#you can see it so clearly they think they’re so fine

[velvetchrry]

━━━━ REMNANTS

pairing: simon “ghost” riley x f!reader

3.1k. the world falls into chaos and you find a savior in the brute locked in a cage. contains dark themes - read at your own risk.

Wheezing. The sound prickles along the fine hairs of your inner ear. You swallow, thick and mucousy; it’s all you can hear. Wheeze, wheeze, swallow. Wheeze, wheeze, swallow. Your lungs are scratchy. The pressure builds.

What you wouldn’t give for a full breath of air.

But you can’t stop now. No. They’re close — hot on your trail. Peals of laughter behind you send bile up your throat. You don’t have time to vomit so you keep running. Wheeze, wheeze, swallow.

An outpost. You’re so close now. Only a few hundred feet more. You might be able to lose them inside. Might be able to hide. Find some food and shelter for the night. Find a weapon to fight back.

Wheeze, wheeze, swallow.

The doors are locked but you see an open window into the compound that you can climb to. It’s cracked just enough that by the time you use up the final remnants of your energy to reach it, you fall hard onto the floor below, breath rushing from your lungs. You’re already all banged up, what’s a few more bruises?

Once you’ve given yourself a moment to catch your breath, you look around the room you landed in. Some sort of security room. Monitors line one wall, lockers the opposite. You pick through the ones that are unlocked and shove what you think you might need in your bag. There’s a footlocker that’s locked up tight at the end of the row.

Cameras monitor every aspect of the compound — inside and out. Relief floods your veins upon seeing your pursuers run past, likely assuming you couldn’t make your way in. You thank whoever might be listening that you finally have some time. Formulate a plan. Rest. Eat. You take your first full breath in days.

The place has clearly been abandoned — you assume not long ago, considering the power is still up and running. With the way things were strewn about in the room, you are left to wonder if the people here left in a bigger hurry than they would have liked.

Motion on one of the screens catches your eye. The monitor says ‘LVL 0’ — basement floor maybe? You know you’re currently on LVL 1 based on the signage in the room. The pads of your fingers heat up as you wipe the smudges off the screen.

It’s a man. He’s fully nude, walking around a cell-like enclosure. Who is he? Why did they leave him here when he left? More importantly — can you leave him here to starve to death once you eventually leave?

There’s a talk button. Here goes nothing.

“Hello?” your voice cracks from underuse. You clear your throat before depressing the button again. “I’ll find a way to open the door.”

No response, but he does stop walking so you assume he heard you. Maybe the camera’s audio doesn’t work anymore.

You don’t have to look for long before you find a big red button labeled ‘door release’. A harsh buzzing rings and you scrunch your face at the sound. You look quickly back to the monitor to see if that opened the door for your friend.

He isn’t there.

He’s gone? But the door still looks closed. Did you imagine him? Was there even a man in there? You rub your eyes until you see stars. Focus.

Fine you’ll just… go check it out. Just to make sure. You will not let yourself turn into one of them. You still have a heart, still have a soul.

The elevator button still glows with power but you don’t feel like taking the chance when there’s a perfectly good set of stairs next to it. Your heart thunders in your throat as you descend to the lower level. It’s… strange down here. The air is stale, suffocating. Nausea creeps up from your gut and you swallow the accompanying bile.

The cage was clearly built into the design of the building, which makes you stop and wonder for a split second exactly what this place was. You pad lightly to the cage, unable to speak. Your teeth stick to the inside of your lips with every breath you suck in.

The door makes a high pitched squeak that damn near has your ears ringing when you open it gingerly from your spot just outside the cell.

“H… hello?” you chance again, a little quieter.

Nothing. The cell looks empty.

Your brow furrows. You were so certain you saw a man in here — but can be easily filed away as a hallucination with the lack of sleep and stress you’ve experienced over the past few days. Your feet move on their own accord as you step further into the cell, inspecting. Dried blood splatter coats the floor and wall, massive bloody footprints leading around the cell.

A noise from behind causes you to turn around at a speed you didn’t know you possessed. Your scream is choked off by the hulking hallucination from the monitor. There’s a wild look in his eye as he slams you against the wall, his massive paw gripped around your throat and cutting off your airway. You claw desperately at his hand, surely drawing blood as you struggle to take a breath.

Kicking and scratching and struggling. The man — who is not only completely naked but covered in dried blood, eye black smeared across his face — tilts his head slightly at you, something like recognition flooding his system as he releases your neck just enough for you to gasp in a raggedy half-breath.

You still completely at the sight behind him.

“Drop the girl, now!”

It’s them. They found you.

Too late. For them and you.

At least they won’t be the ones to take you.

At least you can finally rest. Sleep.

Yes. A dreamless sleep. Sounds kind of nice.

The brute drops you and you slide down the wall, landing so hard on your ass you’re sure your tailbone is bruised. The yelp that escapes from your lips is strange sounding, likely due to your cutoff airway.

It happens in slow motion and yet all at once. Your attacker — or maybe now your savior, you’re not entirely sure — throws the large rock you hadn’t noticed he’d been palming in his free hand and hits the one who spoke directly in the eye. You wince as the sound of gunfire erupts around the room and curl in on yourself. It’ll be over soon anyways, no need to watch.

A hand grips under your elbow and tugs you upward, almost ripping your arm out of its socket as you scramble to your feet. The sound of your raspy breath is all that fills the room as you're pulled up by the very man who almost just choked you to death. He towers over you, looking at you like he just asked a question and was waiting on your answer. He tilts his head slightly and begins to walk out of the cell. You do the same on wobbly legs and observe the carnage around you.

They’re all dead. Every last one. Other than the one with a massive eye wound, all seem to be killed in the same manner, gunshots to the head and chest.

He looks at you from the bottom of the stairs, waiting.

Your legs shake as you walk to where he stands. He starts walking up the stairs when you get closer, and you follow behind. Every step ignites your tailbone in fiery pain that threatens to take what little breath fills your lungs. Somehow, you manage to make it up the first flight.

You watch from the landing as he enters the security room, rummaging around in there. You can’t quite see what he’s doing with the door half closed but you can hear him opening the metal doors to the lockers. A loud, metallic clatter has your heart plummeting straight into your throat.

After a minute he comes out with a large duffel in his meaty grip. You blink up at him as he holds out your backpack to you in the other. You're not even sure when it fell off but you take it in your hands, comically small next to his as they brush against him. He starts to walk to the front door and forces it open.

When you don’t immediately follow, he turns to look at you.

You limp over to where he is, the pain in your tailbone growing with every second that passes. He walks to a pond just outside the compound, dropping his duffel and diving in expertly. What, this guy’s a serial killer and an olympian?

You're dumbstruck as he cleans himself off, large hands rubbing at the black around his eyes and the blood coating him. He walks out of the pond and you hastily find somewhere else to look besides his large, perfectly toned frame. The water must be cold.

The sound of a zipper hits your ears as you see him bend over in your periphery. He dresses quickly, efficiently. You may have only met ten minutes ago but you’re pretty sure everything he does is efficient.

His thick accent takes you more off guard than the fact that he deigned to speak to you. (To be fair, you did assume he was mute.)

“Why’d ya let me out, bird?”

You wonder what you look like to him as you glance up in confusion. He’s dressed now, black pants and shirt. Now that he’s not covered in dirt, grime and blood you can see he’s quite good looking. Rugged, menacing… but handsome in his own way.

“I… couldn’t leave you to starve in there,” you answer honestly, voice still strained.

You flinch as he pulls out a pistol and checks the magazine before putting it securely in the waistband of his pants. He slings a larger weapon around his arm.

“Why’re those men chasin’ ya?”

A gust of fall wind sweeps through and you shiver.

“How long have you been in that cage?” you finally inquire.

He grunts. “Not sure. A while.”

You swallow thickly. How do you tell him that in the matter of just a few weeks, the government was overthrown. Riots broke out. Militias took power.

“It may be a different place out here than when you went in.”

Another guttural noise leaves his throat. “Then we ‘ave failed our mission.”

Mission? What mission?

“Anarchy, is it?” he looks at you with those piercing brown eyes.

You nod.

He sighs and the rigidity in his posture softens a bit. He folds up the now empty duffel bag more neatly than you thought he could and hands it into you. You pinch your brows together but take it anyway, holding it between your hands.

He starts walking along the side of the road. Alert, eyes up and focused on the world around him. He stops suddenly, turning around to face you where your feet are still planted.

“You comin’ or wha?”

Shaking yourself out of your stupor, you trail after him as quickly as you’re able to. The more you walk, the easier it is to deal with the pain. He continues forward, always scanning the area around him.

He stops suddenly and you do too, tensing up. He grabs the duffel bag out of your hands and walks behind you, unzipping the backpack around you to place it in there.

You’re too stunned to speak as you start to follow him when he walks again.

The sun hits the horizon in an hour, and you’re still wandering along the road with your strange, large man. He hasn’t spoken since before you started walking but you don’t mind the silence. Your breathing is finally almost back to normal, though you can feel the tenderness of the hand-shaped souvenir you're left with along your neck.

There’s an overturned UHaul on the road ahead. You startle when he pulls the pistol out of his waistband and ensures there's a bullet in the chamber as he walks more purposefully toward it. You trail behind him as he walks around it. Clearly whoever was pulling it left in a hurry, as there’s nobody in the cab up front. Glass crunches under your shoes.

Your giant walks to the rear and smacks the side of the UHaul with such a force that you yelp and jump at the bang that follows. You flash him an apologetic look when you cover your mouth and he listens.

After a minute of silence, he opens the back. Things are strewn everywhere — boxes, a couch, and other home items. You watch mesmerized as he enters with the pistol ready to fire, making sure it’s clear.

He grips you around your waist and drags you in after reholstering his weapon. He points to a box labeled “BEDDING” and begins to pile the cushions of the couch that are scattered about. You slowly tear off the tape and open the box, pulling out some blankets.

Boxes are being piled around the entrance swiftly by him. He works silently, effortlessly. Then, he carries the cushions to the back wall and lines them up on the floor — really the wall, since the vehicle is tipped.

You stumble over with a large pile of blankets and he helps you spread them out. He turns on a flashlight when you’re done, pointing it up at the ceiling and leaning it against the wall before he walks over to the door and closes it.

A shiver trails down your spine when he walks back towards you. He’s crouched down, leaving the bottom blanket over the cushions but crawling under the rest.

“C’mon pet,” he orders.

You drag your feet to him and he grips your ankle, holding your foot in the air and taking off your shoe in one smooth motion, which he tosses next to where he lays. Once he leads your foot back on the ground he does the same with the other.

“In,” he demands, motioning to the empty spot next to him where he lays.

You stumble in, wincing slightly. The pain in your tailbone has subsided from what it was, but it lingers when you move too quickly. He pulls your back to his chest when you finally make your way under the covers, giving you a thick bicep to rest your head against in place of a pillow. You shiver in his grasp, his body heat surrounding you. He reaches out to click off the flashlight and darkness blankets the vehicle.

A large arm wraps around your midsection when you shiver again. Your neck warms from his hot breath. He pulls you in even closer and you feel something rigid against your back. Your giant trails his hand up, cupping your breast through your shirt. The shudder that comes is no longer from the cold.

A small moan escapes you and you press your thighs together.

Who are you right now? You don’t even know his name, and he nearly killed you earlier. Yet you trailed him like a lost puppy and are letting him touch you.

His hand slips under your shirt and his calloused hand roughly palms your breast. He drives his hips against you, groaning when his thick length presses into your back. You can’t help yourself when you push your ass back against him.

He did save you, after all. And he kept you safe after.

The waistband of your pants is pulled away as he now slides his hand down, trailing under your panties and to your sensitive bud below. Can he feel how positively soaked you already are? You assume the answer is yes when he chuffs and drags a wide finger across your slit.

This is what he deserves, right? Saving a pretty little thing like you.

You gasp when that wide finger enters you. He humps your backside as he drags it in and out, drawing soft pants from you. The two of you continue this for a while, assuming that this is all he desires until you realize he had an ulterior motive for warming you up.

He roughly tugs your pants down and off and does the same with his, lining himself up with your entrance. The arm you were laying on wraps around your collarbone and holds you firmly in place as he pushes in, the stretch almost unbearable.

There’s no way he’s more than a fraction of the way in and yet you’re not sure you can handle anymore. You struggle to find oxygen and he pets your head gently. More gentle than you thought he could be.

“Breathe, pet.”

You breathe and after a moment he brings two fingers to your lips. You open on pure instinct and he sticks them in, scraping along your tongue.

He rubs you with those coarse, wet fingers as he forces himself even further inside, arm still pressing down on your collarbone to keep you in place. You fight to fill your lungs as he fills you, a mewl escaping between your lips.

He’s slow at first, giving you time to adjust before he decides enough is enough and begins pounding into you. He covers your screams but leaves your nostrils open so you can still breathe, his grunts of pleasure all you can hear over the joining of your bodies.

He’s not gentle. It’s not his nature. He takes what he wants. That’s how it always has been for him. Since the beginning. You want it? You take it. You make it yours.

Your tailbone screams in pain with each thrust and tears track down your cheeks and wet his hand covering your mouth. You bite the inside of his palm to quell the ache and he praises you between thrusts.

“Good fuckin’ girl.”

You clench around him and his movements sputter for a moment before he resumes. More than anything you wish he was face to face with you but you recognize what he is. He is not a man that whispers sweet nothings in your ear and kisses you softly while you make love. He’s a man who helps himself to what he wants.

He groans low in his throat at your reaction to his praise and he knows. It falls into place in his mind. You won’t run from him in the morning. His soft, pretty little prize. Sweet girl that will follow him around. That will let him bully his cock into you whenever he wants just for keeping you safe.

When you find your release, you bite down hard enough on his palm that you taste metal. He grunts, pushing into you harder and faster than you thought possible as he finds his — his hot spend coating your cunt. Finally he uncovers your mouth and you gasp for oxygen, wet breaths filling the air.

He pets your hair with a sticky hand and covers you back up with the blankets that had been displaced.

“Sleep, pet,” he instructs as he again pulls you into his chest.

You sleep for the first time in a week.

[cal-daisies-and-briars]

🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓

117 for 🐓:

---

 His first thought is sort of dramatic. Thieves. Thieves are coming for Buck and Mrs. Gladwell’s homes! To be fair, he heard a lot of Athena stories at Chrismtas dinner. 

He pauses his podcast and listens for a minute. And it is in listening that everything changes. 

“You have a key, just use a key,” comes a very familiar voice. Albeit, one he has not heard in person in half a year. 

“I can’t do that,” replies his favorite voice ever. 

Buck stiffens. What… What are they doing here?

“Why not? He gave it to you,” Chris says.

“Because he doesn’t know we’re here,” Eddie replies. “We can’t just barge into his house. What if…” 

“What if what? He’s not even home.” 

“Uh, nothing. It’s just rude. We can’t. We’ll just wait and surprise him when he gets here. It’s usually around this time.” 

Buck is grinning. He’s grinning. They came to surprise him? For New Year’s? That’s incredible.

“Okay, but, Dad, I really have to pee.” 

“Shoot. Fine, okay. We’ll unlock it, you go in there, and then come right back out and we’ll make it look like you never broke in.”

Buck is about to laugh out loud. Seems as good a time as any to give himself away.

“Or,” he says, walking around the corner and into view. Not just their view. Their view. He can see them. Right in front of him. Real. “I can unlock the door, and you don’t have to pretend anything.”

