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wakeup01 · 6 months

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Two Twinks, One Wish

“So Charlie, what did you wish for Christmas?”

“Really? Can we just watch the movie?” I say, annoyed.

Daniel had been my boyfriend for about a month now and had recently moved into my flat, just in time for Christmas. Since then things had been a struggle, he would continually whine about my inadequacies - how I didn’t tidy enough, didn’t appreciate him and most of all how I was a terrible top.

See, the problem was, we were both twinks. We had the same skinny body type, with barely any muscle definition. The only real difference being he had the better ass. Admittedly, I had a severe lack of confidence in the bedroom, frequently failing to get in the mood. Daniel on the other hand was very particular about what he liked and what he expected.

“Come on! You must be able to think of something. God knows there’s enough things you can be better at…” Daniel chastised.

Even now he had turned a harmless movie night into another chance to take petty digs. We were on the couch watching some cheesy xmas film, where the protagonist makes wishes that magically come true. Now he was insisting for me to make some stupid wish.

“Why don’t you go first? You seem to have a lot of ideas in mind.” I shoot back, not taking my eyes off the screen.

“Hmm, I got the perfect one! Charlie, I wish… you were a better top!” He laughs and nudges into my shoulder.

I roll my eyes, of course, I should of guessed this is where things were heading. Ugh. Out of nowhere I feel a chill wash over my whole body and a tightness take hold in my chest. After a moment the feeling subsides.

“Very funny. Have you been thinking that one up all night.” My voice dripping in sarcasm.

I shift in my seat slightly, a dull warmth emanating from my crotch. I must be feeling unwell, I’m definitely not being turned on by his degrading remarks. But the heat doesn’t fade, in fact it only grows in intensity. I get the impulse to grope at my growing bulge, the tightness straining against my jeans. Daniel would never live it down If I did, but it was becoming rather uncomfortable.

“You look a little flustered there… ah. I see. Are you really getting horny from this? Christ, you’re pathetic.” Daniel scolds, reaching his hand down.

Before I can object he unzips my trousers and pulls down the waistband of my briefs. My cock bursts forth and slaps against my chest, pre already leaking from it’s tip. Except it’s not my cock, this monster is almost twice my normal size. And my balls are inflating in front of my very eyes.

“What the hell?” I shout.

“Woah, oh shit, it’s working. It’s a Christmas miracle!” He exclaims in barely contained glee.

“Daniel, what did you do!” My voice cracks.

My dick continues to snake up my torso, going from 5 inches, to 7 then to 8. As it grows, so does my hornyness, overpowering my head as I fall into a drunken stupor. This is the most intense erection I’ve ever felt. My hand rubs up and down the entire length and I attempt to wrap my fingers around it, before discovering its girth is now thicker than my hand.

“Nice cock ‘bro’. Good tops are well equipped downstairs. And now, you are too. Hahaha” I look over and see him smirk at me.

He’s enjoying this far too much for my liking, but I’m in no position to fight back. Why did he make that stupid wish, I better not be stuck with this forever. At this point I don’t think my cock would even fit into any underwear I own. How exactly can I walk around with this thing swinging between my legs.

“You know who makes good tops? Jocks. That cocky attitude and carefree nature, coasting through life without thinking.” Daniel suggests, wistfully.

Jocks are also narcissistic morons. And I’m certainly not going to be one just to be a better ‘top’. I’m suddenly distracted by a chafing from my rear, a pair of straps seem to be cupping the cheeks of my tight butt. Below my balls now sits a stained pouch, the smell of musk rising from it hits my nose and I recoil.

“I think it’s jockstraps only from now on Charlie. And woof, sweaty ones at that.”

All of my senses are being overpowered, it’s like my head is in a vice that keeps on tightening. The film in front of me becomes a blur, my focus shattered by the intense pleasure from my new cock.

“Cock.” I blurt out.

I hear Daniel laughing from out of view.

