. But he called your name. Your heart skips a beat as you hear his gruff voice but you turn around, wide-eyed and sweet looking, and he feels his cock tighten painfully in his pants.

"Kindly close the door and lock it."

Your breath hitches and you feel like your legs are wooden but you follow his instructions and approach him at the front of the class.

"Is something wrong?" Oh you poor, sweet, lamb, standing there without a clue as to what's going on in your professor's head.

"You need to be more careful of your attire," Kento clips out, not failing to observe the way your nipples hardened under your shirt as he spoke. So he did have an effect on you.

"Excuse me?" you ask incredulously. "Who are you to tell me what can and can't wear?"

"I can if half your cunt can be seen from under your skirt. Yes, that's right," he adds with a smirk as your face reddens. "I saw a lot more of you than appropriate. Were you being intentionally provocative, or are you unaware what an inappropriate length all your skirts seem to be?"

"You-you...!" You gasp at him in embarassment and slight shame, but heat pools in your belly at the knowledge that he had been privy to your upskirt flash. "You perverted old man! I'm telling the dean that you're preying on your students!"

"Hmm go right ahead," Kento says smoothly. "And I'll tell him you're flashing your cunt to everyone that will see. With the way you're dressed, I'm sure there will be no questions left. And to make it even more interesting, I might add that there were...questionable body fluids all over your panties. As a concerned professor, I was only expressing my concerns for my student's well-being." The smile on his face could not be more smug and you wanted nothing more than to wipe it off his handsome, chiseled, face.

"Is that all? You wanted to lecture me about my clothes?"

"Are you aware how inappropriate it is to come to class with another man's semen in your cunt?" He grins as you look gobsmacked, spluttering.

"I-but I!"

"You were very uncomfortable for the length of the class. I could see you squirming." The grin is positively wolfish now.

"How dare you! You have no proof."

"Then you wouldn't mind showing me your panties? Since you're so keen on proving your innocence."

His words send a thrill down your spine straight to your clit which throbbed under his scrutinizing eyes. You could've said no. But the predatory way he was looking at you, jealousy barely contained made you want to do something shocking and brash. With a huff, you stand.

"What do you want me to do?"

"Kneel on that desk chair." You do so, feeling a little turned on as you do so, then try not to react as Kento's large hands hike up your skirt, revealing the pink panties that were stained with another man's cum.

"So utterly shameless," he growls before bringing his hand down on your ass, the resounding smack satisfying to his ears as your cheek stained red, your squeal of shock echoing through the classroom. Kento covers your mouth and spanks you again, your squirms futile as the slaps filled the classroom. When your ass was perfectly red and bore signs of his handprints, he stops. There were tears in your eyes and you sniffle.

"Aw, is the little slut crying from getting a much needed punishment? Will you remember not to enter classrooms full of cum from now on?"

You gasp as he pulls the panties off, running his hands over your thigh-high socks, then coming to your front to cruelly pinch your nipples.

"Have you ever been fucked by a real man before?" One of his hands drops to your cunt and traces your lips. You whine and try to move, which only results in your earlier creampie trickling out of your cunt, dripping obscenely onto the chair. Kento's eyes go feral at the sight.

"Shameless cumdumpster of a whore," he whispers into your ear, almost lovingly. "Let me show you what it's like to carry a real man's load."

You hear his zip being undone and you find that you don't want to resist him. Your hot professor wanted to fuck you, and you were damned if you said you hadn't thought about it before. His tip lines with your entrance and he slowly spreads your folds apart, splitting you into two and he fills and stretches you. You whimper at how thick he is, how good he felt inside you.

"I don't know why people complain about sloppy seconds," he growls in your ear as he starts to thrust. "Pussy is all nice and wet and slick. You'd been needing a second fuck today hadn't you?"

You moan as he begins to rut into you with abandon, the noises filling the clasroom. "Professor..."

"Professor..." he repeats in a high-pitched mocking tone, the humiliation adding on to your arousal. "That's right, I'm your professor. And I own your cunt. You think your pathetic keg sucking boyfriend has any idea how to please a woman?"

His fingers find your clit and begin to circle it and you cry out, your vision going hazy.

"That's right...real men not only fuck their whores, they satisfy them too."

He continues to firmly stroke your clit and to your embarrassment, you cum sooner than you thought you would, the orgasm hot and intense, something your boyfriend had never been able to achieve. You sob in delight as your pussy flutters around his cock, setting his teeth on edge.

"That's right. Let it all out you pathetic slut. How many times were you fucked and left dissatisfied? When you could have been on my cock, getting off?" He sloppily thrusts into you, lewd wet noises filling the air, then with a bark, feels his ball tighten satisfyingly before emptying themselves into your pussy, hot ropes of thick cum filling the cavern.

"Don't waste it," he says as he withdraws, watching your hole pucker in an attempt to keep it all inside you.

"Now you can go to the rest of your classes knowing what it means to be properly fucked. Tell your boyfriend I said hi later, when he tries to eat you out and tastes only me."

(I am now horny. Any hot professors need a cunt?)

[mercy-misrule]

mouthwashing spoilers, discussion of fictional sexual assault, fictional abuse of a disabled person, references to real life injury

This is a weird rambling thing, informed by my own experiences. I am a sexual assault survivor, but I am also a survivor of life threatening accident that left me entirely physically dependent on medical staff with a long recovery time. I am aware that this is not a pov a lot of people have, and it means I'm thinking about things a little differently.

If you haven't experienced the healing process from a life threatening injury, its hard to explain. But here are some thoughts.

So one of the things that I think is interesting about the fandom reaction to Curly is an odd thing I've seen. A fanwork thing where people write Curly as a victim of sexual assault by Jimmy where the result is that Curly is a more sympathetic victim, a 'real victim'.

This isn't all fiction exploring this, and this isn't stated in their texts, nevertheless, it's impossible to read otherwise.

And I get it, I get why people are exploring that as an option, as a concept. Maybe its revenge, maybe its more relatable, maybe it's simply because that's a fictional concept that they want to write. And that's a creator's prerogative. This isn't me criticising what people want to explore.

What bewilders me is that it makes me feel like people missed the hugely sexual implications of Jimmy's assault and continued violation of Curly's bodily autonomy. It's like, folks are you reading this right?

So Mouthwashing has textual sexual assault, it's right there, Anya is the victim of Jimmy's violence. He attempts to take away her life by crashing the ship, he attempts to remove any choice she has in what happens to her body after she reveals she is pregnant.

He does not care about her, it is pointed what a non-person she is in his eyes. He only cares about his reputation, his control over the situation, what people say about him. His job, his prospects, all of which are dependent on Curly.

And Mouthwashing has textual violation of a disabled person's bodily autonomy. Jimmy hurts Curly when forcing him to take his meds, beating him at one point, where in the end Curly is weeping.

A man who wants nothing but control, couldn't control Anya or Swansea or Daisuke despite his best(worst) efforts, but he has absolute control over everything with Curly. Curly is moved without his consent, touched without his consent, treated like an object, like food, tortured, and finally 'saved'...without his consent.

Without a voice other than cries of pain, or hissing laughter, Jimmy has the control he needs.

And look how his attitude changes towards Curly the more control he has over his body. When Anya is still around, he's swearing at him, beating him into needless submission. As the game progresses, Jimmy starts to hold Curly up as this object of salvation, as this vessel through which all of Jimmy's faults and guilt are washed away.

This focus, this obsession, the alternating between berating and violence and idolisation is subtextual in its sexuality. But it's there. Even when you move past the obvious mirror of violence of Jimmy standing over a helpless Curly in bed, hurting him, putting his hands on him.

We already know that Jimmy assaulted Anya while in her bed, she tells Curly this implicitly when she asks about the lack of locks on bedrooms.

What I find interesting about this all is that we do not see the violence Jimmy inflicted on Anya. We see the aftermath, we hear his words, and we see her reactions, but we do not see the act.

And its a very good and frank piece of storytelling, about the mundane horror of day-to-day life living with your abuser. We don't need to see the instigating act, the central piece of violence, because we are seeing everything else.

Whereas, this game is all about witnessing exactly the violence Jimmy inflicts on Curly, and contrasting it with the absolute indifference he has for Anya, his other victim. He fixates on Curly, he's got nothing in his head but Curly, and any other thought that tries to creep in, we watch turn into nightmares that he's desperate to run away from.

It's almost like watching Curly be brutalised is a stand in for the brutality that Anya experiences. Not as a revenge or anything, but as a story beat reminding you that this is happening, has happened, will happen again. Jimmy will always be hurting someone.

But what I think is fascinating is that there is this (I am not talking about shipping. This is not meta about shipping) almost romantic displacement of affection from Jimmy to Curly, shocking in its intensity to the same level of his disdain and apathy towards Anya.

It's a mirror of how Jimmy feels about himself. He views Anya as a failure, not competent, and that's how he is in reality. He puts all his failings on her, he lashes out at her, blames her for Curly's suffering, for his potential punishment.

He praises and berates Curly because he wants to be what Curly was. A respected captain, a person that people are happy to be around. But he berates Curly because Curly isn't what he views as his ideal self. Curly doesn't throw his weight around like Jimmy wants to, Curly is passive and a people pleaser. Jimmy doesn't respect him, even as he wants to be him. He doesn't respect Curly because of the the way Curly gives into him, supports him.

There are so many moments of desperate horror in this story but I keep being drawn back into the unending nightmare of Curly being dependant on people disintegrating around him

Anya withholds treatment, not maliciously, but she does, because it's too triggering for her. And then Jimmy steps in and it's always bad, even when he's not trying to make it so.

Curly lays there and sees the ramifications of his inaction, his cowardice and then is revictimised over and over, humiliated over and over.

The best chance of care he's got is a woman he fundamentally failed, harmed in unbelievable ways and is now being terrorised by the man who hurts them both and she keeps asking Jimmy to hurt him.

And he has to sit there as she does, as she eats the only things that are making his existence survivable, and he's responsible for it! He gets to watch the consequences of his inaction, he gets to lay there and watch a woman die and he doesn't get to do anything else except exist until Jimmy appears again , which is worst of all.

You don't get to pick your carers, at some point. Sometimes it's people you feel a burden too, or people you've hurt, in a hundred different ways. And sometimes it's people who've hurt you and still tell you how much you mean to them, how important you are to them, how much they love you. And they don't stop hurting you or other people and you. Cannot. Stop. Them.

[pantherxrogers]

unforgettable - choi san x fem!reader

🧡 pairing: choi san x fem!reader

🧡 warnings: angst, reader and san are married with a son, possible mispelling of korean words for "mom" and "dad" (so sorry! please leave feedback in the comments), fluff, separation

🧡 summary: san kinda fucked up. you're still married but not totally convinced he can balance work and your family. you sent him away for a few weeks, but he can't live with that. you're unforgettable, and he'll do anything to get his family back together.

🧡 a/n: this is 100% inspired by the movie "obsessed" with beyonce and idris lmao. but there is absolutely NO cheating involved. or any mentions of cheating. only inspired by one scene lmao. iykyk. plus second-chance romance always hits different.

hope you guys enjoy! 😚

my masterlist

This is a work of fiction and is not meant to represent real events or the actual personalities of any K-pop idols mentioned. All characters and situations are purely imaginary. This story is created for entertainment purposes only, and no harm or disrespect is intended toward the idols or their fans. Enjoy!

"bubble, are you ready? daddy's here at the door!" you call into the house, angling your body away from your husband.

"i'm coming, mommy!" jun shouts, little footsteps echoing around in the background. you can tell he's in the toy room, trying to grab even more things than what you've already placed in his weekend bags.

"you look gorgeous, honey." the honesty in san's voice makes your heart flutter. but, you can't bring yourself to show it.

"okay, san," you mutter, trying to keep the grin off of your face. but, he knows you well. even if he can't see your face right now, he hopes his comment had some effect on you. because he really does mean it.

when you finally face him, emotion swirls in your chest. simply put, he looks good as hell. standing on your doorstep, the sunlight melts into his golden skin, accentuating his beauty. he's wearing his hair in your favorite style, obviously intentional. no one should look this sexy in a simple black shirt with jeans, but choi san always finds a way.

and it's hard for you to miss the wedding band still firmly in place on his left hand. you don't even realize you're smiling. but, of course, san does.

"you know it's my birthday on saturday, right?"

"you've only mentioned it a thousand times."

"have dinner with me?"

it's the same request you've heard repeatedly. but, he really is making more of an effort. san has always been a loving father and husband, but your marriage is in a rough spot right now.

before this comeback with ateez, he promised you that he'd make more of an effort to balance work and your family. but, the final straw was when he missed your son's piano recital. he's only five, but you'll never forget the disappointment on his little face when he saw san's empty chair.

so, you'd told him that you'd had enough. it might seem a little dramatic, but you needed to make a point. it's been three weeks since then. he's been staying with wooyoung. for san, every day has been torture. he wonders if you feel the same.

you're lost in thought when the soft patter of jun's footsteps get closer.

"omma, i'm ready!" his excited squeal makes your heart burst. you turn around to scoop him up, planting him on your hip. you try to close the door on san, but he sticks his boot in the way. with a little grunt, you face him again, cradling your son.

"hi junebug! you've gotten even bigger since yesterday!" san exclaims, prompting a giggle from your son.

you love the way they light up in front of each other. the love between them is palpable. you've never once questioned his love for you or your son. but sometimes love isn't enough.

"hi appa!" his squishy arms reach for his father, who smoothly takes him from you. san's touch leaves gooesbumps on your skin, which makes pride swirl in his chest. no one could ever deny the chemistry between the two of you.

"i'll be right back. let me go grab his bags," you explain, turning to walk back into the house.

you feel san's eyes on you. he's talking animatedly with your son, but it's impossible to ignore the way he shamelessly checks you out. you smirk to yourself, retreating further into your shared home.

okay, so maybe you wore this outfit on purpose. but, who can really blame you? after all, you don't want your marriage to end. but you want him to make some real changes. wearing his favorite sundress might be a little over the top, but who gives a damn. a little tease never hurt anyone. judging from the way his eyes roamed all over you, it's safe to say san doesn't mind.

making your way back towards the door, you struggle to hold all of the bags. your son always insists on bringing so many toys with him, even if he's only staying with his dad for a few days,

"hold on champ, let me help mommy," he murmurs, placing your son down. both of them make their way over to you, san smoothly grabbing everything. your son looks a little pouty, always wanting to prove his strength.

"appa, i can help too," he whines, tugging on san's denim.

"i know, buddy. but, i want you to have your arms free to give omma a hug," he explains. this time you're unable to keep the fond smile off of your face.

"c'mere june bug," you hum, sweeping him into a bear hug. you press several kisses on his squishy cheeks, delighting in his happy little squeals.

"i love you, bubble," you whisper, trying to fight the wobble in your lip. san's heart breaks a little bit. he knows neither of you will ever be able to get used to this. and he doesn't want you to. it's just more motivation to get his family back together.

you hug jun tightly before lowering him back to the ground, leading him and san towards the door.

"he'll be back before you know it." the warmth in san's voice makes you smile. he always knows what to say when you need it most.

"i know. i'm just a big crybaby," you whisper, not wanting jun to notice your sadness.

"no. you're just a great mom," he answers honestly, locking eyes with you. it's a direct hit, cracking through the tough exterior you try to put up around san. but maybe you don't want to anymore.

"c'mon bud, let me get you buckled in." san turns his attention to your son, heading out towards the suv he arrived in.

you stand at the door, watching your son babble to his father, likely filling him in on everything he got up to in the last 24 hours. san nods along enthusiastically, hanging on his every word. he puts the bags in the trunk, freeing up his hands to strap jun into the car seat. he jogs to the front seat, turning the car and ac on, before he lets jun's window down.

"bye omma!" his little voice carries across the yard. you make a show of blowing a kiss to him, which he grabs and holds near his heart. you wave and turn your attention to san before the waterworks start again.

to your suprise, he's jogging over to you, one hand behind his back. when he stops in front of you, he reveals a beautiful bouquet of flowers, a small white note sticking out the top of it.

"um?"

"beautiful flowers for my beautiful lady." his shameless flirting makes your cheeks heat up again, feeling like a school girl with a crush. instead of responding, you reach for the note.

have dinner with me? don't make the birthday boy eat alone.

you don't hide your smile this time, looking up to see the bright blush on his cheeks.

"bribing me with your birthday now?"

"you're the only gift i want."

you forget how to breathe for a second, the seriousness in his tone takes you back. regaining your composure, you respond with a curt nod.

"i'll have dinner with you, san" you state, unable to say no to him. and why should you? he really has been making more of an effort. taking off time from work to stop by and see jun (and you, of course).

he does a little victory dance, handing the flowers over to you. he's just as silly as ever, and you can't help but giggle at his antics.