Eddie and Chris whip around to look at him. Christopher’s face breaks out in a huge, warm smile. 

“Buck! You’re here!” He beams. 

“I’m here?” Buck asks, striding over to them. “You’re here!”

He bends - though far less than he used to have to - to hug Chris. He wraps one arm around him, grabbing Eddie’s forearm with the other and squeezing. Like he needs to touch them both to make sure they’re actually real. 

“Surprise,” Eddie says sort of weakly. His voice sounds tight. 

Buck shifts his body a little, drops the hand holding Eddie’s arm, and opens the hug. 

“Come on, man, don’t make me choose,” he pleads.

Eddie laughs, then wraps his arms around both of them. For a too-short, precious moment, it’s all okay. Everything is okay. Something that has been broken since the spring is whole, and Buck feels a bone-deep sense of ease. He’s okay. They’re okay. They’re here. 

When Buck pulls away, he can’t hide the tears in his eyes. 

“Um, Buck,” Chris says.

“Yeah?” Buck asks.

“I love you and I missed you but can you open the door so I can pee?” 

Eddie and Buck both laugh. Buck steps in, pulls out his keys, and unlocks the door. 

“Make yourself at home,” Buck says. Like, please? Home. In this city. Where they belong?

Once Chris is gone, Buck turns to Eddie and pulls him into another hug. And… And it’s a bit different from the way they usually hug. For one, Buck is holding onto him so tight it hurts his arms. Two, Eddie lets his head drop onto Buck’s shoulder. It’s strangely intimate, for nothing at all happening. 

“What are you doing here?” Buck asks breathlessly when they part.

Eddie’s cheeks flush. “I miss you.”

“Eddie, god. I miss you, too.”

“Uh… I have something to say, and… And, I mean, I took a pretty big shot coming here, so can you listen before commenting?”

Buck blinks, surprised. “Yeah. Yeah, of course.”

Eddie nods and takes a deep breath. 

“I almost ruined my whole life this year, at various different points,” Eddie says. 

Buck frowns. Damn.

“And I don’t think I realized just how close I was to really sealing the deal, but luckily… Luckily, I have a pretty observant kid.”

Buck wants to cry. They must be really talking to each other again. They must be… Oh god. Chris came here. With Eddie. Are they back under one roof?

“One of the mistakes I made, clearly, was thinking I could… That I could just be somewhere you aren’t without being miserable.”

Buck can’t help the way his jaw just sort of drops. That’s like… The most romantic thing anyone has ever said to him! And it wasn’t even said romantically! Wait. Right? It wasn’t said romantically, right? 

[wake-me-up-inside-imagines]

Hiii! Can I make a request for Charlie? I read your pregnant darling and im curious how it would play out when his s/o is giving birth. I love your fics btw and im a huge fan of your oc's!

Awe, thank you so much, I appreciate the support! And sure thing for the request, I hope you enjoy!

Yandere! Mafia Boss With An S/O Who’s Giving Birth

Technically GN! Reader because pronouns aren’t used but reader is pregnant so…presumed afab reader

Warnings: Reader is giving birth, pregnancy, medical stuff, needles, Charlie is Yandere but doesn’t really do a whole lot of insane stuff in this one, mentions of death and stuff going wrong but nothing bad happens don’t worry

(Also, I mentioned this in the pregnancy post but I’m gonna do it again here; In this scenario, reader is with Charlie willingly and he’s just Yandere for other reasons. I don’t fw the idea of a kidnapped darling being pregnant, that’s a hard limit for me even though I write darker content).

Divider credit goes to @konatasoup

Charlie’s spent the entirety of your pregnancy worrying about the day you’d finally give birth. He was excited of course, he can’t imagine not being overjoyed, but the prospect of anything going wrong absolutely terrifies him. What if there’s a complication with your pregnancy? What if the baby isn’t as healthy as his doctor says they are? What if you get severely hurt during the birthing process? What if you die? What if-

He tries to surpress his worries, he really does, but as the day draws closer, he can’t help but dwell on them. He does his best to distract himself with prepping everything you might need at the hospital and more importantly, sticking by you every second he possibly can, protecting you from any outward threats he can think of. If something’s gonna go wrong, it’s not gonna be because he failed to keep you safe. Whatever is in his control will be dealt with, you can bet on that.

When it comes time for you to give birth, he’s absolutely frantic, and doing a terrible job at hiding it. Sure, he’ll reassure you he’s fine, but his frantic scrambling to get everything in the car and his nearly erratic driving prove otherwise. You’ll have to spend as much time reassuring him as he does reassuring you, because that man is not calming down any time soon.

However… he does make a pitstop to get your favorite food before you enter the hospital. He’s been told that it might be a while before you can eat again and he’s not about to let you go hungry, so whatever you want, he’ll get (despite his nerves). As long as you aren’t in a ton of pain and ok with him getting you food, he’s happy to provide for you.

Once you get to the hospital, he’s borderline harassing any nurse he can find, demanding you be taken in as soon as possible. He only slightly relaxes once you get into the labor room where you’ll be taken care of, but even then, he’s still shaking wildly, asking every single nurse and doctor what they’re doing to you as they’re doing it. You can’t blame the guy though, he has no idea what’s going on, and he loves you too much to play around with you and your child’s health.

He’ll hold your hand throughout all your contractions, no matter how hard you squeeze. He would really prefer you get an epidural because it kills him to see you in any amount of pain, and you better believe that you’re gonna get it as quick as possible if that’s what you want, but if you want to have the baby naturally, he’ll respect the decision, letting you grip him for dear life throughout the pain. He knows contractions are part of the process, but it still freaks him out to see you go through them, even if you and the nurses tell him you’ll be fine.

Once the baby starts really coming out, he’s on the verge of passing out. There’s nurses everywhere, you’re clearly in pain as you push, people are talking, machines are beeping, there’s a chemical smell overpowering his senses, you’re squeezing his hand for dear life-

Aaaaandddd there he goes.

He passes out right next to you, but he comes back after a second or two, groggy but alert. He might pass out again later, but for now, he focuses all his attention on you, reassuring you that you’re doing so well, and that he can’t wait to meet your child. He’s extremely lightheaded the entire time you’re pushing your kid out, but he does his best to stay focused, too anxious to purposefully allow himself to slip away.

Then he hears your kid crying, and he’s sees a fleshy blob get carried away to be cleaned off, and the biggest rush of relief hits him so hard he starts letting out a couple tears of his own. His child’s here, they’re here and you’re both fine. Nothing went wrong, everything’s ok, and he’s a father now, a real father. He has a kid!

While the doctor’s are making sure your baby is all right, Charlie focuses all his attention on you. You’re exhausted, as expected, but you find enough energy to smile up at Charlie, and he can’t help but smile back. He squeezes your hand reassuringly and pours out soft praises, reminding you how much he loves and you and how excited he is to be a dad.

Charlie spends the rest of the hospital visit absolutely giddy, almost vibrating with his excitement and joy. He watches you hold your kid with the biggest grin on his face, holding out his finger for the baby to grab onto as the two of you coo over them. He can’t keep his eyes away from you two, his gaze landing between your happy face and his baby’s face, trying to soak in every detail, until it’s permanently burned into his memory.

And then you pass the baby to him, saying he should get a turn to hold your kid, and he just melts. He tries to be as gentle as possible as he cradles the tiny human he helped create, absolutely petrified at the prospect of dropping them but beyond jubilant that he finally gets to hold the kid he’s been waiting to meet for so long. He doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to let them go, he’s only known them for a little bit, but he already loves them more than anything in the world (other than you).

Charlie doesn’t really know what the future holds, especially considering his job. But he makes a vow right then and there that no matter what happened, he’s gonna keep his kid as safe and happy as possible, even if that means shielding them from his career as much as possible.

He looks over to you, baby in arm, and smiles. He’ll keep his family safe. He swears it on his life.

I hope you enjoyed!

[g1hana]

speaking as someone who’s involved in kink, consensual somnophilia would fall into the category of “consensual non consent” because touching your partner while their asleep and can’t communicate with you WOULD be assault (bc by virtue of being asleep, they quite literally can’t consent).

BUT if you’ve discussed it before hand, what you want from it, what your limits are, then that makes what would be an otherwise non consensual situation suddenly consensual—which is why it’s called consensual non consent.

when it comes to the question of consent, you (general you, not you specifically) have to put people’s autonomy and choice first bc doing otherwise… sort of just inherently disrespects their ability to provide that consent? like, if someone clearly says “i want to be here!” then that’s consent, even when it comes to kinks that you (again, general you, i’m not trying to make assumptions abt you or your sexuality) personally don’t partake in or understand, you know?

which is basically a really long way to say that you’re correct, providing consent makes it consensual, even if people who don’t partake in it would disagree with you.

there are a lot of people who get weird about kink in the sense that their SO insistent that it (or perhaps, certain aspects of it) are inherently bad that they disregard other people’s ability to make choices about their own bodies and sex lives—which, in turn, means that they’re the ones disrespecting other people’s consent, bc their refusing to acknowledge someone else’s ability to. i think it’s cool of you to go “consent is consent”, bc, yeah, it is.

(not that i’m trying to imply that’s what the person you tagged was saying, either, i didn’t check out their post and only saw yours completely by chance, before i offered my two cents—sorry about that btw)

Right I agree!, For me personally I feel like if you talk to your partner and have fully communicated with them about what you wanna do and they are completely fine with it then I don't consider it rape,

Now I do see a lot of fandoms who abuse this and try to sneak stuff in that is not okay but other then that if you and your partner is okay with doing somno then nobody can tell you anything.

(and your perfectly fine baby you don't have to apologize)

[mollyrolls]

one thing abt me is i love when there’s a tiktok dance that makes the men doing it so clearly feel themselves, like yes girlie pop off

[j-esbian]

it’s all good to say everyone should have public holidays off, but what about when you want to go to the movies on that holiday because now you don’t have to work? what if it’s presidents’ day and you need groceries? what if you need medical attention but it’s flag day? what if you need childcare, for any reason, on mlk day?

essential workers are some of the most overworked among us and deserve relief as much as anyone else but it’s just not enforceable for everyone to get every holiday off

[noisilyscreechingsong]

Seeing ghosts in Gotham

He’s walking alone. Despite how dark it is, he’s not particularly nervous, not like the couple of people hovering in an alley.

His shift at Batburger went a little long, not that he’s complaining, he needed the money.

Everything is fine. Splendid. Fantastic. A little quiet, enough to pretend it’s a nice stroll home like it was back in Amity. Of course that all kind of goes up in flames when a dark figure drops into a crouch right in front of him. About two arm lengths away is a guy who straightens to a little taller than Danny himself. From the flickering street light across the street he can spot red, crisscross yellow, and a dark cape.

Red Robin.

Danny shakes his head and turns around.

“Nope.”

A smaller body is already standing behind him, blocking his path. The little guy with a serious face folds his arms across his chest as if challenging Danny to try to get by him.

He’s had enough tussles with Danielle to know better than to test the kid.

Danny rubs at his eyes with a hand, purposefully keeping the other limp at his side. He turns back around.

“Okay. Fine. What? What do you want?”

“You sent in a folder of information to solve the Boothe case,” Red Robin states confidently like there wasn’t any doubt it was Danny who sent it in.

He frowns. It was sent in anonymously. As in they shouldn’t be able to know it was him. Then again they are detectives in their own right even if they dress weird.

“See? This is why no one helps out the police if they’re gonna get grilled for it later on,” he complains sourly.

“That case is connected to another string of crimes we’ve been investigating. I need to know where you got your information.”

Danny glares at him for a second, actually thinking about telling him, then he remembers how quickly these guys throw people into Arkham.

“Do you not get what anonymous means?”

“What is your source?” He asks, completely ignoring Danny’s concerns.

“What are gonna do? Dangle me over the side of a building to get me to talk like you do with the criminals you guys pick up? Go ahead. See where that gets you,” he shrugs indifferently.

“You’re a runaway.”

Danny’s eyes widen in surprise before narrowing into a warning as he turns to look at the pipsqueak that spoke.

“From your poorly made fake ID and the fact you don’t look close to eighteen, you must be a runaway minor. We could bring you in to the proper authorities if you prove to be… uncooperative.”

Danny sneers in annoyance.

“Seriously?” He turns back to Red Robin. Clearly the older of the two and the one leading this investigation. “This is what I get for trying to help? Blackmail?”

“Robin can be a bit… abrasive. I, on the other hand, can appreciate a different approach.”

Suddenly there’s a couple pieces of paper money in between his fingers. Danny couldn’t see how much it was from this far away, but it didn’t really change how he felt about the whole situation.

“Now bribery? Wow, you guys really got the whole good cop, bad cop thing down, don’t cha?”

“Then what do you want?”

“For you to stop wasting your time,” Danny answers with a snap.

Red Robin pauses.

“Our time,” he repeats calmly.

“Yea. Your time. This is a dead end and you should move on.”

“And why are you a dead end?” Presses Robin.

“Because,” Danny emphasizes with a look over his shoulder, “the guy you’re really looking for, my source as you put it, is dead, okay? So you can’t go ask him questions. I sent in everything that was relevant. Find another lead.”

Red Robin’s expression remains blank as he mentally calculates his next move. Danny hopes he takes his advice and let him go home.

“His name?”

Danny folds his arms over his chest, a pathetic attempt to protect himself. He chews on his lip a minute. To tell him or not to tell him. It’s not really ratting the guy out since he’s, you know, dead. Although there is a large chance Danny’s missing something and it’s all going to lead back to him somehow.

“I didn’t kill him.”

“I never said you did,” the vigilante replies calmly, almost nonchalant.

Danny shifts his weight with nerves. He really wasn’t getting out of this without giving them something, huh?

“Greg,” he grinds out like it’s painful.

Silence for a few moments, then-

“As in Gregory Boothe?”

The victim of this whole conversation? Yes.

Danny’s silence is answer enough and the diverted gaze just solidified their suspicions.

“Gregory Boothe’s body turned up a month ago. Presumably he’d been dead for several weeks before that.”

Red lets that damning information hang in the air like Danny didn’t already know.

“So when did he talk to you? Last week?”

Danny jerks at the off handed joke, actually taking a step back and hitching his shoulders up to his ears. He grimaces at his knee jerk response, but can’t take it back. A glance toward the vigilante shows a calculating stunned expression from what he can see ignoring the mask. He looks away again finding a discarded soda can very interesting.

“What is that supposed to mean?” Demands Robin behind him.

Danny tried to resist the urge to curl even more into himself, but knows he failed without even having to look.

“You’re a medium,” Red Robin states. It’s not even a question.

Danny flinches and shoots the guy a scared glare.

“I am not one of those scam artists,” he hisses firmly.

“No,” Red agrees, “you’re not. You didn’t ask for money or attention.”

Danny stares like it’s his first time seeing him. The lack of aggression or accusations was new and a little disarming. He was genuinely confused as to why the guy wasn’t immediately going to denial or throwing him in Arkham.

“Hell of a city to hide in when you can see ghosts,” Red Robin says in a light tone like he was teasing him. The small tug to his lips just proves it.

Danny’s shoulders practically sag at the playful demeanor. A hand reaches up to rub the back of his neck self-consciously.

“Yea, well… no one was gonna look for me here.”

Which was only half the reason he chose Gotham, but it was still truthful.

“So… Greg?”

“Isn’t here right now.” Danny pauses and snorts at himself. “Please leave a message.”

