#MIT Press Reader

[younes-ben-amara]

تصميم الإعلان الإلكتروني هو أكثر ما يلفت الانتباه في محتوى الحملة الإعلانية

ما هذه المجموعة من المختارات تسألني؟ إنّها عددٌ من أعداد نشرة “صيد الشابكة” اِعرف أكثر عن النشرة هنا: ما هي نشرة “صيد الشابكة” ما مصادرها، وما غرضها؛ وما معنى الشابكة أصلًا؟! 🎣🌐هل تعرف ما هي صيد الشابكة وتطالعها بانتظام؟ اِدعم استمرارية النشرة بطرق شتى من هنا: 💲 طرق دعم نشرة صيد الشابكة. 🎣🌐 صيد الشابكة العدد #154 السلام عليكم؛ مرحبًا وبسم الله؛ بخصوص العنوان فهو من نتائج دراسة عربية جديدة…

[readerviews]

"Mit Out Sound" by Rick Lenz

An Engrossing Read #books #bookreview #reading #readerviews

Mit Out Sound Rick LenzChromodroid Press (2024)ISBN: 978-0999695371Reviewed by Lily Andrews for Reader Views (09/2024) “Mit Out Sound” by Rick Lenz is a slow-burning work of fiction set in Hollywood that follows an aspirational actress as she attempts to become a successful movie producer by taking up an antiquated film that the original team was adamantly advised never to discuss. Born and…

[heavenlybodies333]

Ain’t Karma A Bitch? -S.R

Spencer Reid x coworker!reader | fwb |

You shouldn’t have kissed the IT guy.

It was innocent—technically. One drink after a successful case. A slightly too-loud laugh at his joke. And a kiss in the parking lot under Quantico’s flickering lights. But Spencer Reid saw it.

You felt it in the way his gaze dropped the moment you walked in the next morning, in the way his mouth turned up into that smug, unreadable curve when he passed you in the hallway, fingers tucked into his slacks like he was restraining himself from something—maybe strangling your little tech rebound.

You hadn’t even realized the genius profiler could get jealous.

"You know his credentials are fake, right?" Spencer murmurs from beside you during the briefing, eyes on the screen but voice slick with venom. "I ran a background check."

"You’re insufferable."

"You’re transparent." You don’t dare look at him. Not with the way your stomach twists at the low rasp of his voice.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” you whisper, eyes on Hotch’s presentation even though you haven’t absorbed a word. “You don’t know everything.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you catch the slow turn of Spencer’s head. His expression is unreadable. But you feel it.

“Wrong again,” he mutters. “I know enough.”

You glance at him from the corner of your eye. He’s not even looking at you, but there’s a slight twitch in his jaw, and his fingers flex like he’s counting backward in his head.

“You ran a background check on him?” you whisper, trying not to move your lips too much with Hotch three feet away. “Are you kidding me?”

“He listed his alma mater as MIT, but he misspelled Massachusetts on his résumé. Twice.”

“Oh my God—”

“Statistically, liars tend to embellish their education because it's the easiest detail to bluff without risk of immediate exposure. He also doesn't understand secure socket layering. It's not my fault if incompetence turns you on.”

You glare at him, heart pounding for all the wrong reasons. He’s smug. Smug and unreadable and furious in a way you’ve never seen before.

The rest of the day is hell. He’s everywhere. Passing you coffee—without asking, of course. Standing too close at the crime board. Brushing past you in the hallway, the edge of his jacket catching your thigh, deliberate. Calculated. Like he’s daring you to say something.

You don’t. Not until the end of the night, when most of the team has left and the bullpen hums with quiet.

You storm into the file room, heart pounding. “Reid—”

He’s already there. Like he knew you’d come. Like he planned it. “Shutting the door?” he asks without looking up, flipping through a stack of folders like it’s any other Tuesday. “How suspicious.”

You do shut it. Hard. “What’s your problem?”

He sets the file down. Finally looks at you. “You kissed him,” Spencer says simply, like it’s fact. Like it’s already been dissected and labeled and filed away under Reasons She Deserves To Be Punished.

Your jaw tightens. “So what?”

He takes a step toward you. Then another. Until your back is pressed against the wall and he’s so close you can see the flecks of hazel in his eyes. “So,” he started, “I read somewhere that jealousy activates the same neural circuits as physical pain.” He takes a step closer, and suddenly his voice is lower, his tone less teasing. “It’s almost addictive. Like a drug. Your pupils dilated when you laughed at him.”

“That’s none of your business.”

A smirk plays on Spencer’s lips, sharp and knowing. His hand lifts, ghosting over your jaw but never quite touching. “Then why did you look for me when it happened?”

You blink. “What?”

He tilts his head, and his voice dips, slow and deliberate like he’s reciting a quote. “Right after. You looked up. Scanned the parking lot. Like you wanted someone to see.”

The heat that burns under your skin is immediate, prickling with shame and something far more dangerous. You want to deny it—but you had looked. Stupidly, instinctively. Like you were waiting for a reaction.

“Is that what this is about?” you snap. “You think I kissed him for your attention?”

He doesn’t blink. “Didn’t you?”

The silence chokes between you. He takes another step—closer, closer—until you’re hyper-aware of every inch between you, every uneven breath.

“You’re being ridiculous,” you say, but it comes out weaker than you mean.

Spencer’s eyes flick down to your mouth. His voice is almost a whisper. “And yet your heart rate’s at least 120. Fight or flight?”

“Fuck you.”

“I’d rather you did.” He says it like it’s an equation solved, a foregone conclusion. His pupils are blown, lips parted just slightly like he’s waiting to be proven right.

And maybe he is.

Because when you surge forward, fisting the collar of his cardigan and dragging his mouth down to yours, he doesn’t hesitate. Doesn’t flinch. His hands are on your waist in a second, you gasp when he bites your bottom lip—not hard, but just enough to make you feel it—and he groans, like that sound alone snapped whatever thread of restraint he had left.

“You think I haven’t noticed?” he mutters against your mouth, breathing hard. “You really think you’re subtle?”

You shove him back a step, just enough to catch your breath, but he follows—of course he follows. His hand grips the back of your neck and he presses you into the wall again like he needs you there, like he can’t stand the distance.

“You’re not exactly subtle yourself,” you snap.

“He touched your ass,” Spencer growls, and the raw possessiveness in his voice makes your thighs clench.

You laugh—sharp, breathless, too aware of the way his fingers are now drifting along the hem of your blouse. “Jealousy doesn’t look good on you, Reid.”

He tilts his head, slow and dangerous. “You sure about that?”

Then he drops to his knees. Your heart stutters. “Spencer—”

“Shh.” He doesn’t look up as his hands glide up your thighs, pushing your skirt up with practiced, unshaking intent. “Just proving a point.”

You suck in a breath as his palms part your legs. His fingers are nimble, precise—like everything else he does, methodical but maddening. When he drags your underwear down your thighs, he does it slowly, eyes finally lifting to meet yours like a silent dare.

You grip the shelf behind you like it might keep you grounded, like the feeling of Spencer Reid on his knees in front of you isn’t about to send you spiraling into orbit.

He leans in. Presses a kiss to the inside of your thigh—soft, almost reverent—and then one just a little higher. You squirm.

“Don’t tease,” you whisper, voice already frayed.

His eyes flick up, impossibly dark. “Don’t kiss other men.”

You don’t get a chance to retort—his mouth is on you in the next breath.

And God, he’s good.

Not good in the way most men fumble and hope for the best. No—he studies you. Remembers the way you gasped at the soft flick of his tongue. Adjusts. Experiments. Executes. He licks into you like he’s trying to rewrite your molecular structure, like he wants to ruin you for anyone else—and it’s working.

Your hand tangles in his hair before you can stop it, pulling hard, and he moans into you. You feel the vibration all the way up your spine.

“You’re such a fucking showoff,” you breathe, hips bucking.

He pulls back just enough to speak, his lips wet and swollen. “Statistically speaking, making a woman come from oral alone—”

“Spencer.”

“—requires precision and patience.” He licks a slow stripe up your center, eyes still locked on yours. “Luckily, I have both.”

And he proves it. You come fast and hard, your moan muffled in your own arm as your legs nearly give out. He holds you through it, mouth insistent and merciless until your body twitches from overstimulation and you beg—literally beg—for him to stop.

When he finally stands, there’s something almost unhinged in his eyes. A wild, unspoken want. His hands are already working on his belt, but you beat him to it, fingers slipping into his waistband like you’ve done it a hundred times in your head.

“I’m not finished with you,” you mutter, dragging his pants down just far enough.

“Good,” he pants. “Because I want you to remember this the next time some fraud in IT buys you a drink.”

You grip his shirt, yanking him down to your lips again. “Fuck me, Doctor Reid.” you moan as he slides through your slick. The noise you make is shameful—something between a gasp and a whimper—and his hand slams against the wall next to your head, bracing himself.

“Jesus Christ,” he groans. “You feel—fuck—”

Your head tips back, and he takes the opportunity to drag his mouth down your throat, sucking bruises into your skin with zero apology. His thrusts are slow at first, rough but controlled, but that doesn’t last long. Not with the way you grip him. Not with the way your nails dig into his back like you’re trying to brand him there.

“You shouldn’t have kissed him,” Spencer grits out, fucking you like it’s a correction. A lesson. “You knew I was watching.”

You whimper, helpless under the weight of him, every thrust a punishment wrapped in possession. “I didn’t mean to—”

“Liar,” he snaps, and the hand on your waist tightens.

His mouth crashes to yours again, messy and uncoordinated now. He slams back into you so hard you bite your lip to keep from crying out. The file room walls feel too thin, the glass door too close, but neither of you cares. He thrusts harder, deeper, desperate, like he’s trying to replace every trace of anyone else. And God, it’s working.

His hand curls around your thigh, hiking it over his hip, and the angle makes you whimper.

“Yeah?” Spencer grits out. “Right there?”

You nod—too breathless for words—and he groans again, pounding into that spot over and over until you’re shaking,

“Fuck, I’m—” he chokes, forehead pressed to yours, sweat-damp curls brushing your cheeks. “I’m not gonna last—”

You pull him closer. Wrap your legs around his waist and drag him in, lock him there. “Then don’t.”

He comes with a groan muffled against your shoulder, his body jerking against yours like it’s been short-circuited. You hold him through it, hands in his hair, nails raking gently against his scalp as his hips stutter and still.

You both stay like that for a moment breathing heavy. He finally lifts his head. Blinks at you, dazed. And for the first time all night, he looks awkward. Flushed and boyish and just a little bit unsure.

Then he leans in, brushing a kiss—soft, shockingly gentle—against your cheek.

“You shouldn’t have kissed him,” he murmurs again, you huff a breathless laugh. “Noted.”

His nose brushes yours. “Next time,” he whispers, “I’ll show you what it feels like to beg.”

You blink at him. “Next time?”

He smiles. That unreadable, smug little curve again—but this time, it’s softer around the edges.

“Oh,” he says, buttoning his pants like he didn’t just fuck you senseless against a filing cabinet, “there’s going to be a next time.”

You shake your head, biting back a grin. “Aren’t you going to cite a study about post-coital bonding or something?”

He pauses. Tilts his head. “Actually, oxytocin levels increase significantly after orgasm, which tends to promote attachment and trust—but in this case, I’d argue correlation, not causation.”

You laugh—genuine and bright—and he watches you like it’s his favorite sound. You pull him in by the front of his cardigan and kiss him again, slower this time.

when you pull away he has a mischievous glint in his eye. “I deleted the footage,” he says softly.

You blink. “What?”

He smirks. “File room security. You’re not the only one who’s reckless.”

You gape. “You planned this?”

He shrugs. “I’m a profiler.”

You shove him. “You’re a psycho.”

a/n: down baddd for Dr Reid

⋆•★⋆ MASTERLIST ⋆★•⋆

[marvelwitchergilmore]

Early Morning

Summary: Bucky Barnes x fe!Reader -> Bucky helps you after a nightmare.

Disclaimer: Mostly smut with plot. MDNI 18+. Fluff, a little angst, Reader is an ex winter soldier experiment, too. Flashbacks to reader meeting Bucky (not the WS). Swearing, unprotected P-in-V (wrap it up), established relationship, caring Bucky, mentions of nightmares, Bucky holds/cuddles reader. Not proof read. Again, 18+.

Your breathing laboured, you shot up in bed. 