"so, i'll pick you up saturday at 8?"

"i'll call the sitter."

"don't sweat it. woo would die if he knew we paid someone else to watch jun." you giggle again, unable to hide your giddiness. you really do miss laughing and joking with him like this. maybe you're more excited for dinner than you're letting on.

"okay, i'll spare him. i'll see you saturday," you murmur, looking at him through your lashes. san sweeps one last glance over you, like he's committing it to memory and storing it away until he can see you again.

"i'll see you saturday, baby."

[thexsilentxwordsmith]

Dom!Simon "Ghost" Riley x sub!reader, John "Soap" Mactavish x reader

Fandom: Call of Duty

Characters: Simon "Ghost" Riley, John "Soap" Mactavish, reader

Summary: When a one time sexual encounter leaves you wanting more, but the rules were set the moment he entered you and now he does his best to avoid you, what is a girl to do to get what she wants? That's right, make him jealous. And if it works a little too well maybe he will give you the night of your life. Good thing you have a flirty Scotsman to mess with, perhaps if you can't get your way, you can still have fun. Only time and a bit of effort on your part will tell what goes down.

Word Count: 12.7 k

Warnings:

Part 2: What's Mine You'll Never Have

You knew what you were getting yourself into before it even started. The rule was simple enough: this was a one time thing, a no strings attached fuck that would end and never be spoken of again because it just so happened to be with a man in a higher rank than you who had a reputation to uphold. Agreeing was the easy part; honestly, you would have done whatever was asked of you in that moment for a ride  as the heat between you both rose, his touch sending shocks down your limbs, and if one and done was all you got you were going to jump on it with complete pun intended. It wasn’t as if you care for him; really you could barely stand him on a good day, though you would have been a liar to deny there wasn’t something erotically toxic about him.

Your superior office was a fucking beastly specimen of masculinity: broad, full chest, arms big enough that they looked like they could bend steel, thighs so fucking thick and juicy you could comfortably ride his massive cock for hours. Though you had never fully seen the face of this quiet and serious man nor knew more than the most basic information about him it did not matter, you knew before you ever saw it that what was rubbing against your thigh as he pinned you to that wall was mouth-filling enough that you needed to get your hands on it and by god you loved when were absolutely right.

That one random night had found you at the right place and the right time, when tensions were high along with his aggression and a good screwing would help take the edge off of an otherwise frustrating and fruitless mission. Things went fairly quick from when he had grabbed you by the waist and before you knew it you found yourself naked in his bed, filling the room with your whimpers as muscles pumped, bodies writhed and bucked, and sweat stained the sheets along with the rest of your combined fluids. You were made to come several times as your lieutenant unleashed himself upon you with a voracious appetite for your body that didn’t let up until your poor little cunt couldn’t take another orgasm. Exhausted and satisfied, you left him in bed with a cigarette pressed to his smirking lips set free from his mask and that was that; you’d go about your merry way a little more satisfied than usual, but otherwise not putting up a fight about the arrangement.

…Or so you thought.

It was only a couple of weeks later that the ache really set in, that one deep inside you that no matter how many times you touched yourself with those sore fingers stroking away for what felt like hours, you simply could not satisfy. Shit, you were feral with desperation for Ghost's fat fucking cock and thick tongue to make your pussy their property once more and you needed to rectify the situation fast before you developed carpal tunnel. Since your lieutenant was avoiding you like the plague ever since that night, only being near when absolutely necessary and nothing more, you would have to take matters into your own hands. 

There was so much you did not know about Ghost when it came to more personal matters, but he was a man after all and though they came in different flavors, they all could be manipulated in the same ways. You owned all you needed to bring them to their knees and with your devious little mind always working overtime you were easily able to concoct your plan to make that hulking man jealous enough to hopefully break the terms of his agreement. These were indeed desperate times and that is when desperate measures are called for. Nothing is more desperate than using jealousy as a weapon and that meant pitting two men against each other to get what you wanted, but you would deal with the moral ramifications of your actions later.

You first needed someone to use in your quest of jealousy and it was completely obvious from the moment the thought entered your mind the exact person you wanted to use to get Ghost’s attention, one that the sting of seeing you with him would hopefully cause him to act  irrationally and that person was none other than Sargent MacTavish. The two officers were close, well as close as anyone could get to Ghost, at least you were certain it would be enough that if you pulled out all the stops and put all your effort into flirting with the Scotsman, it would surely light a fire in your target. And if not, maybe if you started to give him the extra attention he seemed to want, Soap would be down to help you alleviate your little ‘problem.’ It wouldn’t be exactly what you wanted, but if you couldn’t have your first choice, then you wouldn’t be picky.

It wasn’t a huge secret around the base that the mohawked pretty boy had a bit of flirtatious nature when it came to you and so it would be nearly effortless to play into that to get the effect you wanted. Briefly you had the thought to actually tell Soap what it was you were up to, but you concluded that that left too much up to chance; what if he didn’t agree to helping you or what if knowing that you were intentionally flirting with him to get to Ghost made his reactions not as sincere or worse yet he actually tried to sabotage you? No, this had to seem spontaneous and so you kept everything tight lipped. Settling on your victim, now all you needed was a place for this little show to happen. It had to be public, preferably somewhere that alcohol was involved; liquor always heightened emotions and made for bad decisions to magically come true. If that’s what it took for Ghost to give in to you, then that was absolutely fine. 

There were times when the entire task force would venture out into the night for a bit of fun, usually after a successful mission when the mood seemed just right to let loose, so all you had to do was wait for something to happen that would be a cause for a trip to the local bar and that was the part in all of this that nearly broke you. Nothing you had done up to this point had ever been harder; your poor vibrator was begging you for a damned break and you were sure the thing would fall apart before you got the chance to implement your plan.

Finally though, you had your sinful prayers answered and you seized the opportunity with both of your devious hands. The mission you had just returned from had not been easy in the slightest, but in the end it was a success and after all the preparation and execution that had happened over the course of a few weeks, the whole team was ready to let off a little steam. The minute you heard Soap suggest the usual group outing, your filthy heart skipped a beat.

Soap was the one to ask you himself if you were going to be joining on this little rendezvous as he caught up to you right after debriefing. The way he made sure to specifically invite you stuck out as odd, as he had not done anything like this before now, but you let the thought slip to the back of your mind as the timing was just too perfect not to take full advantage of as a certain someone just so happened to be within range when he asked. 

“C'moan, lassie,” he picked, giving you a playful shove and plastering that sad puppy dog look over his face. “Please. Wilnae be na fun witoot ye.”

Just out of the very corner of your vision, you could see that brooding tower of man watching this conversation like a hawk stalking a mouse through the grass. You wondered if he could hear everything being said as well as he could see what was happening and just in case you laid it on thick; can’t waste him being around to see you getting a bit more friendly with the Sargent, given how you usually interact. 

“And what’s in it for me?” you picked back.

“Th' chance tae git wit a charmer who’s guid at chattin,” he was quick to shoot back as if the response had been rehearsed. 

You smirked. “Oh, and when will I meet this good conversationalist? Will he be joining us there?” God you were laying it on with a paint roller.

Soap shook his head with a chuckle. “Ye know as well as ah that a nicht oot wi' me is yin tae rememer,” he met you with the same energy. “ 'sides, it’ll be lonely 'ere a' by yersel' sin a' body is goin'.”

“Everyone?” you repeated, pretending to give the idea some serious thought. Waiting a few more seconds you finally gave Soap your brightest smile with a firm nod of your head as if you had just decided right then and there and hadn’t been plotting all this time like the devil you were. “Alright, I’m in. A night off base sounds like just what I need anyway. It’s about time we go out.”

“That’s whit ah lik' tae hear,” he beamed, glad you had accepted the personal invitation. 

You gave him a playful nudge from your elbow. “I just can’t say no to you, ya know? Not when you look at me like that. Just makes me fold every time.”

He chuckled and rubbed the back of his neck nervously. Try as he might to hide it, there was no stopping the physical signs that triggered whenever you were around to give away the thoughts inside. “I’ll come grab ye at 8 'n' we kin head ower th'gither, if that’s a'right. Don’t want ye aff goin' after dark a' by yer lonesome.”

“My protector,” you gave his bulking bicep a short hug. “I’ll be waiting for you.” With a nod you parted ways and headed back to your barracks to get ready as a certain skulking member of 141 went stomping off back in the opposite direction to his own quarters in a rush.

And just as promised, right on the dot Soap was there knocking, ready to escort you off into the night. The moment you opened the door to your barracks he was stopped dead in his tracks at your appearance; it wasn’t often you got the chance to wear something other than the tactical gear that covered you from head to toe and you definitely put in the effort tonight to look your best. Your light blue crop top hugged your tits just right and matched the way your jeans clung to the curves of your hips and down the lines of your toned legs. You opted to wear your hair down with a loose curl to it and you had put on just the hint of makeup to play up your eyes and make them sparkle. It wasn’t over-the-top, but it was enough to make Soap pause and that meant you had done a good job.

“What?” you asked with a light-hearted laugh at his reaction, even though you knew exactly what it was that had left him speechless.

“Nothing,” he said while diverting his gaze. “Ye just look nice is all.”

“Don’t I always?” you sassily replied.

 Nodding his head with a raise of his eyebrows, he agreed. “Weel, can’t argie wit' that. Ye could mak' a garbage bag look guid.” 

“That’s what I thought,” you shot him a playful smile, making his temperature rise. 

Soap had to clear his throat before he could respond, already getting flustered before anything had actually happened. “Ready a' go?” he asked.

“Let’s do this,” you said as you both went off, ready to let the liquor take your cares away.

There was already a gathering at the bar when you both arrived, others getting there, grabbing a table large enough for the entire group, and diving in to the drink to get the night started. Luck, or a very well timed conversation, was on your side tonight as surprise, surprise, you found Ghost himself in tow with the gang. What made him break his streak of isolation was of no consequence, all you cared about was that this had the best potential to work and you were confident that what transpired here would make your tight hole soon be filled to the brim with him.

He sat at the opposite end of the table from you, though opting to sit on the side that gave him the best vantage point to keep his eyes on you if he wanted. His usual over-the-top skull mask had been exchanged tonight for a simple black balaclava with a white painted jaw bone structure on the bottom of it. It was interesting to actually see more of those autumn-colored iris’, though he still had his customary eye black rimming them to keep them dark and mysterious. He had also opted for jeans and a black shirt with matching jacket, something that showed off more of his body and especially that spectacular ass; fuck, you had to remember not to salivate.

The moment you and Soap walked in Ghost’s sight was drawn to you, making him freeze with his glass half raised to his lips as he took in what exactly it was you were wearing. It had been a hot fucking minute since he had the pleasure of seeing more of your curves being accentuated by something other than bulky tactical gear that hid away all this delicious full figure from his gaze. It wasn’t very hot inside the bar, but a cold sweat began to spread out across Ghost’s body as you joined the group with a playful smile on your lips, effortlessly falling into the light-hearted conversation happening around him.

It had stayed pretty innocent through the first part of the evening until you began enjoying a rousing game of Never Have I Ever that included Captain Price nearly having an aneurysm and Ghost choking on his drink when you gleefully lifted your glass to your lips for the statement “never have I ever masturbated while on night patrol”, but you weren’t bothered. There was no room to be shy when your teammates were mostly comprised of men and especially when you needed to make one squirm.

“Are you serious?!” Gaz asked astonished that you had been bold enough to admit such a thing.

You nodded your head and you downed the last of your beer. “Look, you gotta do what you gotta do when you’re bored,” you smirked and you were sure Soap was going to pass out from all the blood gathering in one particular area from the image being conjured in his imagination. The night really got fun after that with mini raucous arguments exploding over who was the better at accents, with contest to match, and which song was the best to get you pumped for a raid and soon you realized you had downed another couple drinks as the laughter flowed as good as the liquor.

“Anither round boys?” Soap joyfully asked around at all present as the night had continued on. This was about round three or four, you couldn’t rightly remember at this point. He turned his attention to you sitting at his side, wanting to ask you personally with an inebriated smile spread across his lips. “How aboot it, ye up fur annur? Don’t tell me you’re gonnae tap oot noo, th' nicht is aye young.”

His eagerness to be in your close company all evening was indeed charming and if you didn’t have your eyes focused on the man who could use you like a rag doll and not even break a sweat, you might have liked to see where this would lead, but the heart wants what it wants. Or rather you should say the cunt, as that was the organ calling all the shots now. 

Shaking your head, you shot him a smile back. “Never,” you stated firmly. “I’m still in it as long as you are, pretty boy.”

“Atta lassie,” he praised enthusiastically as he got to his feet to go order another round with the bartender, hoping you wouldn’t notice how strong he was coming on; the liquor was hitting a bit harder than he realized and it was becoming increasingly obvious that he was struggling to hold it together, but you didn’t mind; in fact, you kind of liked the way it sounded. If Ghost didn’t do anything by the end of the night then you were sure you could easily get Soap to take you back to his private quarters.

You watched him go, letting your eyes linger on his objectively fine looking taut ass, before you managed a sideways glance over towards the other end of the table where he sat. Your eyes hadn’t even fully clocked Ghost yet and you could already feel that grumpy, silent, mask-clad man’s eyes boring holes into you as if he were trying to set you ablaze. There was no seeing any of his features other than his eyes through the mask, but his agitated body posture alone was evident enough that he had taken notice of your closeness with his colleague.   

Time to turn up the heat and really stick it to him; Ghost was going to regret ever taking away the pleasure of his body from your immediate access by being forced to watch you give away your own to someone else. The night was still young and you had ample opportunity to make sure he knew just how far you were willing to go to get his attention. 

Soap returned moments later with a slew of beers in hand, distributing them around those still partaking, but saving the last for you specifically just to give you that bit of extra attention. You gratefully accepted it from him, your fingers lingering over the backside of his hand as you took the glass into your grip. 

Across the way you noticed one of the two pool tables had suddenly become free as the two older gentlemen playing had called it a night. Now that’s one game that can get two people close real quick, especially if one of them pretended they didn’t know how to play at all and would need a lot of help. Soap had tried to get you to join a game with him and Gaz or Price on several occasions, but you had always said you enjoyed being a spectator more than a player, so you never took him up on it… until now.

Soap’s attention was still on you as he took a swig off his glass and you used that opportunity to nod over towards the now empty table. “Seems we’re in luck,” you pointed out and he followed your eyeline over. “Maybe it’s a full moon or some shit, but I’m in the mood to try something new and I know how many times you’ve tried to get me to have a go. Feel up to finally giving me a free lesson?”

“Ye don’t hae tae ask me twice, lassie,” he smiled. There wasn’t a chance in hell he wasn’t going to jump at the opportunity and jump he did, setting down his drink with a slosh and pushing out of his chair quick before grabbing your hand to drag you over so that another group couldn’t claim it for themselves first.

Back across the room your eyes locked on to Ghost’s and you raised a seductive eyebrow menacingly at him. It was obvious the way his upper body bristled as Soap came back with your cues and stood close beside you; it was about to get even more intimate when he showed you how to hit the billiard balls and both of you currently eye-locked knew it. Don’t like it, do something about it bitch, the look in your eyes challenged, but sadly he still sat there nursing his whiskey, though with more aggression than he had previously.

You were handed the wooden stick and you held it uncertain in your grip. “You are gonna have to start at the very beginning with me,” you chuckled, “I have no idea what I’m doing and the liquor isn’t helping.”

Soap chuckled and gave you a look. “I’ve git ye, don’t ye worry.” 

And got you he indeed did. After quickly explaining the scant amount of rules in excited and quick fashion, he demonstrated the stance you would need to take as he broke up the balls to start. Now it was your turn and you would have to be convincing. 

“Like this?” you questioned as you leaned over the table; you left plenty of room for improvement by not fully getting it right.

“Almost,” Soap said as he walked back over to where you stood in front of the shot you wanted to take. “'ere, let me hulp.”

Leaning against you to marionette your body where he wanted it to go, he maneuvered you around until you were in better form. Your back was pressed to his chest and you could feel the muscles brace against you through his t-shirt. He fit perfectly against the curve of your spine as you both tilted your bodies lower over the table and the warmth that hit your back half felt nice. Those bulked out arms covering your own definitely didn’t feel bad either. 

Not too shabby, Sargent, you silently praised. 

“Lik' this,” he said. “Ye juist pull back 'n'…”

Just as he was about make your cue strike the ball, you pretended to accidentally step back so that your ass got firmly pressed up against his crotch, making him twitch and completely butcher the hit. The stick made contact with the cue ball and sent it flying just off the edge of the table to roll across the floor away from you both. 