The vigilante does have a sense of humor because he smirks in response to the joke.

“Is there another way to… make contact? Summoning maybe?”

Danny raises an eyebrow incredulously.

“Summoning is rude,” he says like it’s common sense.

Instead he turns to the nearest reliable ghost in the vicinity.

“Hey, Susan, can you go-“

The vigilantes can’t hear how she interrupts him because she was standing there the whole time and knows exactly what he was going to ask.

“Okay, thanks. Meet at mine.”

The ghost woman nods and flies off to go hunt down dear old Greg and Danny turns to Red Robin. He makes a casual move with his head to say ‘follow me’ and continues walking down the sidewalk past the guy and further into the old, decrepit buildings he’s been squatting in.

They already know he’s a runaway, being homeless shouldn’t come as a shock to them. Even with his two jobs, he can’t afford to rent an apartment. No wonder so many people are in poverty or in the slums.

He ducks into his rundown building, ignoring the rats scurrying away, and hops up the rickety stairs, avoiding the ones that were unstable. It was a nightmare figuring out which steps were faulty. Lots of injuries.

At the top he turns to see Red easily copying his movements up the stairs while Robin balances along the railing like a tight rope. When they reach the top at the same time Danny just stares at them for a moment before shaking his head in exasperation. Darn vigilantes. Why did Danny have to get caught up in this mess?

He turns, walking along the floor closest to the wall before getting to what he’s deemed his room.

It used to be an office from what he can tell. A desk pushed against the far wall and a ripped sofa he’s been using as a bed on the other wall. The floors were the most stable in this room which really won out.

Danny goes to the desk where all his papers are scattered over the surface. An organizational pattern only he understands as he shuffles through the pile he pulls from the cubby above the desk. It holds all the same information he sent into the police, just in its raw form with about twice the amount of useless information. Along with it is a few other ‘cases’ that sounds familiar that he just threw together into a pile. Maybe the genius detectives could decipher what he couldn’t.

“Here,” he says, holding out the stack. Red Robin doesn’t hesitate to take it off his hands.

There’s no chair for the desk anymore so he slides some papers out of the way to hop onto the desk to wait.

“No.”

The vigilantes look at him and he shakes his head and looks over to the side.

“No, Abby. I’m not wasting their time.”

Red Robin goes back to flipping through papers. Most of them were old business papers he had found in the office and just written on the back. Some were receipts or pamphlets or some other random scrap of paper he could get his hands on.

“Because yours was an accident. There’s nothing for them to solve.”

Robin watched him cautiously as if waiting for Danny to snap or suddenly turn violent. Instead he leans back on his hands in a vulnerable position which screamed ‘I don’t want to hurt anyone’.

“There is a lot more information here than what was submitted to the police,” Red Robin comments neutrally, purposefully ignoring Danny’s exasperated sigh and one-sided conversation.

Danny shrugs in defense, “Didn’t think all of it was relevant.”

The vigilante doesn’t respond.

Robin drifts closer as Danny gives a withering glare to the corner. He examines the mess of papers surrounding the teen in the low lighting.

“Are these all files of victims?”

Danny glances over them with a knowledgeable eye.

“Most.” He twists to point at the top left corner of the cubbies. “Those are accidents though… well, what sounds like accidents.”

“There should be more.”

Danny looks at the boy with a tilted head and raises brow.

“Not everyone sticks around,” he explains simply.

Then something draws his attention away across the room. Surprisingly his eyes don’t glaze over like someone with mental illness, instead they sharpen to see something they can’t. It resembled Constantine or Thomas.

“Greg, these guys wanna talk to you.”

What proceeds is a very awkward interaction with Danny as a middle man between victim and vigilante. Despite the need for a translator, Red Robin does in fact get a lead from the conversation.

“Thank you for your cooperation.”

Danny nods. “Sure, no problem. Just don’t rat me out to the police and I can help with any other case that pops up with a ghost attached.”

“You know we can help with your living situation,” Red Robin offers with a glance around the room.

“What, and put me in foster care? No thanks, I’ll pass.”

“There are other options,” Robin chimes in with nonchalance that implies he doesn’t actually care.

“You don’t pass for eighteen, but if you let me make you a new ID we could say you’re emancipated.”

Danny frowns.

“I’d have to be sixteen to be eligible for emancipation.”

“You could be sixteen.”

No, he really couldn’t. Maybe if you squint your eyes and tilt your head, but Danny is fourteen with all the baby fat and innocent face that comes with it. His license now is a clear fake to anyone who sees it, but in this city no one’s gonna question it to his face. They just raise a brow, look at him, then shrug it off and roll with the lie.

“What do you want?” He demands. All this good will and wanting to help him can’t be free.

“We want to help,” Red says too easily.

Danny stares for a second, eyes narrowed as he tries to block out the multiple voices around him.

Insurance. He wants Danny to owe him so he can keep coming back for more information.

“I just told you I would help. Why are you still trying to get leverage?” He demands with irritation.

“We want to help-“

“You want me in your back pocket.”

Red Robin doesn’t give that a response, his lips pressing together to make a hard line.

Instead of pushing, he surprisingly takes a step back and heads towards the door, papers still in hand. Danny doesn’t argue.

Robin ducks out first, blending into the shadows without even a glance over his shoulder. Red Robin pauses in the doorway.

“Don’t try to skip town,” he states like an order. Like if Danny did in fact try, he would be found and brought back.

It didn’t even cross Danny’s mind.

“Wasn’t planning on it,” he says tiredly, too fed up with the day to defend himself.

Red Robin watches him for a moment before nodding and disappearing out the room.

Danny slumps with a groan, finally sliding off the desk to shuffle to the couch, body flopping face first into the worn cushions.

It’s silent to everyone else but Danny.

“I know.”

…

“I know, Jack, but I don’t trust them. Even if he is your son.”

Danny never noticed the bug planted by Robin on the underside of the desk.

[swanpyart]

Honestly, there’s a lot of instances of the game where Jimmy’s intense rewriting of history really shows how delusional he is. And I don’t think these manifest from guilt, but from a victim-martyr complex: a lot of these are used to make himself look good to the audience, but the utter dissonance between these visions and reality make it terrifying instead.

1. The Birthday Party scene

It seems like something obviously scary, but it’s actually what Jimmy thinks his crew should do. He wants to be celebrated, wants to be admired, and up until he dies is still convinced he was just a well meaning guy who did his best. The party was not a guilt and fear ridden hallucination, but Jimmy deluding himself into thinking he’s the hero. His team should be thanking him and throwing him a party, even when they’re all dead by his own actions. In reality: there probably isn’t even any balloons or confetti, and all Curly sees is Jimmy and the rest of the corpses of the crew sitting at an empty table in a dark room.

2. Curly in the Chair attached to Wheels

The scene where Curly is attached to wheels that must be turned for his organs to sit right so you can feed him his leg is also a good example. This isn’t how bodies work, and Curly is a burn victim, so his internal organs being rearranged makes no actual sense; all of his health issues are external. No, this is what Jimmy thinks must happen; that Curly simply can’t keep down his food, and that all Jimmy needs to do is try harder to get him to eat it. Jimmy, in reality is probably just forcibly feeding Curly his own puked up leg chunk over and over again until Curly grows too tired to fight. And isn’t it like Jimmy to shove a square peg in a round hole and insist it’s the hole’s fault? Jimmy already has shown he’s perfectly fine with force feeding Curly already and is not afraid to get violent when doing so. The reality of that situation is that Curly was probably resisting as much as he physically could, but eventually grows too tired of the abuse and just gives in.

3. Swansea with an axe

And with Swansea, the entire sequence of Swansea chasing him around with an axe may be partially true, but a lot less even-sided in reality. Swansea was shown to have a temper, but killing Daisuke was horribly difficult and emotionally crushing, even if he wouldn’t admit it outright. Jimmy on the other hand clearly views Swansea as an axe wielding maniac who kills without remorse and wants to hoard the cryotank all to himself. I think Jimmy was hallucinating Swansea chasing him around, because I think it would be in character for Jimmy to witness Daisuke’s death at Swansea’s hands and, rather than think over his actions, instead become paranoid and fearful that Swansea would target him, too.

Cus think about it: while Swansea is bigger, he’s also a drunken old man whose grieving the loss of a kid he viewed like his own, while Jimmy is a comparar healthy younger man with a gun. Jimmy already has a track record for picking on those he sees as vulnerable (Anya being the only woman with her room not having a lock, Daisuke being the youngest and easy to influence, and Curly being physically disabled and unable to fight back). What’s more likely: that Swansea suddenly goes from sullen and mournful to an axe wielding maniac gunning for Jimmy’s blood, or that Jimmy is paranoid about an older grieving man and holds him at gunpoint to tie him to the chair?

Feel free to add more examples, this is fascinating

[luveline]

Hi love your work. I was wondering if you could do a role reversal of the bombshell!reader under anesthesia? One where Aaron woke up and has forgotten he's married to reader so is shocked at her affection (not in a bad way), he just can't believe this beautiful woman is flirting with snd comforting him?

thank you for requesting! fem

Aaron is woken by a soft, displeased hum. 

He pries sticky eyes apart to peek at the source, a woman his junior with a tray table wheeled in front of her. You have neat hands, clipped nails painted softest pink, a ring on your marriage finger, and a little pearl necklace that’s fallen free of your collar to swing as you pen a letter. No, not a letter. A case file. 

You’re a police officer? 

He turns the other way, hoping for a more familiar face, but the only inhabitants of the room are you, him, and his pounding headache. A groan slips past his lips unbidden, Aaron watching in real time as you look up like he’s shocked you. You turn sympathetic and softer, somehow, your face plucking a weird string in his chest. It’s almost like deja vu, but Aaron would remember being looked at like this. 

“You okay?” you ask quietly. 

He clears his throat. “What happened?” he asks hoarsely. Clearing his throat a second time proves more successful. “What happened?” 

“You were struck hard in the back of the head with a rifle. A few times, actually. Luckily nothing broke, but you have a cut and a bruise like nobody’s business. Try not to touch.” 

“What about the team?” 

He realises with a start that he can’t remember who he means. Were the team actually with him? Dave had been there, right? Derek? 

“Reid sprained his wrist. Everyone else is fine.” 

Reid, you said, and not Dr. Reid. Aaron frowns deeply, the headache a full, eye-deep pain that worsens when he props himself up on his elbows. 

You watch him carefully. After a moment, you push the table away from you and get up, turning to sit on his bed. He doesn’t let his eyes widen, not even as you place your hand on his stomach, imploring in your gentleness, leaning in to see him better. In that moment, you might be the most beautiful woman Aaron has ever seen; his heart does a great whirl, picking up its pace. He has just enough capacity to recognise how lucky he is to be detached from any observational tech. 

“What’s worrying you, Aaron?” you ask, thumb rubbing a line into the skin just below his stomach. A butterfly like a hawk beats behind your touch. “You have that strange pinch between your eyebrows.” You draw a line up his stomach, showing him how they’re pulled up. He must look near tears as you go. “You only get that when you’re scared, but everyone’s fine, I promise.” 

He must know you. You clearly know him, your tone alone settling his heart while his mind races. 

“You won’t be out of the field long, and you know I can do it for you while you’re gone. I’m capable,” you say. 

“You are,” he says. He’s telling the truth, though he doesn’t know how. 

You shuffle further up the bed. Aaron sits properly, forcing your hand to fall. You clasp his thigh on instinct, and that tumultuous zing of deja vu washes over him again. 

“You have the worst luck, handsome,” you murmur, rubbing at his leg, soothing him without thinking. 

“I…” He trails off as he catches sight of your wedding band. Silver-gold, a pear-shaped 3.00ct diamond. He chose it on a whim. Aaron nearly swallows his own tongue as he looks up, the memory of it not quite connecting to you. You. 

“What?” you ask. 

“You’re being so quiet,” he asks. 

“Well, you gave me a bad scare,” you say, leaning in further, unafraid to breathe his air. “I thought I lost you. It was terrifying.” 

The breathlessness in your confession is a barb. He grabs your hand where it lays and squeezes accordingly. “That won’t happen,” he promises. 

You turn your hand into his, slotting your fingers together deftly. “Do you remember me now, Hotchner?” you ask. 

He looks you straight in the eye. He doesn’t remember you, not really. But he remembers the size of your fingers threaded through his, and he remembers how nervous he’d tried not to be when he bought that ring, and he remembers your hand warming his thigh in the car every morning. 

“Almost,” he says. His breath catches. “You’re beautiful,” he says. 

“You said something similar the first time you woke up. I blamed the morphine for your puppy-eyes, but…” You smile at him fondly. “I don’t think you’re drugged enough to say it and not mean it, now.” 

“I mean it,” he says, nodding. “Of course I mean it.”

“I know.” You kiss his cheek. 

“Will you tell me your name?” he asks. 

You do, and Aaron falls in love with you all over again. 

[byuntrash101]

big bad wolf

f!reader x bangchan ft. stray kids smut | mdni 2.6k maybe you bit off more than you could chew when you hyped up your game to the campus’ infamous big dick owner nsfw tags under the cut

#5: huge dick + size kink (twt p☆rnlink) college!au, toxic ex bf!minho, frat boy!bangchan, alcohol consumption, one night stand, explicit consent asked and given, chan is really a tease, gentle dom!chan, daddy kink (i mean we're talking about chan here) , size kink (reader is smaller than chan), huge monster cock!bangchan, size training, protected sex (good job), oral (f), multiple orgasms, some humor at the end ♡

a/n : i was like this 🥴🥴🥴 writing this because ughhh im in love with this bangchan! wanna see the other entries for the event? check out the link <3

3k celebration | skz masterlist | navigation

“I mean being single is great and all” you said while downing the rest of the ungodly cocktail your best friend mixed for you earlier at the party. Before she left with Jisung. “But like I miss the toxic sex, ya know?” Christopher nodded his head while he took the empty cup from your hand to set it at the table beside the both of you on the couch.

The party was over so to speak. Everyone had left or was just passed out on random surfaces all over the frat. ΝΣΒ (nu sigma beta) was the frat that organized the best parties on campus. Well the second best parties but ΩΔΦ (omega delta phi) had Minho going to their parties and well you were finally over him that wasn't to run into him at a random party to drink and hook up with him again. You were determined to break free of the destructive cycle. That’s how you came to attend the parties here and met Christopher and his frat bros Changbin and Jisung. These three were quite the trio. Well not right now because Jisung was probably fucking your best friend somewhere and Changbin was passed out over the keg. Only Christopher remained somewhat (if not entirely) sober. He didn’t like alcohol that much, he claimed.

“Yeah I get you dude. Toxic sex is the best…” Christopher sighed. “But why though?”

“I don’t know man!” you said with a pout. “Also my ex was like… packing” the alcohol in your system was making it harder to perceive the fine line between sharing past experiences and simply oversharing. But Christopher wasn’t phased by it at all. On the contrary he was… intrigued.

“Really?” He questioned.

“Bro, he was real big. Like real big.” you said, closing your eyes trying to recall the extraordinary appendix Minho was blessed with. “The biggest I’ve ever seen really. I just miss that…” you said, finally opening your eyes again, purposefully avoiding thinking about your ex’s devil dick for too long before you drunkenly run to the other side of campus and to him again. When you open your eyes you see Christopher looking at you with an indecipherable expression.