There was next to no light inside the room, but you could still make out the pile of clothes thrown over the back of your desk chair wasn’t a monster haunting your room. 

Then you felt a hand at the bottom of your back. For a moment, you jumped before you realised who the hand belonged to. 

“You okay?”

You scrubbed your face and nodded. Then he slowly sat up with you. His hands rubbing your back before his lips tiredly kissed your shoulders. He leaned against you, his cheek pressing his lingering kiss deeper into your skin. 

“Talk to me. What happened?”

“Can’t sleep.”

“Nightmare?”

You could only nod. 

“Tell me?”

“Same as usual.” 

Your voice came out quiet, an invisible heavy weight pushing your shoulders down. 

You’d been found by Bucky and Sam almost five years ago. Having been one of the last people to be put through a Winter Soldier, you were one of the few to survive. And you’d been surviving alone until that day in the abandoned factory. 

From there, you had been put through some more trials. From being locked up in a ‘comfortable’ cell, realising just who Bucky was and when you’d met him before to going through new training that meant you were becoming a new Shield Agent. 

And somewhere in the last five years, you and Bucky had found common ground and eventually a friendship that had bloomed into something more. 

“Come here.” 

Rubbing one of his hands up and down your back, he gently led you to lie back down beside him. He held you close to him, his grip tightening around you. You felt his legs slot and tangle between yours before his lips pressed against your head. 

With his hand skating across your thigh, he pulled you over his hip before letting his fingers push under the back of your top to let his fingers trace up and down your spine. 

Within seconds, your senses were consumed by him. 

Bucky felt you take in a deep breath before you finally relaxed in his arms. 

“Feeling better?”

You nodded with a little hum. “‘Little.”

Bucky just held you tighter. 

By the time you woke back up again, your position hadn’t changed much save for the fact that your back was now against Bucky’s chest. 

You could feel his breath, even and soft against your back, calming you even more. 

There have been times where you’d let your mind wander. What if you had met Bucky, as he was now, under different circumstances? Maybe you’d gone to MIT, or Harvard or one of those places before joining Shield. Maybe you would have bumped into him in the lunch line, or in the hallway. Maybe he would have asked you on a date, or maybe you would have asked it. 

Maybe it would have been conventional. 

Unlike how you’d come to meet this version of Bucky. 

“Do you think she remembers you?”

You just stared at the ceiling inside the cell you’d been placed in. They’d given you a mattress and blankets for the slick metal bed, but you’d pulled them to the ground before you laid down, letting the cold metal cool you down. 

Sam and Bucky had been standing on the other side of the reflective glass, talking to each other. They were yet to know you could hear every word they were saying despite the speakers being disconnected. 

“Sargent Jame Buchannan Barnes of the 107th.”  You’d said his name slowly, almost repeating it as if you���d been saying it your entire life. 

Eventually, Sam left once you gave them your name. As he went to search through every database he could think of, Bucky stayed and turned the reflective screen off. You’d walked over calmly, answering every question he had. 

Did you remember him? 

“I remember you from…before.”

Where did you come from?

“Winter Soldier programme. I woke up somewhere in Europe. I just kept walking until I recognised a name.”

And where did you come from…before?

You told him everything he wanted to know. You’d spent so long keeping secrets, seeing where the world was going…

Anything was better than being sent back into the Winter Soldier programme. And if Bucky could get out, then so could you. 

After going through more tests than you could count, having more needles pricked into your skin than you’d like, and after extensive psych-evals from multiple different professionals, you were cleared to work. 

Under strict supervision. 

And that came from both Shield and Bucky. He’d been in the programme himself, so he knew what to look for when things got bad. For a few of the appointments where he’d watched through the glass, seeing the hidden pain on your face as the fortieth test was done on your blood, he entered the room and held onto your hand. 

During training hours when he could see the memories flooding back when you pushed yourself a little too far, he would tap you out and make you walk around the building with him. He never had to say anything. Just knowing someone was there was enough for you. 

Eventually, those silent moments added up to small and trusting conversations. Then one day, things began to change. You talked more, felt happier more often, found not only friends but family. 

“How’d you sleep?”

Slowly, you turned over and looked at Bucky. 

“Better.”

You felt Bucky’s lift softly brush a kiss over your nose before leaning down and pressing a kiss to your lips. He felt your hand cup his cheek, keeping his lips kissing yours for a little longer. 

“I love you.”

Bucky smiled, kissing you again. “I love you, too.”

Leaning back in again, he pressed a soft kiss onto your lips. But you didn’t want it to end. There was just something about Bucky’s kiss. The way his lips pressed against yours, as if he’d been kissing you his entire life. 

And it had been that way since the first time he kissed you. 

You’d both spent the entire day in the training room since it had been the first place Kate had looked for both of you to help train the new recruits from Shield. The last time she’d asked you both for help, you were both left stranded and swore an oath to each other that you’d never do it again. 

So, rather than run around the entire compound all day, you remained in the one place Kate wouldn’t look again. 

But instead of pushing yourselves to the limits, you both had fun. 

Sparring with each other, you both laughed. Falling to the ground, talking, laughing, reminiscing, planning. You often spent time like that, together. But you both never got a chance to simply have fun. 

But it was as you were lying underneath him, wondering what would happen if you pulled at his dog tags in those moments and finally answered your year long question; what would it feel like if he kissed you?

The door just outside of the training room creaked open. 

Scampering to your feet, Bucky grabbed your hand and you both raced out of the back exit. 

However, as you heard the doors creak again, you pulled Bucky around a corner. And once everything fell silent, only then did you both realise the position you were in. His knee wedged between your legs, his hands caging you in by your hips and your hands fisting his t-shirt. 

Between hitched breaths and pounding hearts, Bucky kissed you. 

Neither of you had expected it and when the kiss broke in order for both of you to catch your breath, it was safe to say you were both surprised. 

But as the shock faded away, being replaced by a desperate desire to feel his kiss on your lips again, his hands became tousled in your hair as you pulled him closer by his dog tags. 

“Holy fuck,” Bucky breathed before he moved to kiss you again. 

And that’s what it was still like. 

Bucky’s hands ghosted down your body before pulling your leg over his hip. Surprising him, you pushed yourself up until you were straddling his thighs. Like he’d done a thousand times before, he pulled your top from your body and over your head before throwing it across the room. His hands held you closer, feeling your skin against his chest. 

Feeling his bulge grow beneath you, you rocked your hips over him. His grip on you tightened as he groaned. 

“Holy fuck,” his voice was gravelly as he moved his lips from yours to the softness of your neck. “Baby-”

With his fingers squeezing your flesh softly, his hand moved from under your ass to the front of your body before dipping under the waistband of your shorts. 

“So wet already-” 

His teeth scraped lightly at your pulse point, no doubt eventually leaving a hickey you’d find in a few hours. 

A moan became muffled against his lips as you bucked your hips against his hand. Then his fingers began to steadily circle your clit. 

You gasped. “Keep - keep going.” You closed your eyes as you leaned your head against his. “Fuck.”

“Always,” Bucky nipped at your jaw. “So,” nip. “Ready,” nip. “For me.”

You gasped again, and Bucky smiled as he watched the shock and pleasure take over your body and face as he inserted two fingers, curling them inside of you. 

“You look so fucking hot like this,” Bucky slurred as he watched you. 

It wasn’t long until your own fingers drifted down his front, palming his dick through the cloth of his underwear until finally letting him free from the restriction. 

By the time the tip of his cock was strumming through your juices, your legs had already begun to shake. 

“Bucky, please.”

“Always so polite,” Bucky teased before once again watching your face as you took him in. 

You felt your back arch as his cock stretched you and his hand pushed up your front. His thumb flicking at your nipple before he took you into his mouth for a moment, you moaned his name. 

“So fucking hot…”

Having been the Winter Soldier, Bucky could never get drunk. But he was drunk on you. 

“Fuck, doll.” Bucky moaned into your neck as his hand squeezed at your ass, holding you down on him. “‘Feels so fucking..good…fuck.”

Teasing him a little, you began drawing lazy circles with your hips. Your shared breath became ragged as your skin took on a light sheen just as Bucky’s tongue traces lines across your collarbone. 

Finding your weak spot, he began to suck. 

He could feel your hand in his hair, your nails raking on his scalp. 

Eventually the noises went from sensual to down right animalistic. Begging and pleading before finally, with his fingers applying a delicious pressure onto your clit, Bucky felt your walls tighten around his cock as he helped you ride out your orgasm. 

Breathless, you felt yourself smile as you leaned down towards his ear. “I want you to cum inside of me.”

“Baby-”

“Please, Buck.”

He didn’t need to be asked again. With his fingers teasing your overstimulated clit, you felt Bucky finally cum inside of you. It wasn’t often you had him go without protection, so it was rare you ever got to feel him. 

A shower and two hours later, you were both sitting eating breakfast at the table in the kitchen. “You wanna talk about last night?”

You shrugged, pushing the blueberries around on your plate. “Not much has changed. Still trapped inside my own body, still hurting people.”

“How long has it been since the last one?”

One thing about your nightmares was that it was rare to become a night terror. You didn’t exactly wake up screaming and panting for breath. But sometimes, the silent ones were the worst kind. Because they continued to play on your mind. So vivid and so real.  

“Couple of months,” you told him, truthfully. 

“Sam text this morning. Said he’s gonna come round later. Apparently he wants to test Red Wing’s new features out on the back fields.”

“And you said yes?” You asked, hiding your smile. You knew your boyfriend’s reputation with Red Wing. They weren’t exactly the best of friends. 

“I think maybe you should talk with Sam.”

You nodded. “I will.”

You’d been given qualified doctors over the years and a lot of them had helped. But sometimes the best person to talk to was someone who knew what you were going through. And, as much as Bucky knew what you were going through; the one person who helped get through to him was Sam. 

Bucky watched you for a few moments before he reached over and hooked his hand under the edge of your chair. “Come here,” he said as he pulled you closer. 

You could feel yourself blush with a little giddiness as he pulled you closer to him across the table before his hand rested on your bare thigh. 

Then he kissed you. 

“I love you,” he told you. 

“I love you, too,” you replied. 

[sai-int]

possessive sex with RTS!Simon!! angry grunts, hand over your mouth, putting you in a full nelson. just utterly overloading your senses with nothing but him

i like your funny words, magic man 🙂‍↕️

— combining this with the anon who wanted hair pulling, choking, & spanking

— very rough sex, fem reader below the cut

the more time you spend with simon, the more his edges seem to wear down. he starts to soften until you barely notice it happening.

he murmurs sweet nothings against your skin now, calls you pretty things in that reverent voice like you’re a saint. it’s all praise, all worship, and after a while, it becomes easy to forget the version of him you once knew. easy to believe that the violence doesn’t live in him anymore—that it burned itself out somewhere along the way.

but it’s still there, still simmering and latent.

simon may be gentle with you, but that doesn’t mean he’s forgotten who he is. and when you start to test him, when you push just a little too far—he’s more than willing to remind you.

he’ll let the other version of himself—ghost— slip through the cracks, just long enough to make sure you remember who you’re dealing with.

not because he wants to scare you.

but because he knows it works.

because sometimes, you need a reminder that sugar only ever came after the steel.

—it was ghost you initially invited in, after all.

….

he’s been on edge throughout the entirety of your outing together.

something about the way you smiled at someone too long, or the sway of your hips in that goddamn dress when you leaned over earlier. you’d felt how tense he was in the way he brushed past you, the way his eyes lingered just a second too long on your throat, your hands, your hips. but it isn’t the same kind of tense he gets when he comes home from work all dead-eyed.

it’s possessive.

by the time you get home and the front door clicks shut behind you both, the air’s heavy with it—his restraint stretched thin, about to snap.

and when it does, it’s immediate.

he crowds you fast, slams your back against the door with a thud, big hands gripping your jaw, your throat, like he can’t decide where he wants to feel you first.

“don’t even fuckin’ know what y’do t’me,” he grits out, and his voice is low, simmering with something darker than lust, something nostalgic.

you try to speak, but it’s already too late—he’s kissing you, if you can even call it that. it’s more like he’s trying to drink the sounds and spit right out of your mouth, gulp down your vocal chords before they can even muster a whimper.

his teeth catch your lip and you can feel how soaked you are, a fresh wave of heat instantaneously rolls from your tummy to your cunt. his hand slips into your hair, dragging your head back by the scalp just so he can look at you better. he’s breathing hard, like holding himself back takes more energy than unleashing.