“Sorry,” you feigned innocence. “I fucked that up royally.”

“Nah,” he laughed with a wink as he went to grab the ball and return it to the table, “just git a unique technique is a'. We kin wirk oan that, bit ah think yu''ll need tae let me hulp ye a bit mair.” 

You both devolved into flirty laughter before continuing on with the game, Soap taking every available opportunity to correct your form just to be close to you as much as possible. And you didn’t shy away from ‘accidentally’ grinding against him from time to time just to watch him get flustered all over again. For a moment it felt nice for someone just to enjoy the pleasure of your company along with your body. 

It wasn’t until nature called that you said that you had enough for one night with a promise that you’d pick this up another time before you headed off to the bathroom to relieve yourself. It gave you a good chance to check and make sure you looked as good as you did when you got here. Although the rose had bloomed in your cheeks from the heat and the drink, you still looked just as you hoped and giving yourself a satisfied smile in the mirror, you left.

Stepping out of the bathroom, you began to head back to the table when you noticed that all the seats seemed to be filled suddenly. You counted heads, but there was one that you hadn’t seen before. Some tart had decided to take the moment to chat up Gaz and so you had no place to sit… or did you? Honestly this could not have gone better if you had written it out because now you had an excuse to do what you did next, not that you needed one, but damn was it too perfect not to take advantage of.

Ghost’s eyes were already on you again as you made your way across the bar floor and for the second time tonight you pointedly locked eyes with him, raising your eyebrow cockily, before stepping up next to Soap. As soon as he looked up to see who it was, you swung a leg over him and then the other until you were sitting in his empty lap. You could feel him freeze beneath your ass as he was surprised by this sudden change of events, but he didn’t protest this new development. Instead, one of his strong arms scooped itself around your back to your hip, making sure that you were secure on his lap so you wouldn’t think about leaving it too soon. 

“Hi,” you mischievously flashed him a smile, your faces close together.

He cleared his throat, trying to calm himself from your contact and the perky breasts near his face he was currently trying not to stare at. “Hi back,” he stammered out.

In a smooth motion, you laced one of your arms around his shoulders. “I hope this seat wasn’t taken, seems mine was though. Can’t expect me to stand the rest of the night, right?” 

“I’m nae complaining,” he admitted, giving the exposed small of your back a rub with his thumb; he felt weak at how soft your skin was beneath his touch.

“Good, that’s what I like to hear,” you gave him a subtle wink as you situated yourself better on his lap. “It’s a pretty good seat anyway, very comfortable. Plus it doesn’t hurt to being this close to you, get a better look at the scruffy mug.”

“Och is it?” he smirked, watching you struggle to grab your now half-empty glass and reaching across, handed it back. “Well, it's aye open tae ye, bonnie, as lang as ye lik'.”

“I bet you say that to all the girls,” you said, taking a sip. 

You swallowed fast as you felt him risk more of a touch as he slipped his fingers just inside the back waistband of your jeans. “Nah, that’s reserved juist fur ye.”

That was it; without warning, Ghost slammed down his drink so that it splashes liquid onto the surface of the table and he quickly stood from his chair. He didn’t address anyone that had turned towards him at the outburst or even give some bullshit excuse for his departure, instead just storming out into the night without a sound. You weren’t entirely sure, but you could swear his fists were clinched tight down at his sides and nothing made you more ecstatic; that was exactly the sign you had been looking for that gave you hope that all this had not been in vain.

After another lengthy round you feigned exhaustion and made your excuses to the group to leave, commenting about how your bed was calling your name as you could barely keep your eyes open. Soap was definitely the most visibly saddened by your decision to call it a night already; he wanted to ask you to stay with him longer, but ultimately decided to keep quiet about it. Perhaps he didn’t want to rock the boat and ruin an otherwise spectacular evening spent in your company by complicating things or maybe he had gotten the vibe that there was something more to Ghost’s sudden outburst and exit, but whatever it was he gave you a smile and a wish that you get back to base safely and sent you on your merry way.

All the way back to your barracks you had a smirk plaster across your inebriated face, certain that your little ruse had achieved the outcome you had been plotting for and now all you would have to do was wait for your lieutenant to get riled up enough to come crawling back to you. Your wicked little mind wondered if his hand was already down his pants, frantically stroking his cock in an attempt to rid his mind of you or if he had already taken several ice cold showers to stop his body from burning for your own.

It filled you with a malicious glee to have this effect on such a stoic and impassible man and as you reentered your quarters, inebriated and full of yourself, you found your bed and fell back against the surface with a slew of delightful images concerning your lieutenant’s neediness floating around your head to keep you company as the alcohol wore off. 

You weren’t sure how long you’d been daydreaming for when you heard the door to your barracks open. That wasn’t uncommon as it was a shared room, but what happened next absolutely was. 

*SLAM*

The force with which the door was shut rang through the room loud enough to shake the walls. The noise startled you, though you could probably take one single guess as to what the reason for such an intrusion could be and you’d be correct. Turning your head you could see all 6’4” of your superior standing there, taking up the entire doorway with his impressive form. Seems that your little ruse had worked to perfection and you could not help feeling smug about making him crack.

Ghost clocked you in your bed and could plainly see you had noticed his entry and yet you had not moved from your spot, even though decorum dictated you get to attention since he was a superior officer. Fine, you weren’t going to do as you should then you were going to be given orders and be forced to.

“Come here,” he demanded shortly, those intense brown eyes staring back at you unblinking from behind his balaclava. 

That devilish grin spread out all across your entire face as you sat up and crossed your arms over your chest. “Or what?” you pushed back to your masked superior. “It’s late, after hours in fact. Right now we are off the clock and I believe that means I don’t have to.”

One low, gravely chuckle was released from him. “Keep this up, luv, and you will find out what it means to disobey,” he threatened, his voice metered and firm. “I’ll give you one more chance before the consequences of your actions get you in fucking deep water. Come here, that’s an order.”

Doe-eyed and playing dumb you stared back before rotating your body until your legs were hanging off the side, but still you stayed seated. “What did I do, hmm?” you asked with a tilt of your head, playing pretend, but not exactly trying hard to hide the fact that you knew what it was you were being accused of. 

“Don’t you sit there and act like you don’t know, you little bitch,” he snapped, his scolding tone harsh and biting. “Everyone there tonight could see what you were doing clear as day, so there is no use in denying it. Making a spectacle of yourself and disrespecting your place on this task force.”

Shaking your head, you glared him down. “And why, sir, do you care? Didn’t like the show?” again you boldly fought back. “There is nothing saying that I can’t have a bit of extracurricular excitement with those on this team. Did Price send you to reprimand me? Cause if not I don’t see what problem you have. Or is there more to it than that that I’m just not getting? Wanna come clean about anything, sir? Was it really about what I was doing or was it more who I was doing it with. You jealous of MacTavish getting a little action?”

What had gotten in you today? You hadn’t had this much fight in you in quite a while and though he secretly enjoyed your fire as it was what drew him to you in the first place, you had disrespected him and that came with consequences. The way you used ol’ Johnny boy for your sick fucking attempt at clearly making him jealous had worked and he was not pleased with the amount of control you seemed to hold over him because of it. His cock had been hard as a rock since he left the bar and he could do nothing to ease the ache; you were going to pay for that by the end of the night.  

“Get. Up.” he growled with enough power behind it to send a shiver down your spine. “Now.”

The authority in his voice boomed through the room, intimidating enough to make you follow orders as you knew he had reached his limit and you could do nothing except genuinely fold and comply out of sheer intimidation alone. He meant business.

“You want to act a brat and sass me, then you get punished as one. Or did you forget I am still your superior?” he seethed as he gripped your wrist and yanked you towards him once you were within range. His grip around your arm was strong; there was no way you were getting out of his grasp even if you fought it. “You’re coming with me and I don’t want to hear any arguing, so don’t try it. Fight me and you will regret it.”

“And just where are we going?” you asked. If this was really a reprimand for your behavior, wouldn't your barracks be just fine? No, this was something more.

He whetted his lips under his mask, but ultimately kept quiet. Talk could come later once you had gotten to the destination, right now he had to focus on not loosing his mind before he had a chance to let you have it for what you did. You watched wide eyed and silent as he dragged you out of your barracks and through the facility back to his own private quarters, not caring who saw what, and once there he was pulling you inside and bolting the door behind the both of you. No one would be hindering his disciplining now, nor what he planned to do to you afterward. 

Satisfied that the entrance to his room was secured, he threw your back against the door, the sound from the hit ringing through the silence. Another bang sounded from his tattooed forearm also hitting the door just above your head as he rested it there so that he could lean down enough to get into your face. His chest was almost pressed to you and you could feel the heat radiating off of him along with a strong scent of whiskey and cigarette smoke on his breath and gunpowder on his fingers that all mixed together to drive you mad. 

“What the fuck do you think you are doing, hmm?” he spat angrily in your face, the outline of his lips just visible through the fabric of his skull-painted balaclava. “Throwing yourself at Johnny like a fucking trashy whore. The whole bar could see you being a pathetic mess and for what? I knew I was right in going tonight to keep an eye on you because you just can’t help yourself, can you? How fucking dare you pull that shit in front of everyone.”

You kept your eyes on his, never letting his gaze drift from your own. “So what if I did? Like I already said, it shouldn’t matter because you don’t own me. I didn’t make you come keep an eye on me, you did it all on your own and now you have to suffer the consequences.”

Being this close to you again was agony, your body within his reach that all he had to do was take what he wanted, and the ache in his cock that started in the bar was too much to ignore anymore; goddamn the pressure was enough that he felt himself about to explode. There was no more waiting if he wanted this interaction to last longer than a few minutes, and he definitely wasn’t going to be letting you go anytime soon, so reaching down the front of him he undid his pants with his free hand. 

Buckle jingling and the audible zip of a fly lowering hit your ears and he was able to release that thick, fat cock of his. He looked back up into your eyes with a predator’s gaze and groaned low and guttural as he gave his phallus several drawn out strokes, wetting his length with the bit of precum that had dripped out of the uncut tip.

“What the fuck did you just say to me?” he snapped as he seethed at your audacity. “You are on thin ice so I suggest you stop while you are ahead.”

His anger only confirmed it for you that you had gotten under his skin. A short, quick breath was pushed out of your nose as you shook your head. “With full disrespect sir,” you breathed, “why don’t you make me.”

Oh you had done it now. “You wanna tease me like the dirty slag you are, deliberately misbehaving clearly just to get my attention, then you have to accept the consequences when you get it the way that you did,” his words were sharp and firm, punctuated with grunts as he worked himself. 

“Let me guess, sir, I’m gonna have to suck it to make up for my act,” you balked with a sassy roll of your eyes, still a bit of fire in you that he had yet to quell. “How creative.”

Ghost shook his head with a low, malicious laugh. “You that greedy for me, princess? Gonna take whatever you can get your lips around? You are pathetic.” 

He knew just how to take care of a bratty little bitch like yourself; he was a true master at knowing exactly how to make bad girls fold and come to heel for him. “Don’t stand there and act like I don’t know how much you would enjoy that, choking on this fat dick until your eyes are watering. I remember how your makeup ran down your cheeks that night and how it felt like you’d rather suck me off then breathe. If you think I’m about to give you exactly what you want, you’re fucking mistaken baby. No, I have something worse in store for you.”

Tucking his throbbing cock back into his pants, he grabbed both of your bare wrists in one of his large hands while the other went to his belt. With a sharp tug, he wrenched it free from the belt loops and quickly wrapped it around your wrists to bind your hands together before opening the door just enough to place the tail end in between the top of the door and the door frame, shutting and locking it again once he had it secure. A sharp jerk as he pulled it tighter around your wrists made the leather dig into your flesh and you gasped at the feeling.

Once he was sure you weren’t going anywhere, Ghost slid himself off of you so that he would have full unbridled access. Nothing could stop him now from taking the hem of your jeans and yanking them down without undoing the button and off your legs, leaving you exposed to him in nothing but your delicate panties, the same ones he remembered from that damned night that sealed his fate now. 

“You want to come clean about what you were doing at the bar or will I be forced to fuck the confession out of you?” he asked. “Say that you did all that just to make me jealous and I may go easier on you.”

Slowly you opened your eyelids to him, tilting your head upward with a devious smirk. “I don’t have to admit to shit,” you returned with bite to your tone, “not when whatever the answer could be is irrelevant; all that is important is that it worked.”

He shook his head side to side; he should have known you were still too spicy to come to heel yet, but you would. By God you would bend to him. “ Suit yourself, sweetheart. You are about to be taught a good, hard lesson; brats like you need to be disciplined well or else they get too full of themselves. You should have never made me watch that disgusting display of you throwing yourself at another man,” he growled angrily. 

He wasted no time in collecting the crotch of your delicate panties with his fingertips and wrenching them to the side. He didn’t stop until he had ripped them from your body and tossed the delicate shreds away behind him. “I could smell the desire leaking off Soap like goddamn cologne, just as much as I smell the scent of your arousal for me now. I was so close to caving his skull in to see him put his hands you on like that and you just fucking let him. Baby girl, you need to learn who it is you belong to right here and fucking now.”

Shit, you may have just bratted yourself too close to the sun on this one, but there was no turning back now. You knew the consequences were going to be dire as that primal side of your lieutenant took over and you would simply have to accept every single delicious bit of his wrath that he gave you. Oh no, how horrible it would be to get exactly what you wanted. 

There was no warning about what he was plotting until you felt his hand slip down between your thighs, parting them easily as a knife in warm butter, and one of those thick fingers sliding between the petals of your sex towards your entrance, gathering as much of your slick as he could on his digit before inserting it fully into your core up to the knuckle. “Greedy bitch, I can feel you taking in my finger like it’s nothing,” the backhanded praise sent shivers down your spine as he began to work feverishly at your G spot, with rough and intense movements; there would be no easing into this, you did not deserve that luxury. 

Rhythmically he pumped that finger in and out of you as his opposite hand held your pelvis in place while you writhed and arched your back against the door. Instinctively, your hips bucked against his hand, trying to make as much contact with him as possible as you struggled with your hands above your head; you needed more, you needed it all. You had waited too long for this.

“Does my greedy girl need another?” he asked slyly, though not waiting long enough for your reply before slipping in another digit into your already dripping cunt.

“God,” you groaned, head back and mouth open as you were deliciously stretched out even further.

Ghost chuckled at how easy you were breaking for him. “God isn’t here sweetheart. You’ll have to deal with me right now.”

His pace was relentless and even with those tough, calloused fingers he knew how to use them better than any toy. It was too much to handle and your body responded in kind, your back arching wildly each time he struck that lovely little bean over and over again, the sweat clinging to your forehead as your body took every bit of his relentless assault on your sanity while your toes curled against the hard floor. Minute after minute, his full attention focused solely on you, each stroke along that incredibly sensitive bundle of nerve endings drawing you increasingly closer to that razors edge and threatening to violently throw you off. 

There was no need for you to speak it aloud first, Ghost knew you were close just by the way your body spoke to him: your head falling back against the surface of the door with eyes fluttering closed and your breathing quickening as that pressure built to the peak. It was in that moment where your orgasm was in sight that you whispered its arrival was near and he made his move; you were going to regret confirming it for him. Suddenly his fingers were ripped completely out of you, leaving you mewling for the feeling of him again as the sensation dissipated. 

“Goddammit, I was so close,” you snipped at him, shooting daggers through your irate glare.“I thought you liked me and then you pull this shit.”

The absurdity of your statement made him scoff. “And what would ever give you that idea? I don’t have to like you to fucking own you sweetheart.”

“Fuck you.” Your body shook as you squeezed your bare thighs together tightly, hoping that the friction would be enough to finish it, but the moment was gone and you were just left frustrated. 

Ghost’s knee found your thighs and slipped between them to kept them separated as your wetness soaked into his pants leg; you weren’t going to come yet until he was ready for you to and that would be some time as your penance had not been paid in full quite yet. “That is the goal, isn’t it babe? Why you went to all this fucking trouble? That’s why you’ll stand there and take what I give you like the good little whore you are and maybe when I’m finished I’ll give you what you crave most and stuff you completely full.”

From the moment you left him that night weeks ago, his cock still slathered in your cum as he sucked down cigarette after cigarette to calm himself from the intensity of that first encounter, he instantly regretted making you agree to this being a one time ordeal. No one had ever made his body come alive like that, nor had anyone been able to keep up with his incredible stamina like you could. The moment he buried himself in you he was addicted and desperately needed more and try as he might to keep himself sane by jacking off at a rate that would rival that of a teenage boy, it would never come close to the way your silky, tight walls felt clamped down around him. 