“Well yeah. I miss someone that’s used to dealing with guys that are on the bigger end of the spectrum” Christopher was speaking very carefully, he was very clearly trying to hint at something but at the same time he didn’t want to come off as pressing or bragging.

You raised an eyebrow.

“What do you mean?” you asked as neutral as you could be, but still picking up on Christopher’s hint.

“Well you know. Girls always say it’s what they want. But like when I pull it out they either just run away or I mean they pull through but I can tell they’re not enjoying it. So I usually cut things short.” 

It’s true you heard one or two rumors about Christopher also being on the bigger end but you never paid attention to them. Now, they were suddenly running back to you.

“I just wanna be with a girl that's kinky and that you know… just enjoys herself with me”

Suddenly you were looking at him differently. You looked at his big biceps resting crossed over his chest and the sleeveless loose fitted white top. He was wearing a cap that covered his soft brown curls but they were still peaking at the back of his head and around his reddened ears. 

All of a sudden you were painfully conscious of Chris’ sheer size. Even though he was simply sitting next to you his large sturdy shoulders occupied the space on the couch. You found your eyes wandering to his lower half where his muscular thighs generously filled the black basketball shorts. And eventually your gaze wandered to his groin where you did notice a particularly remarkable bulge.

“You know, bro?” Chris took off the cap briefly, combing his hair with one large hand before flipping it backwards and patting it back on. He looked a little bit frustrated.

“Yeah I get it.”

Silence settled.

“Looks like we could like… help each other… maybe” you started carefully. That was uncharted territories, you didn’t know how Chris was going to react but you were a little intoxicated and that made you forget about the consequences or more like postpone thinking about them. You’ll do that tomorrow.

A cocky smirk spread on Chris’ face. An expression you had yet to witness. Usually he was all about wholesome smiles and cute laughs. But this one, this expression stirred excitement and thrill within you.

“Wanna see the big bad wolf?” Chan said right before sending you a cheeky wink that left you speechless. Before he started laughing out loud and lightly pushed you on the arm. “Just messing with you” Chris said, returning to the sunny smile.

“Why are you all cocky for anyway?” you outbid. “I’m sure it’s nothing I haven’t seen” you said, shrugging, eyes a little defiant. And Chris’ smirked returned to his handsome face just as quick. He felt a tingle in his lower half. He enjoyed that attitude you had right now. Wouldn’t it be fun to make you swallow those words? Amongst other things…

“Think you can handle it, babygirl?” Chan said, extending his massive arm behind your head on the couch and leaning on to you, making you feel even smaller. You took a whiff of his cologne, the alluring aromas or vanilla, cedar and citrus casting a spell on you.

“Yeah of course I can” you said, steady voice oozing all the confidence in the world. Making Chris chuckle again. 

***

Well maybe you couldn’t…

That is what you thought when Christopher dragged you to his room as the early rays of the dawning sun were licking the blinds. 

“Having second thoughts, babygirl?” Christopher said, smiling down at you while you looked up at him and sat on his bed. The loose fitting top was all he had left on him. Even the cap was now littering the ground, letting the soft brown curls loose. and you silently thanked the heavens for this. Maybe if he would have been completely nude you would have died right there.

He was absolutely breathtaking: large shoulders, thick arms and veiny forearms going down to his big hand holding the absolute monster that usually peacefully rested between his sturdy thighs. But right now it was awakened, and awaiting.

The thing was not only incredibly massive but also unbelievably long. Thick veins ornamented the length of it from the base to the red and dripping tip.

“So am I bigger than your ex?” he asked, cocking his head to the side. 

“Um, yeah a little bit I think” 

Lie. Big fat lie.

Christopher knew that. He knew that very well but he appreciated that you kept up with that act. He found that amusing.

“Perfect! Let’s get started then” 

“What?” you said as he wrapped his warm hands around both your wrists, gently pushing you down on the mattress until you laid there with only your feet hanging off the bed. He put your wrists at each side of your face, laying his weight over you. He was heavy, but it was comforting, reassuring. You felt small but also safe under him. The heat from his body ignited a fire within you.

“Don’t worry babygirl” Chris whispered leaning into your ear. You felt his hot breath fanning your burning cheek. “Daddy will get you nice and ready for him.” You felt yourself flutter at the name. You were definitely responding to it.

Christopher licked big swipe on your ear making your breath itch in your throat and you bit your lip to repress a moan. Fortunately you didn’t have to think about it too much because Chris kissed you instantly, one of his hands leaving your wrist to wrap around your throat, his thumb pulling on your chin to open your mouth. You didn’t fight back, letting him slip his tongue into your mouth. He tasted sweet, like energy drinks and tropical fruit juice. Now you knew for sure he was completely sober. But Chris, on the other hand, wasn't so sure anymore, because he sure felt drunk right now. Drunk in you, in this kiss. He threw himself into you, moaning in your mouth as you arched your back and he rolled his hips into you, pressing his hard cock onto your hip.

Before you could think too much about it Chris stripped you of your clothes, one article after the other until you found yourself completely exposed to him. Chris got up and took a step back to admire your body under the rays of the sun piercing through the blinds. You were gorgeous, stunning and he couldn’t wait to finally be inside you.

He then pulled on your hips to bring you on the edge of the bed where he kneeled on the ground and gently parted your legs. 

“Fuckk” he cursed under his breath when he saw your cute little pussy already glistening with need and lightly twitching. He only wanted one thing: to taste you. So he did.

He first laid a gentle kiss on your clit which made you jolt up and he smirked against you in satisfaction.

“Awww baby. Are you always this sensitive or is it daddy doing that to you?” He licked a large stripe from your entrance to your clit, staying there for a second giving more attention to the sensitive bud. 

“F-fuckkk. No it’s y-you” you breathed in, arching your back and fisting the sheets beneath you. “Daddy is doing this to m-me”

Christopher felt his heavy length jump just as the mention of the word in your mouth, it sounded so fucking good, so fucking sexy. It made him want to please you, be good for you.

He licked and swirled his tongue on your swollen bud earning more moans and pants from you. Until your cunt was throbbing against his lips and your heart was beating in your ears.

“Im… Fuck… gonna c-cum” you said lifting your face to see Christopher looking up at you from between your thighs. 

“Go ahead baby. Cum for daddy”

You came undone at the end of his tongue, your walls fluttering around nothing, thick slick gushing out of you and covering Chris’ face. 

“God fuck.. don’t- s-stop” you begged, tensing up your legs and your orgasm ripped through you. Chris didn't stop there, instead he gradually slowed down to help you down your high at your own rhythm.

“Fuckkk... Please daddy I need you inside me” you said looking at him. And he got back on his feet again. With disconcerting ease he grabbed you at the hips and flipped you on your stomach and lifted you so you were on all fours. 

He reached for his night stand where he took out of one of the drawers a condom and tore the wrapper hastily. 

“Was hoping you’d say that babygirl”

As soon as the condom was on he brought his tip to your soaked and fluttering little hole. You were feeling desperately empty and you wanted nothing more than to be stuffed full of Chris’ big fat cock. You wiggled your hips to urge him to fill you up.

“Are you ready baby?” he asked, making sure one last time you were still on board. 

“Yess daddy.. Yes please. Don't make me beg” You said, despair dripping from your lips. And Christopher resisted the urge to do just that. Maybe another time.

He started to push his huge cock inside you and you braced yourself feeling your walls expand beyond belief to accommodate the thick and hard length. Very slowly Chris continued to progress inside you. You gritted your teeth, fisting the sheet even harder and exhaling a faint complaint.

“It’s okay baby. You can do it. Big breaths, ok?” Chris encouraged you before continuing.

Thanks to Chris’ prepping,  the pain was bearable. Now you didn't even have a single shadow of a doubt left. Chris was indeed bigger than Minho. 

Soon enough he managed to push the whole monstrous thing inside you.

“There you go baby” Chris said gently stroking your back. “That’s my good girl. Say when daddy can move okay, darling?” he laid a soft kiss to the crown of your back, his voice appeared to be somewhat strained. Your tightness was also hard to handle on his part.

“Ok” you huffed quietly.

You took a couple of seconds to get used to him but eventually the pain disappeared. 

“You… can move”

Slowly Chris started to pull out only to push right back in when his tip was just barely hinging in. 

“Oh- fuckfuckfuck” you panted. 

“You’re doing so good, baby. So good for daddy” Chris said, pulling out once again.

He repeated the process until he felt you relax around him and the sharp breaths and sighs turned into moans and whines. 

“Fuckk so… so fucking big” you said arching your back while Chirs’ big hands wrapped around your waist to pull you back on his cock everytime he was pushing in. 

“Fuck your little cunt is so wet and tight for me baby”

“Hmmm daddy” you whined. “Please faster”

“Fuck so fucking naughty” he said as started to fuck you faster, deeper, dragging your precious nectar on his cock and making you moan louder.

“Fuck I won’t last long baby”

“Pleasepleaseplease daddy I'm almost there” 

Chris circled your hip and brought two fingers to rub circles on your clit, you threw your head back, completely letting go of the last bit of sanity you had left. Chris felt you throbbing around his cock.

“Fuck daddy…I'm cumminggg” 

“That's it cum for daddy” Chris said, his voice was strained as he felt you flutter around him, urging him to let got. Spurts of hot cum rushed into the condom as he hips became erratic, as continuously fucked into you until you were both satifed and out of breath. 

You collapsed and he rolled next to you, taking the condom off and tying it before rushing to the bathroom and returning with a warm towel and handing it to you. 

“Fuck that was… amazing” he told you with a bright smile that you knew. 

“So you like being called daddy? Now I understand why you’re into kinky girls.” you said, raising an eyebrow, teasingly.

“Oh– Hm.. well. Yeah… sorry it was like in the heat of the moment” he scratched the side of his face before ruffling his brown curls.

“Oh don't worry about it. I liked it” 

“We should like.. do that again sometimes… I mean if you're down”

It’s funny how he started all cocky and confident and now he was the one stumbling on his words and being flustered. You found that cute.

“Yeah we should”

“CHRIS WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING???” You heard Jisung’s loud voice coming from the hall. “WE’RE GOING TO BE LATE FOR PRACTICE” He fumbled with the door handle. “WHY IS YOUR DOOR CLOSED?”

“Get the fuck out Jisung. I’m busy” Chris said and you giggled.

“Bro, I think he’s fucking someone in there” Jisung said, this time to someone else.

“OI, MATE WHO’S IN THERE WITH YOU?? IS IT Y/N??” Felix’ unmistakably low voice asked.

“I SAID GET THE FUCK OUT“ Chris shouted.

“Fuck… I think you made him mad.” Felix said.

“Bro how the fuck is it me? You the one who insisted” You heard the two voices getting further.

“Don’t pay attention to them” Chris said and you both laughed and went back to bed, to get a well deserved couple of hours of sleep before a day full of college classes.

3k celebration | skz masterlist | navigation

a/n: thanks for reading babe if you enjoyed reblig or leave a comment because delulu is the solulu <3

[bruisedboys]

jealous finnick?

jealous finnick will be the death of me!!!!!!

finnick odair x fem!reader

Breakfast in District 13 is an unusual affair. Nothing like you’re used to, being from District 4. It’s the same every morning — boring grey oatmeal with either honey or berries, depending on the day. It’s only as you take your seat next to Finnick that you realise you’ve forgotten the very crucial toppings.

“Oh no, I forgot to get berries,” you bemoan. They’re definitely all gone by now, seeing as they’re in popular demand — the oatmeal served in 13 tastes like cardboard without them.

“Here, have mine,” Gale says from across the table. You open your mouth to protest but he’s already spooning a big heap of berries into your bowl. They bleed red and purple into your otherwise plain oatmeal. “I don’t like ‘em, anyway. Too sour.”

“Oh.” You smile at him, flattered. Gale’s been nothing but kind to you since you arrived in District 13. You haven’t put it down to anything other than friendliness. Though it’s possible you’re too enamoured with the blonde next to you that you’re completely oblivious to other men’s advances. “Thanks, Gale.”

Gales smiles back and shrugs. “No problem, Y/N.”

Next to you and unbeknownst to you, Finnick scowls. He hates that Gale’s so nice to you. Loathes it. He knows it’s because you’re a ray of sunshine who draws even the coldest of people in (believe him, he’s experienced it), but the fact that Gale gave you his berries before Finnick could even offer his makes his blood boil. 

Who does he think he is? Everyone knows you’re Finnick’s girl, he’s made it very clear. It’s the whole reason you’re here, after all — Finnick specifically requested you be picked up from home before the Quarter Quell ended, to prevent anything from happening to you.

Breakfast passes without further incident. If you notice Finnick’s sour mood, you don’t mention it. You’re leaving the canteen with everyone else when Finnick grabs your waist and pulls you to the side, into an empty hallway. He peers over your shoulder to make sure Gale’s good and gone, watching the back of his head with a glare that could kill, before turning his attention to you.

“Finnick,” you say, clearly confused at his sudden manhandling. “What’s the matter with you? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Finnick says shortly.

“You look mad.”

“I’m not.”

You squint at him. “You’re definitely mad. Why are you—?”

Finnick forgoes restraint and yanks you forward, pressing his mouth to yours before you can say anything else. His chest burns with molten hot jealousy, it climbs up his throat and pours into the kiss, hot and sticky. The heat ebbs though, when you kiss him back just as fervently, replaced by a fuzzy warmth only you can make him feel. It buzzes in his chest and down his arms, flares out his palm as he takes your face into one hot hand.

He pulls back just as suddenly as he’d drawn in. “You know Gale’s flirting with you, right?” He says abruptly, thumb pressed to your cheekbone.

You blink up at him, still dazed from his kissing. “What?” You ask, half laughing. “No, he’s not.”

“He is. He gave you his berries. I was going to give you mine.”

You raise both eyebrows. “He was just being nice to me.”

“Yeah, well, that’s my job.”

Finnick supposes he sounds quite pathetic. He doesn’t really care, not when your eyes go all gooey and you reach up on your tiptoes to push a curl from his forehead.

“Are you jealous?” You ask him softly, tucking his hair behind his ear. Your breath fans over his mouth and your hand lingers at his throat. “You sound jealous.”

Finnick rolls his eyes. “So what if I am? Just— have mine next time, okay?”

You smile at him, pretty as starlight. “Okay. But you don’t have to be jealous, you know? I only want you.”

Woah, Finnick thinks. “I know,” he says, too quick, his voice a notch too high.

You raise your eyebrows at him. “Do you though?” You ask, definitely teasing now. He supposes he got off lucky, you could’ve done much worse finding out he’s so sickeningly jealous over Gale, of all people.

Still, Finnick narrows his eyes at you. “Alright, that’s enough.”

Your answering giggle is smothered as Finnick swoops in to kiss you again.

-

thank you for reading! please consider reblogging if u enjoyed 🤍

[figthoughts]

ok so first of all i just wanna say that i literally live for your fics/drabbles, they make my day and your writing is so so good!

my request is how do u think dean and/or ben would react to finding out their gf wears glasses? can be nsfw or not, wtv u want! (tho with ben it'll probably be nsfw lmao)

thank you sm! that’s v kind! and ooooh, i like this idea!!! i hope you enjoy, soldier boy’s part is a lil nsfw <3

— dean winchester ⋆˚⟡˖ ࣪

the first time dean saw you pull out your glasses, his jaw dropped and his brows knitted together in confusion, “you wear glasses?”

“yeah,” you responded, sliding them on as you looked at him, sharing the confusion.

“since when?”

