#traumatised reader

[yeyinde]

Thinking about post-war/70s era Price coming home to an empty house (his wife divorced him while he was overseas) and a child he can't take care of all on his own, and snatching up the sweet little neighbour-next-door as a babysitter.

Temporarily, you stress, all soft smiles and polite little sir's that go straight to his cock. You're going back to university in September, after all. You have big aspirations that go beyond the whims of the men around you, ones who seem to want to confine you to the kitchen where your mother spent most of her life. And he can respect that. He likes people who have that grit. That determination.

But unfortunately for you, he thinks all devotion would be better suited to taking care of a family. Particularly, his.

NONCON. MISOGYNY. AGE GAP.

It's cute, though. The way you keep reminding him that you're going to college when he slips in sly comments about how good you look with his baby in your arms. barefoot in his kitchen as you make him dinner, his child on your hip, babbling at his new mommy. nervously stuttering around the notion that you're going to become something more than a mother, Mr Price. more than this deadbeat town stuck in the fifties, where women wearing pants is still an anomaly that makes men shake their heads and stare disapprovingly.

But you get these notions in your head. These little ideas he finds so adorable, and ones he sees no qualms in manipulating to his advantage—and why would he? You want to act grown, independent, then he'll teach you what happens to silly little girls when they get too deep in over their heads.

(like letting you think this is just a fling. flirting with an much older man is harmless, your friend says with a shrug. a little summer fun.)

And he plays into it, too. humming along dutifully as you stammer out that you don't want children when he shoves his hand under your skirt after steadily chipping down those walls of yours. Or that you don't want to be tied to just one man when he slips a little extra wine in your cup to loosen you up before dragging you upstairs to his bed. You want to experiment and enjoy life as a single woman while you're in college. And this is just a fling, right? Your friend said losing it to an older man was normal. perfectly okay as long as you were safe about it.

But he doesn't have any condoms, and you're too tipsy to put up much of a fight when he pulls you into his bed (beautifully obedient, as always). A nervous little tremble to your voice as you beg him for more—

(and please, please, please, Mr Price, don't put a baby in me—)

You're skittish around him the next morning, but that's fine. It's common for newlyweds, isn't it? And when you try to avoid him, pretending to be sick the day after—

Well. It doesn't hurt to remind your parents just who he is, and who he has stuffed inside his pockets, so he isn't too surprised to see you at his doorstep the next morning, wringing your hands as you apologise for getting sick. An indiscretion that's easily forgiven when you shiver against his hands, nervously asking how you can make it up to him.

(you want autonomy. agency. control. and he's always been the type to coddle, hasn't he? so he teaches you the most powerful position you'll ever be in next to him—on your knees, mouth wide open, begging for him to cum on your face like the naughty thing you keep pretending you want to be.)

It's a much better alternative than taking you over his knee like he was planning when you didn't show up to take care of your child the way a new mother should, and he tells you this after you put the baby to bed. Whispers it into your skin as he grips your hips and makes you take him deeper than you ever did before. Coos softly about places—

(and yours, sweetheart, is under him. takin' his cock like a good little wife should—

wide-eyed and shivering from more than just pleasure as he spells out your future beneath him.)

—something that seems to scare you a bit more than he expected when he finds out you sent your college applications out when he thought you had come to an agreement already. But luckily for you, he knows how to pull strings and keeps you right where you belong: with him.

Of course, the rejections come at the perfect timing, too, and he watches the fight inside of you dwindle to smouldering embers after your father pulled his funding, and even the local college refuses your application.

You just feel so confused, you tell him, biting nervously on your nail as he prowls after you. The baby is in bed. The other in your belly. His glass of whiskey after dinner did little to soothe his hunger when you showed up at his door with red-rimmed eyes and the ghosts of your father's anger snarling down at you. He, too, disapproves of college—and it's just so sudden, Mr Price, because he used to be so encouraging, but now, he's telling me it's not right, and i don't know why—

Everyone around you is pushing you towards the inevitable, it seems. And he manages to feign enough sympathy when you turn to him, teary-eyed, as your carefully laid plans fall to pieces under the weight of his own. Cups the back of your head softly as you weep into his chest over this craziness—this sheer madness, Mr Price, because surely you don't want to even marry me? god. you can't even think straight anymore.

but that's the problem, isn't it? he asks, rapping his knuckles softly against the side of your head before offering a smile oozing with thick patronisation.

"You keep thinkin', mm," he rumbles, chipping away the last of your meagre defences as he pushes you towards the bedroom—your bedroom, now. "Thinkin' 'bout things you don't need to, love. Not anymore. Got all these silly little ideas inside here—" his hand curls around the back of your skull, thumbs stroking your skin in a way that might feel comforting if he hadn't been adding a slow, unrelenting pressure to the cup of his palm. Pushing you down, down—

Your knees hit the carpet in a muted thud, and he doesn't even need to tell you to do anything—your hands are already there, trembling fingers unlatching the clasp of his buckle before clumsily pulling him out. Scared and cornered and with nowhere to go because he changed the locks, didn't he, mm? mum ain't answerin' the door? but that's okay. you belong here, anyway, don't you?

And really. You don't have much of a choice when you wake up feeling sick to your stomach at the end of August. belly already swelling with his second child. Your first. ain't that excitin'? givin' your little baby a brother.

He presses a kiss to your sweat-slicked forehead when he finds you hunched over the toilet that morning, cooing in your ear about how happy he is.

"and jus' think, sweetheart," he murmurs, eyeing the shredded acceptance letter sitting in the trash beside you, the one you tried to sneak past him, with a withering distain before aiming that dulled hostility back towards you, a mockery of a smile toying along the edges of his mouth when you shiver, pushing yourself closer to him. The only thing you have left.

"you thought this—we—would be temporary."

[pricetagged]

idk I just torturing simon and I love the idea of him—at some stage of his life, idk maybe immediately after he's declared dead— not having anywhere to stay.

His residence in Manchester got gutted and sold, greedy estate agents and solicitors picking it apart as soon as they got the death notice.

He could rent hotel rooms. Stay in the barracks. But sometimes he just needs—space. Familiarity. Simon Riley is dead and buried, but not buried deep enough.

So he goes back to his old house. He knows every nook and cranny. Knows which floorboards creak and which doors get stuck. He'll just cosy away in the attic and come out when the new tenant is at work, no problem. Barracks-living, only the other person won't know. It'll only be for a few weeks at a time—

—but he catches sight of you. The new tenant. Sweet little thing who saw the ugly, empty shell and decided it was for her.

Not a lot of money, no. But you've tried to make a home here. Decorated over the gouges and scars, filled the empty spaces with little signs of life.

You've taken such good care of the place. You're taking such good care of it, all by yourself. Off to work in the morning, and home late at night when it's far too dark and he knows the latch isn't as secure as it should be —kicked and shouldered too many times when his mum would work the courage to kick out his da—

So you need him. You're not saying it in words, but what is he meant to think when he sees how you leave the windows open all through the day and night? When you shuffle about on your weekends with only a playlist or podcast for company?

You need him. Good thing he's already there.

Go read this thing by gougie if u like the 'there's someone living here' thing - they do it sooooo much better

[vatelixx]

The cage is open, you can walk out anytime you want (Why are you still here?),

S2!Post!Hankel Spencer Reid x gn!BAU!reader

Angst (hurt/comfort). Autistic Spencer (you know the drill). Perhaps some traces of fluff if you’re like…. masochistic. Heavily implied happy ending.

— Explorations of Spencer’s (very glossed over) addiction. Love confessions? Half love confessions? Spencer admits it mentally, Reader implies it through actions. What am I saying? They’re sooooooo in love it pains me.

Warnings: *cracks knuckles,* okay…. —heavy depictions of drug addiction, mentions and allusions of suicide, previous mentions of being held hostage (Hankel). PACKED with Greek mythology references (sue me, i study classics as a degree), perhaps some light biblical imagery? Spencer being at rock-bottom. he’s kinda bitchy. he also disses hotlines (they do save lives, don’t listen to Spencer!!! he’s being a dick). mentions of childhood bullying.

w.c: 3.2k

a/n: title so long it’s basically a midwestern emo song.

────────────

There’s intimacy in being fragile. Spencer knows firsthand, has romanticised his Glass delusion. The fear of shattering, fragmenting on impact, like jagged, sliced glass. He thinks of Charles VI, (1380’s King of France), what he felt when he refused touch. When he reinforced himself, shielding behind excess clothing, in the fallacious fear of dismantling.

Spencer does the same, hides behind fabric, shies away from human contact. Because— because being careful is better than being impetuous. If he can make himself so small he no longer takes up space then maybe they’ll be kind to him.

Monachopis. Has he always been this out of place? Has it always felt this way? Will it ever stop?

12 years old. Curling inward to shield himself from the ache of cracked fists. You’re not here, you’re not here, you’re not here. He still feels like that kid, the one bleeding across the school yard, smashed glasses, bust lip, new bruises to hide from mom.