“And what if I don’t?” you shot back. “What if I continue to push you for making me go to all this trouble to get you to fuck me again? You were the one who set that fucking ridiculous rule about it being one time and yet the moment I try and get my fix somewhere else, here you come again.”

“I can bloody well change my mind,” he stated firmly, laying down his ruling to supersede everything else that had come before. “The way that watching Soap touch you made my blood boil, watching him take something away from me that I alone had, I cannot let that slide not even with him. I want to be the only one that knows that you feel like, what you taste like, what you fuck like. No one can have you, no one can touch you, ever again. I don’t give a fuck what I have to do, I will make sure that you belong to me and only me, little girl.”  

Pulling up his balaclava just above the tip of his nose as leaned over your body, his raw, yearning mouth latched on to the thick of your hip as he sucked and bit down at the place he had seen Soap’s hand touch, removing any trace of him from your body and replacing it with visible marks that belonged to him. There was no stopping there, though; he wanted markings across all parts of your body so that everyone could see where he had been, where you had been claimed by him, and he wanted you to be reminded each time you looked in the mirror. 

“This is mine and this and this,” he whispered desperately as he released your skin from his mouth intermittently to breathe as his handiwork continued along up and down your burning flesh. “No one can touch you like this ‘cept me.”

Already being stimulated and denied release, every single embrace of his mouth left you reeling in pleasure and the way those soft lips caressed your body mixed with the sharp pain from his bites left you a puddle in his hands. “Please,” the plea fell from your lips before you could clamp your mouth shut to keep it from escaping.

That whimper sent a trail of goosebumps across his skin, making Ghost moan deep in the back of his throat. Hearing you beg was the most beautiful music that had ever graced his ears and it only added fuel to the fire raging inside of him. All at once his shirt felt ungodly hot clinging to his body and so releasing you from his mouth he stood up and wrenched it off quickly over the top of his head to throw it away haphazardly to the floor. 

There it was, that fucking gorgeous broad chest lightly covered with a sparse amount of blonde hair amassed in the center of his pectorals that thinned out as it spread and continued in a line down his wide torso and into his pants, leading directly to that glorious appendage. His line of work made sure to keep him in top physical condition so that he exuded a virile energy that made your fucking knees buckle out from under you and even though his chest was a mix of scars and marks like a road map of the type of life he had lived, it did not matter; he was a god amongst men and you would do anything for even a single glimpse of that mouth-watering happy trail. You could not take your hungry eyes off of it. If your hands weren’t bound you would have already been running your fingers along it before your lips could follow.

“Turn around,” he order roughly, breaking you out of your stupor at his bare chest, “face the door and arch your back. Now, princess.”

It was a struggle to rotate yourself around with your hands locked above your head, but with the promise that he was about to fuck you senseless you got into position before him, rotating your body around and putting enough curve in your back that he could enter you easily. You waited not so patiently to have that feeling of his hands digging into your hips so that he could thrust into you, but what you found instead was the sharp sting of his palm connecting with your bare ass, making it vibrate. 

“Fuck, so beautiful the way it bounces like that,” he groaned as another smack was placed directly on top of the first. “You body was made for punishment. Isn’t that right, baby? Let’s get in a few more for good measure.”

Another smack, but the sting did nothing other than make you whine for more as that large mitt of his cupped the entirety of your backside. His intensity was obviously best when he was given free reign to do what he deemed necessary, even his discipline felt like ecstasy as the sting of it mixed with the pleasure coursing through your veins to make you delirious and ride that razors edge between pain and desire. A few more swift smacks and his handprint was a bright red sign upon your cheek; he couldn’t help but smile at his handiwork and knowing you’d have a glaring reminder tomorrow of him when you couldn’t sit down properly without wincing. 

You were ready to take as much as he was willing to give when you felt him pulling your hips forward a little more so your were on the balls of your feet before he  dropped down onto his knees. His face was now perfectly aligned with your as and  with a firm grip he spread your legs open as far as he could comfortably get them before he was leaning his face in; he needed a fucking taste. Those full lips placed a few quick kisses to your silky, bare petals before his wide tongue opened you up slowly and deliberately as he dragged it the length of your sex to collect as much of your juices as he could on his tongue. Goddamn you were so fucking sweet. 

“Mmm,” he hummed, his vocal chords vibrating against your entrance as the taste of you filled his mouth and tingled on his taste buds. The pad of his tongue hit your clit and your jolted into the door, the over-stimulation sending shock waves through your needy body. The lieutenant became no better than a dog lapping at you with reckless abandon, a man possessed and intoxicated by how the heat from your thighs felt against his face as he absolutely worshiped that sweet little pussy. Those fingertips digging into the meat of your hips tingled as his hunger for you consumed him; he would have been content to lap at your juices for hours until his face was smothered, until he couldn’t breathe and his mask had your scent fused into the fibers.

Even faster than before, the feeling of that beefy tongue playing around your clit with his nose nudging eagerly against your entrance brought you back to the edge of your orgasm. Tears streamed out from the corner of your eyes and onto your chest as your overstimulated sex yearned for completion, hoping that at least this time you would be allowed to come all over his mysterious face. You gripped your finger tighter in your bound hands to hold on for dear life.

“That tongue is gonna kill me,” you cried out, your legs shaking as they did their best to keep you upright. “Fuck, yes baby, make me come.”

That was the one thing that Ghost did not want to hear yet, as it meant that his feast would have to end even though he wasn’t done with his teasing yet. He meant every single word of the promise he made to discipline you for your disrespect and he intended to keep it; you weren’t going to leave his bed this time without being completely and utterly obsessed with him and all he could do for you. With a frustrated but ultimately satisfied sigh, he pulled his tongue away and locked your hips into place with his hands to keep you from backing up against him until he was clear of your cunt. 

You whimpered and whined so pathetically you did not even care about sounding tough anymore. This was too much for anyone to handle and all you wanted was for him to give you your deserved release. Burying your face against the hard surface of the door, you continued your barrage of annoyed and desperate sounds until a gentle touch helped you to turn over to face him once again.

As he came into view, you could see just how much damage had been done to the beast of a man before you. That mask of his was soaked from your juices and his saliva had rolled down to his chin making him look feral. The fabric was so stuck to the center of his face that it was gonna be a bitch to remove, but that twisted grin plastered on his face let you know that he had enjoyed every last second of being buried between your legs. 

“Are you going to behave for me from now on?” he growled as he wiped his exposed mouth with the back of his hand. Silently you nodded, but that wasn’t enough. “Use your words, baby girl,” he demanded. “Say ‘I will be a good girl for you’, say ‘I’ll never stray again’.”

You licked your parched lips. “I will be a good girl for you,” you whined. “So good, I’ll never stray again.”

“Say ‘I belong to you and only you’. Moan it, loud. I want them to hear it outside that fucking door.”

“I belong to you and only you, I promise baby,” you reassured as loudly as you could, not giving a fuck who heard it and secretly wanting someone to. “I don’t want anyone, but you.”

“You’re fucking right, luv. You are my property. Mine,” he growled and just like that it was over; you had served your time and now you both had earned that little death that would drown you in ecstasy.

Those lips that had touched everywhere except your own finally connected as Ghost leaned into your trembling naked body. You could taste yourself on his mouth as his lips danced aggressively with your own, pressing so hard you could feel a swelling from the pressure; another part for him to needlessly claim as it was already his. Reaching above your head he undid the restraints to let your wrists fall free, returning your arms back to you. Immediately you made your way to the waistband of his pants still loosely hanging on about his waist and hungrily tried to push them down off his hips; that cock was yours and you weren’t taking no for an answer anymore. 

“Ah, ah, ah,” he scolded as he held your hand against his hip, “you want me to fuck you good and proper, you know what I’m going to want.”

Fuck, your clit was so swollen you thought you would pass out, your body sweaty and aching something fierce. All you wanted was to relieve the pressure, have him to throw you onto his bed and open your legs so that he could rut into you like the absolute cum slut you were. You whimpered when you realized he still had enough sense to continued to torture you. 

Simon leaned in closer, his chest firm against your scant top so that your breasts were pressed to him. “Just start moving those beautiful lips for me,” he purred in that gravely tone that he played up for the effect of making you throb harder for him, “and beg. If you want me to get that fucking ache deep inside, I’m going to need a bit more from you.”

There was no more fight left in you to disobey him; whatever he wanted you would give in without question just to have him let you come. “P-please,” you said with agitation that you had been broken. 

His strong, rough grip found your jawline to hold still as he ran his large thumb across your lips before he leaned in forward. His warm breath hit your earlobe as he rested at the side of your head. “Please, what?” he pushed, his voice lowering into that register that made you wild. “Use your words and say my name; I need you to get used to using it. You’ll be screaming it often after tonight. Say: Fuck me Simon, please.”

Through gritted teeth you tried to remain sane. “Please, fuck me Simon,” you repeated the phrase he had given you to parrot. This was the first time you had ever used his real name and fuck did it feel perfect tumbling off your tongue. 

“Tsk, tsk, tsk,” his tongue clicked against the roof of his mouth, “that wasn’t good enough.”

He scooped you up in his arms and quickly moved you both over to his bed where to shoved you down onto the surface while pulling your crop top and bra up over your head in one move. Those pants that had somehow stayed put around his hips all this time were finally shoved off the curve of his ass and onto the ground, leaving him exposed in all his beautiful glory as he took his seat next to you on the mattress. 

Roughly you were pulled directly over his lap, his throbbing phallus waiting impatiently between your dripping thighs. He took one leg into each of his large hands to spread you wide and tilted you both back so that he could better position himself under your entrance and when he was aligned he situated his cock between your petals and rocked you back and forth to coat him as he teased your core. You squirmed in his grasp, trying to move your hips so that he would enter you, but it was no use; he had you in his grasp and at his mercy.

“Now,” he cleared his throat, breathing deeply to slow his rapid heartbeat as he stroked himself through you. “Repeat it again or you will have to wait longer, luv.”

Goddamn him for having so much fucking control. How could anyone be expected to be anything less than a fucking mess when a giant of a man is encompassing your entire body with his massive one as his cock was teasing your aching hole by being so close and yet so far from hitting the back of your cervix? Under those circumstances you were doing quite fucking well. 

“P-please, Simon, fuck me,” you said louder and more enthusiastically this time. “Fuck me until I can’t take it anymore. Until the walls know the sound of my moans, until the entire unit knows how well I scream your name. Fuck, please baby I need it.”

Those hands holding up your thighs dug in further to the supple flesh with strong fingertips enough to make you gasp. “Good girl,” he praised. “You’re such a fucking whore for me, aren’t you? And now I am going to ruin you for anyone else.”

He rocked you both back and then forward quickly to where you were pushed down over top of his cock as he thrust upward with his pelvis. The action made you take him in down to the hilt all at once and filled you completely until you could not take another centimeter. 

“Fuck,” he groaned forcefully as you took him all in… so tight, so wet, he could feel his muscles strain as he bottomed out inside you.

You mewled at the feeling of him stretching you out so quickly, his girth almost more than the walls of your pussy could handle. Fuck, you were so full of him that when he finally pulled out of you it would feel so goddamn empty it would physically hurt. A twitch of that ungodly thick appendage inside you made you whine. 

“That’s right,” he praised, “take it all, I know you can, you little bitch. Uuugh…goddamn.”

Those powerful arms locked themselves around your waist as he used your body as his own personal fleshlight, making you bounce with force up and down on him at his unyielding pace; you may have been the one to be punished, but making him wait was just as much torture and he had to reclaim every last second of time he was not inside of you by fucking you with a ferocity that left you completely destroyed. You could only sit and take every last delectable inch that he gave you as his massive girth stretched your walls with every thrust of his pelvis upward. The room was filled with the wet, sticky music of your bodies slapping against each other as he worked your hole as if this was the last chance he would get to fuck you and he needed to make it count. This wasn’t love, not something tender, but only pure animalistic lust and the more he stroked in and out of you the more he needed. Simon’s mind was consumed with only you and how you made him feel in that moment: powerful.

“I should call Soap in here and make him watch you get fucked like this by me,” the gravel in his thickly accented voice getting even deeper with the ungodly feeling of you wrapped so tight around him as he pounded slow and hard into you over and over again. “Would you like that, hmm? Making your little boy toy watch you get fucked by a real man, letting him know that what he got tonight is all he is ever going to get from you? You want him to hear you screaming my name while I fill this sweet pussy with all I got?”

Fucking hell he was voracious in his need to claim you and it made your body shiver from being overwhelmed with animalistic prowess. No one had ever wanted you this much, especially a man at the peak of his masculine power, and the exhilaration of being so completely desired beyond reason was overwhelmingly euphoric. 

“Yes,” your slack-jawed mouth breathed out. “I want everyone to know I’m yours. That they can’t touch me or else. I want to show everyone what a good girl I am for you and only you.” 

“Oh, fuck baby,” he whimpered as your words made your body respond by contracting around him as you bore down with the conviction of your statement, “I can feel you clenching around me. My little whore loves to think about everyone knowing our secret, doesn’t she?”

Goddammit, that was such an erotic thought, making Johnny or anyone really watch as he owned you. It was like the type of domination a dog feels when marking its territory; Simon would have loved for the whole damn team to see your tits bounce as you rode his cock, your cries of pleasure being the soundtrack to the show.  

Harder and faster, his frenzied pace drilled his cock into you relentlessly as those thoughts  filled his mind and made him ravenous for the sensation of your body. He had waited so long for this, dreampt of this, pleaded for this, and it felt just as exhilarating as that first time if not more because now he knew he could have this whenever the fuck he wanted. If he could have kicked his own ass for trying to deny you both from this bliss, he would have in an instant, but never again would he let this go.

Those strong arms wrapped around your middle to keep you steady as he held on so tightly you felt your torso being crushed, but it did not matter as the angle of his penetration hit its mark consistently each and every time. You leaned fully back into him, your arms wrapping backward around his shoulders so that you could rest your head on them while your ear was filled with the sound of his primal grunting. 

His view was instantly filled with your perky chest jiggling as each of his thrusts sent shock waves through you to make them dance and goddamn was it a delicious sight. Since your arms secured you more to him, he was able to release one of his from around your waist and it slithered up so that his hand could find it’s place around your neck; such a perfect necklace for his special girl, one befitting of your unique tastes. 

“Do you even know what I would do for you? Do you know how deep my lust for you goes? How much I want to possess you?” he growled as his hand tightened around your slender throat. 

Without warning he had pulled out of you only briefly so that he could aggressively flip you over onto your back, getting into position by kneeling in front of you as he threw your legs onto his broad, sculpted shoulders before he gripped your hips and instantly reentered you. The new position helped him to reach even deeper and you mewled loudly, your head flying back as your hands clenched his sheets in your fists at the sensation. You pulled your head up to look into his eyes as he again picked up his desperate pace, his abs glistening with sweat as they contracted and released after each thrust. Those brown eyes sparkled with a fire you had never seen before and you loved it. 

“I would burn this place to the fucking ground just to bury myself in that perfect cunt as much as I please,” he growled deep and primal. “Fucking hell baby, I won’t be able to ever get enough.” 

Those words were the catalyst for the warmth now spreading out from within your belly to making your limbs tingle as everything was focused on your orgasm. It was so close you could taste it and you felt confident that this was the time he would let you finally release; there was no way he could stop himself, not with the way his hips were pounding into you. 

“I am yours to use whenever you please,” you groaned as your body writhed wildly. “Use me, fucking use me.”

You keep talking like that and you wouldn’t be able to perform your duties for the 141 because you’d be kept far too exhausted to function by him making sure you stayed plastered around his dick constantly. That wasn’t a bad idea at all, having you at his beck and call whenever he needed it: after a stressful mission, during the middle of an uneventful one, at all hours whenever he needed a quick fix where he could simply pull you into any secluded space. This was the start of something destructive, but screw it this is what he wanted and god did that put him on the very edge of his own orgasm.

“Oh God, oh fucking God, Simon,” your husky breath carried the words upon it for the third and hopefully final time, breaking him from his thoughts as your cries to the heavens could only mean one this.  

And shit did that make Simon smile; after all the time he had edged you this night there was no chance in hell you wouldn’t come with fury. “That’s it, luv,” he praised as he kept the pace steady, “you going come for me? Your orgasm belongs to me and I demand it.”

“Fuck, Simon, just don’t stop,” you whined.

That is exactly what he did, not changing a single thing that would disrupt the gathering sensation of ecstasy inside your core. No, this train was barreling down the tracks faster by the minute and he craved above all else to be brought to his own end by your climax alone. To feel those silky walls flutter around him before you clamped down hard, squeezing him just right so that he would be forced to come; he wouldn’t settle for anything less.

“Come for me,” he demanded as he tried desperately to hold off from bursting, “let me feel that pussy clench.”