“since always, dean. you know i wear glasses.”

“no, i don’t. i’ve never seen you wear them.”

“i’m sure you have… at some point. i mean, i wear contacts during hunts, so i don’t risk losing my glasses and therefore my vision, but surely you’ve seen them before…”

“huh…. no, never seen them,” he shrugs and tries to think back to a time when he’s seen you in your glasses. he takes a sip of his beer, studying you almost as you crack open your lore book to continue researching for the case.

after a few moments, he speaks up again, “they’re nice, you know…”

“what?” your eyes meet his as you raise your brows, waiting on an explanation.

“your glasses. they’re nice. you suit them,” he comments, the compliment rolling off his tongue effortlessly.

you smile at the warm feeling in your chest, “really? i feel kinda dorky having to wear them sometimes.”

“don’t. you look good, like a….” he pauses, trying to find the right words, “a sexy little nerd.”

you chuckle and shake your head, “i don’t know if sexy is the word i’d use, but thanks...”

“it’s what i’d use,” he nods as he speaks, “my sexy little nerd in her sexy little glasses.”

— soldier boy [ ben ] ⋆˚⟡˖ ࣪

ben’s head snaps towards the door as he hears you step inside, his eyes instantly falling on your glasses and the pout playing on your lips.

he can’t help but grin at your expression, “welcome home, darlin’. aren’t you a pretty picture in your glasses?”

you sigh at his teasing and take a seat next to him on the couch, slumping against him, “no,” you mutter flatly, “they look and feel weird. i can’t believe i have to wear them all the time.”

ben chuckles as you whine. he wraps his arm around you, “they don’t look weird. you look hot. they make you look all smart and distinguished.”

you let out a scoff as you rest your head on his shoulder. you fiddle with your new glasses as you speak, “you don’t have to lie, ben. i know i look funny.”

he grins at the frown on your face, clearly amused by your huffing and pouting. he cards his fingers through your hair, “sweetness, you could never look funny. trust me, you look as delicious as ever.”

you groan in protest, the pout growing on your lips, “no, i don’t.”

ben chuckles, his grin turning into a sinister little smirk, “yes, you do. you look just edible in them, baby.” you shake your head as he continues speaking, “fine… you know what else glasses are good for?”

you sigh, trying to fight off the small smile from spreading on your lips at his cheeky tone, “what?”

“protects your eyes, you know? from things…” he responds smoothly, the innuendo evident in his words.

the smile breaks it’s way onto your face, “like what?”

he runs his tongue along his lips as he continues to smirk, “why don’t i just show you, baby?”

within minutes, he has you on your knees in front of him, his grip in your hair slamming your face down into his lap over and over. he pulls you back and finishes, his seed shooting all over your face and onto your glasses as you look up at him.

“see, darlin’,” he huffs out, “they’re hot and they protect those pretty little eyes i love so very much.”

[pucksandpower]

Hydrate or Diedrate

Charles Leclerc x wife!Reader

Summary: after an issue with his car leaves Charles racing without water for the entire Miami Grand Prix, he wants to hydrate with something only you can give him

Warnings: 18+ content and lactation

The Miami sun beats down relentlessly as you make your way through the paddock after the race. Charles had an eventful day, managing to bring his Ferrari home in P3 despite having no water in his car for the entire Grand Prix.

You spot him being interviewed by the broadcast team, sweat still glistening on his face and his hair matted to his forehead. Though he seems coherent, you can tell he’s feeling the effects of the dehydration.

As soon as the interview wraps, you rush over and take his arm. “Come on, let’s get you out of this heat.”

Charles gives you a grateful smile. “I’m fine, I promise.”

You shake your head sternly. “Don’t give me that. You’re clearly dehydrated.” You glance around and wave over Charles’ best friend. “Can you take Jules for a bit?”

Joris nods and gladly takes your four-month-old son from your arms, expertly cradling the bundled infant. “Of course, go take care of him.”

You guide Charles into the air-conditioned Ferrari motorhome and down the hall to his driver’s room, closing and locking the door behind you. Charles immediately faceplants onto the couch with a groan.

“It was so hot out there. I could barely see straight those last few laps,” he mumbles into the cushion.

You settle onto the couch next to him, rubbing his back soothingly. “I know, I could see it on the screens. You did amazing to hang on for that P3.”

Charles rolls over onto his back, squinting up at you. “Do we have any water in here?”

“Of course.” You grab a bottle from the mini-fridge and hand it to him.

He wastes no time downing half of it in one long gulp. “Ahh, that’s better.” His eyes drift down to your chest, where your nursing bra peeks out from under your shirt. “Actually … I have an even more effective idea for rehydrating.”

You raise an eyebrow at him. “Oh? And what might that be?”

Charles sits up, a playful glint in his eyes as he sets the water bottle aside. He reaches for you, bunching the fabric of your shirt in his fists. “This.”

With one deft tug, he frees your breasts from the confines of your top. His tongue darts out to wet his lips as he takes in the sight.

“You know that’s not really what they’re for, right?” You tease, trying not to get too flustered.

Charles scoots closer until your bodies are flush together. His hands roam over your chest reverentially. “I think this is the perfect use for them.”

You shiver at his touch, arousal already beginning to pool in your core. “I don’t know, they’re usually just for feeding Jules ...”

“Well, think of this as multi-purpose.” Charles leans in to press kisses along the swell of your breasts.

Despite your banter, you’re already melting under his touch. “I … ah … I suppose you could use some rehydrating.”

With a low hum of approval, Charles takes one rigid peak into his mouth. He swirls his tongue around it firmly, coaxing out the first few drops of your milk.

A soft gasp escapes your lips at the wet heat of his mouth. You tangle your fingers in his sweat-damp curls to hold him close. “Charlie ...”

He only responds by increasing the suction, hungrily drawing more of your sweet essence. You bite your lip to stifle a moan as he switches to your other breast, lavishing it with the same rapt attention.

All too soon, Charles pulls back with a satisfied smack of his lips, chin and mouth glistening. “Delicious ...”

“You have no idea how hot that was,” you pant, completely transfixed by the erotic image he makes.

A cocky grin tugs at the corner of Charles’ mouth. “Oh, I think I do.” He presses his palm to the front of his race suit, making it obvious just how aroused he is. “Want to help me with this?”

“Absolutely,” you purr, pushing him back against the arm of the couch to straddle his lap.

Charles groans as you grind down against the hard bulge in his suit. “You’re a tease, you know that?”

“Takes one to know one.” You lean in to capture his lips in a heated kiss, all tongue and teeth.

One of Charles’ hands threads into your hair to angle your mouth more firmly against his. The other drifts down to grope your ass, pulling your hips flush with his.

You rock against him shamelessly, addicted to the delicious friction. He meets each grind with a roll of his own hips, quickly reducing you both to panting, needy messes.

“I want you,” Charles rasps against your lips. “Need to be inside you ...”

“Yes ...” You fumble for the zipper of his suit, desperate to free him. “God, yes, take me ...”

He surges up to kiss you again, all heat and urgency and unbridled want. You can taste the tang of your own milk on his tongue and it’s so dirty, so sinfully hot that it makes your head spin.

Finally, you manage to tug the fire-retardant fabric down far enough to free Charles’ straining erection. He hisses at the friction of your hand on his bare length.

“Hurry, mon amour,” he pleads, deft fingers already working to divest you of your underwear. “Need to be inside you ...”

No sooner is the scrap of lace pushed aside than Charles is guiding himself to your entrance. You sink down in one endless slide, stretching deliciously around his girth to take him to the hilt.

“Fuck ...” He bucks up into you with a choked groan.

You whimper at the exquisite fullness, rolling your hips to take him even deeper. Already you can feel the tight heat beginning to gather low in your belly.

Charles grips your hips hard enough to bruise, guiding your movements as you start to bounce on his length. His head falls back against the couch with a thump, mouth falling open in ecstasy.

“You feel so incredible,” he pants, meeting your thrusts with shallow rolls of his own hips. “So hot, so tight ...”

“Only for you,” you gasp out between moans, bracing your hands on his heaving chest.

He slides one calloused palm up to toy with your neglected breast, rolling the stiff peak between his fingertips. You cry out at the new stimulation, walls fluttering around him.

“Going to come just like this,” Charles grunts, increasing the pace. “Make such a mess of you.”

The thought of him painting you with his release has you clenching down hard. You ride him with wild abandon now, chase that electric high.

Charles leans up to suckle at your other breast, drinking you down greedily even as his hips snap up to meet yours. “Yes, just like that, fuck!”

With a broken shout, your orgasm slams into you like a freight train. Every muscle locked rigid, toes curled, as molten bliss washes over you in waves. Charles follows a beat later, still thrusting fitfully as he spills deep inside you with a guttural growl.

For a long moment, the only sounds in the room are your harsh pants mingling together as you float down from your highs. Charles peppers sloppy, open-mouthed kisses along your shoulder and neck, gradually gentling the movement of your joined bodies.

“Incredible,” he murmurs against your salty skin. “Absolutely incredible.”

You hum in satiated agreement, nosing at his hairline. Eventually you pull back far enough to take in his thoroughly debauched state — hair wild, cheeks flushed, lips swollen and red.

So beautifully wrecked because of you.

“Feeling rehydrated now?” You can’t resist teasing.

Charles lets out a breathless chuckle, warm palms sliding up and down your back. “More than I could have ever imagined.”

But the sound of the door opening makes you both freeze.

“Oh mon dieu!” Joris exclaims with a bark of laughter, looking thoroughly amused as he stands in the doorway cradling Jules. “I was just coming to return your son, but it looks like you two are already hard at work on the next one!”

You yelp and scramble to cover yourself as Charles groans in embarrassment, burying his rapidly reddening face against your chest.

Joris is already backing out of the room, Jules blissfully unaware as he continues chuckling to himself. “Never mind, never mind! I’ll just leave you lovebirds to it ...”

The door clicks shut and you can’t help but dissolve into nervous giggles against Charles’ shoulder. He joins in, the rumble of his laughter vibrating between your bodies.

“Well, that was mortifying,” he says once you’ve both calmed down some.

“At least Jules is too young to understand.” You press your smile to Charles’ hair. “Though Joris is never going to let us live that down.”

Charles groans again, but you can see the beginnings of a sheepish grin. “I don’t even care. That was more than worth the embarrassment.”

He tightens his embrace around you, settling in to simply enjoy the closeness for a while longer. You’re inclined to agree — a little teasing is a small price to pay for such blissful rehydration.

[solarmorrigan]

The Witch and The Carpenter

For the @steddie-spooktober day 23 prompt: Witch Rated: T | Words: 2862 | CW: None | Tags: fantasy AU, witch!Eddie Munson, carpenter!Steve Harrington, Steve Harrington gets migraines, Eddie Munson needs a hug, Steve Harrington needs a hug, they're perfect for each other hugs all around Divider credit: @saradika

Eddie hears about the new carpenter within hours of his rolling into town – of course he does; any witch worth their salt knows exactly what’s going on in their town at all times (it’s hard not to, when you’re the one providing the potions and charms that help everyone else keep their secrets).

His name is Steve, and he’s come with hopes of filling the hole left when Benny, the previous town carpenter, had died without an heir to his business. People say that he seems hardworking and capable, that he’s strong and handsome, that he’s friendly enough, but that there’s something a little distant about him – a little lonely (though the older ladies who give Eddie gossip do tend to romanticize at times).

Eddie doesn’t expect to meet him as soon as he does, but before even his first week in town is out, Steve turns up on Eddie’s doorstep, looking at once earnest and wary, and just as handsome as the gossip had said.

(Not that that last bit has any bearing on anything.)

“People in town say you’re the one to see for remedies,” Steve says when Eddie gets the door open.

“People in town say a lot of things,” Eddie replies. “But in this case, they’re right. Come on in.”

Inside, Eddie finds out that Steve is seeking a remedy for headaches. But not just any headaches; these seem to be full-body affairs that can keep Steve down for days at a time. He gets dizzy, nauseous, is bothered by any noise, and even candlelight can be too bright for his eyes.

Eddie mixes him up something strong, gives him strict instructions on how it’s to be taken, and then moves on to the matter of payment.

At that, Steve begins to look sheepish.

“I’ve only just set up my business. I… don’t have much money yet,” he admits. “I was hoping you might be willing to do a trade.”

Eddie cocks an eyebrow at him. “And what do you have to trade that you think might interest me?”

“Your door?” Steve offers.

“…what about my door?” Eddie asks after a long moment of confused silence.

“It sticks. You were having trouble getting it closed earlier. I could fix that,” Steve says.

And it’s true – Eddie’s front door does stick. So does the back door. The shutters often refuse to open or shut properly, and the porch sags a little, and there’s a leak in the roof when it rains hard enough. While Eddie is the best in the business when it comes to working magic, he’s not so handy with home repairs.

(It doesn’t particularly help that witches exist in an odd sort of social limbo. Every town needs one—this is generally acknowledged as truth—but no one particularly wants them around. Eddie lives a little ways away from town, up against the forest line, where it’s easy to ignore him and his shabby house unless someone needs something from him. No one has ever exactly been chomping at the bit to come help him fix the place up.)

Eddie shouldn’t say yes. He often trades goods and services, but he doesn’t know this man. He doesn’t know if he’s reliable, doesn’t even know if his work is any good – but something in him wants to agree, anyway.

Maybe it’s the earnestness of his offer, or the hope in his expression that he’s clearly trying to quash, or maybe Eddie’s just a sucker for a pretty face, but eventually he finds he can’t say anything but, “Okay, sure.”

“Thank you,” Steve sighs as he accepts the potion. “How would tomorrow work for you?”

Still not entirely sure he expects Steve to show up, Eddie says that tomorrow is fine. If he doesn’t show, if he thinks he can fleece a witch and continue living peacefully in town, he’ll quickly find out otherwise. And if he does come back – well, it would be nice to have a door that doesn’t stick anymore.

“What’s your favorite color?” Steve asks before he leaves.

“Red,” Eddie answers, one brow raised in a question that Steve doesn’t answer.

“Red.” Steve nods. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

The next day, Steve is back bright and early with a bag of tools and a pot of paint. He tells Eddie not to mind him, he’ll just get to work and try to stay out of Eddie’s way, but Eddie can’t help but watch as Steve inspects the door hinges, the frame, and then not only trims the door down, but sands and paints it, too.

Red: Eddie’s favorite color.

Anyway, it isn’t Eddie’s fault for getting distracted. There’s an unfairly attractive man doing manual labor in front of his house, what’s he supposed to do?

Eventually, though, Eddie does force himself to look away. He shouldn’t get attached to things he knows he can’t have. He’s the witch; he’s in the background of everyone else’s story, he doesn’t get to have one of his own – especially not with someone like Steve.

And that’s fine, Eddie had accepted that long ago. He likes being able to help people, and it’s sort of the only thing he’s any good at. He won’t deny that it stings sometimes, the way people talk about witches—about him—but what should he care about what other people think?

In any case, it doesn’t matter, because once Steve finishes with the door, it’s unlikely the two of them will cross paths again any time soon.

Steve finishes the door (it now opens and closes smooth as butter) and goes home.

And comes back the next week.

“Finished what I gave you already?” Eddie asks.

Steve shrugs. “Stress always makes the headaches worse, and with travelling and setting up shop…”

Eddie nods, pursing his lips in thought. “I could make you a bigger batch, but it would cost you more.”

“I can fix those shutters.” Steve nods towards the windows. “And you mentioned something about the back door?”