“get y’fuckin’ clothes off.”

you blink, caught in the pull of him, but you’re too slow. he moves you and spins you around, pushes you down against the arm of the couch, yanks your underwear down so fast the waistband burns. the cool air hits your thighs and then he’s on you, thick and hard and already leaking against your entrance despite not even hearing his belt clink.

he doesn’t slide in. not yet.

instead, he pulls your arms back, strong forearms locking under yours, around your neck, locked in a painful full-nelson. you’re bent and helpless, back arched in a perfect ‘C’, legs spread, nothing but the sound of his breathing and your pulse simultaneously in your ears.

then he sinks into you.

you gasp—sharp, near-silent—but he shoves his ring and index in your mouth before it can even leave your throat.

“nah, none of that,” he grits. “neighbors don’t need to hear the kinda sounds i wring outta you—all mine.”

the pads of his left fingers move to press on the back of your tongue, making you drool uncontrollably all over him—while his right arm is still hooked under your arm, mits yanking the delicate hair at the nape of your neck back by the root.

the stretch of his cock is brutal—deep and punishing , like he’s trying to fuck himself into your spine. and all you can do is take it, feel your eyes roll back and your cunt remold itself as he sets a break-neck pace, grunting like an animal in your ear every time he bottoms out.

“so fuckin’ tight—like y’were made for me, hmm?” he pants. “this pussy remembers who owns it, don’t it?”

he pulls his hand out of your mouth, slaps your ass hard—once, twice, until the sting blossoms warm and dizzying. your muscles jump under him, breath hitching against his palm.

“answer me.”

you nod frantically, choking on your own mewls. he growls and yanks your head back harder, lips brushing your ear.

“didn’t fuckin’ hear you.”

“y–yes simon—“ you whimper into his palm, barely intelligible. “yours. all yours— fuck—”

he groans at that, full-body shudder rolling through him. you feel it in the way he fucks you deeper, harder—driving it home like he’s trying to hammer the truth into your bones.

his hand slides from your ass to your throat, fingers wrapping around your neck, just enough pressure to make your vision blur. he’s everywhere—pressing into you from behind, filling your senses, your lungs, your entire world.

and then he starts up again with that mouth of his.

“look at you. stretched out, fucked out… gaggin’ for it, girl— fuckin’ hell,” he bites your shoulder, “and y’love it, don’t you? love bein’ used like this, yeah?”

you’re barely coherent now, drooling onto the couch below, legs shaking, eyes glassy as your mind floats. this isn’t about pleasure. it’s about control. about simon fucking riley needing to mark you from the inside out, until your voice, your body, your soul only echo him. it’s not just sex—it feels like a demonic possession.

he’s knows he’s got you right where he wants you—so far gone on him that even if he let go, you’d still be reaching.

lord knows you won’t be calling an exorcist anytime soon.

[imsilay]

MANIA

obsessive love; very possessive and often jealous.

mdni NSFW! +18 cw: possessiveness, size k!nk, fem!reader, obsessive König, dominant König.

summary: König doesn’t wants you to leave him, even for a second. he finds excuses and makes it your problem so he could fuck you until you’re too sore to leave again.

i will post part 2 <3 (english isn’t my first language sorry for the mistakes) edit: posted! here

art cr: @kinky-thirsty-reader

He doesn’t like when you try to leave him…

After a long night, you were exhausted, your body sore from head to toe. You tried to sit up and leave the bed, but suddenly König's arm snaked around your waist and held you down. "Where do you think you're going, Prinzessin?" he whispered. "I need to shower." you mumbled as you put your hands on his forearms and tried to push him away, but it was a pathetic attempt. You were so powerless compared to him.

“So klein~” he cooed.

He chuckled at your struggles. "I don't think so, Schatz. You're staying here, in my bed, where you belong…" he purred, kissing the back of your neck and pulling you even closer, pressing your back against his chest. "König, stop the nonsense. Let go of me, i really need to shower." you protested— you wish you didn’t. His arms tightened around your midsection, reminding you that he could snap your spine effortlessly. "Are you talking back, Prinzessin? Did you forget you’re mine?" he whispered, his tone now edged with discontent. His grip was far from loving anymore. “Do i need to remind you?” he hissed, he would fuck you dumb until you understand that you’re his. His to use for his own satisfaction, his to kiss whenever he decided to do, his to touch wherever he wants. You were simply his.

When you realized you were in trouble, chills ran down your spine. You quickly apologized. "No, I was just... I don't like being sweaty. I'm sorry." Your apology made him loosen his grip a little. He placed a tender kiss on your neck. He turned you around as if you weighed nothing and pressed you against his chest.

“Hmm... let's see," his voice teased, his eyes twinkling with mischief. He sat up, leaning his back against the headboard and had you straddle him. He lowered his hands from your waist to your thighs and gently caressed them. You let out a groan of relief and wrapped your arms around his neck, savoring the sensation of your lover's massage on your sore muscles. However, your relief was short-lived because he wasn't finished with you yet. "You tried to escape my bed. So you need to be punished, Hase." He squeezed your thighs until the pain in your sore muscles became almost unbearable.

You cried and whined but he shushed you softly, soothing you. “We’re not done, Liebling.” It was clear that his tone had changed again. The anger and firmness had given way to something more gentle, almost loving.

You slurred something for forgiveness and apologize nonstop. “Don't be sorry, Hase. I didn't like seeing you try to escape from me." he said with a hint of a pout. "But I think i can make a exception for you this time. What about you let me…" his rough hands slowly caressed your inner thighs making you shiver and gasp in anticipation. “use you as i please, then maybe i could let you rest.” he murmured as his hand found its way to your already wet panties. Your breath hitched and you squirmed on his lap as he teased your cunt through your panties until you’re soaked for him.

“You’re so easy to seduce, Schatz.” he chuckled lightly but his voice stained with pure lust. He lifted your chin up with his free hand to take a look at your lovely face. Your eyes red, your skin flush from all the crying and stimulation. It was all for him… right?

“Immer so empfindlich, wenn ich so mit dir spiele.” (Always so sensitive when I play with you like this.) he mumbled in German like he always did. You never understand what he said -mind foggy with lust and too focused to chase that sweet release.

He grinned with a proud expression and mumbled to himself. “Braves Mädchen.” he whispered before lifting his balaclava up just enough to capture your lips in a long passionate kiss.

a/n: please support me by reblogging, if you liked it <3

a/n: also i post everyday -sometimes 2 posts in a day- so if you follow me i won’t disappoint ;)

[eaturheartout2021]

Keeping It Under The Table

Summary: During a mission briefing Ghost does something a little out of character but you don’t seem to mind.

Cw: dubcon, public orgasm, unrealistic military scenarios

Pairing: Simon Ghost Riley x female!reader

Word count: 1.2k

The briefing room was in total blackout save for the bright screen at the head of the room showing an intricate map and multiple mug shots. The large rounded table sat a few blacked out silhouettes you failed to make out as you hurried in to find an empty seat.

The soft click of the door shutting behind you made the captain turn his head at the noise clearing his throat. You stilled holding the chair back in your hand.

“So glad ya decided ta join us. You’ve just volunteered ta take all the briefin notes.” He said with his signature smile. You stifled a groan while Soap and Gaz, just ahead of you, let out mimicked snickers.

“Right you lot, Laswell got us some intel about a data file that Makarov has been tryin’ ta get his grubby mits on for months. What’s on that file? That’s what I want ta find out.” His gruff voice rang through the small space clear and sharp, with full attention. Except one.

You glanced up from your haste scribbling to find Ghost leaned back in his chair, not looking at his captain, but at you. The lieutenant who hardly spoke a word to anyone but his team was staring at you. Possibly mentally scolding you for being late to such an important meeting. It made heat rise to your cheeks in embarrassment.

You quickly looked away to try and keep up with the quick pace of information being thrown around. A few hours go by, a plan is set, a team put together consisting of Ghost, Soap, Gaz, and you; an intelligence expert and the know how around computer systems. Any one else could call you a “hacker”. A date and time is placed along with a RV point where Nik will be waiting with an evac.

You’re writing as fast as you possibly can, trying to get as much as the information as possible when a slight nudge hits your boot. At first you think it’s an accident and pay it no mind, but it happens again, this time the other foot stays. You glance up and Ghost is looking at you once again.

You can’t read the emotions in his eyes, the plain black surgical mask covers the bottom half of his face concealing any other giveaways he might be able to make. You slowly raise an eyebrow as if to say:

‘Did you mean to do that?’

He slowly closed his eyes and the corners crinkled up as if he were giving a sly smile under his mask.

‘What if I did?’ He seemed to say.

His foot slowly pushed the two of yours apart, spreading your legs ever so slightly. Your heart was about to fly out of your chest. The lieutenant who never spoke, who was the lone wolf out of the pack, was flirting with you? 

More than flirting. The toe of his boot ran up the side on your spread legs, egging them to open more. All the while, above the table, he sat perfectly still. Arms crossed over his chest, looking absolutely bored. You however were flushed past your shirt collar, breath starting to become labored.

You had to adjust yourself you try and calm your racing heart. This was coming from nowhere. Sure you had always had feelings for the mysterious man sat across from you but you dropped it once he never returned the same thing. Respectfully. That is until now, where his boot was climbing dangerously close to your clothed cunt.

Instinctively, you spread your legs wider to give him better access which made him get a tiny glint in his eye. His boot hovered slightly over your cunt and you looked at him, silently asking what he was doing.

You definitely saw the devilish smirk paint itself across his face when he pressed slowly but firmly into you. You ground your hips softly up to meet him but stopped to not catch attention. Ghost didn’t seem to like that and pressed harder. You bit the inside of your cheek hard enough to draw blood when he start to rock his boot over your clit through your pants.

Briefing notes be damned. Price could write you up and make you clean bathrooms for a month and it would be worth it. You dropped your head into your hand but tried to make it look as natural as possible. Not as if you were riding your superiors boot underneath the table in a room full of your colleagues. Which turned you on more than it should have.

You looked back up at Ghost and his chest was rising and falling quickly. Eyes never leaving you as your hips slowly ground down in tiny circles. He didn’t move his foot but let you set the pace, eyes darting to Price every so often. Always so vigilant.

You tried to keep taking the notes but he turned you into a pile of mess in mere seconds. Brain turned to mush and unable to form a single coherent thought other than Ghost Ghost Ghost.

The unbridled need in your stomach was on fire and you looked at him with eyes that almost brimmed with tears. Pleading with him to help you. He understood immediately.

His foot began rocking in little waves in time with your small circled thrusts and it took a Herculean effort not to cry out. Your legs were shaking, your breath hitching, stomach clinching. His foot pressed into you firmly meeting with your thrusts sending you spiraling over the edge.

You held your breath, eyes rolling into the back of your head, fingers gripping onto your pen with such force it could’ve shattered it. Ghost coaxed you through your high softly and when you opened your eyes, his met yours and the hunger that stared back was overwhelming. He moved his foot away just as Price finished.

“We leave at 0400. Flight deck A. You four solid on what needs to be done?” Price glanced over at you, head still in your hands.

“Solid Cap’m.” Ghost’s heavy timbre rang in your ears.

Price hummed in acceptance and soon dismissed the group not before stopping you from making a speedy and quick exit.

“I want those notes on my desk by this afternoon.” You held the notepad to your chest and smiled softly.

“Yes sir. They’ll be typed up and in your folder no later than 1800 this evening.” He nodded and finally dismissed you.

As you made your way through the hallway to your barrack, a muscular arm caught yours and turned your back and pinned you to the closest wall. Ghost stood towering over you, arms caging you in on both sides. The silent shadow slunk his way to you and you never heard a thing. A small smile found its way to your lips.

“You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting to do that to you.” His dark eyes peered down at you with such heated lust you thought you’d burn alive.

“I can’t wait to see how these next few weeks play out then.” You run your hand down the front of his shirt and slowly graze over the buckle of his belt. Ducking under his arm you continued to walk the way you were heading.

Behind you, you could hear a deep groan followed by heavy footsteps trailing after you.

I’m so excited to finally be writing semi-regular again after almost 2 years… oops 😬. My requests are open so if you have any please shoot me an idea and I’ll happily try my best to make it happen!

Ps: I’m genuinely so obsessed with this man that if he broke me in half I’d probably thank him and ask for more… just 😩🤌🏻 military men. That is all.