A few more pumps of him deep in your core and that was it, like a hot flash of white light you cried out in shaky whimpers as your orgasm tore through with such force you nearly shot off the bed as your back arched and your hips bucked harshly into him. “Goddammit Simon, fuck.”

Through your cries he picked up the pace and finally the warmth that had been building shot through his body, coursing like a burning river of fire through his veins as he ripped his cock out of you and through your thighs from your legs still perched on his shoulders to cover your stomach in his steaming hot semen. The roar he released as his body shook while he drained his cock dry over top of you until he had no more left in him to give sounded like a wild animal and you could not have enjoyed it more than you did; you were the one to make him come with such force he was reduced to his more basic instincts.

Simon’s head hung slack against your calves as his unsteady breath slowly returned to a more tolerable rhythm and only then did he remove your legs from his shoulders and rolled over to sit beside you, an exhausted sack of flesh completely sated for the moment. Leaning over he reached under the edge of the bed, producing an old t-shirt out from under it which he handed to you so that you could wipe his milky fluids off your torso.

He was already sitting back propped against his pillows with a cigarette in his mouth by the time you finished up and you moved back in the bed to join him. Holding out his fingers with the lit stick of tobacco between them, he offered you a hit and you graciously took it; this was an intense night worthy of a bit of nicotine to take the edge off. 

With a more relaxed gaze he looked upon  you, admiring the bright flush of your cheeks that was also spread across your chest and the contented glisten in your eyes, all evidence that he had done his job. Bringing his hand up he combed his fingers through your hair until he reached the back of your head where he held them wrapped in the strands a moment. “You did so well for me baby,” his stern praise soothed. “And are you going to continue to be my perfectly little slut?”

You nodded your head, just gazing back into those amber eyes that looked on your wrecked state as if you were a masterpiece. “Yes, sir.”

“Good,” the corners of his mouth upturned slightly as he took back his cig from you to take another lazy drag. “I suggest you rest up now sweetheart because once I can get it back up we are going to go at least one more round before I’m finished. We still got plenty of night left and we are going to take full fucking advantage of it.”

A main course and dessert? That was more  than agreeable, considering how long you had waited for this to happen in the first place. “Fine,” you said as you rolled onto your side, resting your arm on your hip with a sudden renewed sense of entitlement quickly coming back on, “but this time I will be the one on top. Otherwise you can kiss this sweet ass goodbye as I walk right out that door.”

Simon chuckled. “Oh you are a tough one to crack, sweetheart. Best be glad that precious little cunt you have resting between those legs is more than worth the trouble. And that I am a man that loves a challenge. This whole thing is just getting started and I am more than confident that by the end I will have broken this feral kitten into a perfectly docile house cat.”

You hoped he would fucking try cause what a ride that would be, but if anyone could break you it would be him. He handed the cig back to you one more time and you again accepted it. “We shall see, sir,” you breathed out the smoke from the side of your mouth. “We shall see.”

Challenge accepted. 

*** 

On the other side of the door, a set of unaware prying ears had caught wind of noise as they passed by. They had not meant to, but curiosity is a bitch of a temptress and soon they were within range enough to clearly hear the moans and whimpers, the groans and growls, currently reverberating off the walls of the room. The person had not realized where it was they found themselves as they had simply been taking a walk to clear their head, but soon it became apparent that this was the private quarters of that misanthrope of a lieutenant. 

At first they couldn’t help but snicker under their breath, congratulating the quiet man at getting some action because why not? It wasn’t until the voice of the female had actually began to speak instead of moan that their blood pressure rose and they could feel their heartbeat in their ears. It was you that Ghost was currently making come and that did not sit right with them, not at all. 

Who said he got to lay claims when they were the one putting in all the effort, when there had clearly been chemistry between you both? No, this wasn’t how it was going to be. He would not take this lying down, rolling over and showing his belly in intimidation by the much bigger officer as he stole you away all to himself. The eavesdropper had as much stake in you as him and if Ghost thought he could simply take you as easily as that, then he had another thing coming.

A mohawked head quickly turned about face and headed back to his own quarters, drunkenly promising himself that it did not matter what Ghost had made you promise or what you had just declared through your sated ecstasy, he would show you that he could be just as every bit as good as the old lieutenant himself.    

[echobx]

NSFW Alphabet - Rafe Cameron

author's note: all of these are my own thoughts, if you do not agree with it that's completely your choice and right to do so.

kinktober masterlist ✘ template

Aftercare - he's not very cuddly, the best you get is a glass of water after, if anything. unless he genuinely cares about you, then he will go out of his way to learn what you need and provide it for you. 

Body part - boobs and ass. he's simple like that. it's not like he doesn't love the rest of you, but as long as his hands can squeeze your cheeks and his face is buried between his girls, he's happy.

Cum - oh, he comes in big loads. he's literally trying to fill you to the brim with a single orgasm of his. he loves to see you covered in it, too. or how it runs down your chin after he fucked your face. 

Dirty Secret - for a long time he was just playing the player, not actually having had that much experience until like the last year of high school, but after that he keeps like a bunch of numbers in his phone for simple access. of course, that changes when he's with you, bc why would he need them when he's got you.

Experience - he's aware of his effect on people, especially impressionable young girls. which just makes him cockier, but he knows to live up to the expectations, and he very well can. no matter who you ask if they slept with Rafe they will tell you that he was the best night of their life. 

Favorite Position - mating press, by fucking far. he's extremely dominant and to have you in a way that ensures complete submission is his dream, actually. this doesn't mean he doesn't enjoy a good back shot or cowgirl (preferably backwards) once in a while. 

Goofy - he'll mock and tease you, but all in all he's more serious. Rafe knows that he is sometimes a bit too serious, but it's just the way he is at that moment. and his mocking sometimes borders on bullying, but he'll make up for it later, he always does. 

Hair - he trims, but not too much. he simply likes how it looks on him, especially when you soak him. when it comes to you, though, he is strict. but since he pays for your Brazilian waxing, you don't mind much, apart from the pain, maybe. 

Intimacy - he's not very romantic, sure he can put in some effort, but that's rarely what he strives for unless he knows you're the one for him. maybe it's because he's all in all rather closed off emotionally, so to get that deep intimacy level with him is difficult, even when he says he loves you, it's gonna take him some time to get there, but he will. 

Jack off - he does, sometimes, but he doesn't really need to, because before you, he had a number of girls who were always a text away from getting his dick wet. but ever since he got you, he only really jerks off when he's on a business trip or if it's you giving him a hand job.

Kink - he swears to not have a daddy kink, but he loves to hear you call him that. he's also big into breeding, but without the consequences, meaning he will make sure you are on birth control until he is ready to actually be a dad. he love love loves spanking and just dominating you.

Location - anywhere. if it's the kitchen, the bathroom floor or shower, the bed, the couch, a restroom, or his car; he'll never let an opportunity slip to take what's his. 

Motivation - super revealing outfits, like skirts you can't bend over in, shirts that will almost get you booked for nudity, shit like that. also, when you really wanna be fucked good, you just gotta get him to be jussst a little annoyed with you, and maybe play dumb. 

No - biggest turn off is probably when you're annoying him too much, like, a tiny bit is alright but anything else is just a no-go. and he also isn't a fan of piss kink or similar things, he does love to have you squirt all over him tho. on that he also can't stand when you're not smelling like you just jumped out of the shower, and just the faint idea of hair on your legs or under your arms, or worse around your precious pussy? he won't touch you. no chance. 

Oral - he loves to give, like, it's good. but no matter how good he is at eating you out, he will always prefer fucking your face over it. there's just something demeaning and powerful in having you completely at his mercy like that, seeing your teary eyes and how you choke on his fat cock… he probably dreams of that every night, and he definitely has multiple videos of it on his phone, just in case.

Pace - sometimes you might think he doesn't know what slow even means, but he does, he just isn't the biggest fan of it. Rafe goes hard and fast almost every time, unless you beg for him to be softer. 

Quickie - loves them, especially in the morning before he leaves for work when you're still half asleep, he'll just fuck you or eat you out to have your needy ass covered for the day and until he gets back home.

Risk - he likes to experiment on his own terms, meaning he wants to try things out on you but not on himself. so he'll get toys that look like torture instruments and use them at least one time before you get to decide if it's okay or not. 

Stamina - he's fucking you like it's a marathon, no clue how he can hold out that long, but he does. but his refractory period isn't that short, so maybe he worked on his stamina because of that. 

Toys - he loves to use toys on you, especially to edge you on and tease you, or as punishment, like the one time he made you wear a vibrator with a remote control at a business dinner, and it was pure torture.

Unfair - he's 100% a tease, and he won't ever stop with it. he even goes as far as actually insulting you to get his way, how that actually works for him doesn't cross his mind, he just knows it does and will keep doing it. 

Volume - he's loud. like, he can't stop grunting and moaning while fucking you, even when he's supposed to stay quiet he's still making noises and who can blame him, actually. 

Wild card - Rafe will buy you the most expensive underwear ever just to then get home and let you put on a show for him because he isn’t allowed into the store anymore after they kicked him out for nearly fucking you in a stall. and no matter how expensive the slips and thongs were when he paid for them, he will go and rip them into piece if you don’t behave, or simply when he feels like it or his temper doesn’t let him be patient enough to actually take them off.

X-ray - he's hung hung. like, ball heavy with an approximately 10” beast that you can't wrap a single hand around. every time he fucks you, you feel like you're being split in half. and blowjobs are a completely different type of danger to your health. but he knows what's good for him, and you, and wouldn't dare to actually hurt you with his massive schl- yeah

Yearning - his sex drive is moderately high. he knows when he needs to hold back and focus on other things, but that doesn't mean he wouldn't rather be at home buried deep inside your cunt. 

Zzz - oh, as soon as he's cleaned up and lying down again, he's out like a light. you can be lucky if he cuddles you. 

please don't copy and/or post my work onto other platforms! ~e©ho

taglist: @redhead1180 @spideysimpossiblegirl @drwstarkeyy @princessmaybank @kys4-20 @immyowndefender @julczimozart @hoe4sunarin @m2m2m2 @mochimms @itsme-again @maybankslover @th3eternalersi @because-i-like-toxic-men @rafeeekam @carolinaxvz

[kneelingshadowsalome]

what if engel is a virgin but insanely boy crazy 👁👄👁 and she will/can never not be

Hoooo boy!

NSFW below the cut

So, um. Reader never told König if she's experienced or not (if she was a virgin then my thoughts and prayers are with her.) Part of König's hostility in the crazy mating scene comes from his belief that Engel is not a virgin. He is extremely jealous of everyone reader might've had before him, so he guides his frustration to heated, possessive sex, stripping her with a knife, and so on.

But if we imagine you told him it's your first time, then things would go slightly differently. König would be much more delicate with you!

And good God… He would be even more enamored. You're kind, you're sweet, you're innocent and you're a virgin too?

König can’t believe his luck. You're just perfect. He can’t stand the thought of you with other men so finding out you're in fact untouched is only a blessing. König wants to be the only one who makes you scream and sigh. And what an ultimate fantasy: he gets to corrupt a pure, pristine virgin (of course König would never put it this way. He's simply introducing you to pleasure. Nothing wrong with that, right? He has good intentions! He's the best choice if you wish to feel good, ja ❤️)

So, König tries to keep his cool as he asks if this is what you truly want (yes? please say yes) and if this is the right time (this is as good a time as any, you just need to trust him!), is he truly the man you want to give yourself to? (tell him he’s the one, you will not regret it.)

He tries to be a gentleman and at the same time can't keep his hands off you. Hands steal their way under your clothes as he tries to persuade you by whispering things like: "I will be good to you, there’s no need to be afraid. I will be gentle, I promise…" But it’s difficult to believe anything he says because his hands are trembling, the whole man is trembling and throbbing and panting already.

If and when you're willing to have sex, König will take you in a classic missionary. No pounding from behind, no crazy unhinged mating press. And he prepares you first! With his tongue, perhaps pulls out an orgasm or two so that you will be relaxed and ready for him. It’s very likely that König pumps himself through an orgasm too while pleasing you with his mouth because he’s waited so long for this moment. Your taste and the sounds you make as he licks you to ruin are far too much. He will erupt in mere minutes and then be hard again in no time for the main event.

König tries so, so hard to control the urge to just plow you until your eyes roll in your head. He tries his best not to simply pound himself straight into oblivion. He wanted you before, sure, but now his want is doubled. Tripled. He fears he will hurt you and basically shakes from the effort to restrain himself as he finally enters you.

He goes a little over the top with the praise, too... You feel so good, nothing has ever felt better, you're such a good girl when you said yes, Lieber Gott you look cute like this, he knew you were made for him, etc. And he wants to know that you feel good. Not just to check if you're ok, but to hear how he makes you feel. Does he give you pleasure? Do you like it when he does it slowly? He can be more rough if you want. How does it feel to have a man inside you for the first time?

He's sweating from love and frustration, the hunger becomes all-consuming as he approaches his peak, and you get to see a sliver of who this man truly is underneath all that fake composure. As sad as it sounds, there's a chance he is so lost in you that he cums before you. He just can't help it. But he will make sure you get all the pleasure you need before the night is through and be extra attentive with the aftercare ❤️ (Also he would definitely be one of those guys who check if there's blood after you did it because he thinks it's a given that there is)

[loveisanimaginarydagger3000]

The Soldier Of Death (9)- Training Session

Natasha Romanoff X Super Soldier Reader 18+

Summary: Soldat Smerti. The Soldier of Death. You were the perfect weapon: loyal, obedient, and merciless, or so Hydra thought. What happens when these traits are put to the test? Your captivity in the Avenger's tower and the presence of a redhead makes you realise you didn't have to be a monster. The question was though; Did Hydra make you the monster or were you always one?

This fic will contains dark themes. Please read these warnings before starting any of these chapters: graphic descriptions of murder, violence, gore and torture, heavy angst, mental issues.

Please consider these warnings before reading

Word Count: 3.8k

General Masterlist | The Soldier Of Death Masterlist

Chapter Warning: Dark thoughts, flashbacks, graphic depictions of murder/gore/violence

—

Hiding a subtle smile from the redhead, you continued to walk alongside her towards the training room, your eyes widening in shock at how luxurious and open the space was. Various equipment was scattered around the room, designated areas for different training tasks, the group from earlier in the common room waiting for you and Natasha, chatting amongst themselves until they caught sight of you. You could feel the anxiety creeping up on you at their stares, mind instantly going to the negative thoughts and dwelling on them, assuming that they already viewed you as a monster, especially Steve.

Whilst trying to ignore their inquisitive stares, your eyes flickered over to the large mirror that stretched across one of the walls, your reflection sending you a sinister smile as they haunted you, gaze instantly switching to the floor.

Don't hide from me Soldat, we're going to have some fun here.

They chuckled out menacingly, Wanda's head tilting in confusion across the room as you approached the group, Natasha turning her head to the side to see your gaze still locked on the floor, the small smile from earlier nowhere to be seen as your jaw was tightly clenched.

"Look who finally showed up," Tony says, voice containing hints of sarcasm as he flashes you both a charming smile, your eyes eventually rising to look over the equipment they were standing in front of . The team were just standing in front of standard gym equipment, albeit the expensive and fancy version, your brows furrowing at what they wanted you to do as they just stared at you expectantly.

"We need to test your physical attributes to try and get a picture of your enhanced abilities," Clint said, taking over from Natasha as she left to quietly converse with Wanda, the young witch keeping her curious gaze on you as Clint instructed you on all the equipment.

To say you shocked some of the team would have been an understatement, Sam and Tony both amazed by your lack of effort at lifting some of the weights, Steve trying to dismiss them by saying they weren't that heavy, until you just about managed to lift his personal best, struggling a little more than him but still able to complete a couple reps. With the size difference between the two of you and your inadequate diet at Hydra, Clint predicted that with the right training you would be even stronger than Steve, his brows raising in an impressed manner.

"Extreme enhanced strength," Clint muttered, taking note of how much you were able to lift and how many reps you could do, chuckling to himself as he saw Natasha and Wanda both look a little in awe at how your arms flexed with each weight, a mischievous glance being sent Natasha's way as she snapped out of it.

You were then asked to run on a treadmill, your mind zoning out as you ran at whatever the pace the machine was set on, adapting to the increased speed and gradient when Clint would alter it, Tony messing about with it at one point to see how you would react, furrowing his brows as you didn't seem to notice, too busy in your own mind.

You didn't think of much, simply remembering the view from earlier, imaging what it would be like to properly explore the forests nearby, hoping that soon they would trust you enough to let you go there.