My head is starved of oxygen as all the blood rushes to my groin, I’ve never been this horny before. I feel the strangest sensation as my brain thickens, filling up with throbbing meat. All the space padded out until I’m holding up a heavy dumbbell on the end of my neck. My thoughts were still there, somewhere, but it took so long to find them. It was quicker and easier to just embrace jockdom, stop worrying so much and just go along with the flow. If I was unsure of what to say then bro, I’d just say ‘bro’! A bro can fill in sentences with ‘bro’ and everyone will know what a bro they are. And bro? Being labeled as a dumb bro means no one expects anything meaningful from me. Brawn over brains is the mantra of my life dude.

“Jock’s also like to wear their bro-hood on their sleeves, and in your case, quite literally.”

As soon as the words leave his mouth I feel a sharp pain, as if a hundred needles are stabbing down my arm. I brace myself before glancing down. And there it was, 🍖 the meat emoji tattooed on my left hand. Huhhuh, awesome bro. Branded a meathead for life.

“Bro?” I ask slowly, my voice now considerably deeper.

“Yeah ‘Chad?’” Daniel emphasises.

The name immediately sticks to me like glue. Chad. I am such a Chad. I have some distant recollection of being someone else, but I can’t be bothered to search my brain for it. There’s a more pressing concern.

“Bruh, I need to empty my balls.” I grunt. The pressure from my engorged member becoming unbearable.

“Then you know what to do. Good muscle tops have their cocks milked every day.”

I grip my cock and begin pumping in earnest, my jaw hanging open. As I masturbate, my hands and arms bulk up with muscle. I see my veins very noticeably pop out. I feel a desperate urge to flex, letting one hand go from my dick. I ball it into a fist and raise it to the side of my head, squeezing my biceps. My arm pulses with meat, sending a vain satisfaction to my pleasure center.

“Good dumb tops spend all their time in the gym or on the field. Sculpting their body into the perfect chiselled shape.” His nasally voice instructs.

Muscle continues to form all over my lithe frame; my shoulders broaden and my chest ripples into a tight 6 pack. My clothes are loudly ripped to shreds. Memories enter my head of spending hours working out, of hanging with the other jocks and forming a vacant facade of a personality. Sweat drips from my hairy armpits, staining the couch under me. The room quickly starts smelling like a gym, my rank feet tearing free from my socks. My face cracks as it squares out into a more defined outline, brow growing heavy above my distant eyes. My body is now taking up most of the couch as Daniel budges over to the side. I quicken my pace, pumping now with both hands. My balls tighten.

“Fuck yeah brah.” I roar, reaching climax.

My cock spurts rope after rope of musky cum directly at my face, I’m left covered in my own seed. Daniel leans over to me and begins to eagerly lick at my face. He savours my taste on his tongue before swallowing. The sign of an expert bottom, huhuhu.

“Mmm. Great Tops know how to take control. And you’re a great top Chad.” Daniel moans in lust.

He’s right.

“Dude, this film is fucking dull. I’m changing to the sports channel bro. There’s a sick game playing today.” My hands take the remote and switch to a noisy football game.

I grab Daniels’s tiny little body and force him onto my lap. I flex again and push his face into my armpit. His tongue drags along my wiry dank hair. He moves his hand between my legs and starts passionately fingering his hungry ass hole, using my cum as lube. I hear him panting heavily like a dog. Man, my boyfriend is such a whiny brat…

“Bro, it’s my turn.” My cocky voice booms.

“What?” I hear his muffled voice cry out.

“Uhh… I wish… I wish you were a Bro like me, Bro.” I smirk.

“Wait, noooo!” He screams.

His body shudders and contorts as I hold his face to my pits with my newfound strength. He packs on pounds of muscle in a matter of seconds. Dan’s moaning turns to grunts. He’s going to make for such a Good. Arrogant. Dumb. Bro.