[despressoslatte]

not the zoey you wanted (one)

pairing: zach maclaren x female reader!

summary: you waited all weekend for your boyfriend, Zach, to call or text, anything, to explain why he had just went and ghosted you when you were supposed to go with him on a family ski trip to meet his parents, his sister Avery, and his cousin, Miles.

content warnings: angst; victims of catfishing; miscommunication trope

masterlist

Ten minutes late, not a big deal. 

Fifteen minutes late, but it’s okay, because maybe it took longer than he thought to find a book on Battletoads for Avery. Maybe his bike tires got a flat. You told him it would’ve been faster if he had just taken your car, but he insisted on taking his bike to get in a quick workout. What a jock response, you had laughed at him for it.

Thirty minutes late. Okay, you were starting to worry, picking up your phone every couple of seconds to see if there was any texts, calls, any form of update from him. You type out a quick, ‘Are you on your way?’ and press send.

Nothing. You flipped your phone down on the table, tapping on your thighs as you tried not to think of the worst case scenarios.

Forty five minutes late. You flipped your phone back to face you, a soft, sad smile on your face at Zach’s face on your lockscreen. A frown etched itself into your features when you saw no messages.

You pressed the call button by his name, and it went straight to voicemail. Weird. Was his phone dead? Did he fall asleep and kept his phone off? All the possibilities swirled in your head, wondering, contemplating, worrying. 

ᯓ⟢

Apparently, it was known to all of the above. You had gone by his dorm to see that he was gone, his roommate saying he had already come by with his parents to get his overnight bag.

“Yeah, Y/N, he said he was going on the ski trip with his folks and his girlfriend…” his roommate trailed off, his eyebrows furrowing as he looked down at you.

The confusion between the two of you was ear shattering. You were Zach’s girlfriend, so why the hell are you not with Zach going on this ski trip with him and his folks?

You watched his roommates lips press into an awkward line, sympathy written in his eyes as he pushed his hands into his pockets.

“Sorry,” was all he was able to say.

You just nodded, looking away. “Thanks,” you mumbled, and hurried back to your dorm.

Was this Zach’s sick and twisted way of breaking up with you? You had gotten new snow gear just for this trip, all ready and packed back at your dorm. You had been ready for a while now, nervous and excited about meeting his family, like the two of you had planned. His parents had heard so much about you, according to Zach, and his little sister, Avery, wanted to play Battletoads with you, apparently. Zach’s cousin, Miles, was even joining since he was in town from MIT. 

You tried to think of all the things that could’ve gone wrong that you hadn’t even realized. You and Zach had been seeing each other for almost four months now, having met at the beginning of the semester when he needed help in his English Literature course to keep his grades up since it was soccer season.

Zach MacLaren was your college’s school soccer star, and you worked in the tutoring center that was specifically for college students, the SASS, for Student Athlete Support Services. While the tutor girl x jock trope is one of your favorites, dating back to the Naley days of One Tree Hill, there were no moments of chatter where he was annoying you in the guise of flirting or acting like he was too above it all.

Zach was a total sweetheart and the epitome of a lover boy. With a competitive streak and the type of banter that could only be described best as the kind that made it impossible to stop smiling as you tried to think of witty comebacks, dating Zach has felt as if it were quite literally, better than the movies.

If you two ever fought, it was those types of arguments couples were just bound to get into—stress induced irritation, differing opinions on non-deal breaking topics, learning to navigate the fact that you are two different and individual people who are trying to also learn how to be together as a unit.

That day specifically, you could not pinpoint anything you had done that could have upset Zach. You both got coffee that morning on campus before classes, gone through the checklist of things you needed to make sure you packed before he picked you up after classes and his trip to the bookstore near campus, and went on your merry ways. 

His family lived about two hours away from school. Even though it was only weeks away from finals and then, happily, the three-week winter/holiday break, his family wanted to go to a ski resort since the mountains had already gotten snow, and Zach’s cousin Miles was in town just for the weekend.

ᯓ⟢

You took it pretty hard that weekend, especially the way none of your texts got delivered and your calls kept going straight to voicemail. You debated over and over asking your mutual friends if they could get ahold of Zach for you, scared he had blocked you or something. But you didn’t want the humiliation of finding out you and Zach had broken up through mutual friends. 

You had to hear it from him. 

So, on Monday morning, around the time Zach had originally told you that you guys would be driving back in from the ski lodge since you two had to coordinate if you’d be missing any classes Monday, you parked your car in front of his parents’ house. You had their address from when his parents had mailed you a Thanksgiving family photo card a few weeks ago. Luckily for you, you kept every letter ever sent to you in a box, so you still had the envelope it came in, even if the photo itself was attached to your fridge back on via magnet.

You watched as cars drove past the street, wishing you and Zach looking for Zach’s parents. You never met them, not even through FaceTime, but you had seen photos of them on Zach’s Instagram. Somehow, fate never linked up that you would meet them at his games. You tried to go to all of them, but you still worked at the tutoring center, so sometimes, your tutoring sessions collided with his game schedule. 

Since it was a two hour drive from his hometown, his parents usually watched the livestream of the games, but tried to make a few. It was never the ones you were at. For Thanksgiving, you had flown all the way back home to your own hometown, so another missed opportunity to meet them.

He hadn’t posted anything from the ski trip, you felt too awkward if you went and followed Miles, who was private. You felt embarrassed that you were even checking Miles’ instagram for any glance of your boyfriend, anyways. And maybe even more embarrassed when you checked to see if either of his parents had an Instagram—they don’t—or if Avery, as young as she was, had one. She did, but it was private. Smart girl.

When their car finally pulled into the driveway, you waited until they all started to pile out of the car to get out of yours. But you paused from across the street, blinking rapidly as a girl got out of the middle row with Zach and Miles. 

You knew her. Zoey Miller. Your name was Y/N Zoey L/N, with a bunch of your old high school friends calling you “Zoey” as a habit from when you didn’t want to go by your first name. Since starting college, you’d slowly gotten back into the habit of using your real first name. However, here had been a few times where you’d hear “Zoey” called out in a shared class with her, and turn when they meant her and not you.

Zach even called you “Zoey” a few times, after a FaceTime call he had with your best friend who told him if he didn’t take care of you, she’d come fly in to beat him personally. He laughed off the threat, promising he’d gladly let her, if the situation that would never ever occur on his watch, did somehow occur.

Since when were they even friends? Not that you needed to know all of his friends, but you did somehow know most of them. You didn’t think Zoey Miller was on that list. And then you saw him put his arm around her.

So, you walk up the driveway, calling out Zach’s name softly but loud enough you could be heard, your heart pounding in your ear as you took a nervous breath. Was this it? Were you two really over? You needed to know. You watch as he, his entire family, and Zoey all turn around to look at you. And the next few moments take you for a trip. It was all a bit of a blur, like you weren’t quite sure if you were really experiencing the moment or not.

Someone had asked who you were. You saw Zach look at you like he had never seen you before. Were you really that unimportant?

“I…” you breathe out as you try to gather the words. “I’m Zach’s girlfriend.”

His eyes furrowed at you, mouth slightly ajar. You’ve seen that confused look on his face before, like when you’d ask him discussion questions on a book he hadn’t fully read when he should have during tutoring.

“No, that’s Zach’s girlfriend,” you think it was his mom who said it, though you weren’t looking at anyone but Zach.

It was hard to stomach the way he was looking at you like you were a stranger. You suck in a painful breath when you heard he had a different girlfriend. What was with this guy and girls with Zoey in their name, anyways?

“Oh,” you breathe out, whispering your words. “I see.”

You look to Zoey Miller, seeing the remorse in her eyes. Had she had know Zach never actually broke up with you? Is that why she looked so guilty.

You look at Zach, trying to bite your tongue back. But a bitter, “Thanks for telling me first,” fell from your lips with a scoff. 

And despite the fact you came there to hear it from Zach’s lips personally, you were sure you’d start crying in front of his parents, his sister, his favorite cousin, and his new girlfriend, and that embarrassment felt worse than not getting the answers or closure you needed. Maybe you’d just give him an earful when you’d eventually need to go to his dorm to give him back his shit you had and take your own back.And you turned around without waiting for any other answers, responses, anything. You practically ran back to your car, trying to start it up and get back on the road before you started to cry.

two >

[pathologicalreid]

first snow | s.r.

in which you and Spencer experience the first snow in your new apartment together

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: fluff. the kind that rots your teeth. content warnings: snow? ❄️ ❄️ ❄️ ❄️ word count: 954 a/n: so! not margovember! but i've been saving this one for a special occasion (my first snow came!!!!!) and i hope you enjoy it!!!!

“Why are we doing this now?” You asked, cocking your head at your boyfriend after you finished hauling a stack of books off of the shelves.

He was sitting on the floor, dozens of stacks of books surrounding him, so each step you took was precarious. Spencer’s self-appointed job was to sort through the books, but you weren’t getting rid of any of them. No. He’d decided to reorganize them, influenced by an influx of new language books, according to the Dewey decimal system—a phrase you hadn’t heard since grade school.

You hoisted another stack of books from the shelves, thankfully built into the walls, and set them on the ground. “We can never move out of this apartment,” you told him, flipping through an early edition Proust, likely from his mom’s collection.

That got his attention, “Why not?” His legs were crisscrossed beneath him, his hair freshly washed, and glasses perched on his face. Spencer’s flannel pajama pants were likely warmer than your cotton ones, but you felt as though your hoodie had an advantage over his crewneck.

Gesturing your hands out to the piles of books, you raised your eyebrows, “We’d have to move all of the books again.” The two of you had moved into the apartment near the beginning of the summer, right before Spencer started his training at the Academy, and the heat had ended up being more than you bargained for.

Spencer smiled fondly at you, “I like this apartment,” he reminded you, turning his attention back to his philosophy books, “It suits us.”

Looking around, you had also fallen in love with the apartment rather quickly, and you didn’t have much room to complain, knowing that Spencer had sacrificed having a short commute so you could be close to work. The two of you moved in together after you finished school in Pasadena, and he wrapped up classes at MIT, closing the distance and starting the rest of your lives together.

The two of you repainted together, abandoning the miserable taupe that had been on the walls in favor of a dark green; you worked together to make it home, even if you were here more often than him.

Stepping over a teetering pile of novels, you held your arms out for balance as you tried to get to the kitchen, yelping when your foot caught on a book, sending you falling to the ground. You groaned as the corner of a book dug into your side; the blow softened by the cotton of your sweatshirt as you rolled off of the collapsed stack.

“Are you alright?” Spencer asked as you rolled over to a safe area. His hand settled on your side, stopping you from rolling onto your back.

Propping yourself up on your elbows, you nodded, “Yeah.” You frowned at the books that were left in your wake, “Oh, Spence. Your books,” you sighed, sticking out your bottom lip sadly.

He shook his head, “They’re just books, lovely.” Despite his reassurance, you caught his brown eyes flickering over the fallen novels. At a glance, it didn’t seem like any damage was incurred, but Spencer held his books to a very high standard. You knew he’d be checking them over as soon as you turned your head.

Sitting all the way up, you giggled softly at the way his concern split between you and the books; you thought about pressing your lips to his, but something moving outside the window caught your eye instead.

You squinted out the window, trying to ascertain what was going on, when your mouth gaped in surprise, “Spencer!” You scrambled to your feet, trying to drag your boyfriend to his, “Come on!”

His brows pinched in confusion. He looked around the living room, trying to find what had gotten you so excited, but you were already shoving your fuzzy sock-covered feet into your sneakers. Spencer had no choice but to follow.

Not even minding that you’d folded over the heels of your shoes, you were shuffling down the stairs and making your way to the street. Spencer lagged behind you, and you had already thrown your arms out in excitement by the time he made it outside. “It’s snowing,” You said giddily, bouncing on the balls of your feet and spinning on the pavement.

Spencer grabbed one of your hands, stopping you from moving while he draped your jacket over your shoulders, having been too driven to get to the snowflakes to think about staying warm. His eyes were filled with love, leaving no room for judgment.

Sticking your tongue in an attempt to catch a snowflake, you didn’t even care that you were acting like a child. You’d never lived anywhere that got real snow like this before, “Oh, I love snow.”

“Your scarf is in tatters,” Spencer observed, holding the threadbare fabric at arm’s length.