“You’re going to neglect your real customers, spending all your time fixing up my house,” Eddie teases.

“I can make the time,” Steve says, smiling at Eddie. “I think it’s worth it.”

Eddie has to turn away again, reminding himself that Steve is talking about the medicine, not him.

He fixes up a bigger batch of that same strong potion he’d made the previous week (“I’ve never had anything work so well,” Steve had practically gushed. “It was more than worth my work.”) and Steve comes back the next afternoon to start work on the back door.

They talk more this time, when Steve takes breaks, when Eddie is between tasks and brings him cool water to drink, and Eddie finds that Steve is funny and sweet, and catty and sharp, and a bigger gossip than even Eddie himself. And he reminds himself, again and again, that Steve is not for him. This isn’t how the story goes.

Witches don’t get nice things.

(And that’s fine. Eddie is fine with it. He’s fine.)

They do, however, get increasingly nice houses, apparently. Or at least Eddie does. Steve paints the back door red, too, and then gets to work fixing the shutters. Those, to Eddie’s bemusement, he paints a buttery, golden yellow.

“They don’t exactly scream ‘witch’s cottage’,” Eddie points out.

Steve only shrugs. “It’s my favorite color,” he says, flashing a grin at Eddie. “Besides, I think they go with the doors.”

Eddie doesn’t argue.

It goes on like this. Eddie brews medicine for Steve’s headaches, and Steve finds things around the house to work on. He fixes the leak in the roof, the creaky porch steps, the drawer in the kitchen that will never stay closed; his business picks up in town, but he always makes time for Eddie.

As much as he can, at least.

“I’ve got a few big orders built up,” he says apologetically one afternoon as he collects his medicine from Eddie. “I’m not sure when I’ll have time to get to the cabinets like I said I would, but I can pay you–”

“Nah.” Eddie waves Steve’s offer away before he can pull out any coins. “I’ll just put it on your tab.”

Eddie doesn’t do tabs.

Steve looks skeptical. “If you’re sure…”

“Of course I am. And if, for some reason, you welch on our deal,” Eddie gives Steve a sharp grin, “I do know where you live.”

“You should come visit, then,” Steve says.

Eddie falters. “What?”

“If you want to, I mean.” Steve shrugs, avoiding Eddie’s gaze. “Just– if I can’t make it out here, maybe you could come see me, instead.”

And again, he’s so earnest, trying so hard not to look too hopeful, that Eddie can’t say anything but, “Alright, I will.”

The way Steve lights up at that is worth just about anything he could have Eddie do.

Eddie tries to remind himself of this as he ventures into town the next week.

He doesn’t go into the town proper very often; he grows a lot of what he needs and trades for a lot of the rest of it with customers; he’s a rare enough sight that some people stare, and whisper, and Eddie does his best to hold his head up high and walk without a care.

And if he pulls faces at some of the more egregious offenders, causing them to gasp and scurry away, scandalized, well – Eddie is allowed his simple pleasures.

Anyway, Steve is all smiles when he finds Eddie at his door, and that’s the most important thing. He ushers him through the shop (a large, warm space that smells of wood shavings and sweet smoke, just as Eddie’s come to associate with Steve) and into the living space above. He serves Eddie tea and cake with a studied nonchalance that says he doesn’t want Eddie to realize how excited he is.

How excited he is to see Eddie.

Eddie searches for anything else to focus on before he does something ridiculous, like act on the rising warm feeling in his chest. He finds it, oddly, in Steve’s eyes.

“Have you been sleeping?” Eddie asks him; the shadows beneath his eyes look almost like bruises.

Steve shrugs. “I’ve been busy.”

His hands are shaking, Eddie realizes, as he pours the tea for the both of them. Steve must notice Eddie noticing, because he folds his hands back into his lap with a little huff.

“Happens sometimes,” he says brusquely. “More annoying than anything. Carpenters are supposed to have steady hands.”

(Eddie wonders sometimes what must have happened to Steve, but he’s seen some of the scars that adorn his body, has seen the faraway look that gets into his eyes from time to time, and he thinks he knows. Steve has the bearing of a soldier, and the eyes of a man too kind to have ever been made to fight for a king who doesn’t give a damn about him.)

Taking the hint, Eddie changes the subject, but the thought of Steve’s shaking hands follows him home. All those tools, all those sharp things he works with – maybe Steve isn’t his, not his to worry over or to care of, but Eddie decides he’s damn well going to do it anyway.

The next time Steve comes by, Eddie slips him an extra packet along with his usual potion.

“You brew it like tea,” Eddie says to Steve’s confused glance. “Should help steady your hands, when you need it.”

Steve stares down at the packet for several silent seconds. “You didn’t have to–”

“But I wanted to.”

Shaking his head, Steve looks back up at Eddie. “How can I–”

Eddie waves him off before the question is fully formed. “Let’s say it’s on the house, for my best customer.”

“I’m not sure that’s a compliment,” Steve says, not without amusement.

“Then how about my favorite customer?” Eddie offers.

Steve is smiling now. “Are you allowed to have favorites?”

“I’m the witch,” Eddie reminds him with a smirk. “I can do whatever I want.”

And so it goes.

And so it might have continued going, if it hadn’t been for the night Steve turns up at Eddie’s door well after dark, looking grey and haggard and haunted.

Eddie ushers him in, sits him down, makes him some tea, and tries to get some words out of him.

“Do you make anything to help people sleep?” is what Steve finally asks.

“I can,” Eddie says slowly, watching Steve carefully.

Steve drops his face into his hands, rubbing harshly at his eyes. “I just– I just want to sleep. I don’t want to dream, just for one night,” he says, so low that Eddie has to strain to catch all the words. “Just once.”

Eddie weighs his options. He knows how to make an elixir for a deep, dreamless sleep; he won’t deny that he’s used it himself, when certain memories had become too much, but that’s exactly how he knows that it hits hard and fast. It can be disorienting – maybe even a little dangerous, if you don’t know what you’re doing.

“I can make something for you,” Eddie says, “but only if you stay here tonight. I don’t want you walking back home in the dark, it isn’t safe.”

“I don’t… I don’t want to impose,” Steve says, as if he could ever be an imposition to Eddie.

“I’d feel better knowing you’re here,” Eddie says, and that seems to break Steve’s resolve.

By the time Eddie finishes the elixir, Steve is barely awake in his seat. He doesn’t even argue when Eddie leads him to his own bed, lays him down, and tells him to drink.

He’s out like a light in minutes.

Eddie closes the bedroom door and sets himself up in a chair by the fire, but he doesn’t sleep for a long time.

He wakes in the morning to the sound of someone moving around in the kitchen. He follows the smell and coffee and sizzling bacon to find Steve there, flitting around the room, cooking.

“Hey.” Steve smiles, broad and true, when he sees Eddie in the doorway. “I was going to come wake you soon, breakfast is almost ready.”

Eddie blinks at him, wondering if maybe he’s the one who took the sleeping elixir, because he can’t quite fathom what he’s seeing: Steve, happy and sleep-rumpled, using his kitchen to cook breakfast like it’s familiar to him, like it’s something he does every day, smiling at Eddie like he’s the final piece missing from the morning.

“I don’t know how I’m going to repay you for what you did last night,” Steve says, determinedly poking at the bacon in the pan. “I can’t– I can’t tell you how much I needed that. How much it helped. But I figured I could at least start by making you breakfast.”

Eddie watches him cook, and feels like his heart is about to crack, because for some reason he’s getting this taste of what life could be like, but he doesn’t get to keep it.

This isn’t for him.

(And Eddie wants to be fine, but he isn’t. He isn’t.)

Something must show on his face, because when Steve looks up at him, his own expression falls into a concerned frown. He forgets all about the bacon and moves over to Eddie, arms outstretched to place his hands on Eddie’s shoulders.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, so invested, so concerned, that Eddie feels like he might lose his mind.

“This isn’t right,” Eddie manages, and Steve only looks more upset.

“Should I– should I not have done this? Did you want me to go, or–”

“I never want you to go!” Eddie blurts. “I always want you here, but this—this morning, breakfast, you—I don’t get to have this. It’s – it’s not right.”

Steve’s expression softens, eyes warming with understanding. “You can have it, if you want,” he says softly. “You can have me. You always could have. Since the beginning.”

Eddie shakes his head. “This isn’t… this isn’t how the story goes.”

“Then let’s write a new one,” Steve says.

There isn’t anything Eddie can think to say to that, but that’s alright, because that means his mouth is unoccupied when Steve leans in to kiss him.

Steve never has to trade anything for his medicine ever again, after that, nor does he have to come over to fetch it – he’s already there. Eddie’s house becomes the nicest in town, what with his live-in carpenter, and all. It’s painted in bright colors, and it draws people in, and makes them want to stay just a little longer, exchange pleasantries just a little more, and get to know Eddie just a little bit better.

Steve keeps his workshop in town, goes there every morning, and returns to Eddie at night. They start their days with breakfast together, and they end them in bed, pressed together like spoons in a drawer, and with every day that passes by, Eddie believes, more and more, that maybe this is something he gets to have.

Maybe this is something he gets to keep.

[irndad]

kiss me (under the milky twilight)- s.r.

a/n: this took so long and i'm so sorry! based on this post- reader has an ex that she keeps running back to, and spencer just wants her to see him. fake dating and hijinks ensue. VERY long. 4.6k words!! thanks to @fadingplaidtrashpatrol for ur thoughts and ideas!! masterlist // ask

The unraveling begins on a Friday. 

This is one of the rare Fridays where a full weekend is staring back at them, and Spencer is immeasurably pleased at his plans. He’s rented a Russian old movie, and his best friend had agreed to sit next to him on his shitty old couch while he whispers translations in real-time.

He loves spending time with her, a little hedonistically. She’s so kind, warm in both spirit and disposition, and Spencer treasures the time he gets to spend with her. Her desk adjoins his, and so one might assume that he could tire of her presence, but there’s something a little addicting about her, something he tries to have as often as he can. 

On this fine evening, she’s wearing an oversized sweater tucked into jeans- her position is mainly out of the field, and so she takes full advantage of the dress-code flexibility. Lovely earrings hang around her face, adorning her lovely features like a frame. 

Spencer’s more than a little in love with her. 

This has never really been a convenient fact, but Spencer’s used to wanting things he can’t have. And it was never really feasible not to want her- anyone who’s ever been in her presence would know this. It’s a foreign feeling, looking over at someone he’s lucky enough to know, and wanting them enough for that desire to turn into fantasy. 

“Spencer!” She greets him warmly, standing up to do so- if this wasn’t a workplace, if she was meeting him at the cafe like they do on Wednesdays, or his home, like she often finds herself in whenever he invites her, Spencer is certain she would wrap her arms around him in an incredibly warm hug. 

Because they are in the BAU, she believes it is inappropriate to embrace this way (which Spencer would argue isn’t true, given the way Morgan and Penelope are with each other, but if he told her that, it might be a little too obvious how desperate he is for her to touch him.)

The way she beams at him almost makes up for the fact that he doesn’t get to hug her. 

“I got you something,” he says in lieu of a response, clutching the bag of muffins in one hand. He’d woken up early to get her to stop by her favorite bakery, and it was worth it to see that look on her face. No one’s in the office now, the day long finished, and they’re getting ready to walk to his place. He lives so close by, and he’s grateful for this fact when they walk together back to his place. 

She grabs the bag, and he’s just so endeared by her, the giddy expression written over her lovely face.

“Have I mentioned that I love you? Because I do. You need to marry me, immediately.” She says to him, eyes closed in bliss, and even though she’s clearly joking, Spencer finds himself preening at her praise- wouldn’t it be incredible if she meant that? It sounds so pretty in her voice. I love you. 

He beams back at her, in a way he hopes doesn’t betray how much he wants. 

“I’m glad you like them,” he says back, his heart in his throat. 

“I have some news that you are going to be incredibly mad at me about.” She says, and a crumb is on her painted lip, and fantasy of kisses that he cannot have enters Spencer’s mind before he can shake it away.

“I could never be mad at you.”

“I think I have to raincheck tonight,” she says almost sadly, her voice apologetic, as though she has no choice in the matter.

“Is everything okay?”

He had picked up her favorite snacks yesterday night, tidied up his apartment top to bottom. 

“Josh texted me- he’s going through something and he needs me to come over-“

“He doesn’t need you to come over.” 

He rarely interrupts her, and he usually isn’t capable of being upset with her. He’s not really even upset with her now, but this is so exhausting, watching her deal with this asshole. 

It is a continuous surprise to Spencer that someone like her can be in a position like this.

Through Spencer’s eyes, the idea that anyone can not be in love with her is almost an impossibility. It’s not even his bias alone that makes him think this- it’s the truth of her. 

Josh is an asshole finance bro who works in the city center, and Spencer hates him more than most serial killers. 

He’s fucking careless with the thing Spencer wants the most in the world. Josh knows what it’s like to be with her, to be the person to falls asleep with her in his arms.  

Sometimes when Spencer can’t sleep, which is quite often, he pictures her soft cheek on her chest, pictures what she would feel like entwined with his own body, legs tangled with his and her fingers in his hair. It’s a sacred thing, this image- even though it isn’t real, Spencer knows he values the imagination of her presence more than Josh gives his attention to the real thing. 

They’ve “gotten together” and “broken up” and “started talking again” about 12 times respectively.

Spencer could kill him.

“Spence,” she sighs, shaking him out of his angry stupor, “please don’t be mad at me. He’s really going through something right now- he needs someone to be around. Besides,” she breathes out, “I can’t dump him. 

“Why is that?” He tries to temper his tone, but the memory of her mascara running down her cheeks as she sobs in his arms shoots through his mind, and manifests as a physical sharp pain in his chest. 

“That wedding is coming up,” she murmurs, looking down at her shoes. They’re scuffed, and Spencer thinks she might be embarrassed. Why should she be? He’s the asshole. “I told people I was going to have a date. Do you know how many people are going to be there, Spence? How many people are expecting me to bring my boyfriend?”

Her best friend is getting married. Spencer knows this because she’s told him, and told him gleefully when Josh had agreed to go with her. Spencer remembers thinking that he’d like to punch a wall.

Anyway. 

She’s the last of her friend group that’s not in a long term relationship, and in some twisted way, he kind of gets how Josh would be better than nothing, if you didn’t want to be seen as alone. 

“You don’t want to go alone.”

“Yeah, Spence.”

“I could go with you.”

It escapes his mouth without his permission, and he regrets it almost instantly. Because there’s no fucking way she’d go with him. He’s lanky and awkward and his blazers never fit and his ties are always tied wrong, and she’s beautiful and wonderful in ways he finds new ways to see everyday. He’s not a solution to her being worried about how she’s seen, he’d only make it worse-

“You would do that for me?” Her voice is small as she asks, and it shakes him out of his thoughts. He looks down at her, eyes softening at her lovely face. She looks touched, and he has to wonder, doesn’t she know?

He’d do anything for her. 

“Of course,” he breathes out, a nervous hand playing with the strap of his bag, “If it gets you to stop giving that asshole the time of day, I’d do it a million times.”

Her face shifts in a way he can’t read, and she swallows. 

“I can’t let you do that.”

“I want to,” he says, “Please. It would be fun, C’mon. You’re always saying I need to get out there and do things.”