I watch his dong stretch down his leg, his balls sagging between his thickening thighs. The head of Dan’s veiny cock leaking like a faucet. A pair of juicy pecs push out from his chest and his adam apple swells. I pull away the remains of his clothes, letting them fall to the ground.

Dan’s dainty feet beef up to a size 12, sweat gathering between his toes - smelling like a real man should. I feel his previously fat bubble butt tense with lean muscle on my lap. With a squeak, his thoroughly abused fuck hole tightens shut, never to be stretched open again. He only tops after all, like me.

I release my grip on him and he pulls away, my sweat covering his square jawed face. He stuffs his junk into a jockstrap, looking barely concealed as it throbs with need. His messy hair has receded into a clean as fuck buzzcut. We now look almost identical, except that his meat emoji 🍖 tattoo is engraved on his right hand.

“Bro!” Dan’s voice deepens.

“Let’s go find some sluts to breed, bro.” We both smirk at each other and flex.

#transformation #gay #jock #brainwashing

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moonastro · 4 months

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Solar Return chart notes i

**not my images**

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ chart ruler in 12th house can suggest you moving abroad ( i had my chart ruler- moon in 12th house conjunct Jupiter (travel, foreign) when i moved to a completely new country. also my 12th house was in Gemini which rules over travel and trips so that enhanced it).

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ i had my 12th house packed with planetary objects (venus, northnode, uranus, sun, mercury and moon) and that year i was not doing too good with my overall mental health HOWEVER, i was very spiritually inclined that year, i started to develop habits related to spirituality.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ the year that i studied my a** off i had a SR virgo rising and mercury (the ruler) in 10th house in gemini (knowledge, mind, writing). i wrote alottt like loads and loads of notes for my exams.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ in the year my daily routine changed and i had a very difficult time to process it, i had my 6th house in scorpio and pluto (ruler) in 8th house (of death, endings, transformative occurrences). oh and to put the cherry on top pluto was in capricorn so yeahh.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ when i had moon in 5th house i was fantasying a LOTT about romance. i had moon conjunct neptune in PISCESS. i was very delusional about love. i didnt even want to be in a relationship lol i just liked the idea of it.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ the asteroid enterprise (9777) in my 11th house was the year i made lots of job applications through the internet. i sent in lots of digital stuff and had some calls through internet involving my career.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ in the year i had a very healthy friendship my 11th house ruler was in the 7th house (equality, balance, partnership) this was the most stable and very communicative (mercury) based friendship meaning that problems were solved were fixed through communications. mercury (ruler of my 11th house) was conjunct northnode, i received lots of gifts (7th house), opportunities, and she spent money on me on food mostly (in taurus). VERYY fascinatingg

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ when i started to post officially on social media, my sun was conjunct uranus.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ SR chiron in 6th house is not for the weak. i had this in 18 degress (virgo) and my physical appearance was all i was focused on and was very critical about it VERY.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ uranus in 9th house- i was very confused with my school work, the overall school experience was very unfamiliar to me.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ on the solar return that i had an 8th house stellium (chiron, venus, jupiter, neptune, mars) that year i had lots of luxury gifts given to me (Venus). i went to the movies on my birthday of the beginning of my SR (Neptune) we ate at a luxury restaurant (venus) in that year i got a brand new laptop (Uranus). i got a new set of tarot cards (Jupiter) and was bought a gym membership (mars).

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ when i had mercury in my SR 7th house i studied a lot about my future spouse (5 degrees) like i was looking at solar returns, reading my chart so on and on.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ moon at 1 degree in my SR, i was very sensitive and was overthinking about everything whenever someone would hurt me.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ sun in 10th house in SR, i wasn't seeking any recognition but i had no choice in the matter, others could NOTT leave me alone. i was talking a lot also to new people that i never spoke to before (sun conjunct mercury in Gemini).