You shrugged, breathing in and letting the cold air nip at your nose, “I haven’t had any use for it. It’s been in storage for ages,” you reminded him, closing your eyes and basking in the snow.

Instead of placing the hole-ridden scarf around your neck, Spencer loops his purple one over your shoulders. “I’ll have to knit you a new one. They’re predicting above-average snowfall this winter.”

Beaming at Spencer, you held out your hand for him to take, and he pulled you closer to him so your back was flush with his chest, the two of you watching the flurries as the lamplight refracted off the tiny ice crystals. “Happy first snow, Spencer Reid,” you told him, leaning your head back on his shoulder so the two of you could share a kiss.

He hummed affectionately, “Happy first snow, my love.”

[scorpioriesling]

Can you make one where y/n is xaden's sister (obviously) and she is in a relationship with garrick (which xaden approves of) and they both got into a fight because Garrick is too strict in his role of being Xaden's right hand man and also violets new appointed bodyguard and doesn't give her enough time (she's also pregnant and she's hiding it from all of them) and one day there will be a slip up and Xaden is the first to find out she's pregnant. You can make it however you like from here

Can you make it super angsty in the beginning and a very fluffy ending?? Please (not being anonymous because you already know I am going to make a request lol)

Go Easy On Me

･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *

Pairing(s): Garrick x reader

Warning(s): angst, fluff, mentions of pregnancy and violence

Summary: You didn't figure your brother's girlfriend would turn to you with the bigges secret of her life; but, you knew from that point on, you'd do what needed to be done to protect her and it.

SR’s Note: Guys this turned out so FKN CUTE OMG, who knew I could still write things other than just smut? All jokes, all jokes; but seriously, you're gonna love this one. Maybe not as much as me though.

Tags: @mellowmusings @rcarbo1 @lilah-asteria @kitsunetori @velarisdusk @nctsawrus @lreadsstuff @freakishfandomfiend @desprrssooo-espresssooooo

(inbox me or comment if you'd like to be added!)

･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *

Your brow furrowed as you approached the training room, hearing thr loud shouting from inside. Pushing the door open, you realized it was more grunting than shouting; and sure enough, it was coming from just who you thought.

"Harder, Sorrengail!"

You watched as your brother's girlfriend threw another punch at your boyfriend, who stood more than an entire head taller than her. Her clenched fist connected with his gloved hands, and the sound of skin-meeting-mat echoed in the otherwise empty training room.

"You're not using your upper body. You have to use your upper body like I told you-"

"I'm using all I've got!"

You flinched as her angry words filled the space, raising your eyebrows at her defiance. You swallowed, only anticipating what your boyfriend would say next to her. You figured he'd get all moody, like he always did; but, instead, he just sighed and lowered his mits.

"We'll resume tomorrow." He said, his chin dipping as he yanked the gloves off. Violet's shoulders shook as she inhaled, over and over as though she was gasping for air. You gazed on pitifully as she stalked off the mat, only now noticing you leaned up against the wall.

"Riorson," she greeted, and you smiled casually.

"Sorrengail." She sighed, and you flicked your eyes toward the hallway. "Do we need to chat?"

Her eyes widened before she nodded, pressing open the door to the hall. You glanced back at Garrick, then followde her out when you confirmed he was still putting training equipment away.

She walked a few feet from the training room entrance and sighed, leaning against the wall. Your mouth turned down as you anxiously waited for her to start talking.

"I'm so glad you always listen to me ramble," she began, setting her hands on her knees and leaning forward. "Not that Xaden isn't a good listener, but... he just has no idea."

You allow her to finish before you speak.

"Hey, I mean... I totally get it. I grew up with the guy," you chuckle. She looks up, her eyes meeting yours as you continue. "But, that doesn't mean he can't be talked to."

She nods. "Right, right."

You wait a few beats before pressing further. "Is there... something you need to talk about?"

She lets out a long breath as her thumb and forefinger move to pinch the bridge of her nose.

"Well... yes. There is one thing."

✧･ﾟ: *

You met up with Garrick after he left the training room, opting to walk back with him to his dorm instead of facing boredom in your own. You'd always preferred his dorm to your own; his was more spacious, darker in color, and without a roommate.

"I'm just saying she needs to listen if she's going to be ready for battle," he drones on, and for what feels like the hundredth time, you roll your eyes.

"Garrick, I get it -- as her bodyguard, and Xaden's right hand man, you want her to perform at a certain level-"

"Yeah, a level I know she can get to. You did -- why should it be any different for her?" He says, looking sidelong at you. The setting sun cast and orangey glow across the panes of his face, and you couldn't help but admire.

After a few beats of silence, you made sure to choose your words carefully.

"Garrick; I appreciate all you do, and so does my brother -- and I think you know that," you say, your fingers reaching for his as you continue the walk. "All I'm saying is... we never know what people have going on in their personal lives, so, maybe... cut her some slack?"

He huffs a laugh, his fingers squeezing and releasing yours.

"What else would she have going on right now? There's so much work to be done in preparation; and I don't think your brother hired me to 'take it easy' on his girlfriend," he argued. You sighed, dropping his hand in favor of crossing your arms. "What, did he tell you something I should know about?"

You turned to him and glared. "No, he did not -- and even if he did, it wouldn't be my place to air it all out to you. You're his friend and Violet's bodyguard -- not mine."

You stomped angrily toward the dorm building, your brooding boyfriend trailing behind. When you reached the entrance, your fingers closed arond the door handle, and Garrick's fingers gently laid atop yours on it.

"No, I'm not your bodyguard," he said softly. You turned to face him, and your heart clenched at his pained expression. "But, I am your boyfriend, and I'd protect you as though I was."

✧･ﾟ: *

"Riorson, let's go."

Professor Emmetario called you forward, and you awaited the announcement of your personal trainer for the day. Usually, he'd partner you and Imogen -- but, with her gone on a mission, you were curious who you'd get.

"Tavis, take the mat."

Your brows rose as your boyfriend stalked toward you, a surprised expression on his face.

"Bit of a conflict of interest, but... I'll allow it this once." Emmetario gave you a knowing smile, and you simply shrugged.

It was quiet for a few moments, you and your boyfriend gazing at one another. The only sounds around you were the other older cadets training with the younger ones. He broke the silence a few beats later.

"I suppose we'll start with daggers this morning," he said. You smirked.

"Oh come on, Garrick -- give me a challenge."

He rolled his eyes.

"Just grab what you need and don't sass me, Riorson. Gods, you sound so much like your brother."

A smile crept onto your face at that as you took a few of your favorite blades from the rack, making your way toward the target boards. Flipping a few over in your hands, you glanced sidelong at Garrick.

"No Violet, today?" Usually, Emmetario would keep training partners the same; the only real difference today were a few riders missing that had gone on the mission. Garrick shrugged.

"She told me this morning she needed to stay in bed; sick or something," he guessed. Your heart sank as you remembered what she'd discussed with you last week, her secret she entrusted you with. Your breathing hollowed as you worked to maintain your composure; but, as always, your boyfriend clocked that something was off.

"Is everything okay?" He asks softly, moving to stand directly before you. "Because if there's something I need to know-"

"No! No Garrick, it's fine." You said sharply. He flinched as though you'd just slapped him, his brows narrowing before he took a deep breath.

"Fine, fine. But you know if there is something... Xaden did trust me to look after her while he's gone. So... if there is something I should know, you need to tell me." He said sternly. You nudged his chest, recentering yourself before the human-shaped targets ahead.

"Right, yeah -- can I get to throwing these now?" You said. Garrick leveled a look at you before sucking in a large gust of air, moving aside to allow you to throw.

"Have at it."

The first two daggers hit on either side of the target's chest, but you began to lose focus as you attempted to aim for the shape's stomach.

Violet. Violet. Violet.

Your brow furrowed as you launched the blade, however it struck just outside the body's outline. Sighing, you threw another.

Miss.

And another.

Miss again.

You growled in frustration as you trudged toward the targets, bending to yank the sharps from the wood. When you returned back to your position, Garrick pushed off the wall and walked up to you.

"I see you're having struggles," he said calmly, his abdomen pressing against your back. His hands slid down your arms to cover your fingers with his, gripping the blade as one.

"You'll want to keep your arm close to you when you throw," he explained, drawing your arm back with his. "And, keep your core engaged so your aim rings true."

Your breathing hitched as his other hand wrapped around your midsection, pressing against your lower stomach. You were pressed flat against him now; and even after all this time, the feeling still gave you butterflies.

"Alright, draw back..." he pulled your arm up.

"And, release."

You flung the dagger, and sure enough -- it landed right in the center of the target. He chuckled, leaning down to kiss your forehead. You felt a pang of excitement, but your stomach sank when you thought about Violet again.

"Nice!" He congradulated, his hands releasing you. He backed up, playfully swatting your butt before folding his muscled arms over his chest. Your head swiveled to look at him in shock, but he only grinned at you.

"Garrick!"

"Now you try," he encouraged, his gaze only faltering from your face for a second as his gaze ran over the length of your body. You scowled, though your mind had fully come back to the present.

"If I keep getting this treatment," you taunted. "Maybe I'll mess up every time."

He rolled his eyes, shaking his head as a small smile spread across his lips. You liked seeing him like this; happy, unassuming, calm. Such an opposition to the usually tough and demanding demeanor he used with Violet.

You reared your arm back, breath wooshing from you when you let go of the handle. Sure enough -- the blade splintered the wood right alongside your previous throw.

Garrick nodded in approval, clapping loudly twice.

"Now that's my girl."

✧･ﾟ: *

Garrick paced back and forth in his dorm as he awaited Xaden's arrival. You could tell he was anxious; but, no matter how many times you tried to get him to sit beside you on the bed, he declined.

"He's gonna be pissed. Surely pissed," he mumbled, his fingers rubbing his chin. You sighed, running your fingers through your undone braid.

"You don't know that," you said softly. Garrick glanced at you, huffing.

"He left me in charge of Violet for the time being, and she's spent more time alone in her dorm than training and preparing like he asked for," he rants, his steps increading in speed. "Not to mention, it's been going on for weeks now. So yeah... I'm sure your brother will be more than pissed off."

In that moment, the door to the slepeing quarters opened. Your brother stood in the doorway, the light bending around him as he stepped through. You instantly hopped from the bed, trotting over and throwing your arms around your big brother.

"Xaden!" You chirped excitedly as he squeezed you with enough force to crush your ribs. "I'm so glad you're okay."

He pulled back, smiling grimly.

"Physically I am more than alright -- it was being out on the isle for a month and a half that did me in," he explained, running a hand through his hair.

"Bet you got a nice tan though, didn't you?" Garrick teased, and Xaden quickly crossed the room to him. He pulled him in, clapping him on the back as he laughed.

"Oh, the best tan," he joked back, and you re-took your position on Garrick's bed. Your brother glanced around the room, leveling a confused look on his best friend.

"Say... where's Vi?"

Garrick's brows knit in confusion.

"You haven't seen her yet?"

Xaden's face went placid.

"No... figured she'd be here. With you."

Garrick sighed, rubbing a hand over his face.

"Well, that's actually what I needed to talk to you about."

Xaden's brow rose a fraction of an inch, and he folded his arms.

"So talk. Did something happen to her?"

Garrick laughed dryly. "I thought maybe you'd know -- don't you guys have that, weird, mind-to-mind thing?"

Xaden huffed, beginning to pace himself.

"Yeah, but it's been cut off for weeks. Being outside the wards didn't help, but she definately has her shields up... I haven't been able to figure out why," he explains. Garrick shrugs, shaking his head.

"I don't know man, she's been hiding out in her room, missing classes and training, and-"

"Wait. She's been missing classes?" Xaden asks, alarm creeping into his voice. "What the Hell do you mean?"

Garrick shrugs. "Exactly what I just said. She's been sleeping more, not coming to training days, barely leaving her dorm-"

"And you didn't think any of this was worthy of telling me?" Your brothers voice rose in octive as he halted his pacing. Garrick tutted.

"How was I supposed to get that message to you when you were outside the wards?" Garrick asked in exasperation. "If you recall, I dont have a mind-to-mind pathway like you and Violet do; I'm not linked to you in that way, thank God." He muttered the last part. You hopped off the bed when Xaden grabbed his bets friend by the shirt collar, getting in his face.