“Being my fake boyfriend at my friend’s wedding is not getting out there and doing things,” she pouts, and his heart nearly jumps. It’s pathetic, but hearing her refer to him as her any kind of boyfriend is intoxicating. He wants to hear it, over and over. 

“It’ll be fun,” he says, touching her hand as it rests on the table, making intentional eye contact. She has been prettiest eyes. “C’mon, let me do this for you. I’m sick of this guy.”

She gulps again, an endearingly confusing gesture, and he finds the feeling a little desperate. Pick me, choose to be with me, even if it’s just pretend. 

“He’s going to be there anyway,” she breathes out biting her lip in a nervous gesture, “I- I’d owe you so much, Spence. It would make him jealous, I think.”

It’s a little hedonistic, how much he would enjoy that, he thinks. Someone would see her as his girl. He knows she might be doing this to get Josh’s attention, but still- the evening together seems like too lovely of a thing to turn down- too wonderful of a chance to not offer. He’d take a night of pretend over never getting to be with her at all. 

It’s enough to make him ignore that making Josh jealous is probably the reason she’s saying yes. 

“Okay, okay! Spencer, will you do me the honor of taking me to Julie’s wedding?”

“I would be honored. 

The weeks approaching the wedding are a bit of sweet torture. She’d had the idea that they could practice, whatever that meant, and the memory of it lives in his mind rent free. They’d been watching the movie, already touchier than most would allow of best friends. (She’s his best, Spencer’s just the tiniest bit resentful of Julie). 

She’d been sitting next to him on his worn out couch, her legs thrown across his, and true to his word, he was whispering the translation along to the movie. She smiled at him, watching his mouth move instead of the movie, and he felt tingly under her stare. How wonderful and bright it is, to be under her gaze. He kept speaking even though she wasn’t watching, because he imagines that if he stops, she might look away. 

Then, she had held his hand. 

Grabbed it really, fingers lacing with his own, and Spencer’s brain had short circuited. She has soft hands, he had thought to himself, and it was about the only thing he could manage to think. 

“We should practice,” she had whispered, even though it was just the two of them in the lowlight of his home, “Y’know, so people believe us.”

He didn’t say that he’s pretty sure no one needed to be convinced he’s in love with her. 

“Sure,” he had nodded, and squeezed her hand, “I think that’s a great idea.”

So they’ve been practicing. 

This has been in equal measures wonderful and torturous. She walks with him to work on half the days, with her fingers twined with his own, and Spencer finds it intoxicating that any passerby would assume he belongs to her. 

More than he already does, anyway. 

Her affection is her own, just turned up to 11. She’s gorgeous- this is a fact that was not instrumental in his love of her, but ornamental- still, this is hard to ignore when she touches him as much as she does now. When she’s out with the team at the bar, she rests her hand on the small of his back- he preens every time at this. This is simple, her domesticity, her claiming his presence as her own- it’s more than nice, Spencer realizes. It’s wonderful, to be wanted by her. Even if it’s not real.

On this night, they’re celebrating. They caught the unsub before he’d been able to kill his first victim. This is a rarity in their field, and she’d given the interview that had gotten the confession. It’s the closest to field work she’d gotten, and they’re all celebrating their win. Her win. 

She looks like a figment of imagination, lovely in a way he literally cannot believe he didn’t conjure up in fantasy. Her favorite song is playing out of pure serendipity, and Spencer likes that word for her. She is serendipitous as a whole. 

“Do you want something to drink, honey?” The endearment feels warm and natural as it comes out of his mouth. His hand is resting on the small of her waist, and he knows he’s being egregious with the practice thing. But this is so nice, her leaning into him, one drink deep and touchier than she is tipsy, and he loves this. He loves that under this pretense, he gets to know what she feels like in his arms. 

He hands her the water before she gets to answer, and she happily sips it. 

“Are you proud of me, Spence?” Her voice is immeasurably fond and he drinks it in like a man starved. 

“Of course,” he smiles at her. I’m always proud of you, he thinks. “You did so well, love.”

He’s not used to endearments, but she showers him in them. Before their little pretending, too. Called him dove, honey, darling. Packed an emergency lunch in his go bag in case he forgot his. She’s such a good friend, and he wants to be her lover more with each breath. 

He tries to return them, now. 

“Good,” she says serenely, looking at him in a way that kills him, because he will never, ever kiss her. She can hold him, and look at him like that, and he will never get to be with her, “I think my cider is too sour,” she scrunches her nose, and his heart swoops. 

“I’ll get you something sweeter, baby.”

“Yeah you will!” He hears Morgan laugh, and he flushes bright red. No one seems surprised, by how touchy they’d been. Even Hotch- he’d expected a talk, but then got a stern nod of understanding in its stead. 

She sips the sweet drink he got her, a little cherry on the step, and he thinks he’d do anything to keep looking at her. 

Five weeks to the wedding. 

He can do this. 

“Could you do me a favor, Garcia? I come bearing gifts.” 

Spencer’s snuck into her office- there’s not much to do today, but she hadn’t wanted to take PTO for no reason, so here she is, in her feathered and pink glory. 

“Is that a hot chocolate? From Dominicks? Ooh, you play dirty, Dr. Reid.” Penelope almost squeals, and despite his nefarious purposes, he finds himself joyful- it’s alwaysgood to talk to her. 

After a joyful, eyes closed and serene sip, she asks, “Alright, my sweet furry friend, what can I do for you?”

“Could you check on a Josh Collins for me?”

“Isn’t that your girl’s ex?”

“No,” Heat rises to his cheeks, before he can help it. “She’s not my girlfriend.”

“Oh, and my favorite color is black.” Penelope scoffs back, but begins typing furiously anyway. 

He needs to know what is so fascinating about this guy. Because lately he can’t figure it out. He’s always fucking hated the guy, even though he’s never met him. He never had to- she’d shown up enough times at Spencer’s door crying, been broken up with and brought back enough to know that this guy is awful. Doesn’t even come close to deserving the woman that she is. 

“He’s a financial analyst at a Marketing firm, went to state school for his Bachelor’s, says here that he played football in college, but I don’t think they met until after,” she says, “Oh, he has a scuba license. And skydiving! Looks like he’s a bit of an adrenaline junkie.”

It’s an evil thought. Is that what she likes? He finds it hard to imagine, picturing the moments where she’s wrapped up in his arms on a movie night- that always seemed to be her preference. In, not out. 

“Is that him?”

There’s a picture of him on Penelope’s screen. Josh is chiseled and strong, smiling brightly in a polo on a jet ski- this is a photo posted on his social media, and Spencer has met a million of this guy. They bullied him in school. Spencer as genius and he’s a lot of things, but that will never be one of them. It’ll never, ever be him. 

Good to know, anyway. Better not to fantasize about what he knows he can’t have. 

On the day of the wedding, it’s actually a 6 hour drive. She’d offered to get them plane tickets, but he enjoyed his time with her. He was also desperate to extend the time until the wedding was over, and she’s probably the only person he wants to be trapped in a car with. 

They’re sharing a hotel room. She’s booked two beds, which he’s honestly grateful for- if they’d shared a bed, he might’ve combusted. 

Still, there is so much intimacy. She sings in the shower. He imagines a world where he’d know that in domesticity, where after a night spent in laughter and something like love, she showered in his home. But that’s not how he knows it. He knows it because he’s at her best friend’s wedding, pretending to be her boyfriend. 

When she comes out of her bedroom, she’s gorgeous. 

She’s got a green and purple dress on, a cinched waist and a sweetheart neck, a dash of plum lipstick on her lovely pout, and he’d like to kiss that smile very, very much. She’s a delicate kind of lovely, saturated in sweetness, and it’s sweet torture to have her this close.

“You look...” He struggles to find words, an uncommon occurrence in his life, “Like a vision.”

It’s sentimental and warmer than he wished he sounded, but god- she’s stunning. She looks like she’s made of old film, beautiful in that way that’s just a bit too good to be true. He adores her more with each breath.

“You think it’s okay?” She speaks to him with her doe eyes adorned with a concerned expression. He wants to kiss it away.

“You look lovely,” he says, a vast underselling.

The ceremony is a lovely affair, and Spencer learns that she cries at weddings. The bride and groom have lovely, saccharine vows, and Spencer tries not to picture a wedding that he will never get to have. 

It’s a little bit impossible with her at his side. 

She’s touchier now, even mores then when they were ‘practicing’. Her hands are warm laced with his own, her head leaning on his shoulder, and he feels lucky to have even a piece of getting to be with her. 

At the reception, she is tackled by her friends, and he performs dutifully as the caring boyfriend. It’s not hard.

It’s a lovely night. His arms glued to the small of her waist, and he’s been introduced as her “genius FBI agent boyfriend” many times tonight. He turns bright red every time. 

“This is my boyfriend, he’s the smartest ever,” she brags when she’s half a drink deep, and he cherishes the ability to draw circles on the small of her back in this moment- his words fail him in moments of praise, and touch is an avenue that he is rarely allowed to use.

“I don’t believe that intelligence can be accurately quantified-“

“Which is a thing that humble geniuses say.” 

So he’s having a great tine. 

Her lipstick is transfer-free, and his cheek is proof. She’s so affectionate his heart keeps doing somersaults. There’s a signature cocktail with some pun in the couples name.

“I’m fucking obsessed with these, Spence,” she says, a light airiness to her voice that he recognizes as her tipsy voice, “Can you get me another, my love?”

“Yes, honey.” He smiles at her, and kisses the crown of her hair before leaving her in the company of her friends. He’s indulging a bit too much, he’s aware. He’s going to have to give up this up when the sun rises, like some fucked up fairytale where Cinderella never gets the guy because she’s not worthy of it without the pretense.

“Could I get the house cocktail?” Spencer asks the bartender, flashing a smile at her with the giddiness of knowing he will return to her.

Spencer had nearly forgotten that part of the reason he was here was because of Josh. 

Who is at the bar.

“Hey man- you’re the dude she brought, right?” 

Josh is actually about 2 inches shorter than Spencer, and Spencer makes the most of this difference. He’s a broad chested muscle man, but he looks woefully underwhelming. 

“Yeah, I’m the lucky guy.” Spencer replies in a deadpan tone, turning to face him with a stony expression. 

“Careful, man,” Josh says, and it’s a little pathetic how he’s trying to pretend he doesn’t care, “She’ll chew you up and spit you out.”

“Really? Because it seems like you’d leave a bad taste in anyone’s mouth.”

“Whatever, dude. It’s clear that she just brought someone to make me jealous.”

“Actually, while I can’t read her mind, I imagine you’ve slipped hers entirely. Clearly your entire energy is based in whatever ego-driven shell your youth has shaped you into- and maybe one day someone will care enough about whatever tragedy made you the way you are, but I am deeply uninterested, and I’d wager she is too.”

He’s not sure if this is true, but Spencer’s noticed that in the time since their ruse has begun she hasn’t mentioned Josh. Not once. She might not love Spencer,  but she might not see Josh anymore. 

“Also, if you ever speak disrespectfully of my girlfriend again I promise you it will not end well for you.”

His voice is even and has an underlaying of quiet rage. It’s wonderful to call her that, even more so as she enters into his eye line.

“You looked mad,” she says in lieu of a greeting, her nimble arms wrapping around his waist with fluid ease, “Is everything okay?” 

It’s only then she sees Josh, and there’s something wonderful about knowing that she came here to check on him. Josh is about to say something, he can tell even though he’s only visible in the corner of his vision. 

It’s a calculated risk but he chooses to do it anyway. 

When he kisses her, he doesn’t know what to expect. It falls into line like puzzles into place, one of her hands falling to his waist and the other cradling his jaw with a delicate softness. She leans into him totally and this is an intoxicating feeling- her lips are so, so soft and it’s what he’s been fantasizing about since she first smiled at him and asked him to keep going when he was rambling about Russian literature. 

It’s actually better. 

When she pulls back, she scans the space. Josh is gone.

“Well that had the intended effect,” he says- it seems better than anything else, like confessing that the only reason he did it was that he could. He kissed her. 

She nods, clearly a bit frazzled, and fuck-

“I should have asked, fuck, I’m sorry-“

“No, no, you’re okay, um-thanks for getting rid of him.”

Her voice is hollow. 

Despite the awkwardness of the kiss, which Spencer cannot stop thinking about.

Did he imagine it, or did she lean in? Did she sigh into it? How is he going to ever get over the fact that he’s never going to do that again?

Her lipstick is grape flavored. Now they both know that. 

They get back to the hotel at half past midnight, and she’d been a little distanced- not so much they still didn’t look like a couple, but enough that Spencer knows. They’re winding down the artificial love affair, and all of the things he’s become kind of addicted to are going to go away. Her fingers running through the tendrils of his hair, her delicate fingers rubbing tiger balm on his temples when he’s got his migraines. Her cheek kisses, the honeys, my loves, sweethearts. 

Kissing her. 

When she drops her bag on the hotel bed and sits on the edge of it, he sits next to her. She’s been quieter, since the kiss. 

“Hey.”

“Hey back,” she replies, bumping her knee with his in fondness. 

“I’m sorry I surprised you with, you know.”

“Kissing me?”

“I should have asked- I’m sorry.”

“I’m not upset that you kissed me,” she says, looking down at her shoes, “I’m upset that you only did it because you wanted to spite Josh.”

“What?”

“I know that this is my problem, Spence,” she says, “You never… led me on, you know? I know that this was always my thing to deal with. Being in love with you was never something that I thought would be a problem. But when you offered to go with me- to pretend to be my boyfriend, how could I pass that up?”

This makes no sense.

“I know,” she runs her fingers through her hair in a frustrated motion, “I know that it was never a good idea. But the idea of getting to be with you was just too much to turn down, even it it wasn’t the real thing. And now we’re going back to normal and I promise that I will go back to being your friend. It might take me a second, though-I might need some space.”

She needs space from him? Because she can’t transition away from being his fake girlfriend?

“You don’t need space from me.”

He’s so fucking bad at talking. 

“Spencer-“

“No, no,” because now he has a shot- now  there’s a reality where the pit in his chest doesn’t have to live there forever. He can be with her. Because for some crazy, insane reason, she wants him. “You don’t need space from because I don’t want space from you, okay?”

He sits next to her on the bed, eyes a little crazed with want with nowhere to go. 

“I’m not sure what you mean.” Her voice is tempered, and he thinks he hears hope. 

“I love you. I am in love with you. I’ve been in love with you as long as I’ve known you,” he grabs her hand-it feels desperate to say and he sure he sounds it, “I didn’t kiss you because I wanted to spite him. I did it because I couldn’t live with the idea that I would spend the rest of my life never have kissed you.”

He probably would say more- so many things are coming to mind, most of which are pleading. She’s the only thing he’s ever wanted this much. Before he gets to, though, she kisses him. 

It’s sudden, as all things of this nature are, but he pulls her close on instinct. She ends up on his lap, her hands around his neck, and it is so rare that fantasy lives up to reality. But this is better, the feeling of the weight of her pressed against him and the taste of her grape lipstick. 

It’s a minute when she pulls back, and it takes everything to not chase the contact.

“I love you too,” she says, the sweetness of it dripping from the sound of it. He wants to hear it again, and again, and again.

“For real?”

“For real.” 

When the run rises in the morning that follows, he’s wrapped around the length of her like a vice, right and close to him, Her head rests on his chest, and while there is another bed there, it’s clearly not seeing any use.

He’s never slept better in his life. 