You broke a little sweat when Clint left the machine on the highest it could go speed and gradient wise, everyone watching how you continued to sprint, the sound of your running eventually reaching your ears as you came back to grips with reality, looking over to your side to see Natasha close, inspecting a screen of your vitals nearby projected by the machine. Her brows were furrowed a little in confusion, her curious gaze meeting yours before she smiled at you, a small one inevitably sneaking onto your face.

"Enhance endurance and speed," Clint said, noting how far you had managed to run and how long you were able to keep up a consistent speed that rivalled Steve's pace, the other super soldier looking at you in annoyance as you were proving to be an improved version of him.

After a few more physical tests, you were moved onto a shooting range, your body tensing up as a memory from your fractured mind resurfaced.

Your hand trembled as you held the gun between your fingers, your index hovering reluctantly over the trigger as the body tied to the chair struggled against their restraints, muffled sobs escaping them as they shook their head that was hidden by a secure black bag tied around it.

"Practise your shot Soldat," the man ordered, looking down at your younger self that conveyed weakness and hesitation, body still recovering from your last session of serum. When the body continued to struggle, the man moved closer, causing a shiver to run down your spine in terror. "Don't make me ask again, Soldat. Take the shot."

Lining up the gun in your hand with their head, you had no choice but to do as he said, too fearful of experiencing another punishment. Pulling the trigger, the sobs immediately were silenced as the bullet glided through their skull, killing them instantly.

"I want you to kill one more," he ordered repeatedly, his tone sinister as another body was dragged into the chair, the other discarded carelessly as the failed experiment was of no further use. The cries swiftly turned silent, over and over again as you shot bullet after bullet, your accuracy becoming as precise as possible, listening to the order of where you were supposed to shoot.

Soon, you watched as another body was dragged in, the usual black bag around their head gone as fearful eyes pleaded you to spare their life, to do anything but pull the trigger. The soft brown that met your gaze had hope and desperation swirling in them but that was soon drained out of them along with their life, a trail of blood oozing down the front of their face as the bullet hole left a gaping wound at the centre of their head.

"She does know how to use a gun, right?" Tony said in confusion as you just stared ahead at the wooden board that was the target, a few others looking at each other curiously as they waited for you to do something. Steve crossed his arms over his chest, watching you with furrowed brows as he had a feeling something was going to go wrong, his eyes flickering over to Wanda's who were faintly glowing red, a pained look taking over her face when another memory resurfaced.

The barrel of the gun was pointed to the underside of the guard's jaw, a cruel and dangerous smile on your face as you had lost control to the darkness within you, a sinister chuckle escaping them as they pressed the gun harder against the guard that was trapped in your grip, their strength no match to yours.

"Let him go Soldat," another guard commanded but you didn't obey, laughing at the pounding heart of the guard in your arms, drunk on his fear. "You know the consequences of disobeying the General," he states but they didn't care, the darkness would leave you to suffer the punishment.

The other guard's eyes widened in surprise when your finger pulled the trigger, blood splattering all over the wall behind you as well as your face, his own hand trembling in terror at your psychotic state, the smile still present of your face as the body slumped to the ground, a pool of crimson forming around it as flesh dangled disgustingly.

"Y/n?" Natasha softly asked, knocking you out of the memory you had just rediscovered, your fragile mind slowly remembering events, needing a trigger to cause the memory. "Hey, focus on me," she whispers, noticing your frantic eyes, fingers trembling by your side, eyes settling on the gun placed in front of you.

Press it to her temple, you know you want to.

They taunted, a low sigh escaping you as they knew how confused and scared you were, adding to the torment that was your broken mind.

You closed your eyes, listening to her words and slowing your breathing, trying to match it to hers and her steady heart rate, the others unable to hear what was being said between the two of you as Natasha stood closer to you and further from them.

"It's just a wooden board, remember that," she whispers, encouraging you to complete the task but reassuring you that no one was going to get hurt.

"Thank you," you murmur back, rolling your shoulders back, trying to get rid of the tenseness that had built inside you, blinking a few times and watching as the wooden board merged into the helpless victims, the blood already oozing down their skin, before it merged back.

"You got this," she says softly, offering you a calm smile as she watches you line up your shot, a deep breath escaping you.

Pulling the trigger, the first bullet glides through the centre of the wooden target's head, exactly in the middle causing a few impressed glances between the team. After that, you emptied the magazine in a quick succession, everyone but Clint's and Nat's eyes furrowing in confusion, theirs in disbelief.

"Did she miss the rest?" Sam quietly asked, Tony shrugging his shoulders while Wanda tilted her head in confusion, Steve remaining silent as Clint shook his head.

"She fired all the other bullets through the same bullet hole," his brows raised in surprise as it was near impossible to get every other bullet to fit in the exact same hole that you first created, yet you seemed to do it effortlessly. You dismantled the weapon before placing it down on the table, waiting for your next task, refusing to look at the target as the vision of the body slumped in the chair wouldn't disappear, blood dripping onto the floor beneath their corpse, the sound subtly echoing in your ears.

"It could have been luck," Steve dismissed, Natasha already a step ahead of him and offering you another round of bullets, her impressed and confident expression calming you, the body blurring back into the wood. You repeated the activity, this time aiming for the wooden target's heart, Steve's argument disproved as you did it once again, Clint becoming a little jealous that there was someone with better accuracy than him.

"What a way to steal my thunder," Clint says while patting your back, your hand grabbing his before he could touch you, your grip tight before you realised he was harmless, letting him go with a shy look, eyes averting as Steve had definitely caught the interaction, his suspicion of you losing control still valid. "What else are you trained in?" he asked, his face apologetic as he should have realised you would still be cautious of others.

"Most firearms, snipers being a speciality, and knife throwing," you say, Clint noting it down and smiling a little as you hadn't mentioned something.

"Archery?" he asks, a hopeful glint in his eyes.

"Trained but not my strongest skill," you say, the archer taking that as a win, confident that he would still be able to beat you in an archery competition.

They didn't bother with anymore accuracy tests as it was evident you had impeccable aim, Clint leading you over to some training mats for a sparring session.

"Ok, so the rules are simple," he says while getting into a stance opposite you, the rest of the team standing back as to not get in the way, Steve muttering something under his breath while Tony left, seemingly bored of nothing eventful happening and retreating to his lab, a suit idea for you entering his mind. "Don't fight to hurt the other, play to pin them down. You win by pinning the other for five seconds and don't play dirty because we don't want any injuries," you nod in agreement with his words but hesitate on asking a question, him noticing and motioning for you to speak.

"Should I pull my punches?" you ask a little nervously, another memory resurfacing.

"Stop pulling your punches Soldat," grits out a guard as you dodge an attack from your opponent effortlessly, "You're fighting to the death."

"With your strength, yes please, I want to make it out alive," he jokes but it strikes a nerve within you, shoulders tensed as you get into a fighting stance.

You predominantly take on the role of defence, blocking his attacks as he throws his leg at you, yours knocking it down, body lowering to duck the punch he threw at you. You manoeuvred around him, not throwing any attacks and sticking mainly to defence as you were afraid of hurting him, plus it was beneficial to figure out his fighting pattern. His arm swung once more at you as he tried to kick you again, your forearm taking the brunt of his hit as you side stepped to avoid his boot, your free arm only pushing him in the stomach to stop him from getting another quick shot at him.

"Come on, you're going to have to attack at some point," he says, voice playful as he motions for you to come at him with his hands, smiling at you as you focus. You let him come to you again, the archer trying to up his attacks to force you into attacking, his plan working but not in the way he was thinking. He presumed that the more he attacked, you would eventually feel as though you needed to attack back to stop his onslaught of fists and boots but you didn't react to that, merely blocking them all just at a faster pace. You were waiting purposely, watching how as he attacked more, he left more open spaces for you to hit, patiently waiting for your opportunity to present itself.

Swiping your leg at the opportune moment, his body swiftly fell to the ground at the contact, your body moving on top of his back and pinning him to the ground, his strength incomparable to yours and the awkward position making it impossible for him to escape.

"Five," Natasha says after time, your body easily moving off of his and moving to stand, offering your hand for the archer to take to get back up. You sent him a shy smile as he panted for breath, gratefully taking your hand as you had winded him, eventually making it up onto his feet.

What you didn't expect was for Steve to approach you, his body language and stance indicating he was going to throw a punch, your face just about dodging the unexpected hit.

"Steve," Natasha berated, her gaze cold at the super soldier as he swiped his legs at you with force, using his full abilities as you knew you could handle them. You had to jump over his leg to avoid his boot, your body rolling on the floor as you landed, avoiding his next attack before pushing yourself back up to your feet, blocking his next hit with your forearm, kicking his leg down, not holding back with your own strength as he clearly wasn't.

"You have to be ready for the unexpected," he pants out in reason to Natasha but she just rolls her eyes at him, watching how the two of you fought as you were clearly able to handle him.

He focussed on strength to try and tackle you, his rough hands trying their best to knock you off balance or tire you out but it was to no avail as you slid to the side to dodge or parried the attack, throwing in a few punches when he was left open.

His foot collided with your ribs at one point, knocking you to the ground where you tried your best to move out of the way before he kicked out his other boot, his speed beating yours as his boot collided with your face, knocking you straight back to the ground.

Kill him.

"Steve, what are you doing!" Clint grits out, moving to intercept the fight.

The super soldier didn't reply, simply hoping his plan was working. He wanted you to snap so he could prove that you weren't safe to have on the team as they didn't know if Hydra were still in your head or not, so he needed proof to show they could be and you needed to be clean of them before being allowed anywhere near this team.

Before anyone could intercept the fight, you were tackling Steve to the ground, a pained noise escaping him at how roughly you forced him to the ground, your leg wrapping around his as you moved your body to slot behind his, arm wrapping around his neck and pulling it tighter towards you, his neck strained in your grasp while his leg was bent at a weird angel. If you applied any more pressure to either point, you would easily snap his neck or leg, the man's arms desperately hitting against your side and arm, attempting to ease up your grip.

"That's time, let him go Y/n," Natasha repeated, your eyes blinking back into focus as the man in your arms was turning red, the lack of oxygen causing his arms to stop their feeble attacks.

A loud gasp echoed around the room as you let him go, shrugging his body to the floor and climbing back to your feet, your hand rubbing your jaw where his boot had hit before trying to click it back into place. You turn back to Steve who just looks angry, his body pushing himself back up for another round when you place your boot on his chest, forcing him down.

"What happened to not playing dirty?" your tone cold as you stared down at him, a pair of hands softly meeting your shoulders, causing your body to relax a little at her touch.

"Leave him be," Natasha whispered, your head turning to her in disbelief before she continued, "I'll deal with him later, don't do something you'll regret."

Letting out a deep sigh, you lift your boot off of Steve, ignoring how Natasha sends him out, Clint coming over to you to check your cheek, your hand waving him away as you had experienced worse.

Sam left to follow his friend, offering you an apologetic smile while leaving, trying to ensure Steve would calm down and realise his mistake, Clint deciding that it would be a good time to end the tests, everyone but you and Natasha leaving the training room.

"Fancy one more round?" her tone playful as she moved onto the mats, her smile tugging at her lips as you turned to face her, the cold look in your eyes softening at her.

"I don't know," you mumble, glancing to the mirror cautiously to see your reflection grinning, a low chuckle escaping them which unnerves you. "I don't want to hurt you," you say and that just merely makes Natasha laugh, the sound causing a warmth to take over your chest, easing your nerves.

"I can take a punch," she teases, your body already moving towards the mat, unable to deny her request. Her hand softly pushes your shoulder when you're within distance, you acting as though the push actually affected you, staggering back a little, her smile widening at your calmer demeanour.

"Come on then, show me what you've got," you say jokingly in a shy tone, not quite used to using humour with others yet, the redhead smiling to herself at how comfortable you seemed to be with her, joking freely with her while you were more timid with the rest.

Sparing with Natasha was more fun than you thought, her swiftness and agility, along with her surprising strength, made her more of a challenge than Clint or Steve, the woman somehow always one step ahead. It was more of a dance with her, her moves planned and almost choreographed as she slipped away from your advances, getting in a few hits before you blocked them, faking to swipe with your leg before hooking it around her instead, taking both of you tumbling to the floor.

Her legs wrapped tightly around your waist as her back arched off the training mat, her arm moving to grip yours that was pressed against the top of her chest, pinning her body down to the mat to finally win the point, the fight lasting a lot longer than you thought. Her legs brought you in closer, her lips tugging into a smirk as you both had the other in a trap. She could effortlessly flip the two of you over and pin you to win, but all you had to do was pin her wrists and then you would be fine against the strength in her thighs, the redhead then unable to flip you. She didn't try and flip you as your eyes seemed to flicker between that distant stare and your focused gaze, her brows furrowing as the smile on your lips slowly faded, the pressure you were applying against her slacking.

The darkness's voice painfully rang around in your head, demanding you to do inhumane acts to her while she was in a vulnerable position, gruesome images flickering through your mind at what you could do. You felt a shiver run down your spine as they clawed away at your sanity, trying to take control over you but you fought against it, doing everything in your power to not hurt her.

"Y/n?" Natasha asked softly, your eyes widening in fear a little as your body leaned back, her legs untangling from your body as you staggered back to your feet, away from her. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," you lie and you know she can see straight through you, your eyes refusing to meet hers, accidentally landing on the mirror. Your breath hitched at the sight within the reflection, her lifeless eyes staring at you as her body was limp on the mat, blood pooling around her as your gaze moved to your hands, the warm, red liquid coating them and staining your clothes. "I'm going to go to my room, if that's alright?" your voice small causing worry to rise within the redhead, her wanting to make sure you were ok but sensing that you needed some alone time.

"Yeah...sure," she hesitantly said, watching how you didn't even look at her before leaving the room abruptly, a strange feeling pulling at her heart. 

[loveindefinitely]

O b s e s s e d with need to listen to me. I can't get it out of my head.

I mostly can't stop thinking of soap who is so disgruntled and moody after the whole ordeal. Just absolutely pent up, so he starts acting out, snapping, talking back, that sort of thing. As promised price extends his punishment and it only breaks soap down more and more until finally he's sobbing and begging price to please do Something.

I have no idea where to go from here I just love the mental image of soap acting out when he doesn't get what he wants, maybe price extends ghost and gaz's punishments as well. Says something like "you can thank him for this" and now they're All huffy and upset.

Reader's the only one who is spared so they take out their frustration on her.

Ok i'm done thank you so much have a good day

-🐭

you are a GENIUS omg. ily. this is sososo canon in this mini poly141 verse.

warning. nsfw drabble (cont. ntltm)

because you're so right. soap would be a total bitch afterwards. needy and pent up and kinda jealous that you two are the only ones that got to get off, even though he put so much effort into eating you out. homeboy is stressed.

cue the next morning, where he's grumpy, whiney and just overall being a frustrating guy to be around.

ghost is in the kitchen, fixing up breakfast in the mess, and soap would just come up behind him, nuzzling his head into his neck and pressing his dick against simon. rutting into him kinda, before ghost shoots him a vicious glare. he backs off.

but then, he sees gaz walking in, and he rushes over to him, pulling him into a deep hug. one that was a bit too much for their usual morning interactions.

that's when you stumble in, weary eyed and still kinda lethargic from last night's ordeal.

and soap's not mad, not really, but he's frustrated that you got the better end of the deal.

so, he pulls you in, hands at your hips, before he's assaulting your mouth with feverish kisses. they're frantic, and you can feel how hard he is where it presses against your stomach. you try and pull away, and when you do, the man huffs like a disgruntled pup.

when it's price who comes in next, soap is pissed off beyond relief.

rising a brow, a challenging one, price would ask how he slept. soap would roll his eyes and mutter something under his breath that would have your eyes blowing wide, a little shocked, a little dismayed.

gaz would blow out a deep exhale, extracting himself from the situation, walking quietly over to ghost. which, for once, would be the safest option out of you four.

and price would narrow his eyes, daring soap to keep up his pissy attitude. soap would, of course, because this man has absolutely ZERO self preservation skills.

he'd then have the nerve to ask if he can bend you over the kitchen counter and fuck you. just, openly asking, as if you yourself aren't standing right there.

price would simply tell him that he won't be allowed to stick his dick in anything for the rest of the week.

then, he'd stride over to the other two men without another word, tell them the same thing, and get to work cutting up some spinach.

and you'd be left there, gaping, confused, as soap stands with a similar expression. as if he wasn't fully aware that his actions held consequences, and he really shouldn't have been such a brat after last night.

he'd narrow his eyes at you, snarky, saying something about how you yet again evaded punishment.

say something about how price 'dinnae said nothin' 'bout bendin' ye over, aye?" and he'd forcefully bend you over the table, rutting into your back like a mutt, using your body without inserting anything anywhere.

and, with a moment of clarity, you'd realise that gaz and ghost are watching, with a glint of envy in their eyes.

you'd been in for a long week.

this is absolutely shit btw because halfway through writing this my BED BROKE and i think i may have also broken my toe. so this is coming from a place of pain and distress. great idea tho !! thanks for enjoying my writing mwah mwah

[natalchartnurtures]

PAC: How can you wear your "Big Boy" pants right now?