Perhaps he should blame genetics. Find something to point the finger at. Mentally distort the truth, until it’s no longer a paling face he sees, drawing the first needle into his arm, forcing him to take what he never asked for. No longer that, but a bigger issue, a concern that cannot be personified, a larger statistic in the minefield of human psychology.

Those with ASD have a doubled risk of substance use.

He never stood a chance. Did he?

So just like Charles, he covers his arms. Veils the track marks that penetrate skin. Pretend they’re not there, pretend you’re okay. Okay? Okay, nobody has stopped to ask him if he is ‘okay’ since ‘the incident.’ When the shock wore off, and attention strayed, everyone lost interest.

He feels like an outlaw to his own team.

How do you move on from being bound, tied, degraded to something beneath human?

How did everyone else?

He understands now— the pull of addiction. The way it mimics, artificially replicates home. Something soft, in that one, life-ruinously warm moment between the first hit and the inevitable come down.

But just like everything good. It dies. Turns ugly. Disfiguring, decaying. What once was simple, a fleeting temptation, a way to starve off lonely withdrawal, has derailed into desperate, insatiable hunger. To reproduce the first time, to appease the way he palpates in the wake of something tiny—

Call it what it is. Not an analgesic agent, not a semi-synthetic, not a simple narcotic utilised in the medical field. It’s an opioid, two to eight times greater than that of morphine. Given to those dying, to help alleviate Cheyne-stokes breathing, to reduce pain before the end.

It binds to the opioid-receptions in the central nervous system.

He is no superior than those on the street. Begging for loose change to shoot up and placate the cold.

2AM. The phone connection is faint. Do you feel like killing yourself? Is the noose already tied, is the rope choking you? Do you need to breathe? Do you even want to? He wonders what it would be like, to call into those bullshit hotlines, to hear the detached, sharp-bladed sympathy of some stranger.

Instead, when the phone picks up, the blaring beep of a dial dissipating, he hears you instead.

“You know how it’s believed that Artemis killed Orion?” He starts. He cannot begin with hi, I’m scared of the dilaudid burning through my veins. Do you still love me? (Presumptuous of him to believe you loved him in the first place, he certainly wouldn’t.)

He doesn’t let you answer. Maybe he’s scared, or maybe he can try and satiate your concern by fact-dumping so extensively that you automatically revert back to oh yeah, boy genius is talking again. “Well— there’s this other interpretation, that she… y’know didn’t. Instead, they were hunting companions, and it was because of the animals he slaughtered on Crete, that Gaia. Mother ea— yeah, you know who I’m referencing. Okay.”

Even at his worst, he is conveniently a social disaster. They could poke holes in his brain, drag the sharp edge of a blade through the tissue lining of his stomach, and his mouth would still find a way to run:

‘You’re missing major arteries here, c’mon — I know you can push harder than that. Aim for my descending aorta, that will do the job correctly.’

It would be funny if he wasn’t the biggest screw up to ever exist. Social ineptitude has never looked worse.

“Anyway, um… so— disturbed by the blood-bath, and feeling repentant — she summoned this scorpion. Humans are no match for the gods, obviously. So any creation with intent will—“ he sighs, finding new ways to hate himself. “Basically he died. Yeah— dead. To… uh, sum it up?”

“And what?” Oh, there you are. He’s surprised you’re listening, that you didn’t hang up the moment his morbid rambling begun. He’s always surprised, surprised that you listen, that you stay, even when you shouldn’t. It would be romantic, if he wasn’t so flawed in believing you could never want someone like him.

“Well— Artemis gathered up the remnants of Orion and placed them in the sky. Yknow,… hence the constellation.”

There’s shuffling — a moment of uneasy silence. “Spencer—“

He keeps going. Shock-horror. “I’m not sure science would agree with that myth. It certainly counters the Big Bang theory. And the whole schtick regarding— look… it doesn’t,… it doesn’t hold any truth, of course. The gods aren’t real,” (if they are, they must spit at the flawed creation of him), “I just— it was on the forefront of my mind. Made me think of you.”

It’s innocent. If you don’t take into account the stored vials he keeps stashed in his cabinet sink. If you pretend you’re just two people, two old, weary friends, who are insomniac and restless. Then again, where Spencer is concerned, everything is innocent. He’ll bare the weight of existence with no expectation of a return favour. So willing to give give give. Always taken for granted. Tossed to the sidelines. You’ve watched the team ignore his plans, call rain check after rain check, incessant excuses for something so diminutive. Even now, they can’t see what’s right in front of them. The blunt of the truth.

The aftermath of the Hankel case.

“Bad night?” You ask. Like you don’t feel it in your ribs.

He sighs, head spilling back against the wall. Throat bared, it would be so easy for hands to wrap around the unmarred skin, to put him down. “Aren’t they all?”

You’ve both been trained to pinpoint human behaviour. Discern threat from over exaggeration. You don’t hesitate, he knows you don’t— he’s seen you behind the weight of a gun. Dominant hand curved around the grip, aligning the front and rear sight. Firing pin striking the primer of the cartridge, no recoil— he’s watched you no more than blink when the bullet penetrates.

He always anticipates a flinch that never comes.

Sometimes, he has this dream, where he’s got the same Hornady branded bullet, lodged through his chest. Sometimes he wakes up and still believes he’s bleeding out.

He can hear your keys, the clattering that fades into the grating, confirmative slam of a door. You’re out of the apartment complex, and what? He’s too busy thinking about some warped manifestation of his subconscious?

Will he ever live outside of his mind?

The call doesn’t end (5 dragging minutes of heavy breathing and awkward silence), until you’re standing right here, flesh and bone, in his kitchen.

He’s making himself small again. Sat against cold tile, he shields his face from view. As if that alone will incrimate him. He knows you know. And it’s scary; to be so raw in the face of someone you love.

When you drop to your knees, it feels like tending to a wounded animal.

“You didn’t need to come,” he mutters, obstinate.

“So what?” You brush it off, ever the hero. Spencer thinks they should marbleise you in the Vatican. “I still did.”

You came. You called. Spencer fucking hates that cliche. Except, no.. no he doesn’t. Sometimes, he wants to make himself sicker, just so you have reason to touch him.

Reaching up, he feels your calloused palm, the way it cups his jaw, coaxing his face to lift. He thinks, knows, you’re disturbed by the sight. Red-rimmed eyes, and waxen features. Skinnier, hollow. If he is Leander, then he prays you don’t suffer the same fate as Hero.

‘Geniuses are never happy,’ they told him as a child. Detailing the cyanide found in Viktor Meyer’s stomach, Wallace Carother’s affinity for Potassium Cyanide. Hans Berger, Valero Legasov, Alan Turning. Some things hurt more than can be described.

Is it really so startling that he turned out the same? When that’s all he’s ever known?

Spencer stares. He tries to look through you, but it doesn’t work. Not when you’re warm, and real, and if the come down is configuring you into reality, and you’re not really here, then so be it. He’ll take what he can get. “You’ll find Dilaudid in my bathroom. Left turn from the hallway. I suggest you call 911. Report drug possession. They’ll take it more seriously if you say my name, emphasise the doctor in the title.”

“No.”

“Yes—“ indignantly, he huffs, “Yes. You will. Otherwise you’re guilty by association. The FBI will fire you, take away your credentials. You’ll be ruined.”

“That’s if they find out.”

He can’t comprehend why you’re covering for him. There’s decency, empathy, general human kindness, and then there’s this. “You’re supposed to be an upholder of the law.”

“Pft,” you scoff, brush it off. “Yknow, in Alabama, you can’t play cards on a Sunday. Alaska, no moose on sidewalks. There’s also a ban on wearing masks in Georgia. California has—“

“I get your point.” He cuts off, “Well— no, I actually don’t. Considering they’re dumb laws that waste time. Drug paraphernalia, in contrast, is not.”

“Even high, you’re a stickler. Guess old habits die hard?” you push up, and he chases your touch. “C’mon, golden boy. You’re getting a cold shower and some water. Gonna flush that shit out of you the old fashioned way.”

“I wasn’t aware there was a modern alternative…”

He doesn’t let you see him naked. Partially because, it’s his body. This vessel that feels so alienated from the better part of him. He’s never let someone undress him before, see behind the meticulous layers. But, mostly.. well, he has a firm belief that the first time you take off his clothes, it will be in better circumstances. If that ever transpires.

You’d probably think him deranged: hi, i’m saving myself for you, because any touch that isn’t yours makes me sick.

He’d rather rot alone than string someone along who could never fill the void of you.

The shower is methodical. Skin recoiling from the harsh rivulets of water. 3 minutes spent standing there, staring outwards not in. Complete disregard for the mirror, he’s all soft features and freshly-washed pyjamas when he pads into the bedroom. Corduroy pants, thermal-wear socks, some dumb science print embellished onto the front of his shirt. (‘Never trust an atom, they MAKE UP everything’ — yeah, he hates himself.)