[asharasasylum]

But I'm a Creep

♡  Kidnapper! Choso x reader

author's note: I'm an idiot and accidentally deleted this so now I'm having to repost it. warnings: non con. dub con. kidnapping. tied up reader. sub choso. smut. gagged reader. 18+ MDNI

You whined as he wrapped his mouth around your abused nipple, tears spilling from your eyes at the painful sensation. It had been pleasurable at first, about an hour ago when you awoke to him fondling you but now your nipples were sore and tired from the constant sucking and licking being inflicted on you from your kidnapper. 

Kidnapper. The man that had abducted you. Someone that you barely really knew except from passing encounters at work. 

Choso Kamo was the last person you had expected this from. 

So he was a bit strange according to your co-workers. And there were a few rumours that you had heard about him through mutual friends. But you chalked it all up to him just being a little different, a bit of an introvert compared to yourself. 

From the moment he was hired five months ago, Choso had been a hard nut to crack. He barely talked, only offering you a small head nod as he strolled into the store. He preferred to keep himself to the stock room rather than help out front. It wasn’t till you had seen some girls from campus clearly staring and giggling at him a few weeks into the job, that you actually had your first proper interaction with him. 

The girls were being cruel, you could see in the way they stuck up their noses and eyed him out of the corner of their eyes. All while Choso was simply trying to fix one of the display stands. 

He clearly noticed them, fingers trembling as he fiddled with the stack of DVDs in his hand. But you could tell he was just trying to ignore them, hoping they’d possibly get bored and walk away. 

You couldn’t just ignore them, not when your blood boiled at the mere sight of what they were doing. Before you even realised it, you were standing in front of them, blocking their vision of Choso with a tight smile spread across your face. 

“Can I help you?” You asked, eyes flickering between each of the girls. 

They grew quiet, amusement dropping from their faces as they looked between each other. 

“Well if you couldn’t find everything today, I do apologise. But we are closing for the day.” You motioned to the door with a pointed glare. 

They all scrambled out of the store, muttering things under their breath that you didn’t care to hear before you turned to Choso. 

You crouched down to where he was still fumbling with the DVDs, noticing the tinge of pink that covered the tops of his ears. 

“You okay?” You asked, reaching out to place your hand on top of his. 

He snatched his hand away, finally turning to you with a flushed face. 

“Sorry.” You smiled at him, taking your hand back. 

“I-I’m fine,” he nervously laughed, nodding his head. 

“Did you know them?” 

“Uh-them?” He pointed to where the girls had been standing and you nodded. “Um-no. I-I guess maybe in passing.” He swallowed, eyes meeting yours for a second before flickering away.

“They’re dicks,” you told him, hoping to lighten the mood. “Best to just ignore them.” 

“Y-yeah,” he agreed, before returning to what he had previously been doing. 

You hadn’t really expected a change in your relationship after that but Choso seemed to warm to you. But the next day, he actually spoke your name, greeting you with a small smile before he went into the back. 

You and Choso had small interactions after that, but nothing that would make you think he would do this. 

The guy could barely speak two words to you last week. His eyes barely ever directly looked into yours and he nervously stuttered every time you thanked him over a simple task. The only conversations you had consisted of two words from him so to think he could do this? That he had harboured some sort of crush on you. 

The possibility had never crossed your mind. It only seemed reality as he nuzzled his face into the crook of your neck, licking at the subtle skin he had spent time marking up. 

It was only hours ago he had offered you a lift home from work and now you had found yourself with your wrists tied to his bed, completely naked underneath him. 

“Please,” he whimpered, sucking at the skin of your neck. “I need you so bad.” 

You barely registered what he was saying, too focused on the way his fingers were sliding over your soaked folds. He clearly knew what he was doing, making you a wet fucked out mess before you’d even been able to cum. It had you wondering if he had been with a girl before, if the way he acted in the store with you had all just been some sort of act. 

The thought was pushed away as soon as he whimpered again, pressing his wet cheeks into your neck. “I need you to need me,” he said, almost on the verge of sobbing. “Y/N.” 

The mere mention of your name had you peeling your eyes open, only to find yourself fighting off shutting them again when his fingers pressed into your clit. You hissed at the sensation, trying to bite down the noises that were stirring in the back of your throat. But it was near impossible when his fingers prodded at your entrance, threatening to force them into your walls. 

You tried to protest against him but your screams were muffled through the cloth placed between your lips and with your hands tied there was nothing you could do. 

Your toes curled when he forced two fingers into his entrance and even though you cried against the cloth, you knew he could feel your walls sucking him in. Especially when you felt him smile against your skin, lifting his head so he could look at you. 

“You like this,” he questioned, curling his fingers inside of you, eager for a reaction. “Got to tell me, baby.” 

The moan was lost in your throat and even though your pussy was leaking all over him, the confirmation clearly wasn’t enough. 

It was only when another noise of you was strangled between the cloth did he poke at it, knitting his brows together as he asked, “Need me to take this out for you?” 

You nodded frantically, practically begging him. 

“You can’t scream.” He narrowed his eyes at you, clearly questioning whether it was a good idea or not. “Sukuna said I shouldn’t.” 

You knew that name, his older brother, you remembered. He was the one that had got Choso a job in the first place. You hadn’t met him, he had left the store long before you started but to think he knew you were in here and he didn’t care. It was sickening. 

“It’ll be better for you if you don’t try and scream. I don’t know what he’ll make me do to you if you do.” There was an uneasiness to his tone as if he was scared at the possibility and you hated the idea that Choso could do something worse to you. “Do you understand?” 

You gave him a small nod, hoping that would be enough for him. 

Thankfully it was, feeling his fingers pull at the cloth he had jammed in your mouth until it was all the way out. 

He watched you cautiously as he did so, waiting with his hand against your cheek in case you did try to scream. You didn’t though and you weren’t sure who it took more by surprise, you or the man hovering above you. 

“You okay?” 

It felt genuine the way he asked you, wide wet eyes looking down at you with some sort of concern. You couldn’t understand it and you weren’t sure if you really wanted to.

You gave him the faintest of nods, too fearful not to answer him with the way he stared at you, like he was desperate for an answer. 

It was only when his fingers delved deeper into you, did you realise what you unknowingly agreed to. You couldn’t help but moan as he slipped a third finger in, clawing at the restraints that bound your hands together. With each drag of his fingers against your spongy walls you felt the lines of consent begin to blur. 

He had brought you here against your own will, you reminded yourself. But had there been something that you did that eluded him to the idea that you wanted to be here? That this was right?

Choso wasn’t like the other guys at work, the horn dogs that drooled over anything with two legs and a hole they could slip it into. You could see it in the way he watched you now, his gaze darkening, the brown iris barely visible with how badly his eyes dilated. His lips parted and all that seemed to escape him were shallow breaths, as if he was enjoying this more than you. Like he was simply getting off on seeing you overcome with pleasure. 

Your body trembled at the idea of it, terrified and almost… excited? You couldn’t deny how close you were teetering towards your oncoming orgasm. Yet you were still fearful of the man on top of you, not entirely sure what he could be gaining out of this. 

“You want this,” he hummed, bringing his lips to rest against yours. “Don’t you?” 

You couldn’t deny him, not with how his eyes brimmed with tears that threatened to spill against your skin. So you agreed once more, lips moving against his as you squeaked out a small, “Yes.” 

He grinned at that, nudging his nose against yours as he connected your lips into a needy kiss. 

You whined into it, feeling his thumb circle your sensitive clit. You clenched around him instinctively, feeling your hips buck into him for more in which he was eager to give you. He didn’t waste any time, pressing his thumb into you while his fingers thrusted and curled into you, nudging against a sweet spot that had you moaning into his mouth. 

You were overly glad for his lips pressed to yours when you came, muffling the screams of pleasure that tore through your throat. Your thighs clamped around him, trying to push him away rather than keep him in. But Choso was an immovable object and you knew you just needed to come to terms with that. 

“Choso,” you yelped, squirming underneath him. 

His eyes widened at that, worried that you might begin to scream for release. 

You didn’t though but instead, breathlessly pleaded with him to stop. “Please, no more.” 

“I’m sorry,” he hushed you, pressing feather light kisses to your face as he distracted you from pulling his fingers from your walls. “You’re okay.” 

You weren’t entirely in agreement with that, feeling your walls still flutter with the after effects of the long awaited orgasm. But you were in no state to fight him on the matter either.

“You’re okay, right?” He lifted his face to look over you with that sad puppy look.

“I’m okay,” you told him, between a shaky breath. 

He seemed happy with your response, bringing his lips against yours once again. This kiss was sticky and desperate, Choso’s tongue sinking into your mouth as he explored it. He whined when you didn’t reciprocate, moving his tongue so deep into your mouth that you had to push it away with your own, or you’d choke on it. 

It had him smiling, your tongue finally moving against his even if it was in an attempt to fight back. He didn’t seem to care, or maybe he just didn’t realise, living in some sort of delusion that this was completely consensual, that this was what you wanted. 

He was eager for your confirmation, you finally realised. Desperate for it. 

“Choso,” you whispered, breaking free from the kiss as you twisted your head away. “Choso, can you-” You stopped yourself, turning to his face with a small pout. 

“Anything,” he responded, without even hearing the full question. 

“My hands.” You wiggled them underneath you, pressing your lips together as you jutted out your bottom lip. “They hurt.” You swallowed and whined, “Please.” 

He nodded, hands reaching over you to fumble with your restraints that had you tied to his bed. It only took a few seconds before your wrists were freed and you could pull your hands back to your side. It also wasn’t long before you began to use your new found freedom to slip away, only to be caught instantly with a hand wrapped around your wrist. 

You winced as Choso applied pressure to the fresh bruises, and yanked you back underneath him. 

“Try that again and I’ll have to tie you up again,” he warned, jaw clenching as he glared down at you. He quickly dropped his glare, eyes softening at you as he tried to mask his anger. But it was still there, you could see it in his rigid form that kneeled over yours. “I don’t want to hurt you. You're the last person I want to hurt, Y/N.” 

A chill ran over you as he ran a finger over your cheek, sliding it down your neck as his eyes followed the movement. He stopped once he reached your breast, swallowing at the sight of the abused flesh and licking his lips. 

“Please, don’t do that again.” His eyes flew back up to yours, his jaw tightening as he waited for your response. 

“I won’t do it again,” you told him, feeling unnerved by the way he stared at you. “I promise.” 

Relief seemed to wash over him, his body relaxing once again as his eyes fell downwards. “Good, good.” He licked his lips, cheeks darkening to red at the sight of something. 

You followed his gaze, widening at the sight of him in his boxers. The material clung to him, his bulge and the wet patch practically staring at you. You were so stuck on the sight of him, you barely noticed his hand dragging yours towards him, not until he was slipping it inside the article of clothing with a sigh. 

It was a sticky mess inside, cum coating your fingers before your hand found his cock. You weren’t really thinking, gripping it slightly in your hand as if you were entranced by it. You moved your hand over it, dragging it up and letting your fingers slide over the tip. It was only when he gasped at the touch, did you snap back to reality, snatching your hand back. 

You held it in front of you, slightly amazed at the sight of the cum that coated your fingers. Had he been touching himself this whole time? It wasn’t possible, both hands had been at you the whole time. But surely– 

“I know I shouldn’t have,” he said, eyes flickering towards your gaze. “Not before you anyway but-” His body folded over yours again, till you could feel his leaking cock touching your leg, the piece of clothing over it doing nothing to hide it. “-you don’t get how you make me feel. It just happened.” 

You swallowed at that, watching him as he leaned further into you. You knew what was going to happen and even though you knew some part of you wanted to fight against it, there was another sicker part that thought it’d be easier to succumb to it instead. That part had you widening your legs, making more space for him as he pressed his body against yours. 

“I’ll make you feel so good, I swear,” he whispered, rutting his hips against yours. “I promise.” You bit back a moan as he repeated his actions, feeling his bulge rub against your overly sensitive clit. “Make you feel good.”

“Okay,” you whispered. 

He stopped, eyes meeting yours again as if he didn’t quite hear you. 

You weren’t even sure you could quite hear what you were saying either, the words didn’t even feel like your own as they fell from your tongue. “Make me feel good then.” 

You had no time to act when Choso descended upon you, slipping his boxers down all while he kissed you. It was your turn to whine when you felt his cock slide against your folds, hissing into him as it ran over your clit. He seemed so content in just doing this, rubbing his cock between your folds as he mixed your juices with his. You were sure if you didn’t say anything he’d cum like this and be done with it, or feel the need to still take you again. 

“Choso,” you called, sliding your hand between your bodies. You found his cock, hard and wanting, finally grabbing his attention. “Inside me.” His eyes snapped towards yours. “I want it inside me.” 

His eyes widened as he withdrew from your lips, swallowing nervously as he peeled himself off of you slightly. 

“Choso?” You knitted your brows together, looking up at his flushed face. 

“I-uh-” he shifted, blinking as he looked down again. 

“It’s okay.” You comforted him, sliding his cock against yourself until you lined his tip up with your entrance. “Just push it in.” You guided him, bringing your hips up a bit so he partially slid in. “Like this.” 

Choso followed, pushing his hips into yours, groaning as he filled you to the hilt. Once he was all the way in, there was no stopping him. He was suddenly hooked on the feeling of being inside you, thrusting his hips back and forth continuously. He was so lost in it, sinking his face into your neck with such a deep whimper that you weren’t entirely sure you’d be able to break him from it. 

All you could do was take it and take it you did. 

You matched his moans with your own, wrapping your legs around him as he fucked you into the mattress. There was no denying it, everything felt right with Choso inside of you. You felt full to the brim. Your walls snugly wrapped around him, squeezing him, begging for more. 

“Feels so good,” he whispered into your ear, licking the shell of it. “I want to go deeper. Deeper.” 

You weren’t completely sure what he was talking about until his hands brought your legs up, folding them between your bodies. 

Oh deeper.

You swore you could feel him in your stomach at the angle, and the sensation had you mewling out his name. 

You weren’t at all surprised at how fast both of you were brought to the edge. You could feel your brain turning into mush at how well his cock was rutting itself in and out of you and you could feel Choso tightening his grip onto you, as his pace began to pick up. 

“So good.” He repeated the phrase over and over again, the sound of his moans vibrating through you as he did so. So good. Until your eyes rolled to the back of your head and you felt yourself gushing all over him, your orgasm washing over you. So good. Until he was spilling inside of you, gasping at the feel of your walls milking him for all he had to offer. 

You were spent after that, the aftershocks still coursing through your body as he slowed himself to a stop. You weren’t even surprised when he didn’t pull himself out of you, collapsing on top of you and keeping himself buried inside you instead. He seemed satisfied— sedated as he nuzzled his face into the crook of your neck with a deep sigh. 

He seemed so content, body fully relaxed on top of yours that you didn’t want to break him away from it. But as you came back to the reality of your situation, you found yourself needing to say something, only too scared to break the silence you both rested in. 

Luckily for you, it wasn’t your words that broke the silence but a sudden knocking on Choso’s bedroom door, followed by a voice you could only imagine was Choso’s older brother. 

“Kid is out for another hour before you both need to shut up.” 

Choso didn’t seem to react, only sighing as he kissed your subtle skin. 

You parted your lips to speak, but you stopped yourself realising it might be better not to know. Not to understand. 

Instead you closed your eyes, sinking into his touch as he began to lick at the column of your neck and trace his fingers into your sides. You didn’t know what was going to happen after this but for a moment you were too tired to care. You just assumed you’d have to let him decide.