Sometimes we need reminders that we can in fact, be "big boys" in our lives and take responsibility to change what we don't like about our lives. Happy reading!

_________________________________________________________

Pile 1:

There's a lot you CAN do. In fact, you have been doing a lot by yourself, weathering proverbial storms all on your own. Unfortunately, you haven't been conscious enough to acknowledge all the effort you've been putting in to simply push through. Let me be the one to give you the kudos you deserve, Pile 1. You've been doing way more than you think, albeit these are mostly internal efforts (like maintaining a headstrong attitude in the face of a challenge). You currently feel challenged to take active steps in your external life, though. You might find it hard to apply things you learn to your life or simply lack the discipline to see your (quite excellent) plans through. You need to be reminded that you do have the free will to choose to make all your plans come to life :) You have what it takes, sweetie; you really do.

Bonus - How do you need to go about it? One thing that can EASILY help you execute your plans is to bring in help (trigger warning though). You all seem Independent AF, and I get it, sweets. With everything you've been doing, of course, you can handle anything, but you definitely need some support too right now. Especially if you struggle with something like discipline (or whatever challenge you're facing right now). Bringing in even just ONE person (or multiple) to help hold you accountable to your plans, with compassion, would help you a lot (that person/people don't have to be real too; you could bring in a bot from an app or AI, I don't care) as long as you feel like you have a buddy, you know? Somebody who makes you feel like your plans matter. It's an excellent way to pour into yourself right now and show yourself some TLC ✨️ You deserve to make your plans a reality and have a bit of fun on your path towards it.

Love, light, and hugs!

_________________________________________________________

Pile 2:

Doing things your way and rejecting convention might be a BIG step for you, to be honest, but it's well worth it, Pile 2. Celebrate yourself, basically. Slow down and enjoy yourselves a little bit. Maybe you've been living your life BY THE BOOK so far, and now you're going to put your big boy pants on by letting loose and doing things differently for once. You're not abandoning yourself and your needs nearly as much anymore, and so you're quite stable in your own skin as a result. That's really impressive, Pile 2! You have lived in fear (possibly a fear of failure), and I'm sensing some mommy wounds maybe? This is where your fear stems from, and this fear has kept you from really truly living. You might identify as a workaholic too. Maybe you prefer to keep yourself busy as a coping mechanism to ward off any feelings of anxiety. This has a direct correlation to childhood wounds of yours. So put your big boy pants on and put an end to conforming to standards that don't respect you and what you stand for, Pile 2.

Bonus - How do you need to go about it? I feel like this pile needs extra guidance on how to exactly wear their big boy pants. Start by acknowledging that you do have wounds from childhood, specifically those from female (motherly) figures, if not your mother herself. Take a radical approach to your healing journey right now. Look into the concept of mothering yourself and come up with customized ways to do just that. You got this, Pile 2 :)

Love, light, and hugs!

_________________________________________________________

Pile 3:

It seems like you've already been wearing your big boy pants, Pile 3. Good job! Looks like you've been on a healing journey, and you're now at a point in life where you can reap the benefits of all the inner work you've done. You've reached a level of mastery over the mind, and now it's time to make room to tend to your heart. You need something that your authority figures couldn't give you readily, and that's unconditional compassion. Show yourself kindness even when things don't go as you'd like them to. Hold yourself through the thick and thin of life, as you would a child. This should open up a brand new way of living and viewing life that you never thought possible. It has always been waiting for you and your attention. Nurture yourself on a whole new level and be ready to receive 10X from the universe. You're going to feel so spoiled, I love it, haha! 😄

Love, light, and hugs!

_________________________________________________________

[bokettochild]

I just saw a post asking which Link would make the best villain and....

It's Time guys

Like, I love the man, but let's be real; he's a second from snapping and committing atrocities.

Twilight is so thoroughly traumatized by the vision the spirits gave him and Fi's judgement of him that he literally can't stand messing with magic that isn't actually his own or connected to him. And while, sure, he doesn't need magic to be a villain, let's be real, it'd take something magical to force him to turn his back on everything he's ever fought for.

Similarly, Wild fought and died for his kingdom, and his people. There is nothing and no one worse than what he's already seen that could possibly make him turn his back on it all and throw his work down the drain just to destroy everything he'd built himself.

Legend is the same. he's been doing this far too long to ditch now. Granted, he's a grump, but if you look at his games, you see he's a highly empathetic and caring person. Unlike the others, who were tasked with saving the world by a mentor or friend, or had to go and save a friend or family member, or who where sworn to duty; Legend was literally some kid who was asked by an utter stranger to help, and did. Six times. No way someone like that is going to go and destroy everything.

And Wind! Wind is a moral guy, with a good heart. he set out for personal reasons and saw in his journey that there were bigger fish to fry, and he fried them. He had no reason to take it on, no call of the goddess, no responsibility, no reason for him, a child, to go and save the world as well as his sister, but he did it anyway.

Sky and Warriors are simply too devout. Warriors to the kingdom and it's people; with everything he suffered for them, you can't tell me the man isn't dedicated to serving his country. And Sky is loyal to Sun, who is Hylia, so he literally would never go against her. And by the law of the Zelda universe, villains are those who go against Hylia and Hyrule.

Four is an iffy one. Most people might say "but Vio was a villain!" but let's be real; if you read the manga, you know Vio was bluffing all along. If Vio, part of Four, didn't bow even under Shadow's influence, and Vaati's, and Ganon's, then again; who and what would drive this man to become a villain? Granted, the persuing of dark magic to bring back his lost friend could be argued, but is more likely to lead to his corruption than his attempting to take over Hyrule and kill innocents.

Hyrule is tough, since we have very little to work off of in cannon, but come on, even if Hyrule did turn to evil, he wouldn't exactly be able to do much. Hyrule's already in ruins in his time, and the monsters wouldn't hear of working beside him. He'd have everyone against him, and even if he does hold the triforce in it's entirety and thus could do all sorts of horrible things, he has neither motivation nor reason to turn away to becoming a villain.

Time though......

Time has watched the world burn and all his efforts be turned around and lost. He has lost everything so many times, usually with no reward or reason. In the end, Time, though a good man, cares more for the individual than the country. He cares about his wife and his boys, and based off the scars, we can only guess what lengths he's already gone to in order to accomplish his goals.

Time, if faced with the right issue, has every risk of dropping from defender to threat. Hyrule be damned, this man cares for his wife, his kids, his home, and if you threaten that, no matter who you are, he will go after you. He's one second away from going after Hylia and all she has done to him and those around him. He detests the Blade of Evil's bane, the symbol of Hylia's blessing. He borders every moment on the precipice of taking power beyond mortals to fulfill his own wishes, even if it is to help those he loves.

Put Malon in danger, heck, one of the boys, and Time won't let something silly like morals stop him from doing whatever it takes to protect what little that is still his and hasn't already been taken from him. He will fight tooth and nail not to lose anything else, and he won't let even the goddesses stop him.l

[sheenashifts1217]

Pick a Pile No.1

Welcome to my first Pick a Pile :)

This is a collective reading so it may resonate more for some than others. Take what helps you and leave what doesn’t. 💗

If you’d like a personal reading, I currently have a deal in my shop for a free five song channeled playlist with any purchase of an s/o reading. Check my pinned post for more details.😊

What Advice Will Aid Your Shifting Journey

Choose pile 1, 2, or 3

Take a breath and simply pick the one you feel most drawn to.

(Top left pile 1, top right pile 2, bottom pile 3)

Pile 1

Lyrics standing out:

“You b**** ain’t like me

Dance in the breeze

A man with the sleaze

Stop it, get another topic

I got the nerve

And I block it

You’re a brat

Cause I never repeat

Do what I say like Simon

I’m a VIP

Sorry I’m pretty and easy to hate”

Okay pile 1, I SEE YOU GUYS!!! 💅🏼 This pile is short and sweet because you all know what you need, self aware queens. You all know your power, and as you should. For those of you in this pile who really know your power, own it more, step into it, actually practice it.

It feels like you all know what you need to do and you know you can shift, you’re just being lazy. PUT THE WORK IN. But frl, it seems like you guys really just need to set some time aside to focus on shifting and your DR because you know what to do, you just feel too busy. It’s okay to take a breath. Some of you all in this pile may also be rushing yourself. Allow yourself to accept what your experiencing and just let it flow. It’s already yours, you already have all of your desires.

Overall, pile 1, you guys are baddies whether you know it or not. Step into that power, own it, and use it. Make time for yourself and slow down a little. You don’t have to experience everything at the same time, that’s why you have a life, spend it.

Confirmation: 222, 444, Aquarius, ford mustang, hot pink, purple number 4, Elmo?, Sesame Street, Disney, neon green nails

Pile 2

Lyrics standing out:

“Trying to cover up my face

Try and stay calm

Something missing

I think looks wrong

When pretty isn’t pretty enough

What do you do?

I could change up my body and change up my face

You can win the battle

Insecure

Try to ignore it

I don’t know why I even try (I see the starfish position)

Just feel like sh*** over and over again”

Hi pile 2! You guys are giving me 2020 shiftok vibes. A lot of you probably started to practice shifting around 2019/2020 and were fed a lot of misinformation and now you feel like that is stopping you, but it doesn’t have to, let that go. You are in charge of your own reality so take that misinformation and use it as a learning experience. Don’t be discouraged because it was false or didn’t work for you, that’s good because now you’re one step closer to knowing yourself and what does work for you!

You may be a person that is on social media a lot in general or just hyperaware of others lives and you’re comparing yourself to them. STOP IT. Everyone’s experience is their own. When you see someone else’s success or experience, you don’t know what went down before that. Focus on yourself and what is meant for you, will happen. Accept it and take charge of it. You may be one who relies on others success for your own motivation as well, this is your sign to rely on yourself. Connect with your higher self and trust your intuition.

Keep going pile 2! You guys have put in time and energy this far, what’s a little longer? Your efforts are not in vain. You’ve got this. Trust yourself!

Confirmation: tiktok, iPhone, 13, dodge, dodgers, football, Dallas cowboy cheerleaders, red white & blue, Olympics, gymnastics, toe nails, 12

Pile 3

Lyrics standing out:

“Light headed

For some reason I find myself lost in what you think of me

And too confused who I should be

In a big old world

We’re so alike

When I cross that line

It’s been a point of contention between myself and this body they stuck me in

Am I pretty enough to lie to you

Let me be the void you fill

I am quantum physics

My witness brings me to existence

So I can be your girlfriend boyfriend”

Hello my lovely pile 3! You all feel trapped either in your bodies or just to this reality in general. You have put shifting to your DR on a pedestal or even a part of you doesn’t want to accept that it’s real because you may not feel worthy. Remind yourself that you are constant, flowing energy.

Some of you have been so focused on “finding yourself”, that instead you have used the 3D to define who you are in the 4D. Make the two align.

Try to focus more on the “what” of shifting, instead of the “how”. Feel those connections and emotions you have in your DR. Maybe focus on one in particular that is important to you. Focus on one DR at a time. You have overwhelmed yourself with the thoughts of wanting to shift and being everywhere at once. Take your time and enjoy your CR as well. Shifting is an act and a journey, it’s real life, so make sure you’re still taking care of yourself.

In summary, you are more than your body. You are your thoughts and emotions and your actions, your love and energy you spread. Own that energy and use it for your benefit. Focus on who you are and what it is you want. Try to have a clear idea of that, then connect to it. Once you feel that connection, that’s it. Congratulations it’s now yours. Forget the 3D and just know it’s already yours.

Confirmation: red, Taylor Swift, (Taylor’s version), reputation, Niall Horan, train, Liam Payn, 2222, lock and key, hearts, stars, moon, “go piss girl”, dress to impress

[cheesus-doodles]

Star-Crossed by Choice: Chapter 3

Yandere Raihan & Leon with Champion Darling

Pokemon SwSh and SV Crossover

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<< Chapter 1 | 2

Masterlist

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apologies for the sudden hiatus yall ;-; i've been pulling midnight days almost every day for the past month for work on top of dealing with quite a severe writer block - things has been calming down somewhat so I look forward to ramping up my writing again! thank you for your patience :3

“You ungrateful little whore,” Raihan all but snarled out, the whites of his gritted teeth glinting in the dim street light as he stared you down.

Your body instantly reacted, attempting to stumble back and away despite having collapsed on the ground, your trembling gaze all but locked on Raihan’s icy teals, unable to turn away. If looks could kill, you wouldn’t be dead, no - the fate that awaited you was so much worse than the kind embrace of death. Your Cinderace let out an uncertain trill as it looked back at you, quickly followed by an annoyed one as it shifted to block your view of the gym leader. The astute Pokemon you had the honor to call your partner was more than well aware of the situation, though its efforts did little to stop the shivers that wrecked your body as you tried and failed to force yourself to get up and move.

Raihan was hardly deterred. “After all I’ve done for you, after all you’ve put me through-” The taller man took a step forward, his towering shadow falling over you, eyes almost seeming to glow in the dark and he stared you down. “This is how you repay my love?” 

It was as if your Cinderace barely existed between the two of you, those narrowed eyes piercing straight past the Pokemon and into your soul, a shot from a harpoon that hooked into your flesh and froze you in place. There was no right answer to his question, even if you could muster the words to reply, because there wasn’t supposed to be one; you were never right. Only wrong. 

The town of Cortando was predictably quiet at this time of the night, with residents and student visitors having long retreated into their beds to prepare for the coming day. You envied them - and you always had - having the freedom that the new dawn would bring to look forward to. And even though you treasured every day you could roam the rolling hills of Paldea, free from the shackled throne you were forced to sit upon in Galar, it wasn’t without needing to constantly look over your back for the monsters that lurked in the shadows.

And now, the freedom you had so carefully constructed for yourself was threatening to shatter before your eyes. 

You gulped, pleading eyes sliding to glance at Nemona, who was still staring blankly at the whole ongoing shitshow. What now? Could you simply give all this up? Go back to the safety of what you knew? You had to, your mind screamed at you. Concede now, surrender and return peacefully before it’s too late, and you could maybe still enjoy some semblance of the miniscule comfort you had before your abrupt escape.

But it was your heart and the sinking feeling in the base of your gut that told you the truth. That it was already too late for you: you had forced the Hammerlocke gym leader into giving up all pretense of playing the persona he was so loved for, and like an awakened dragon, the man you faced was now one usually reserved only for you and your transgressions against him. Allowing others to lay eyes on such a private side of him would hardly be kind to you if Raihan got his way.

“Hey! Eyes here while I’m talking to you,” the man snapped, and your gaze immediately jumped back to meet his, the hair on the back of your neck standing as you realized that you had been too obvious in allowing your attention to waver away from Raihan. If Cinderace hadn’t been between the two of you, you were sure around your neck was exactly where the other’s hands would be at this precise point in time. “Do I mean so little to you now, princess? Just trash to be cast aside, huh?”

What now? What else?

‎

Yet that was hardly the whole sum of your issues at the moment. Allowing your eyes to slide away from Raihan once more as the man continued to vent and rant to himself, and there in the dim yellow light waited another patient pair, Leon looking deceptively relaxed from where he was leaned against an unassuming lamppost lazily scanning his surroundings, just a stone’s throw behind the hoodie-touting gym leader. And as if he could feel your wide-eyed stare, the ex-Champion looked up, catching your eyes lingering on him. Smirking as he dropped whatever it was that he had been tossing from one hand to the other, the purple-haired man leisurely strolled over, clapping one hand over an unusually agitated Raihan’s shoulder. “Calm, Raihan,” Leon smirked, golden eyes having never left yours. “She’s still here.”

Raihan let out an annoyed tsk, shaking Leon off of him, though the gym leader did take a deep breath and calmed down. 

I’m still here, you repeated mentally. So close where they could almost grasp you, your eyes flickering between the two as their shadow only seemed to grow longer and longer, swallowing you up and dragging you further from the light, yet so far away. Your chances to get away were only getting slimmer with every passing minute. Having to shake Raihan off was one thing, with the blue-eyed man’s seemingly dragon-like senses and his ability to read you like an open book, but adding Leon into the equation was a whole different ball game.