You don’t talk. Not until he’s consumed his body weight in water. He fights off the urge to warn you about the dilution of sodium content in blood. Hyponatremia. Fatal, with a likelihood of seizuring and long-flight comatose. You’d probably just laugh at him, considering it was two glasses, a litre at best.

He’ll use his intellect to hurt. And you’ll counter him with little regard.

Even at his ugliest, you still stay.

“I’m fine,” he protests— hating the way you look at him when he’s so raw.

It’s that gaze. That same sinking, pity-warped gaze he received when he talked about his mom, about the kids at school. Adolescent meat-heads who pushed him into lockers, and beat him between class. Its— suffocating sympathy that he no longer has room for.

“No you aren’t,” this might be the worst you’ve ever seen him.

Would you have known? If he didn’t make the call? Cassandra complex. Disambiguating. A psychological phenomenon where an accurate prediction of a crisis is dismissed. Silent concern, the intuitive awareness that he never recovered, it was only going to lead to this—

Oh fuck it. You knew. The entire team did. You’re just the only one who cared enough to help.

You’re not like the rest of them. Maybe they can blanket suspicion, play pretend, refuse to get their hands dirty. But, there’s a reason you’re better. You don’t sugar-coat reality. You act. You react.

He’ll see your name on a wall one day. An award adorning your efforts.

“You’re exhausted, lie down.”

Spencer fights the urge to scowl. Since when were you in charge? Admittedly, he knows the answer to that: since you spitballed into his apartment, better yet, since you spitballed into his life. So, like the good, propitiated loser he is, he complies. Shock horror…

“What are you gonna do? Tuck me in?”

“You wish.” Instead, you force your way onto the right side of the mattress. “Get comfy, you’ve got your own, free of charge, narcotics anonymous sponsor tonight.”

“You’re not great at the whole ‘tough love’ thing.”

“Then call someone else next time.”

Vulnerability feels like being ripped open at the seams. Like some botched Pygmalion creation — stitched wrong, still breathing. He wants to fall asleep, to just… fade into himself. But— you have this uncanny, accursed ability to make him honest.

You, draped over his bed, does little to appease the sickness in his mind.

“I never asked for this,” he starts, “I didn’t— I didn’t even want it. How is that fair? I never got to decide, I wasn’t even given the anatomy to choose. Now—“

The words rip free like Prometheus’ daily punishment: inevitable, agonizing.

He laughs. Cold. Something ugly that doesn’t belong to him. “Now, if I’m not thinking about my next hit, I’m thinking about how you see me. How the team must see me. It’s— it’s the disappointment. I just— I don’t know why you stay.”

It’s all so tentative. The moments before, when you extend your hand, run it across the curvature of his jaw. All it takes is the touch and he’s crashing into you. Like there is no feasible option but to submit to the basic human need of contact. Face pressed into your shoulder, he feels like dead-weight. Something unworthy of labour.

Stop pushing that boulder up the hill, Sisyphus. Let it fall. Let him fall.

His hand knots tighter in the fabric of your top. Like if he lets go, he’ll spiral into Tartarus itself.

Why? Why would you do this—

“You think I’m going to cut and run just because you’re inconvenient? Pft, i’m too stubborn for that. And, well…” there’s a sigh,… “I care about you too much. Alright? So be inconvenient. Fuck, call at 3AM. Call at 5AM. Make me drop everything and come over. I don’t care. I want to carry the burden. I want to carry your burden.”

His touch lingers near your lower back. Drawing soft halos there, faint and uneven. “I hate you,” comes out muttered, something muffled by skin.

“No you don’t.” you counter, immediately.

“No I don’t,” just like that, he breaks. Cease-fire. How could he ever hate you? The statement was deflective, at best. Some way to make you ache the way he aches. At least then it would be a level paying field.

“I hate who I am when I’m like this. I hate— I hate my mind. It’s not… it’s not accurate, the way people romanticise it. I can’t be what they all expect of me.”

You’re doing that thing. The one where you don’t respond. Where you just listen, without interjecting, without cutting through his incessant monologues.

Sometimes, he feels like he dreamed you up. Like you don’t even exist, a stowaway in his brain, something to re-mantle whenever he’s lonely. Real people aren’t this good — this good to him.

“I don’t get to make mistakes. I need to have the answers every single second of the day. I can’t be me. You’re the only one, how are you the only one who notices? I’ve tried so hard, I’ve been so good���“

He’s tangled into you now, tethered like Daedalus’ forgotten son trying to stitch his broken wings back together mid-fall. If he could, he’d crawl into you. Find somewhere warm to safely exist. Without hurt.

“This isn’t just, I’m not like this just because I need you. Please— please remember that. I miss you always, even when I’m sober. Even before— before everything. I’m not in some—“

“What?” you finally (mercifully) interject. “Some drug-infused decline? Where you‘ll lean on anyone that will give you the time of day?”

Spencer flinches — not because you’re wrong, but because you’ve drawn blood from a wound he didn’t know he still had.

He hates that you’ve distinguished him as some mischaracterised energy vampire. Like you could ever be nothing. Like you’re just the closest fix he can find beyond a chemical high. Designer drugs, manufactured in a lab, they say Heroin feels like a hug from God.

Until your body becomes gluttonous for a hit that never appeases.

You— you are not a hollow high. You are slow and real and catastrophic.

Oh, you’re dependable, a want that morphed into all-encompassing devotion over slow dragging time. “Yes, to the former. No— no, definitely no to the latter. You’re not just some emotional crutch to me. You’re, I don’t know, you’re just… everything.”

Spencer swallows, pulls back, feigning composure. “I should be able to do this alone,” he mutters, “Normal people can. I should be—”

“C’mon, Spence. You’re not a machine. You were never built for that.”

Another sharp laugh. It pierces— you can almost taste the blood this time.

“I’m so tired,” he says in defeat. “I’m so tired of trying to be someone worth saving.”

Pressing your forehead to his, you’re kind to not mention the tears. To just let them occur, free fall. “You don’t have to be anything,” you murmur into his hair. “You just have to be. That’s enough. That’s enough for me, and i’ve got you. Okay? I’ve got you. Always.”

“Will you stay with me?” He doesn’t mean tonight, you know that well enough. “Will you stay with me through it all?”

You’re aware of the burden it would imply, the jagged, ugly reality of withdrawal. The toll, sweat-soaked skin and cold fevers. Irrational begging, pleading for god, just one more fix. The way it would change him, change your untainted perspective of him. When you agree, it is not misguided.

You know what you’re signing up for.

“Yeah. I’ll stay. Through it all.”

If this is love, true unvarnished love, reciprocal and real, then he’s sorry he found you at a bad time. Give it, give me, a few months, he thinks, and i’ll spend the rest of my life giving you everything.

[sunrisemill]

All jokes aside though I really do hope the triplets are doing okay

I can’t even imagine going through what they’re going through rn

[m3vl0vesu]

𝔸 𝕡𝕣𝕠𝕥𝕖𝕔𝕥𝕚𝕧𝕖 𝕣𝕖𝕕 𝕗𝕝𝕒𝕞𝕖 𝕡𝕥𝟚

Tw: Violence, suggestions of abuse, suggestions of bullying

A/N: I finally made a part two you guys!!! It was short and simple, the real stuff comes later :)

Part one>>

Your thoughts

The anxiety bubbled in your throat-or maybe that was bile- as the stench of cigars hit your nose. You followed the light smoke into the kitchen, your father seated at the table. His eyes scanned over you, narrowing as he did a double take. “You're late.” His voice was rough and hoarse, maybe he didn’t notice.

You hated that that was a good thing. “The bus was late…” Your voice was barely a whisper, you were mumbling again. “Speak up.”

“The bus was late.” The stench of cigars was stronger as you saw a cloud of smoke surround your dad, it was a sight you’ve seen for as long as you can remember. “There's a door right there, can’t you do that outside?” Nothing in your tone indicated sass, it was a genuine question. You waved your hands, even if you were used to the smell you still didn’t like it. “You can deal with it.” “And you can deal with smoking outside.”

Rude. Just rude, he stunk up the kitchen and he didn’t even bother to use an ashtray. Just a mess for me to clean up. Why even bother? Shit. “Fix your tone.” “Right, s-sorry…sorry”

He turned around, giving you permission to leave the room. It was always a surprise to see him home, and if you were being honest? You wish he never came back.

Only thing you could see were the stairs, after every step they creaked. With your head down you made it to your bedroom, the familiar site making your shoulders feel heavier. You tried your best to close your door without a slam, and it was hard. Your fists needed to hit something, someone. And you hated it, but violence is just how your family does it. Violence

.

. Monday 4:59 Jason Todd (Third person)

.

Violent. Unstable.

Bruce's words echoed in his mind, sure the old man was probably just  trying to get him back ‘home’ ,but to Jason? It just seemed like another way to cage him. Jason was an adult now, he learnt how to do adult things. And he did that alone. He could take care of himself, sure he forgets to clean his wounds sometimes…and he might be getting evicted-but still!