"I don't give a fuck how you got it to me, I should've known that-"

"Hey! Stop, stop," you interjected, wiggling between the two in an attempt at a separation. Xaden's grip on Garrick loosened a bit, but Garrick stared back at him with nothing short of unfiltered rage. You put both hands on your brother's chest, shoving him back to a point where he was forced to release his hold on Garrick. He staggered to regain his balance, still glaring at your brother.

You turned to him, peering up into those usually wonderful brown eyes.

"Garrick, hey -- let me try and talk to him for a second, okay?"

Garrick's face softened as he looked down at you, the warmth returning to his hard stare. You brushed your fingers along his forearm, and pressed onto your tip toes to kiss his cheek.

"Just give me a few minutes?"

He sighed, shaking his head slowly before agreeing.

"Fine. But I'll be just outside."

You nodded as he stalked toward the door, yanking it open while he grumbled and griped about being kicked out of his own dorm. Xaden however, regained a leash on his rage, masking it in his usual lethal calm.

Turning to him, you sighed.

"Did you really feel the need to do all that?"

He scoffed, looking at the wall.

"Deserved it."

You rolled your eyes, walking closer to him.

"You don't really think Garrick of all people deserves the other end of your fury." You reasoned, and your brother finally looked at you.

"You'd understand if it was him in danger, and the person you sent to watch after him was-"

"He's not just a person, Xaden. He's your best friend," you pleaded. "You aren't really mad at him, are you? This is about Violet -- not the two of you."

He sighed and ran a hand through his hair once more. "Yeah, it is. But he's supposed to be helping me, and in doing that he shouldn't be letting her rot away in her room but instead making her stronger-"

"Wait. Who said anything about rotting away?" You asked. Xaden's eyes widened.

"Garrick did, genius! He literally just said she's missing classes and avoiding training to sit alone in her bed all the time," he gripes, throwing his hands wide. "What the Hell else am I supposed to think?"

You frowned at him. "I think you put way too much on him; again, he's your best friend. Not your soldier," you reason, which seems to only ignite your brother more.

"Exactly! Which is why I trust him this; I trust him with you, I trusted him with Violet-"

"Again, friend. Not employee."

Xaden's jaw ticked. "Of course you'd defend his actions; you're so caught up in what the two of you have, you don't think twice how it could affect me-"

You breathed out sharply, waving your arms in anger.

"Xaden, if you'd just shut up for one single second and look at what you have, you'd realize that what your girlfriend needs right now is not to be pushed to the fucking brink at training, it's a supportive boyfriend that puts his girlfriend and their baby's needs above everything else!" You said with a shout.

The room fell absolutely silent.

Your brother stared at you.

Heaving, you stared back.

His eyes glazed over, as though he was processing everything you just divulged to him.

You gulped, lowering your arms as regret sank in and you realized what you just confessed. A rash of angry red spread across your chest as panic gripped your gut with it's long talons, squeezing and twisting every organ inside of you.

Xaden's gaze refocused, and he looked to you in shame.

"She's... pregnant?" He asked, his voice just above a whisper. Tears stung the back of your eyes as you nodded, stepping toward him to place a comforting hand on his shoulder.

"I... Xaden, I didn't mean for you to find out this way, oh Gods," a single tear fell, and your brother's eyes locked onto it as it slid down your cheek. He reached up, wiping it away before pulling you into a somber embrace.

"She's... pregnant," he said slowly, processing the gravity of the words. A small sob racked your body as you cried against your brother's flight jacket. He reached up, petting the back of your head affectionately. The two of you stood there in the quiet, the only noises being your little cries as you worked to regain your composure. When he pulled back, holding you at arm's length, you looked to him through teary eyes.

"Y/N... I don't even know what to say," he said, his own eyes glassy. "How long have you known?"

You sniffled, wiping your nose with your sleeve.

"Right after you left, I think she... found out, and told me and... I know she wanted to tell you herself, and now I've gone and ruined it-"

He pulled you in again as another sob escaped your throat, wrapping his arms completely around you in an attempt to calm you down.

"Hey, hey, you ruined nothing Y/N," he soothed, rubbing a hand down your back. "I'm glad she felt comfortable sharing that with you, especially with me not beign here for her."

His saddened tone forced you to stand upright once more, and looking up at him you saw only regret in his stare.

"Xaden -- you can't blame yourself for doing your duty," you expressed. "Besides, you're here now, shouldn't you go to her? Talk about it?"

He nodded slowly, pulling you in one last time for an embrace.

"You've always been the wise one, you know that?" He chuckled, resting his chin atop your head. "Pisses me off a bit that you're the younger sibling; but, I'll get over it."

You laughed a watery laugh, sniffling as you pulled away from him. Your hand wrapped securely around his elbow, and you pulled him toward the doorway.

"C'mon, lets go see this new momma."

✧･ﾟ: *

8 Months Later

"Okay, okay -- please just be careful with her head," Violet worries as Xaden hands the tiny pink bundle off to his best friend. The overhead lights have been turned off, per Violet's request; as well as the cutrains drawn, allowing in the natual sunlight to illuminate the room.

"I got it, I got it," Garrick assures, placing his hands just beneath the baby's head and back. He brings her close to his chest, snuggling and cooing down at her.

"Just like we practiced," he glances to you, and you give him a wink. Just like we practiced.

"So, have you guys chosen a name yet?" You asked, the intrigue eating away at you at the lack of knowing. Garrick rocked the little girl in his arms, smiling down at her. You looked to your brother, who watched on with wet eyes at the sight. Violet, however turned to you.

"Well, we were thinking something that held meaning to the both of us," she explained, and suddenly the tiny girl began to cry. Garrick's eyes widened in shock as he looked between the three of you.

"I did nothing! I swear!"

You chuckled as you rose from the small sofa, striding toward him to take the precious thing. Her wails tapered off, only small sniffles crinkling that precious face. Garrick passed her with utmost care, and you held her securely in your arms.

"She must prefer her aunt to her uncle," Xaden teases, and Garrick rolls his eyes.

"Or, she's like me and prefer's Y/N's touch."

You grin at him, and he kisses the top of your head as his fingers trail along your spine. You remain focused on the little one, watchign as her brows unforrow and she falls steadily back to sleep.

"Anyway," Violet continues, drawing the attention in the room back to her words. "We feel like we've come up with a good one."

Garrick shrugs. "Let's hear it."

Xaden smiles as he watches you with his daughter, realizing how lucky he is to have three of the most special girls in his life be right within his little family. Violet looks to him, encouraging him to announce the name.

"We're going to call her, Y/N Mira Riorson."

Your heart clenches as you look up, your eyes brimming with emotion. Xaden and Violet look thoughtfully to you, and a single tear slips free when you gaze back down at the wonderful little thing.

"Y/N," you say quietly, brushing her soft little cheek with your finger. "It's so nice to finally meet you."

✧･ﾟ: *

[hoe4hotchner]

As a fellow Danish Hotch enjoyer (han er min lille pookie) , I need Hotch x Danish reader who starts speaking Danish when she gets tired. She also keeps insisting that Jack should watch Kaj og Andrea.

Bakke snagvendt |��[A.H]

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Danish fem!reader | WC: 1.5k | CW: Fluff

A/N: I LOVE THIS!!!! Honestly I think I have the puppets laying somewhere in my parents' house.

This is very niche, so I added translations to the parts in danish ;)

The first time you slipped into Danish around Aaron, he didn’t interrupt. The silence of his response was as gentle as the moment itself. You were sprawled across his couch, your feet tucked beneath a soft blanket he kept draped over the armrest. Your head rested against his shoulder, the steady rhythm of his breathing lulling you deeper and deeper into sleep as your eyelids grew heavier with each passing second.

The living room was bathed in the soft glow from a single lamp, casting warm shadows across the carpeted floor. In the background, a crime documentary droned on the television, which you were surprised he had agreed to watch with you given his job.

An hour earlier, you’d been sitting cross-legged on Jack’s bed, reading Where the Wild Things Are to him with an exaggerated, vaguely British accent that sent him into fits of giggles. His laughter had echoed through the small bedroom, his small hands clutching the edges of his dinosaur-patterned duvet as he begged for “just one more page.”

Now, with Jack tucked in and the apartment settled into silence, you felt the weight of the day pulling you under. Your lips parted, and a string of words spilled out, soft and slurred, utterly incomprehensible to Aaron’s tired ears.

“–jeg kan ikke holde mine øjne åbne længere, de er tunge som bly–” (I can't keep my eyes open anymore, they're as heavy as lead)

Aaron blinked, his eyes flickering with curiosity as he tilted his head slightly, trying to parse the unfamiliar syllables. “What was that?” he asked, his voice low, careful not to disturb the peace of the moment.

You didn’t respond. Instead, you let out a contented sigh, your body sinking deeper into his side, your murmurs fading into a quiet mumble. The cadence of your voice was different in Danish–softer, more melodic, the consonants rounded and gentle.

Aaron didn’t press further. He watched you, the way your lashes fluttered against your cheeks, the way your fingers curled loosely around the edge of the blanket. There was something intimate about it, the way your mother tongue surfaced when your defenses were down. He didn’t understand the words, but he didn’t need to.

It wasn’t until a week later, in the midst of a different kind of chaos, that he brought it up. The living room was a battlefield of LEGO pieces, scattered across the rug like colorful shrapnel. You were sprawled on the floor, one of his old academy shirts on, its hem brushing your thighs as you sat cross-legged beside Jack. The two of you were deep in the construction of a LEGO dinosaur, a T-Rex with a wobbly head and a tail that kept snapping off.

Your eyes were pink-rimmed from a long day at work, but you were patient, handing Jack pieces and offering quiet encouragement as he debated where the next block should go.

Jack had scampered off to brush his teeth, leaving you alone with the half-built creature. You slumped against the base of the couch, the T-Rex dangling from your hand as you muttered to yourself, “Det giver ingen mening, LEGO er i mit DNA!” (It makes no sense, LEGO is in my DNA!)

Aaron, seated in his armchair with a newspaper spread across his lap, lowered the pages just enough to peer at you over the top. “Sweetheart?” he called, his voice carrying that familiar mix of amusement and affection.

“Hm?” you replied, your head tilting lazily toward him, your expression dazed and dreamy.

“You’re doing it again,” he said, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Doing what?” you asked, blinking as if your brain was slowly rebooting.

He folded the newspaper with care, setting it aside before crossing the room to kneel beside you. His hand found your hair, his fingers brushing it back from your face with a tenderness that felt like it belonged to a different world. “Speaking…Danish. I think,” he said, his smile widening just enough to crinkle the corners of his eyes.

You froze, your cheeks flushing a soft pink as realization dawned. “Oh,” you said, your voice small. “Sorry. I–I do that sometimes. When I’m tired.”

“Don’t apologize,” he said, his tone firm but warm, his thumb grazing your cheek. “It’s cute.”

“Cute?” you huffed, though the corners of your mouth betrayed you, curling into a reluctant smile. “Well. Det er fandme første gang nogen har sagt det.” (Damn, that's the first time anyone's ever said that.)

Aaron’s brow arched, his expression a mix of curiosity and mock suspicion. “I assume that wasn’t an insult.”

Your grin widened, bright and mischievous. “No. Just…never mind. You’re not ready for that one.”

It became a quiet thread woven into the fabric of your relationship, slipping into Danish when the world grew heavy or soft. It was never intentional, never a performance–just you, sleepy, your sweater slipping off one shoulder, your hair mussed from the couch pillow or the armrest of Aaron’s car.

The words mostly came in fragments, not full sentences, as if your brain relinquished its hold on English when exhaustion took over. Aaron began to notice the patterns: the way your voice softened, the way the Danish words carried a rhythm that felt like home to you, even if he couldn’t follow the meaning.

One evening, as summer bled into autumn, you were both out on the balcony, the air crisp and cool. You were curled up in a wicker chair, a glass of red wine cradled in your hands, the deep ruby liquid catching the light from the string of bulbs you had hung on the railing.

You were half-asleep, your head tipped back, when you mumbled, “Skal vi ikke bare gå i seng…” (Shouldn’t we just go to bed)

Aaron, seated beside you with a book he hadn’t been reading, glanced over and gently pried the wine glass from your fingers before it could tip.

“We will,” he said softly, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Just one more minute.”

You nodded, your eyes closed, your lips curving into a faint smile, even though you hadn’t fully registered his words. He didn’t mind.