But you had to try. Giving up and returning to that life that awaited you, it simply wasn’t an option, if not for you, then for your beloved Pokemon friends. You’ve already beaten them once, you tried to reassure yourself. All that time ago, when you had become Galar Champion, and then again and again every Championship. Slowly, painstakingly slowly, you shifted your hand, dipping into your pocket to pull out a small clicker, all the while wrecking your brains to come up with a plan. You just had to beat them again this time. Give up, those nagging voices at the back of your mind urged again.

Far from the rage that Raihan had worked himself into, Leon was still calm and collected, the tanned man with a mob of purple hair reaching out towards you, offering one ungloved hand as if an olive branch. “It’s time to come home, love,” he reassured. “It’s not too late. Everything’ll go back to normal, same way it always was, if you come home with us now. I promise.”

A lie. You know better to fall for those honeyed words - that hadn’t been a question but an order. You closed your eyes, letting out a shuddering breath. It was all too much for you.

Those amber eyes moved to lock onto your Cinderace. “And you. Return to your Pokeball.”

Your partner pokemon bristled, letting out a warning growl.

‎

Leon had always frightened you, more than Raihan ever did. The Dragon gym leader had always been very obvious, very deliberate with his actions, never bothering to hide his intentions, to the extent of making it public to his leagues of fans the moment you were in his grasp. But you hadn’t even noticed the once-undefeated Champion’s claws wrapping around you until he already had you trapped.

The glimpse of purple hair you kept catching from the corner of your eye had you momentarily thinking of Hop, your oldest and dearest friend that you had left behind in Galar. You wondered how he was doing, whether he still thought of you like you did of him. Whether he had already achieved his goal of researching rare pokemon. Whether he still looked up to his older brother after what Leon had done to him the day you toppled Goliath and became reigning Champion.

You thought about writing to him from time to time, especially during those lonely nights when you camped out in the far corner of some field, stoking a crackling fire under the twinkling stars with your Pokemon fast asleep around you. You remembered when Hop would join you to feast on curry when the two of you were kids, when neither had any worries beyond homework and whether the channels would have the latest episode of your favorite show. But you had always decided against it at the end of the day, worried about being tracked down should Leon get a hold of one - and you could only offer simple wishes up to whatever deity was listening that Hop was doing well. 

Fat load of good that did you.

Your hand moved fast, tapping away on the converted morse paddle key hidden to the side of your body: non-verbal instructions to your Cinderace. Not only was it a system that both you and your Pokemon were well accustomed with, having practiced it again and again throughout the course of the Galar Championships and beyond, but it also took advantage of Pokemon’s natural heightened senses and your two self-established “guardians” inability to understand. And you knew your partner heard you loud and clear, the bunny Pokemon’s ear twitching in acknowledgement despite keeping its back turned to you.

Though despite your best attempts, your unspoken communication didn’t go unnoticed. Leon’s face darkened, in step with Raihan snarling. “Not going to use your words?” “What did I say about clicking?”

Fortunately, right on cue, Cinderace took a quick swipe at them, forcing the two men back a few paces to avoid the tip of its feet before your partner retreated back to stand guard in front of you. 

The breeze had picked up once more, carrying with it the calls of Hoothoot and the rustle of grass from outside of town, the fields alive with nocturnal Pokemon. You shivered in the warm wind, your mind racing. One step down, countless more to go. Could you pull it off?

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It was far too obvious that you weren’t giving up the fight just yet, Raihan mused, sharp eyes lasering in on you as you kept your gaze downturned and focused on the ground, his grin only seeming to lengthen with the shadows that danced in the night. Sure, you had always been on the timid, shy side, even to the point of being a selective mute, but he could tell this was one of those rare times where your instinct to struggle against the current bubbled to the surface. You had always been a crafty little thing when you needed to.

Yet the scales were still tipped in his favor.

“Fiery,” the Hammerlocke gym leader all but purred out, pulling your attention out from your thoughts. “You sure you wanna do that though?” He reached into his pocket, and you flinched on instinct. Good.

 Pulling out an all-too familiar Pokeball, the orb was clutched in one tanned hand held halfway out, just enough for the light to catch its top. 

You turned pale, staggering to your feet immediately, your eyes locked on that ball. No doubt you would easily recognise the Pokeball he now held as your own: the once-glossy red surface painstakingly decorated with cute little details that he imagined you carving with the tip of a knife in the light of a campfire once upon a time, far out in the Wild Area and away from prying eyes. “You know who this is, don’t you, lil champ?”

You couldn’t tear your eyes away, tears beginning to well in the corner of your already swollen eyes as you tried to shake your head, attempting to plead silently to spare you the pain. 

Ah that helpless, what a sight for sore eyes indeed. If only you could voice that plea.

And with a quick toss, it was clear to the hooded trainer that he had only confirmed your worst nightmares, Lapras bursting forth and manifesting before Cinderace with a cry. Back when he had let his guard down and allowed you to escape from his grasp back in Galar, you had managed to slip away with just six of your Pokemon - your prized Pokemon to say the least, given those six formed the core of your Championship team. But, Raihan smirked, casually sliding both hands into the pockets of his hoodie, it was no secret you cared deeply for all your Pokemon, and those you left behind were still in his and Leon’s possession. 

Even your Cinderace seemed uncertain of the evolving situation, breaking its fighting stance to glance between you and its former ally. 

Now, what were you going to do next?

‎

‎

Your world felt like it was on the brink of imploding, the very air just a wrong touch away from collapsing around you. That wretched thick black collar that hung from Lapras’ neck, one you were all too familiar with - you could barely bite back the whimper that you felt threatening to escape from your throat. Whatever you did, one wrong move and you would once again be the sole cause of the world of suffering Lapras would be put through.

You shaking met Lapras’ eyes, to which the Pokemon let out a mournful sigh, and Cinderace returned a sad trill. It wasn’t the first time both had found the other on opposing sides since you had your living arrangement forcibly updated at the end of the Galar Championship, but neither liked the outcome. Maybe Leon and Raihan were right. Maybe you should just give in and end the pain. 

“Just leave her alone already!” A sudden interruption that sliced through the silence of the night like a hot knife through butter, and Nemona came stomping over from behind him, an uncharacteristically furious expression painted across the usually cheery girl. “She doesn’t want to go with you!” With a distinct lack of fear in her eyes and a lack of care for who your two pursuers were on the world stage, your friend marched past them without a second glance, putting herself squarely on your side and in your corner.

The Champion-ranked trainer turned to you. “Don’t get me wrong, I most definitely want to have a battle with you once all this blows over,” she declared, pausing for a moment before continuing on. “And I want to know everything. But I’m on your side. Got it?”

You simply nodded.

There was little question that Raihan and Leon would be angry, and you didn’t need to look to know just how downright pissed they were. Instead opting to turn your gaze to Nemona then to the ground, it was as if your mind had connected the dots faster than you could have realized, and you had to take a second look at the uniform-clad girl. Right before it hit you like a charging Rhyhorn, the sudden realization instantly shaking your entire perspective and turning your world upside down. 

You were no longer in Galar. 

Yes, there was no doubt that Raihan and Leon were still Master Class trainers that have conquered the World Coronation Championships, and were most definitely famous even here in Paldea as the famous Dragon Gym Leader of Hammerlocke and the former Galar Champion. But missing were the leagues of women who would throw their weeks away to comb every inch of grass for signs of you on Raihan’s command. And gone were the nosy trainers who would be more than happy to turn over information on your location just for a word of praise from Leon, or the crowds of your self-declared fans who could recognize you turned inside out from a yard away.

They were as good as nobodies here, and so were you.

‎

And now all the wheels began to turn. The modified morse paddle key that served as your clicker went into overdrive as you tried to get your thoughts out to Cinderace as fast as your fingers could go.

You could get away. There was still a way out for you.

Raihan seemed to have caught on to the sudden hope that surged in your veins, the toothy grin on his face dropping as he narrowed his eyes. “Lapras, Hydro Pump,” he ordered.

Lapras resisted, letting out a defiant cry as it rebelled against his orders. Your countdown has started.

Two clicks, and your Cinderace leapt forward, foot extended to land a Double Kick.

You didn’t look to see if the attack landed, attempting to turn out all external sounds from your buzzing ears; the butterflies in your chest already made it hard enough to keep breathing. Instead, you cleared your throat, your mouth moving as you tried to force a word, a sound, anything from your vocal chords. “S-St-” You exhaled, shuddering, your efforts going unnoticed amidst the chaos of the moment.

The Dragon Gym Leader had withdrawn a small remote, a promise, not a threat. “Lapras, use Hydro Pump,” he ordered again.

It wasn’t enough. A full word. All you needed was a single full word. If not for yourself, then for the hell that your Pokemon had been through - there was no other choice. You had to do it.

Nemona’s eyebrows were furrowed as she watched the battle go down, the other three trainers paying little attention to you as you carefully tiptoed over to retrieve your backpack off the ground, the clock in your head ticking down slowly but surely. Tick tock, the nagging voices in your head whispered to you. Tick tock.

There was little time to decide what the right move was, whether you did the right thing; you simply rationalized that you should pick whoever you wouldn’t mind being stuck with again should you have to return to Galar. Raihan did treat you like royalty whenever he wasn't angry at some unspoken rule that you unknowingly broke, and would only increase should you pick him, with the downside being the numerous eyes and constant spotlight that followed the popular trainer around. While no doubt that Leon’s treatment of you would improve greatly if you picked him, the man had always been very demanding, holding you to an impossible standard.

Reaching into your backpack right for your Pokemon as Cinderace dodged the jet of water aimed at him, everything that happened next took but a blink of an eye.

‎

All you could muster the strength to mutter was a single word, yet it was enough. A broken whisper of a single syllabus, mumbled by a hoarse voice that didn’t seem to see much use. “Raihan-”

Both men instantly startled, amber and aqua eyes snapping straight to yours as their jaws dropped. But it was all the distraction you needed.

Click. Your Vileplume manifested, instantly using Stun Spore, with both Vileplume Cinderace being recalled to their respective balls before the yellow dust even touched the ground.

You grabbed Nemona’s arm, yanking her backwards with surprising strength as you clutched your backpack tight to your chest. Another shrill song as Gardevoir manifested, the Psychic pokemon lightly touching its green sleeve-like arms to you, using Teleport.

And in under a minute, your little group was gone, vanishing without a trace from Cortondo.

‎

‎

“She-she said my name,” Raihan mumbled again and again, sounding very much star-struck. “My name. M-”

“Shut the fuck up,” Leon snapped back, annoyed.

Being left sprawled on the ground waiting for the effects of the paralysis to fade didn’t help much with the former Galar Champion’s mood, even less so when you had been just an arm’s length away. One grab away from going back to how life had been with you. And now, Leon had to live with the fact that after years and years of patience, waiting eagerly for a chance to hear your elusive voice. Soft and gentle, like the trickle of a river, your voice had been everything he ever imagined and more - and it was his rival’s name that left your lips first. 

It must be her, the purple-haired man fumed, a soft glow of red as an equally paralyzed Lapras was recalled to its ball by a giddy, giggling Raihan. That stupid Champion-ranked girl with the green highlighted hair. All his time and effort, taming and training you into his love - and she had broken his perfect you the moment his back was turned. All his work for nothing, gone like sand art at high tide.

Letting out a groan as Leon finally felt control of his body return, he could only slam the back of his head into the dust once in frustration before standing. 

Raihan had won this fight, but Leon sure as hell was going to make sure he wins the war.

[planetsano]

↻ 𝘀𝘆𝗻𝗼𝗽𝘀𝗶𝘀: a gripping tale of love as the reader navigates a complex relationship with the infamous toji fushiguro OR toji fushiguro being a shit boyfriend should be a case study!

↻ 𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀: age gap (20’s ↝ 30’s), toxic relationship, smut.

↻ 𝗯𝘆𝗿: female reader, female bodied reader.

You see, the thing about Toji Fushiguro is that he’s always been unapologetically and shamelessly him— he’ll always be a man that will be forever stuck in his own ways. He’s selfish, crude, insensitive, and would do anything no matter how foul and evil to put him forward.

So.. it’s cute— no, admirable that you thought you could change him. A pretty, young thing in her twenties dealing with a wreck of a man like him. How sick is that? Really, your first red flag should have been him wearing a shirt three times too small.

Yeah, the age gap was certainly.. more than a few years, which heavily attributed to the mental disconnect in the relationship. You were bright-eyed and naïve, so much life in you and hadn’t experienced a drop of what real life was like. You often romanticized life, finding beauty in the simplest of moments and weaving dreams from the fabric of everyday experiences. Your vivid imagination painted the world with colors unseen by most, turning mundane occurrences into enchanting adventures.

You held on to the “love could conquer all!” and “I can fix him!” mentality or something like that. But your optimism was a double-edged sword, pushing you to cling to the relationship while also blinding you to the reality that perhaps you both needed different things in life. You needed a life partner and he needed a tight cunt to fuck.

It’s ironic because you approached him first.

“Mister Toji..? What’s your wife like?” You shyly played with the ends of your hair, avoiding his gaze like the plague. “Ah?” Toji raised a brow at you, slightly surprised by the forwardness of your question. “Oh right, ‘don’t have a wife.” “Oh..” You feel your face and the tips of your ears become hot with embarrassment. “Well maybe I could.. make you dinner sometime..?”

Toji liked the appeal of having a woman half his age on his arm. But what he simply could not stand was the amount of energy required for it— oh, don’t misunderstand, he never put forth any real efforts anyway, but it was simply the.. expectation. Toji didn’t give a fuck about dates or anniversaries, all he cared about was emptying his balls inside of your pussy, the hot dinners you make for him and cozy shelter you provide.

You liked to play housewife in your own silly little delusion, finding comfort in the make-believe world where everything was picture-perfect. The idea of being the nurturing, organized, and devoted partner gives you a sense of purpose, shielding you from the harsh realities of what really was. It was a cozy escape, a refuge where you could pretend that all your worries were mere fiction.

Yet, there were moments when the illusion began to unravel, and a whisper of doubt crept into your mind. Were you truly content with this role you had assumed, or were you sacrificing your true desires in pursuit of an idealized version of yourself? The nagging ty made you question if he really loved you as much as you were in love with him. Or at all for that matter. He was a busy man but would returning a call really hinder his day? Would a text twist his arm so much? You never ask though, you would hate to upset him or come across as “immature.”

But if he’s just so horrible, this.. big, bad man who found it annoying that you..? That you wanted to hold hands in public! What made you stay? Why stay with a man that seemed to only have his best interest in heart and you were a second, sometimes third, or forth.

His cock.

That cock was an addiction that you had no intention of quitting. The way this man fucked you was enough to liquidate your mind— leaving you nearly brain-dead as his warm seed oozes from your hole. The width of his cock alone made you stretch an absurd amount, teetering the edge of comfortability. His tip relentlessly gives your cervix a beating— bruising it and leaving a delicious soreness that lasts for nights.

Toji’s physical presence was undeniably imposing and large, that alone makes you feel like a delicate trinket, one treasured and protected. Yet, paradoxically, the way he handled you was anything but delicate. His hands, strong and calloused, held a certain roughness that spoke of a life lived on the edge, battle-hardened and weathered. He folds your body as though you were a ragdoll— regardless of your size.

When he’s gone for days on end, you find yourself yearning for his fulfillment— no hand or toy will satisfy you the way he does. Toji’s ruined sex for you.

Toji withheld affection from you whether it was intentional or not. So when he did praise you it felt as though you were a pretty princess— chemically altering your pretty little brain more than a little bit.

He often kept his emotions locked away, leaving you hesitant of where you stood in his heart. The lack of affection was a constant ache, leaving you yearning for even the smallest crumbs of his praise. Yet, when those rare moments arrived, it felt like a euphoric rush, flooding your mind with a mix of serotonin and dopamine.

His praise, though infrequent, had an intoxicating effect on you. It was like soaring to the highest of heavens, as if the whole universe had aligned in your favor. In those fleeting instances, self-doubt dissolved, and you basked in the warmth of his approval, feeling valued and cherished.

But the hesitation lingered, a cloud of doubt that never fully dissipated. You wondered if his praises were genuine or merely an act of throwing a dog a bone, a way to keep you satiated so you wouldn’t throw one of your fits. The chemistry of emotions within you danced between soaring highs and daunting lows, creating a rollercoaster of feelings you couldn’t control.

You found yourself seeking those rare moments of praise like an addict craving their next fix, yearning for his validation and acceptance. The intoxicating mix of emotions left you captivated and vulnerable, making it hard to see beyond the haze of his allure and your love goggles. You chose to believe a ring is on it's way at the end of the day.

“You did a good job today, lovebug.” “Really?” “Mm.”

And you jump, just like a lap dog. But don’t feel bad, I would too if I had a man as fine as Toji. Woof. ♡