With a grunt, he fell onto the worn-out couch he owned. The familiarity of it made the tenseness in his shoulders decrease a little. It was a bad day. One thing on his mind was that kid, why were they all busted up? A small chuckle left his lips when he remembered what they said ‘You’re not a wall??’ they sounded…funny.

Plus it was pretty dangerous for a kid to just be out and about in Gotham streets. The kid would be fine right? 

They didn’t seem weak but…but…

But why do I care?

With a sigh he fell asleep. If he can’t do it at night, he might as well sleep the day away.

.

.Tuesday 1:30 (Second Person)

.

It felt like the walls were closing in on you, the rush of people getting to class. You hated it, the overlapping sounds of their footsteps and their mindless chatter. You could feel their sides as they passed by you, a few hands here and there, your head still hurt. 

Two more hours of this bullshit. This wasn’t going to work, you needed to skip. But you couldn’t afford another detention, literally. 

They threatened to expel you, your wrist still hurts from that night.

Your nerves were on fire, nothing could calm you down. Definitely not whatever useless subject you had next. Science was it? It was time to use the sick or injured card. 

You had enough bruises and it worked last time, but that meant entering the classroom, raising your hand, people having their eyes on you as you asked to go to the nurse.

Ah

They implied that new rule, the one where your parents would have to pick you up. Of-fucking-course! 

Your life was as shitty as ever, and that damned limp had barely gotten better. At least the swelling on your ankle stopped. It had been like that for a week, it was probably a good idea to go to the nurse for that but why bother, then she’d tell your parents. And no-one needs that. 

Even though something at the back of your mind desperately wanted them to notice. While deep in though someone bumped into y-

“Ah. Sorry about that.” The words held no real apology but at least he had the decency to apologise. “No it’s alrigh-” holy f-it was the Wayne kid. “...t. I-It’s fine”

You didn’t really know why but he always creeped you out, it was odd. I mean it was always odd seeing a proper Gotham elite not have some vendetta against you but that wasn’t it. He had a particular distance from everyone, and his guard was always up. All he did was sit and watch, he read people well. Just like you did…maybe that was it. The thought of someone knowing how you felt irked you, it just wasn’t what you're used to. He looked down at the floor, maybe your ankle, and walked off. Leaving you with a small chill down your spine. Guess you had to get to Science, he was in your class anyway. Couldn't risk it, he might be a snitch. He did look like one.

.

.3:19

.

School was closed early after a villain was spotted nearby, which was odd they never really came this close to the school during the day. If there was a villain spotted nearby that meant-

ShitThe buses weren’t coming. Even if you tried calling your Dad he would say he’s at ‘work’ or ‘too busy’ and Mom was too ill to drive, that asshole probably took the car as well.

Guess that meant walking, you dreaded any time you had to walk. It was usually long and unbearable, going from the relatively clean streets to the graffiti-filled alleyways near where you lived. 

The penthouses would turn into small apartment buildings, just further proof just how big the gap was from the privileged to the others.

When you had to walk you usually kept some sort of weapon on you. Everyone did. Didn’t mean it wasn’t going to suck.

.

The dozens of kids slowly turned into three or five going the same way you were. Some behind and some in front, your old headphones blasting whatever emotional music you were listening to. When you turned the corner you saw him, them. 

Instinctively your hands balled up into fists, they were laughing. A laugh that bounced around in your mind, you pray that they don’t fucking notice you-

…

Well never mind then.

“Look who we have here…” The boy had a mop of brown curly hair and a freckled face, he was a few inches shorter than you. It always made you chuckle, but today you just walked away, that's when you felt the collar of your shirt being pulled from behind. Do these dipshits get off on your torture or something? “Hey-” Your reflexes were fast, too fast. Your elbow hit his jaw, fuck you hit him too hard. When you turned around, almost falling he almost pounced on you. Almost. He was grabbed by his collar, like a small kitten would be grabbed by their mother. You stepped back, looking up at the mans face…he seemed familiar.

.

.

.

“Why don’t you pick on someone your own size? I saw a squirrel nearby, maybe that would do.”

[ff7-has-taken-me-over]

The principal in Scream is so fuckin weird so here’s a fun one for us.

But when they’re doing the interviews with all the students and reader goes in for their turn, the principal does the thing he does with Sidney but lingers a little longer with it.

Reader gets freaked out, for good reason, and can’t stop twitching whenever the principal comes near. The sheriff notices and decides to cut the interview short, getting up so he can stand between you and the principal.

“If you have any troubles, with anything, just let us know ok? And I mean anything.” He says that with a wary glance toward the principal who’s no longer paying attention to them. You nod, quickly making your escape and trying to shake off the lingering nerves of the encounter.

Lunch comes around and you’re with the group, a little spaced out cause you just can’t shake off the icky feeling the principal had left on you. A gentle hand on your shoulder pulls you from your thoughts, looking up to see Stu looking at you with worried eyes.

“Are you ok?” You can tell the smile you pull on isn’t at all convincing, Stu’s growing concern evidence enough. Billy’s the next to reach out, closer now that Sidney’s gone off somewhere.

“Did something happen in your interview?” You can’t help but tense immediately, something the boys clock immediately. They look toward each other, expressions darkening before they look at you.

“Hey. You can tell us, what happened?” Tatum is the one to speak up this time, Randy leaning around her to nod along.

It takes you another moment, taking a few deep breaths before you’re telling them what happened during your interview. You stutter your way through it, sniffling in a useless bid to stop the tears threatening to spill.

When you finish Tatum looks horrified, Randy looking wildly uncomfortable. Stu and Billy look absolutely livid, the latter glaring at nothing in particular while the former tries to mask it somewhat, opting to try and look comforting for you instead.

And I assume you know what happens from here.

[wannaeatramyeon]

Vin Jin x Reader: Eyelash

G/N. Soft.

"Stop rubbing your eyes,"

"Piss off, it's itchy," Vin spits in your direction, never taking pause.

Which would be fine if he hasn't been excessively scrubbing at them for the last five minutes. It's distracting. Not to mention gross. The weird squelch of the eyeball and him grunting in annoyance.

With a sigh, you approach him. Standing almost chest to chest, you stretch up on your tiptoes, "Let me look."

Absolutely not, Vin thinks. He hasn't let anyone this close since... ever. At least not willingly. Just because you've seen his eyes bared and naked doesn't mean he still doesn't feel vulnerable around you.

Undeterred by his silence, you continue to badger him. "Hey,"

"..." Rub rub rub.

"Cmon."

"..." Rub rub rub.

"Might be an eyelash, some dirt, some dust. "

"..." Rub rub rub.

"Will you just let me-"

Goddamn you're annoying, "Fine!" Rub rub-

You hold onto his elbow, stopping him mid motion, and Vin positively growls at you. Sunglasses on askew, his left offending eye and twin pupils, peeking out over the top.

It's bloodshot to fuck. Rubbed red raw. Honestly, that stubborn asshole.

"Come here," you navigate him closer to the window and take advantage of the midday sun as he complains about you manhandling him. (Though you silently note he makes no effort to free himself from your grasp.)

"Stand still," you command and you remove his sunglasses. You're just about to tease him for how obedient and docile he is, when you notice his jaws clenched and hands fisted. Like a cornered animal. 

You change your tune.

"I'll be quick," you tell Vin, giving him a small smile and he gives you an even smaller nod.

True to your word, your fingers are swift. Gently pulling at his lower and upper lid, you peer this way and that into his eye.

"Can you-" You begin to ask, but Vin anticipates your question. Leaning down until he's at your eye level.

It feels humiliating, or at least it should. Having you this close, staring directly into the eye that made him feel like a monster all his life. Except your hands are tender and your smile is kind and instead of looking away ashamed, he can't help but watch you intently.

His usual demeanour is nowhere to be found. No biting words on his tongue, no sneer on his lips, no disdain on his face. He's captivated.

"It looks fine but," you murmur, picking something off his face. With a grin, you hold it to his mouth, "Make a wish-"

Vin peers down at your finger.

An eyelash.

"Idiot," he says without heat. Regardless, he still wishes. The same thing he has been hoping for more and more these days, and blows the eyelash away.

"Is your eye still annoying you?"

Vin doesn't know what to do with your concern and sincerity, choosing instead to default to how he always is. "You're annoying me," he teases, earning him a rough shove.

"Get your hands off me you hag!"

"You ungrateful asshole!"

As if on autopilot, your conversation once again devolves into bickering and snipes. All you can think about, however, was the proximity mere moments ago. The closeness to his face, the way he watched you, and his pupils blown wide.

And all Vin can think about is how childish his wishes used to be. Foolish and impossible, hoping to be normal. Futile. Desperate. 

But now, something else he wants, someone, finally feels within reach.

[iceman-soup]

amab reader x bot!ghost

It took years for Simon to trust you enough for this. It was a slow process, neither of you rushing, instead taking your time with your relationship: building it up over time, his and your confidence gradually raising with each new thing - small kisses, hugs; then eventually occasionally making out, regular cuddles.