But then came your campaign, and with it, a new kind of chaos. It started one evening in the kitchen, the air thick with the scent of garlic and thyme as Aaron chopped vegetables for dinner. You leaned over the island, your elbows propped on the granite, your eyes sparkling with the kind of mischief that made Jack your instant ally.

“Jack,” you said, your voice low and conspiratorial, as if you were plotting a heist. “You know what you need to watch?”

Jack, perched on a stool with a glass of apple juice, leaned in, his eyes wide with excitement. “What?”

“Kaj og Andrea,” you declared, with the gravitas of someone revealing a long-guarded secret.

Aaron paused, his knife hovering over a carrot. “What’s that?” he asked, his tone cautious, as if he sensed the tide turning against him.

“The best thing ever,” you said, straightening up and planting your hands on your hips. “It’s a Danish children’s show. About a frog and a parrot. They live in a little apartment and argue and eat popcorn. It’s iconic.”

Jack’s face lit up like a Christmas tree. “Can we watch it?” he asked, already sliding off the stool and making a beeline for the living room.

Aaron held up a hand, his expression a mix of skepticism and amusement. “Let’s…just take a moment. Is this in English?”

You stared at him, your mouth slightly open, as if he’d just asked if the moon was made of cheese. “No. Of course not. It’s in Danish. That’s the whole charm.”

Jack, already halfway to the couch, called back, “I wanna watch the frog one!”

You shot Aaron a smug look, your eyes dancing with victory. “He’s a man of culture.”

Aaron gave you a long, measured look over the counter, his lips twitching. “If he starts mixing Danish with his math homework, that’s on you.”

“Helt fair,” (Fair enough) you said sweetly, batting your lashes. “You’ll just have to learn too.”

Later that night, long after Jack had been tucked into bed and the house had settled into its familiar quiet, you were curled up against Aaron in his bed. The soft glow of your phone illuminated your face as you scrolled through clips on YouTube, your enthusiasm undimmed despite the late hour.

You held the phone out to him, your eyes bright. “Just watch one clip. One. They sing about talking backward.”

Aaron took one look at the brightly colored puppets–a green frog with a lopsided grin and a parrot with a penchant for dramatic gestures–and shook his head, a low laugh rumbling in his chest. “You’re ridiculous.”

“I’m Danish,” you corrected, your voice thick with sleep as you yawned. “It’s worse, the Swedes would agree.”

He didn’t argue. Instead, he pressed a kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering there as he pulled the blankets up higher around you, tucking them beneath your chin. “I wouldn’t change a thing,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

Even when you started mumbling about frogs and parrots in Danish, your voice trailing off into soft, happy nonsense as you drifted to sleep against his chest, Aaron only smiled. He tightened his arms around you, holding you close, and let the unfamiliar words wash over him like a lullaby.

[younes-ben-amara]

الأسباب التي تدفع متابعيك للشراء منك بصفتك صانع محتوى: عدد المتابعين آخرُ هَمِّ من سيشتري منك💳

ما هذه المجموعة من المختارات تسألني؟ إنّها عددٌ من أعداد نشرة “صيد الشابكة” اِعرف أكثر عن النشرة هنا: ما هي نشرة “صيد الشابكة” ما مصادرها، وما غرضها؛ وما معنى الشابكة أصلًا؟! 🎣🌐 🎣🌐 صيد الشابكة العدد #28 صح فطوركم ورمضان كريم 🌙👋🏽 🎬 نبدأ المختارات باسم الله بالعدد الجديد (الرابع) من نشرة 📨 الترجمة في أسبوع الذي صَدَر بعنوان 🤔ما هي أطول كلمة في اللغة الإنجليزية والتي لا تعترف بها القواميس…

[readerviews]

"Mit Out Sound" by Rick Lenz

Endlessly Appealing #books #bookreview #reading #readerviews

Mit Out Sound Rick LenzChromodroid Press (2025)ISBN: ‎ 978-0999695371Reviewed by Amanda Caswell for Reader Views (09/2024) In “Mit Out Sound,” Rick Lenz has woven an entertaining tale against the backdrop of Hollywood mythology, where the history of film, personal ambition, and convoluted interpersonal relationships merge. The action revolves around Emily Bennett, a would-be film producer whose…

[lovebugism]

hi bug! can I please request the dialogue prompt “Hold up, she said what?” with steve and shy!reader? maybe she is robin’s friend and robin tells steve something reader said (maybe that she thinks steve is cute or nice or something of the sort), and it leads to a cute conversation between the two?

ty for requesting angel!! — steve finds out the cute girl at the record store likes him and decides to bring her ice cream as a proclamation of love (shy!fem!reader, friends to lovers, tooth-rotting fluff, 2.3k)

blurbcember ⋆⁺₊⋆ ❄ ⁺₊⋆ ❄

“Wait, wait, wait,” Steve interjects suddenly, a metal scoop in his hand and a wild look in his eye. “She said what?”

Robin fumbles with the metal tub of Peppermint-Chip ice cream she’s refilling. It clangs when she drops it into place with haphazard care. The shop goes unusually silent without her rambling to fill the dead air. Holly, Jolly Christmas crackles quietly from the broken speakers overhead.

The girl blinks at him with a wide ocean gaze. Her rogue-tinted mouth falls softly agape. She knows she’s said the wrong thing, but she can’t remember what.

“...Huh?”

“What’d you just say?”

Her doe eyes flit to the left for a moment. It takes her a second or more to recall the words she’d only just said. She does this thing sometimes where she rambles on and on about nothing, and Steve was the first person in the whole world to let her. So it’s way too easy for her to tell him a billion things at once and forget about all of them a second later.

“That the music store just got new cassettes in?” Robin answers, her gritty voice a few octaves higher than usual.

Steve nods slow and with a crooked grin that pulls at the corners of his mouth. He rests his elbow on the glass case above the ice cream and eggs her on. “After that?”

“…That you and the pretty new girl that works there have the same taste in music?”

“Before that.”

“That she said she wanted to show you the new tapes,” she says, wincing with the realization that she had, in fact, said the wrong thing. A secret she swore not to tell has just spilled from her lips without her even knowing it.

“And?” Steve lilts with a wider, rosier smile.

“Because she likes you…” Robin confesses (or rather, re-confesses) with her teeth gritted.

Even though Steve had heard her perfectly the first time, hearing it the second makes his heart skip a beat. The pulsing organ lurches into his throat. He almost forgets how to breathe.

“She likes me?” he repeats, mostly whispering, with an incredulous gape of shock. His bushy brows raise until his forehead wrinkles. His eyes go wide until the honey of them starts to glimmer.

Despite her best friend’s lovesick disposition, Robin’s freckled face hardens. “I wasn’t supposed to tell you that,” she rumbles like a storm cloud, knocking her shoulder against his when she walks by him.

“Why?” Steve retorts like a child, following behind her just the same. 

He nearly bumps into her when she stops short at the deep freezer. She returns the cloth mits she carried the ice cream in with after spending her whole break organizing the case by color. Steve could never even be bothered to put the damn things back where they belonged in the first place.

“Because I swore to her I wouldn’t,” Robin agonizes, then whips around to face him again. Her features are twisted like a hurt puppy as she pleads. “Don’t tell her I said anything either, okay? She’ll hate me.”

Steve wasn’t planning on it. Not because he thought it might make you hate her, though. He’s not entirely sure you’re capable of that. 

He’s only known you for a few months — ever since the leaves started changing color and people traded their ice cream cones for cool music at the new record store. He spent half that time admiring you across the landing, but you’ve never been anything but gentle with him. You were soft, with a soul of sunshine. 

He didn’t know it was possible to be made of sunlight until he met you.

“Well, did you tell her I liked her back?” he presses, hoping Robin might’ve done some of the hard work for him.

Her face screws up like she’s tasted something sour. “No.”

“Why not?”

“Because I promised you I wouldn’t.”

Steve shoots her a deadpanned look.

Robin caves. 

“It’s not like I meant to tell you she liked you just now, okay? It just came out!” she explains, gesturing wildly with her hands. “Maybe next time I stick my foot in my mouth around the new girl, I’ll tell her that you’re obsessed with her, and the two of you can finally start dating instead of making sex eyes at each other all the time.”

He wouldn’t put that past her. Robin the Mastermind, Robin the Blabbermouth, Robin the Matchmaker. But his fluttering heart is pumping with too much adrenaline now. He feels like he could move mountains with the knowledge of your affections — knowing that all his own big, fuzzy, suffocating feelings have been reciprocated all this time.

If he doesn’t talk to you now, he’s scared he’ll never work up this kind of courage again.

“No. Screw that,” he concludes with a shake of his head. He’s in King Steve mode now — feeling half as suave as he used to back when the whole town was falling at his feet — chest puffed and ego reeling. “I’m gonna go talk to her.”

Robin watches, dumbfounded, as he dumps a scoop of their best-selling ice cream into a paper bowl. Another tub she’ll have to refill. Steve ducks under the counter door and heads for the exit. “Wait— what am I supposed to do?” the girl shouts across the empty store.

Now out in the bustling Starcourt mall and taking short strides towards the music store, Steve spins on his heel to face her. He shrugs and readjusts the sailor’s cap on his head. “Wait for me to get back.”

—————

You’ve been banished to the back of the store.

Not exactly. But that’s what it feels like.

You got a bit too overwhelmed working the front counter, and since Eddie’s crazy soft on you, he let you put up all the Christmas decorations he’d been putting off instead. It’s a win-win situation, really. 

You’re stringing up sparkling tinsel over the rows of records when a deep blue sailor’s uniform catches your eye. Looking over your shoulder, you find Steve in all his glorysauntering towards you. He’s wearing shorts even though it’s basically winter now in Indiana. He’s beaming at you like sunshine anyway.

Beneath the amber glow of the dimly lit store, he looks borderline angelic. Almost unfairly ethereal.

“What’s that?” you wonder with a smile you don’t even know is there, nodding to the Scoops Ahoy brandedcup in his hand. 

You can almost smell the syrup-cinnamon concoction of the ice cream he holds in his palm. Or maybe that’s just Steve, and the sugary sweetness is radiating from his pores after working in a confectionary shop during the holidays.

He looks at you even sweeter.

“New flavor,” he answers vaguely, smirking as he leans against the metal shelves. He stumbles slightly when it rocks beneath his weight. “Oops. Sorry. It’s, uh— It’s pancake chunks with maple syrup swirl. I call it Wake and Bake.” 

A giggle tumbles from your lips when he hands it to you. “Eddie’s gonna love that,” you murmur.

“Well, it’s actually called Breakfast in Bed, but— I don’t know— I thought my idea was better.”

“Way better,” you concur with a nod and a pretty smile.

Steve watches with attentive honey eyes as you spoon a bite into your mouth. He feels a bit like it’ll be his fault if you hate it. His irrational need to impress you always makes him feel hopelessly inadequate. 

“Woah,” you hum without your mouth still a little full. The cream melts softly on your tongue, tasting of a sweet and early morning. “This is really good.”

His brows raise, and his eyes widen. “Yeah?” he wonders. Your words wash over him like a compliment for a reason he can’t name. It feels good to make you feel good.

“Mhmm. I might have to come by after work and buy the rest of it, actually,” you joke with a curt shrug. It’s a feeble confession — your way of telling him that you want to see him more because you could never say the real thing out loud.

Your heart sinks when Steve shakes his head. Then swells when he smiles.

“No way,” he scoffs, lips curling into a lopsided grin. “I’m not gonna let you pay for it— that’s crazy.”

“You can’t keep giving me free ice cream, Steve—”

“What my manager doesn’t know won’t hurt him,” he lilts lowly and with a cool shrug that makes you melt. He goes very distinctly soft when he looks at you, all scruffy-faced and sweet-eyed. 

It’s suffocatingly beautiful. You crack under the pressure of it. 

“Well, uh— Thanks for the— ice cream,” you stammer and motion the bowl back to him. Thanks for stopping by and keeping me company, but you’re too pretty and I’m not sure how much longer I can take it, you don’t say.

“You don’t want the rest?” he asks with pinched brows.

“I just… should probably get back to work, you know?”

“Eddie doesn’t let you take breaks?”

“No, he does,” you answer quickly, shifting your weight on your feet. It becomes virtually impossible to meet his gaze. “Just not with…”

Steve’s brows raise when you trail off. “Not with me?” he finishes with a laugh.

“Well, not with the… pretty-boy-ice-cream-slinger in the sailor’s uniform,” you correct, then quickly follow. “His words. Not mine.”