But this? You'd thought about it, sure - but you couldn't quite believe it was actually happening until your lips were on his in your bedroom, hands delicately on his waist as if terrified he would break. Cautiously slipping under his shirt, pulling it over his head slowly to give him time to yank it right back on again if he needed. Eyes open, watching him slump back against the wall as his gaze follows you dumping his shirt on a nearby chair, then taking off your own and chucking it on top. His balaclava crumpled on the floor next to it.

"This alright, love?" you check. One hand moving to cup his cheek, the other hovering in mid air - unsure what to do. Ghost doesn't respond. His eyes are fixed on the carpet; scared. "You wanna stop, Si?" You shove your hands in your pockets.

His head snaps up, stare suddenly on you, laced with curiosity and still, slightly hidden away, fear. "No." His voice is blunt yet whispered, and he tilts his head slightly, "do you? We- we can, if y' want."

Your heart beats in your chest, trying to read his face. You shake your head. "Need you to be comfy, sweetheart," you insist, tentatively moving your arms to wrap around his waist, studying his reaction, "tell me what to do."

He hesitates, leaning into you, chest to chest as he lays his head on your warm, bare shoulder. Your fingers run absentmindedly up and down his back, tracing various scars like you have a million times before. His lips press to your neck, pausing a second more. Simon kisses your flesh, open mouthed and nipping a little, hands in your hair as he leaves a trail of marks up to your jaw, where you turn your head to capture his lips with your own.

"Gonna show me instead, pretty boy?" you murmur against his mouth, and he chuckles quietly; genuine, soft laughter for only your ears to hear. He brings you both together again, tongues in each other's mouths as you stumble towards the bed, clumsily sitting down on it with him straddling you.

Your hands drift to hold his belt, fingers skimming his body so he knows they're there; he breaks away for a bit to look down at you undoing it and his trousers, lifting himself up onto his knees so you can attempt to shimmy them down his hips.

"Stand up, love," you instruct gently, and he does, allowing you to take off his trousers and throw them on the chair - then doing the same with your own again. You'd seen each other in only boxers before, to change or go to bed, but this was different; of course it was.

"You're hard," he comments as if it's normal conversation. Taken slightly aback, you look down at yourself through the fabric then glance over at him.

"So are you," you grin, sitting back down on the bed, "want me to help with tha-"

"Yes."

Simon steps over to you, leaning down to kiss you again - slightly desperately, you note - and tugs a little at your hair. You hold his thighs, breaking away from his face to press small, loving kisses to his stomach and hips, your lips against the soft fabric of his boxers as you kiss his thighs. He doesn't make a sound other than slightly heavy breathing, but his hands massage your head, holding you close to him as if you're the sun on a cold, dark day.

You run a thumb between his skin and the waistline of his boxers, looking up at him. "Can I?" Waiting til he nods, then taking them off; noticing how he doesn't look down as he crawls properly onto the bed.

"Yours," he whispers simply, gesturing with a glance. You nod once, taking yours off too, shuffling to sit nearer to him, a hand on his chest as you lean in, kissing him deeply.

"Gonna prep you, okay?" you kiss his cheek, reaching for the lube on the side table and putting some on two fingers. "One at a time, and you say if I'm going too fast or anything, yeah?"

He lies down a little, tentatively spreading his legs; your heart skipping a beat realising how how vulnerable he feels right now. You open your mouth to reassure him, but he shuts you up by taking your clean hand in his own and giving it a light squeeze. "Ready," he murmurs, face turning red as you gradually push a finger into his hole.

"Relax, Simon," you coax, your index halfway in him as he holds your hand a little too tight for you to know he's comfortable. "You're okay, baby, promise."

Ghost cracks open one eye, staring at you. Relaxing - just a tiny, tiny amount. His voice is husky and shy. "Hurts."

"It'll feel better in just a minute, sweetheart." Reassure him. Kiss the scar on his ribs. Wait until he calms down then ever so gently pushing the finger in all the way; thumb stroking his knuckles when he groans quietly.

You're endlessly patient, letting him take as long as he needs to to adjust before topping up the lube on a second finger and carefully easing it in, pressing delicate kisses to his jaw and muttering praises in his ear; "doing so well, baby. Won't go faster than you want me to, love."

He rewards your care with half-held back moans and grunts, eyes opening every few moments just to check it's still you, hips bucking a little when he's ready for a third finger. And you give it to him, hesitating when he lets out one small sob; but then he whines a quiet "please," free hand nudging your arm to let you know it's alright.

Working gently to scissor him more than loose enough, terrified at the idea of hurting him, reassuring him it's okay when he asks if he can touch himself using as few words as possible. Easing him onto his side when he's prepped properly, facing each other cuz you know he'd hate any other position.

You put lube onto your cock; he watches, cuddling his head into your shoulder and his hands now tracing patterns onto the skin of your chest. You kiss his cheek, forming eye contact.

"Are you sure you want this?" You check, making sure he actually thinks for a moment before nodding. Your lips connect with his and you pull your hips together, groaning as he uses his own hand to put your dick into him. Giving him time to adjust before he's kissing your neck impatiently, big arms tenderly wrapped around you and little whimpers leaving his mouth that he needs you to move.

Rocking your hips into him, mixed moans filling the room, making sure to comfort and praise him and remind him to take care of himself as well. When he does, he's quick to cum all over yours and his stomachs, whining and pulling your bodies even closer.

"You want me to pull out when I cum, Si?" you ask, not stopping as you tilt his chin up to face you. He nods, smiling softly at being given the option. You slide out of him, kissing away his half-hearted complaints until you groan and thick white ropes of cum spurt from your cock, mixing with his on both your bodies, leaving the two of you panting and holding each other, sharing kisses every few seconds.

After several moments of just lying there, Simon grumbles and shifts uncomfortably. "'M all sweaty," he huffs, nuzzling his face into your chest even so. You run a hand through his hair, thinking. He pipes up again. "M' legs all shaky." You smirk knowingly.

"Want me to carry y-" he cuts you off with an eager nod. Cheeky bastard didn't even let you finish the sentence. Nevertheless, you haul his large frame into your (thankfully) strong arms, taking him into the bathroom and setting him down on the edge of the tub. "Bath?" He shrinks into himself a little at the exposure, but hums in agreement. Still vulnerable. Still scared.

You turn on the taps, getting the right temperature before sitting on the bathmat on the floor. Si slides down to curl up in your lap, clinging to you and scattering kisses along your jaw. When the bath is full enough, you let him get in after you. Keep him feeling secure. You hold his hand to steady him as he steps into the water and lays down. Cradle him in your arms, palming water through his hair and washing the half-dried cum off both your bodies.

Towelling yourself off afterwards as he does the same with his own; looking away when he asks you to. Changing into soft pyjamas that make him look as if he was never military at all, just your sweet, pretty Simon who loves you so, so much. He leads you by the hand back to bed, helping you quickly change the sheets before crawling under the duvet, cuddling up, his head snuggled into your chest.

[just-a-moray-eel]

So many fics about the old bots, but none where I am their equally as old spouse, living together after retirement and treating other bots like our children/grandchildren because we never had some of our own. I wanna be mother, not mommy!

[ryansosilly]

"Daddy energy Dom Ghost"? Never heard of her! Ahahahahhahahsplsstopmischaracterisinghimhahahah

Fic idea? yeah sure is one! You got a 'love confession' from THE Ghost Riley. And since he is incapable of regulating his emotions and dealing with what he feels in a healthy way..he is just... A chaotic awkward mess. Don't blame him! All he knows is pew pew and crying himself to sleep every night!!! He didn't get training for that?!!!!

Also, I'll refrain from using y/n since apparently people dislike it? Idc personally but for this specific fic, you're referred to as "you" or "[redacted]" in place of your name

Ghost was actually just as close to breaking down as he was earlier. And yesterday. And the day before that.. Well.. It would be a great fucking underestimation to even attempt to say that the way he felt has not had a 'little' punch on his psyche. Every single time he got even a single glance at you he already felt like he was in the middle of a war, his heart racing beyond any means for him to slow it other than measures he knew very well he shouldn't take. Ghost felt so sick just by thinking about very possibly confessing or even asking You for help with the way he feels that it ruined his appetite which ended up bringing your attention to him.

You were making Ghost truly lose every ounce of sanity he had left just by existing and it really pissed him off. Pissed him of a LOT. He couldn't stand for it anymore. So, after months of struggling against his pride and ego, Ghost decided it was time to confess. Or perhaps just confront you for making him feel like that. A fucking Rookie like you had absolutely no god damn right to make him feel like that?? Who did YOU think YOU are??

After a couple hours..(which were meant to be only couple minutes) of punching a punching bag while fighting against his inner turmoil and fears of love that he has yet to even realise, he finally felt hyped and confident in himself just enough to go talk with you and ask you very politely to come with him to a secluded place for a discussion.

The very moment he stepped out the training room he had secured only for himself, his face started to feel hot and hands get shaky. Perhaps not today. He immediately stepped back inside the 'gym' and continued to train to bring himself to it. Unfortunately, by that point, his comrades were getting way beyond sick of Ghost's bullshit. Everyone BUT You and Ghost himself knew. (Even though both of those could be argued..)

They didn't even bother checking on Ghost at that point, knowing how defensive he got when you were ever brought up in a conversation.

"I fucking hate youuuuuuuu, [Redacted], this is ALL your fault!"

Ghost groaned from under a pole, doing pull ups until he could not anymore. It was his way of 'relaxation'.. albeit not very effective. Groaning and cursing your name just to shut himself up at some points, his tongue lingering on the beautiful way their name sounded coming from his mouth, leading to him ending up sounding exactly like a broken record. His sentences being cut short from "curse you, [Redacted]...[Redacted]...." Between shallow shaky breaths.

...Yeah that shit was NOT cutting it.

He couldn't fucking handle it anymore. His arms were already aching and he didn't even feel remotely prepared for asking you out. What could he possibly fuck up anyway? It's just a Rookie either way... Right? He got off the damned sweaty pole and immediately went towards the door, steps heavier than even his breathing. That mask could hide only so much from his sheer embarrassment and hatred for this entire situation. He just decided to say 'fuck it' and go do it directly.

"Come on, Simon. You can do it.. you are THE Ghost. A rookie can't fucking make you act like this, you won't stand for it!"

Ghost muttered to himself, grumbling and growling with really severe irritation in his voice, yet, keeping it quiet. If anyone even heard, he was sure that he will be fucked up for eternity. Of course, Ghost was really fucking blind to the fact that everyone knew. Every single person could see right through the act and tell that Ghost was very much into the 'stupid rookie' [Redacted]..

With a raspy voice, body pumping adrenaline straight through his blood and all around, going to his brain and clouding his sense of judgement. He blindly walked past so many people, instantly letting them know exactly what was going to happen.*

"Holy shit?? Why is Ghost so..? Pumped up??" Soap whispered, mouth agape as Ghost rushed through the corridors, going towards the 'Little stupid rookie's hideout' as he would call it.. Soap had almost instantly found out Ghost when he was following around the new recruit like a lost puppy kicked out in the rain, even finding out your places to hang out after duty. Of course, Ghost never even said a single word to you directly..

Meanwhile Soap was planning a perfect gossip plan, Ghost was getting more confident with every step until he reached his destination. Staring at the door that he just wanted to kick open or just punch through with bare fists. That damned fucking door.

"...."

The very same second he grabbed the handle, he started cursing under his breath, the mask making the cursed even more muffled. He was right there, Ghost, just do it!! You can't fuck it up, it's just a god damn talk with a rookie you've done a thousand times before!!

Ghost's breathing was getting more laboured and heavy to the point that it was...very clear that there was someone in front of your door. So you did the so-nice-thing of opening the door for him.

"..."

"..."

Ghost just stared and stared and stared...and stared, one eye starting to twitch. The silence was so fucking loud and neither you or him was breaking it. After maybe 10 full minutes of pitch silence and him being completely still just staring directly into your eyes, he found the ego within him to clear his throat and cross his arms, lifting his chin up and shutting his eyes to show his normal 'Big boss' attitude.

"You little fucking twat. I hate you, I hope you know that. So, come the fuck outside and I'm going to confess to you without you rejecting me. Got it?"

..yeah maybe the ego was a bit too much. It took another couple seconds, maybe even minutes (he couldn't tell) until he actually understood what the fuck he had just said.

"Bloody hell.....no, that's not fucking happenin-.."

Before his brain could even comprehend what happened, panic overtook him the exact moment you opened your mouth to speak. Annnnndd...BOOM. Ghost punched you directly in the face.

What the absolute fucking bloody hell??? In the name of the queen and king what did you just do, Simon??????

Without thinking twice, he managed to get his courage and immediately ran away, going into the shadows to just even attempt to understand what went that wrong? How could something as simple go THAT south??? His brain was flooding with questions that no amount of working out could clear.

So of course, he did exactly what a responsible adult would do. He fucking ignored everything and acted like nothing happened. Just staring at you from afar for the next MONTHS until YOU had the courage to come talk to HIM about it. Of course, knowing the reputation that Ghost had, there was no way a rookie would come confront him about it, right? Yeah, he was definitely fucking safe.

A small smirk appeared under his balaclava as he took a deep breath of relief, leaning against a wall outside. Definitely saved that one, didn't he? He was very convinced that he...somewhat.. got away with the 'accident '.

Oh, Simon.. that proud smile fell and slipped right off that smug face when a very...particular rookie, You, just walked right up to him.

".... You're taking the piss..."

*The amount of cold blood now circulating through his body can make a psychopath shiver. Slowly looking down at you then immediately looking away. Just the IDEA of facing you made him want to break down.*

"so.."

*you started to speak but were cut off almost instantly, he turned around and grabbed you be the shoulders.*

"have you told ANYONE about what happened?"

*He spoke very lowly but the aggression he forced into his voice to try and scare you was prominent. Of Course..it wasn't very effective when everyone and their grandma knew he wouldn't lay a finger on you... Except that one time...and that other- Nevermind. He would never do it on purpose or with ill intends.*

*Once he saw you nod, it was not even necessary to let you speak..or even let you open your mouth. Upon your attempt to speak, he put his hand right over your mouth, his eyes locked into yours. His eyebrows were slightly furrowed, his expression mostly unreadable.*

"I think I'm into you. No jokes, no pranks. So, reject me if you will and we'll go right back to our routine exercise, alright?"

*due to the copious amount of shame he felt, he was so distracted that..he did not even realise he was still covering your mouth. A thousand thoughts went through his head and not a single one was particularly..good. Luckily for the poor man, you reminded him to let go by tapping his hand.*

"..my bad."

*He ...apologised? Well he thinks he did but it just came off as kind of rude with his tone of voice. He took a big step back and straightened himself as if Price himself stood in front of him. Fuck it, not even Price can get him to look that stiff and..well.. uncomfortably awkward. It was even surprising to the passing by soldiers how the fuck he was this stiff that from now on, there'll be some rumours about you being some sort of a monster capable of even putting the Lieutenant down. Isn't that neat?*

"I do like you back. I wasn't going to reject you today or that day, you just ran away too quickly and.. knocked me out."

*The silence was even more deafening now, you prepared yourself for the slight possibility of another punch by reflex coming but this time, it didn't come. Ghost was lost in thought that even his quick battle thinking couldn't help him with navigating. Just..frozen there.*

"Really?"

*His words broke the silence. It didn't sound demanding or aggressive but like a genuine confused question. Almost baffled that you could ever feel the same for him.*

"..Yes?"

*You returned the word with a just as confused reply, speaking it as a question, accompanied by a nod. You attempted to cut down the distance by taking a step closer to him while he was still distracted and frozen.*

"Cool that's cool. So.. I'm asking you out. "

"Date?"

"..Maybe? Do you want to date me?"

"Yes.."

*Every single little Simon in his head was screaming right now, basically speaking and acting on autopilot. That was both a good and a bad thing..*

"Good. I'm coming for you tonight, prepare."

*Then he??... Put his hand to dab you up, fist bump and hurriedly walk away without waiting for an answer.. Even he doesn't know where that came from. He doesn't 'dab up' ANYONE, let alone someone he is interested in romantically.. Truly a confused mess of a person. Trust me, you do NOT see him for the rest of the day all the way up to the time he stalk waits for you at your front door during the unspecified time. Just showing up anytime he feels like it and taking you for a date will surely become a tradition.

[proudfreakmetarusonikku]

it’s so funny seeing all these “the curtains are just blue guys” as an amateur horror author like. my whole Thing is making people frightened and i kinda have to delve into very real human fears for that (either directly through allegory or both). i can’t the curtains are just blue you guys bc then i literally couldn’t achieve my goal. all my works have at least horror elements even if they’re not entirely horror and that’d fall flat if i didn’t know what human fear i was trying to touch upon in depth (usually abuse and ableism, but it very much depends on the story and usually there’s multiple) i literally can't do that. or be apolitical for that matter politics deeply impact what humans are afraid of I would be a bad author for ignoring them.