In all honesty, Steve couldn’t care less about what Eddie Munson has to say about him. If Hawkins’s local freak is the only thing standing between him and the pretty girl at the music store, he’s down to break a couple of dumb rules.

He takes a small step towards you. His pink smirk widens. You swear your heart stops when he looks at you with it. “You don’t think I’m pretty?” he teases with a twinkle in his squinted eye.

Suddenly, there’s a frog in your throat and you’re fourteen all over again. You’re flustered and drowning and totally unsure of yourself. “I didn’t say that,” you mutter, gaze flittering and smile wavering.

Steve goes to rest his elbow on the shelf again, then remembers its unsteadiness and decides against it. His arm rests awkwardly in the air for half a moment before he crosses both of them over his chest. 

“Well, I mean, you didn’t not say it, so…”

You squint up at him, busying your clammy hands with the melting ice cream in your palm. You know what he’s fishing for. Your pride urges you to stay silent even though your heart sings the sweetest songs for him. 

“You know you’re pretty, Steve,” you murmur matter of factly.

“But do you think I’m pretty?”

Your thundering heart lurches into your throat when Steve takes another small step closer. He smells like wintertime — like Christmas and nostalgia and boy. You don’t trust your voice to answer him verbally, so you nod, slow and sheepish.

“Good,” he hums with a beam he couldn’t hide if he tried. “‘Cause I think you’re pretty, too.”

Your chest gets all sparkly at his admission — the affirmation that all your girlish feelings are being reciprocated by a boy you never dreamed you could have. You don’t feel hardly deserving of the fondness dripping from his features, but you pray he never stops looking at you with it.

You grow warm with the irrational hope that he might kiss you. You think he might actually kiss you until your boss’s voice pierces the golden bubble of puppy love the both of you are basking in.

“How’s the decorating going?” Eddie announces himself, appearing suddenly between the two aisles.

Robin idles at his side. She’s in the feminine version of Steve’s sailor outfit — with silver chains around her neck and bandaids on her knees. Effortlessly endearing and totally unaware of it all.

You push Steve away from you without thinking, all but shoving the softening ice cream into his chest. Some of it smears white against the scarlet tie around his chest. “Sorry!” you exclaim in your moment of fleeting panic, then turn to Eddie with the same apologetic wince. “Sorry…” you repeat quieter.

“Robin?” Steve gapes at the sight of his best friend — apparently the second thing standing in his way, right beside the freak. “What the hell are you doing here— did you tattle on me? What are you, four?”

“I got lonely,” the brunette answers plainly. “And I knew you were around here somewhere, so I asked Eddie where you were—” She waves a pale hand your way, fingers painted with chipping maroon polish.  “—And now I’m here.”

Eddie grins wide and tilts his wild head to his shoulder. “Yeah. Can’t believe you’re trying to taint my one good employee, Steven.”

“I’m not tainting anybody, Munson,” he bites back like a bickering brother, then screws up his face and turns to Robin. “Wait. If you’re here, who’s manning the counter?”

Her freckled face falls like a child caught in a fib. Her deep blue eyes widen when she blinks at him. In a mousier voice, she confesses, “Dustin came by… And I told him he could eat all the ice cream he wanted as long as he made sure no one stole anything.”

The four of you fall silent. The soft rock of Christmas Wrapping plays weakly from the radio at the front of the store. Eddie breaks first. ‘Cause he can’t ever be serious about anything. 

The boyish sound of his laughter sends a giggle sputtering from your lips. The pretty noise makes Steve smile despite his baffled disbelief.

He turns to you with a dumbfounded grin. “You’re still stopping by after work, right?”

“Yeah,” you answer softly, nodding as your smiling face grows hot.

Eddie scoffs when Steve walks by him. “If you still have a job by then.”

[amethystarachnid]

A drabble of grumpy stark and clingy & funny af y/n please?

much love! 💞

GRUMPY TONY STARK WITH A FLIRTY READER - A Drabble

You steal his wrench mid-tinker. He glares. You wink. “Trade you for my number.” He snatches it back. “I already have it.” “Then why aren’t you using it?”

“Stop humming.” Tony grumbles over his coffee. You lean in, lips brushing his ear. “Make me.” He shoves a donut in your mouth. “Temporary fix.”

You blow him a kiss during a meeting. He deadpans. “This is serious.” “So are my lips. Wanna see?”

“You’re distracting me.” “From what? Your brooding?” You plop onto his lap.

“JARVIS, lock her out.” “Afraid I can’t do that, sir. She bribed me with cat videos.” You smirk. “AI’s got taste.” Tony groans. “Traitor.”

He catches you doodling hearts on his blueprints. “Vandal.” You bat your lashes. “Artist.” “Same thing.” “Then arrest me.” He mutters. “Tempting.”

And once you tow get together...

Tony claims he doesn’t cuddle. Yet every morning, you wake up with his arm slung over your waist like a possessive octopus. "This is a security measure," he grumbles. "You steal blankets."

Movie night. You pick a rom-com. He groans. "I’d rather rebuild an engine blindfolded." Ten minutes in, he’s critiquing the science. You kiss him mid-rant. "Still talking?" He shuts up.

You wear his MIT hoodie. He tries to act annoyed. "That’s vintage." You spin. "Looks better on me." He tugs you closer. "Debatable." Then steals it back—only to hand it to you the next day.

"Stop leaving Post-its on my suits." You grin. "Or what?" He pulls one off the Iron Man armor—"Kissed by the best <3"—and smirks. "I’m charging you for vandalism. Payment due in kisses."

"Tony. Tony. Tony." "What." "Love you." He sighs. "I was this close to a breakthrough." You poke his cheek. "Breakthrough this: say it back." "...Love you. Now go away." (You don’t.)

He buys you ridiculous gifts—a mini arc reactor nightlight, a coffee mug that says "Stark’s Favorite Distraction." You tease him. "Sentimental much?" He scoffs. "Tax write-offs." (The blush says otherwise.)

You dance in the kitchen. He pretends to hate it. Then his hands slide to your hips. "Fine. One song." FRIDAY "accidentally" loops it. He doesn’t complain.

Press asks about his "mysterious girlfriend." He deadpans. "She’s a menace." You wave at cameras behind him. "Hi, I’m the menace!" He drags you away—but not before you see his smirk.

[calcifiedunderland]

Can I request Silver with the Lighthouse, Lifeboat, and Storm prompts? Reader is a weird little goth lighthouse worker and Silver just survived a massive ship wreck and needs to find a way to contact Malleus, Sebek and Lilia so he gets help from reader and they like. Idk get him towels and some tea and a phone or something.

It's not QUITE a romance cause they just met but there is a good foundation for a solid friendship there. They have a sass off once Silver gets comfortable enough to not be so polite. They just watch out for ships and try to keep each other awake through the night

💌Request received! Thank you for your message, your delivery is ready~

Silver, ft. Lighthouse, Lifeboat, & Storm

The lighthouse work suited you.

Not many were surprised when you decided to work at the lonely lighthouse on the rocky beach. You were strange, people whispered. You preferred dark clothes to the townpeople’s bright pastels, and didn’t seem to mind the doom-and-gloom of the abandoned lighthouse.

It wasn’t the lighthouse’s fault that it was on a rocky, scary-looking beach and had fallen into disrepair. A job was a job, and if this job allowed you to sit for hours overlooking the rolling sea while you could read, play music, and enjoy the salty breeze in solitude? Sign you up. You didn’t care if you were the town’s resident goth weirdo. All the cashier jobs at Hot Topic were taken.

It was a sleepy little job, and today was no exception. The sea was violent today too, you thought. Waves crashed on the rocks, and the sky was gray. As usual. This side of the island rarely had sunny weather.

Although ships never entered from this side of the island either.

You stood, going to the telescope on the balcony. You peered through it, gasping. There was a man clutching a piece of driftwood, drifting in and out of consciousness on the rough waves. Pieces of wood and cloth flashed through the water as a ship disintegrated in the sea before your eyes.

You thought fast. You typically worked alone in the lighthouse, and no one would come in time to help you. You were on your own. You dashed out of the lighthouse, shucking off your boots.

The man had washed up on the rocks, not moving. You grabbed a rowboat, and hurriedly rowed as close as you dared to the rocks. You staggered out of the boat, trying not to slip as you walked to him. You knelt over the man, moving his hair from his face and tapping his cheek. “Hey! Are you okay?!” He was asleep, so you pressed your hand to his heart. You felt a heartbeat. He’s alive.

You hauled him over your back, going back into the boat and the lighthouse as fast as you could without falling. At last, you laid him on the couch and slammed the door shut. You flicked on the furnace, and set to work peeling some of wet clothes from his person.

You moved him closer to the fireplace, gently stroking his (now dry) hair. He looks kind, you thought, but noble. You’d noticed he had a sword lashed to his belt too. It seemed to be of fae make, but he was human.

Well, you figured he’d want something to eat. You padded to the kitchen, taking off your jewelry. Soon, a delicious aroma wafted through the lighthouse floor.

Silver’s nose twitched at the scent. He was still groggy, but that smell was delicious. That can’t be Father’s cooking, can it? Suddenly he shot awake. This can’t be his cooking. At the sudden movement, you shrieked, nearly dropping the soup.

Silver was on his feet in fighting position, hand on his scabbard. His violet eyes were intense, although they did soften when they saw you. Sure, you looked so scary with your knitted black cardigan with white bats, holding a bowl of soup with pink flower oven mits.

“…please forgive me.” Silver sat quietly with the soup in his lap, spooning it quickly into his mouth while you glared at him. You looked like a disgruntled crow, he observed. The two of you introduced yourselves, making small talk. You slowly warmed up to him. Your alternative outfit made Silver smile. You looked just like Father in his off-hours.

The thought of Lilia made the amusement disappear. Suddenly, memories crashed back. The shipwreck. He had to contact Father, Sebek, and Lord Malleus!

“Hey, easy there,” you said worriedly. Silver shook his head, trying to shake off sleepiness, “Do you have a phone I can borrow? I must contact my father.” You nodded, looking at your phone. “Of course, one sec-“ you frowned when you saw you had no service.

“I’m sorry, but it looks like the storm jammed the signal. We’ll have to wait it out.” Silver’s heart dropped, and he sighed heavily. You bit your lip.

“It’ll be a little while. I can make some tea while we wait out the storm,” you said softly. “Want some chamomile? It will help you relax.” Silver shook his head quickly, feeling his eyes droop. “I’d prefer something caffeinated, if you have it.”

Soon, Silver sat next to you with a large mug of instant black coffee clenched in one hand, while you stirred your chamomile with two sugars and honey.

You poked his shoulder, “so.” Silver looked away from the pouring rain, brow furrowed, “…so?” You smiled, trying to ease him, “so where will you go when the rain lets up?”

Silver shut his eyes, before answering “I must get back to Briar Valley. My father and friends are waiting for me.” You watched him. Determination lit up his eyes. “They’re probably worried about you, but I also think they know how strong you are,” you said quietly.

Silver nodded, sipping his coffee. After a while, he whispered, “thank you.” A guy of few words, you thought.

”Besides,” you said, teasing him to cheer him up, “I’m sure whatever’s in your way, you’d just duel them and win.” You gestured to his sword, smiling when you saw his mouth quirk upward. “Nothing will get in my way. I must remain vigilant,” he said before downing the entire mug of coffee.

You gaped at him, “you want to stay up all night? Dude, that much caffeine can’t be good for you.” Silver still felt the pull of sleep, “n-no. I need more.” You nodded, scampering off to the kitchen to make another pot. “Alright Silver, it’s your all-nighter.”

You came back with the instant coffee. Silver glanced at it, asking sheepishly “could you make it a little stronger, please?” You blinked, “I… I did make it stronger.” Silver shook his head, fighting off sleepiness, “n-no… I need more…” you bit your lip before adding more scoops. Silver drank it quickly.

You glanced at the mug before deciding to make your own cup. You stayed up with him all night.

Slowly, the dawn came and the storm dissipated. Despite being marooned on who-knows-where, Silver wasn’t too concerned. Tomorrow would be a new day on the lighthouse. Only this time, the two of you would be in each other’s company.

I confess that I still do not understand how lighthouses do their lighthouse things. If any lighthouse workers are reading this, please forgive me orz

Anyway, thank you for your requesttt~~~ until next time, xoxo Calci~