[starry-eyesanddaydreams]

NSFW Alphabet - Severus Snape

Time for our favourite potions master. (I think we all love Dom Severus, but I went with a bit of a different approach here, more like what I think he'd actually be like) Enjoy! ;)

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

You're usually the one taking care of him afterwards. But he likes to hold you tight and kiss lazily as you both come down off your high.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

He doesn't particularly like anything about himself, but if he had to choose, he'd say his hands. On you, it's your breasts. He loves how they feel, the softness, how you respond when he touches them. If you wear a fitted or low-cut shirt, he can be very easily distracted.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Inside you.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

He accidentally saw a fantasy in your mind once. You were daydreaming about him being dominant with you, pulling you into the potions storeroom and having you against the wall. He does find the thought of being dominant with you a turn on, but he's not confident enough yet to suggest it. One day.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

He was a virgin before you. He knew the basics in theory, but in practice he's learning as he goes with you.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

You on top. His inexperience is mixed with insecurity and having you on top with plenty of physical contact and eye contact helps him feel more secure.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

He's not a goofy person just in general, and with this even less. Sex is still a very intense experience for him.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

It's not something he'd ever concerned himself with. But since he's been with you, he's starting to indulge in more self-care.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Sex with Severus is very intimate. It took a lot of trust and love to get to this point and that really shows with how you make love.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Before you came into his life, he would every now and then just to take the edge off his stress. But now he thinks it an even more lonely thing to do. He'd much rather just wait until he can be with you.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Praise kink. Outside of the bedroom, he’ll deny it entirely. But with you, when you tell him just how good he’s making you feel and how much you love him, he’s completely weak for it. He’s been denied words of love and encouragement for too long and from you he soaks up those words like a dry plant soaks up water.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

In bed. After he got more comfortable, sometimes in the bath or shower. You might start making out on the couch or something, but he'll want to move to the bed before you go all the way.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

When you stand up for him. Sirius Black made the mistake of insulting Severus in front of you, and you cast a spell at Black to turn him green with purple spots and told him if he can't control his flapping mouth, you'd spell a muzzle on him. Sev started undoing the laces of your dress the moment you got home. When you brush his hair back and kiss this particular spot behind his ear on the side of his neck, he turns to putty in your hands.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

No public sex. And no student/teacher roll play, he just can't.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

He loves receiving, and he's found he enjoys giving too. Having you sit on his face is something he particularly enjoys.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Slow and gentle.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Not something he's really into. A quick make out session, maybe. But you both prefer to actually take your time.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Given his inexperience, pretty much everything is an experiment to him. He's actually pretty vanilla and happy with that. What he has with you now is more than he ever though he'd have. But if you suggest something, he's usually willing to try it.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Once is usually it. Physically he could go more, but emotionally it can get overwhelming.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Not toys per se, but when feeling adventurous, you have experimented with a few spells and magic concoctions.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

As he gets more comfortable with sex and intimacy, he’s become more of a tease and enjoys finding ways to get you worked up.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

He's pretty quiet. Gasps and moans and hard breathing.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

Severus has issues about nudity, and it takes him a while to be comfortable with being fully naked around you. You worked on this bit by bit; foreplay while both fully clothed, letting him become familiar with your body first. The first time you had sex you were both still dressed. You always made sure he was comfortable and didn't push him for more than he could handle.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

He's big. Eight inches and nicely thick. (The bulge in his trousers does not lie. You know which scene I mean)

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Not high before, but the more your relationship progresses, the more his sex drive has started to increase.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Sometimes he'll doze off fairly quickly, other times you may both be awake for half an hour or so cuddling and talking.

[the-atlas-sister]

𝕋𝕙𝕖 𝕊𝕚𝕤𝕥𝕖𝕣 𝔸𝕥𝕝𝕒𝕤 (Sully Siblings x Sister!Na’vi!Fem!Reader) Part Two

Masterlist: https://www.tumblr.com/mooskey/724247343162114048/%F0%9D%95%8B%F0%9D%95%99%F0%9D%95%96-%F0%9D%95%8A%F0%9D%95%9A%F0%9D%95%A4%F0%9D%95%A5%F0%9D%95%96%F0%9D%95%A3-%F0%9D%94%B8%F0%9D%95%A5%F0%9D%95%9D%F0%9D%95%92%F0%9D%95%A4-%F0%9D%95%84%F0%9D%95%92%F0%9D%95%A4%F0%9D%95%A5%F0%9D%95%96%F0%9D%95%A3%F0%9D%95%9D%F0%9D%95%9A%F0%9D%95%A4%F0%9D%95%A5

Warnings!: Explicit Language, violence, perverted language.

“And where are you four going?” 

Tuk, Lo’ak, Spider and Kiri froze in their tracks at your stern voice. 

“Shit,” Spider mumbled. “Just don’t move. She can’t see us if we don’t move.”

“Dude, she’s not a dinosaur,” Lo’ak scoffed, turning around to face his eldest sister. You stared at the four with a playful smirk but stern stance. “Hey sis.” He sighed, throwing his head back in disappointment at being caught. 

“I’ll ask again, where do you four think you’re going?” you repeated, narrowing your eyes at your siblings and their childhood friend. 

“Um,” Spider began. “We’re going- berry- fruit- fish picking...” 

You furrowed your brows at his strange excuse. 

“Dude, you suck at this,” Lo’ak said, pushing his friend gently. 

“We just wanted to explore the forests,” Kiri said, “Like we always do. Can we go now?” 

“With Tuk?” you continued, eying the smaller girl as she sheepishly looked down. “You know the rules Tuk.”

The girl pouted and your other siblings visibly relaxed, feeling relieved that your disappointment was pointed at the youngest Sully instead of them. 

“What if you came with?” Tuk questioned. She rushed towards you, pulling on your arm and staring at you with her large puppy eyes. “Please, Y/n?” 

Damn my youngest sister, you thought, feeling your heart tug at the girl’s large eyes. 

“Ugh, no way,” Lo’ak whined. “She’ll be mothering us the whole time.” 

You scowled at the boy. “Okay, Tuk. We’ll all go together.” 

Lo’ak let out another whine of displeasure. You rolled your eyes at him as Kiri and Spider shrugged at one another. “Let’s go!” Tuk exclaimed, yanking you towards the thick forest. 

You chuckled before dashing off. “Come on little ones!” you teasing, stopping at a large tree and facing your siblings and Spider. Kiri chuckled, noticing the way her brother rolled his eyes. 

“I always feel like a baby when she’s around,” he complained, but followed close behind. 

“It’s why I’m your favorite,” you said, smirking at the younger Na’vi. Said Na’vi scoffed before looking over his shoulder. 

“Tuk, keep up!” he yelled, noticing the youngest Sully getting distracted.

“Bro, why did you bring her anyway?” Spider grumbled as the small group began to climb through the trees. 

“She’s such a crybaby,” Lo’ak said. “I’m going to tell Mom if you don’t let me come. You’re not supposed to go to the battle field.” He turned to direct his attention to Spider and the rest of the group. 

“Don’t tease her,” you scolded as Tuk stuck her tongue out at her elder brother. “Wait, you’re going to the battle field? You know you’re not allowed.”

“And this is why we didn’t want her to come,” Kiri mumbled, pushing past you. 

“Lo’ak you’re already grounded, you can’t do this on top of everything-”

“Do you want to come or not?” Lo’ak asked, sending you a look. 

You stared at him, mouth in a thin line. “Yeah, okay, fine,” you finally answered. 

“Great,” Spider mumbled, running after Kiri, who pushed forward. 

“Come on Tuk,” you said, ushering the younger girl forward. As you passed Lo’ak, you gave his a swift smack upside the head. He scowled at you and hissed, you doing the same. “Woah.” You stopped in your tracks upon seeing an old human plane. It was covered in the plants of Pandora, now a mass metal piece of the forest itself. 

“What? Have you never seen any of these?” Spider asked, looking down at you from a branch closer to the machine. 

“No, believe it or not I spent most of my childhood watching after all of you rather than having fun,” you said absentmindedly. You began to climb through the branches, eyes wide as you looked at the metal. You reached your hand towards it. 

“Are there any dead bodies up there?” Tuk called, breaking you from your curious trance. 

“Tuk!” you scolded. 

“Come on!” Lo’ak said, continuing to the forest floor with Spider. You followed close behind, guiding Tuk, though you realized she may not have needed it. 

“Wait, where’s Kiri?” Spider asked. You all looked around, realizing she had disappeared. 

“Kiri!” you called, beginning to wander. You glanced towards the other kids, looking at them expectantly. They quickly followed suit, calling her name and wandering about. 

“We need to get back,” Tuk said. “Kiri!” 

As you searched, Spider wandered off as well. “Where’s Spider now?” you said, feeling exasperated. 

“Kiri!” 

“There she is!” Tuk exclaimed, going under a small pocket of bushes. “Kiri!” she cheered as the girl came into view. 

“Come on, we have to get back,” you said. 

***

“What is it?” Kiri said as Lo’ak stopped. You followed her gaze, watching as Lo’ak and Spider now crouched on the forest floor, examining a strange set of footprints. 

“We’re always supposed to be home before eclipse,” Tuk whined. 

“That’s way too big for a human,” Lo’ak said, his eyes now searching the forest. 

“No shit,” you said. “Probaly an avatar,” you added, now kneeling beside him. 

“Maybe, but they’re for sure not ours.” The younger boy began to trek through the forest, Spider following close behind. 

“What are you doing?” Kiri hissed. 

“They think they’re tracking,” you said, rolling your eyes at the your younger sibling. 

“Shh,” Lo’ak hissed, continuing his tracking. 

You all remained silent as you trekked through the forest. Lo’ak took the lead, ushering Tuk and Kiri to keep their heads down and stay hidden within the underbrush. 

“We are never supposed to come here,” Kiri whispered as you made your way to the old Avatar site.

“Dad is going to ground you,” you mumbled.

“Shhh,” Lo’ak hissed. 

“For life,” Kiri added, causing him to give Spider and exasperated look. 

“Bro, we have got to check this out,” Lo’ak stated. He and Spider then began to get closer to the site, leaving a frustrated you behind. 

“Stay close to Kiri,” you said, directing your words at Tuk. She gave you a small nod and moved closer to her sister as you followed the boys. 

“Bro, you’re so loud,” you grumbled, appearing next to Spider as they crept. 

“Sis, shut up,” Lo’ak said, causing you to scowl at him. “Bro.”

“That’s where you’re dad and my dad... fought.” Spider trained off, giving you and Lo’ak an excited grin. Lo’ak returned it, but you just stared at the scene, 

“Bro, that’s your dad’s actual suit.” 

“Holy shit.”

“When did the humans have time to create more avatars?” you thought aloud. “Lo’ak, we have to call this is.” 

“No, dude, we’ll get in so much trouble.” Spider protested. You gave Lo’ak a look and he nodded at you slightly. 

“Let’s go,” you mumbled, leading the boys back to your sisters. 

Once you reached your siblings once more, Tuk found herself clinging to you as Lo’ak radioed your father. 

“I got eyes on some guys,” Lo’ak spoke into the radio. “They look like avatars, but they’re in full camo and carrying ARs. There’s six of them, over.” 

You heard something faint on the other end before Lo’ak looked around guiltily. “Um, we’re at the old shack.” He spoke slowly, as if processing how much trouble he would be in in a different situation. Spider let out a sad sigh. “Me, Spider, Y/n, Kiri... and Tuk.” Tuk hugged your arm at the mention of her name. 

“Get the hell out of there,” is all you heard from your father before Lo’ak responded. 

“Let’s go,” you said, ushering Tuk and Kiri. 

“See, I told you,” Kiri said, making you scold her. “You’re going to be in so much trouble,” Kiri added, her volume increasing the farther you got from the site. 

“Kiri, stop,” you scolded, looking at her sternly. 

“You guys, come on,” Tuk insisted, rushing ahead. “It’s almost eclipse, come on!” Just as she turned to face you, one of the avatars jumped in front of her, grabbing her, causing the girl to scream. You and the older kids were quick to pull out your bows, but found yourselves surrounded by the rest of the avatars.

“Put it down! Down!” they yelled at you in english, every single one holding some sort of gun. Lo’ak and Spider were quick to put their weapons down but you contiued to hold yours at the ready, hissing at the soldiers and standing protectively in front of your siblings. 

“Y/n, put it down,” Lo’ak said, looking at you knowingly. 

“Y/n, please,” Kiri said, you’re eyes snapped to Tuk, still held in the soldier’s grasp. You let out one last hiss before forcefully throwing down your bow.  

“Get them! Get down!” the soldiers contiued their yelling, one grabbing each of you. You yelled as one grabbed your queue and forced you to the ground. He gripped your arm tightly in his free hand as you fell to your knees. 

“Y/n,” Tuk cried, watching you. 

“Calm,” you said in Na’vi. “Calm, it is alright.” You hissed once more, struggling in the soldier’s grasp. 

“Shut up, don’t move,” he said, pulling on your queue. 

“What do we have here?” a new voice questioned. Another soldier entered the small circle they had created, watching you all slowly and surely. He looked like  a coy predator who just caught his prey. 

“Hey, Colonel,” the soldier that held Kiri said. He forcefully displayed her hand to the ‘Colonel’. “Check it out. Look, four fingers.” He smirked slightly. “We got a half breed.” 

“Let go of her!” you yelled in your native tongue, continuing to struggle against the man. 

The Colonel smirked at you before stalking towards Lo’ak. “Show me your fingers,” he ordered. 

Lo’ak glared at the man before slowly revealing a pair of middle fingers, 

The man chuckled with a sickening smile. “You’re his, aren’t you?” 

Lo’ak hissed in response, his tail swinging.

“You’re his alright.” The man then grabbed Lo’ak by his queue, making his let out a pained noise. 

“Let go!” you protested, Spider and Kiri doing so as well. 

“Where is he?” Colonel questioned. 

“Sorry, we don’t speak English, to assholes,” you spoke, making the man turn his attention to you. Lo’ak scowled at you, but you ignored him. 

“And what about you?” he asked, throwing Lo’ak back at the soldier. “Are you one of Sully’s too?” 

You only hissed in response, attempting to lunge at the man. He chuckled. “You’re more like your mother,” he said. “Now, where’s your father, sweetheart?”

You stared up at the man before smirking. “Fuck you,” you spoke in English. 

“So, is that how you want it?” the man said, pulling out his knife and grabbing your face. “Where is Jake Sully?” You swiftly bit his thumb, making him jump back in slight surprise. 

“Fuck you,” you repeated, spitting out a bit of his blood. 

The man glared at you before turning and making his way towards Kiri. 

“No! Stop!” you and Lo’ak yelled, struggling in your holds. 

“Stop! Don’t touch her!” Spider screamed, his words louder than your own. “Hey! Don’t touch her!!” 

“Don’t hurt her, please,” you said, your badass facade falling in fear of hurting your sister. 

The Colonel turned to Spider at his pleas. “What’s your name, kid?” 

“Spider, Socorro,” Spider said, breathing heavily. 

The Colonel waved off the soldier holding Spider. “Miles?” He knelt down to the boy’s level, a look of confusion on his face. 

“Nobody calls me that,” Spider said. 

“Well, I’ll be damned,” the man said. “Well, I’d figured they sent you back to earth.” 

“You can’t put babies in Cryo dipshit,” Spider fumed. You smiled a bit at the insult. 

The Colonel motioned for his soldier to grab Spider once more. “What’re we doing, boss?” he questioned. 

The Colonel stared at Spider before pressing the button to the radio on his neck. He said something you couldn’t understand, only hearing the last phrase, “-bringing in high value, prisioners.” 

“Let us go!” Kiri said. 

“Kiri, calm yourself,” you told her in Na’vi. “Everything is going to be alright,” you added as the bound you all and ushered you to a new part of the forest. They pushed you all to the ground as the Colonel watched some sort of recording. 

“That’s Sully’s woman,” he said, his eyes flickering to you. You had been often told you shared a similar appearance to your mother, but none of which who had told you this shared the same look of distain as this man did. 

“She’s an animal,” another soldier added. You hissed at their words, making you scowl at them. 

“Tuk, it will be okay,” you said as the eclipse made the word of Pandora darken. You reached to touch her, best you could while bound and held away. “It’s like when we would play in the forest, when you were little.” 

“Shut up,” the soldiers scolded, pulling you to your feet as it began to rain. 

***

They held you in the dark and cold. You could feel the cool metal of their gun and other forms of violence against your skin, making it crawl. 

You heard the men talk before they sulked into the forest. 

Your ears suddenly perked at the familiar yipping sound in the distance. You caught the gaze of your siblings who all held knowing looks. 

Kiri began to pray to the Great Mother quietly, causing the man holding her and Spider to hiss a small, “shut up.” 

The chaos began when an arrow landed in the man’s skull. 

Tag list: sparks0918 @the-mourning-moon @justpasssingby @thehoneymushroomhealer ictoa

I think I may accidentally make a series out of this book- SOOOOO now I need to make a poll for you readers who enjoy this book! The poll is whether or not the reader should have a future love interest.

[idontevenlistentomitski]

Me when the hotch brain rot comes back once every 4 months and I go on the #aaronhotchnersmut tag and realise you’ve all gone back to hyper Dom! Hotch

☹️

[goldencherriess]

If I had a nickel for every time I wrote a Y/N raised by her aunt, I'd have two nickels. Which isn't a lot but it's weird that it happened twice

[tojiscrack]

thinking about it ll megumi is so me-coded i cant even hate on him for not asking y/n out 😭

like whenever it comes to getting ANYTHING done i am the biggest procrastinator then when my plans to get it done dont go the way i wanted, i act SHOCKED so um. yea.

liar liar megumi is me and i am him 🙏🙏

liar, liar masterlist here:

i aim to make the characters in the story quite relatable, and i had a feeling that despite mc being the lead (literally, bc mercupine’s story was being led by her) megumi would be the one that everyone relates too…

so y/n — completely clueless. in her own bubble. blissfully unaware ‘cause she’s too busy mucking around to even notice that any of what megumi might be feeling for her is even possible 💀

megumi — completely aware of what’s happening. sees it happening right in front of him. will he do anything about it? no. but he’ll silently or not silently judge using quiet words and a disgusted expression on his usually-emotionless-face

yuji — we haven’t seen much of how he behaves in LL (in terms of love interests) but it’s clear that he’s also quite like y/n, blissfully unaware. however, he can still want what other people have, things like dancing with a pretty girl and he will get pouty if he’s prevented from doing that 🥴

nobara — much like myself: doesn’t desire a relationship, believes she’s better off on her own, but’ll probably visibly glitch if yuji gets into one before her 😀

butttt, we’ve never spoken about how some of these roles may change 👀 spoiler alert: they will