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ i cant get enough about the 12th house but, the year when i had a 12th house stellium, i started to observe my dreams more and started recording them on paper.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ the year when my 12th house was in taurus (throat, voice), i barely talked, like i was very quiet.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ SR scorpio ASC was very focused on occult things, i spent hours and hours studying (pluto in 3rd house) natal charts, tarot online (aquarius).

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ my SR MC in leo was the year i changed my hair completey the way i havent before, i developed confidence with that hairstyle and never went back.

thanks you for reading. hope you enjoyed this post. have a lovely day !!

#sidereal astrology #asteroid astrology #astro notes #astro observations #astro placements #astrology #astrology community #astrology degrees #astrology synastry #astrology observations #celebrity astrology #kpop astrology #vedic astro notes #vedic astrology #astronomy #astro community #solar return #groom persona chart #persona chart

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upsidedownwithsteve · 11 months

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Simmer #5

CH5. Wake 'n' Bake | The Menu [4.9K] Eddie Munson x shy fem!reader: a line cook au.

“Well, you don’t know what we can find. Why don’t you come with me, little girl? On a magic carpet ride.”

The diner was quiet and the radio was louder than usual, lilting through the kitchen and between the empty tables. It was a too hot Sunday, with most of the usual clientele swapping leather booths for loungers by the community pool. Only Mr Creel sat in his usual stool by the bar, parked perfectly underneath the TV screen that was playing the same old western movie that came on every day at three o’clock. Jonathan was manning the counter, pouring the old man refills when he grumbled, whistling as he went.

Everyone else had either gone home earlier or was preparing for the night shift that started at eight that evening. The diner was too hot, the old AC barely keeping up, blowing out a whisper of cool air that you and Jonathan had taken turns standing under, watching the glass door for any signs of life out on the street.

None came.

So you’d long taken off your apron and after some internal arguing with yourself, you had plucked up the courage to push the doors to the kitchen open. There wasn’t much happening there either. Eddie was the only chef in, clock watching until there was a customer to feed or for when Argyle would arrive to take over the next shift.

And now? Well, now you think you were just annoying him. But he was allowing it, and that was something.

“And what’s that?” You asked for the fourth time.

You were hunkered down on the stool you’d dragged over to Eddie’s station, elbows on the stainless steel and your cheeks squished between your hands as you watched the boy work. He’d told you and Jonathan he’d made some lunch, and after some back and forth (Eddie argued enough until Jonathan gave in), Eddie was making some ramen.

“It’s gochujang,” Eddie mumbled back. He was too busy concentrating as he tapped a teaspoon of the red paste into the pot on the stove. He was more relaxed than you’d seen him, with no big orders to cook, he’d been humming along to the radio, his curls knotted on the top of his head to keep himself cool. He’d merely smiled when you plopped yourself down at his table. “And if you ask me what something is again, m’gonna put you in this pot too.”

You didn’t take offence, not anymore. You scrunched your face at him. “Mean,” you said. “When’s it ready? It smells real good.”

“Soon. And I’m not mean,” he grumbled back, tossing some ramen noodles into the pot that had been ready to overspill with bubbles. “You’re annoying.”

You gasped, all faux dramatics. “And he’s rude too,” you told no one. You grinned when Eddie rolled his eyes and shook his head, but when he bent over to chop up some spring onion at a scarily fast speed, you saw him smile. “Can I do anything?”

“You could get us some drinks,” Eddie suggested and he peered out of the hatch at the empty tables. Mr Creel glared back. “Seeing as you know, you’re not doing anything. At all.”

You huffed but there was a laugh under it that Eddie was beginning to recognise. He raised his brows at you as you let your sneakers slap onto the floor, hands pushed to the worktop as if getting up was an awfully exhausting thing. “I suppose I could manage that,” you told him wistfully. “If you’ll cope without my help for five minutes.”

Eddie snorted, stirring a delicious smelling broth he had simmering in another pot. He levelled you with a stare that a month ago, would’ve made your stomach churn with nerves. “I’ll try,” he played along. “I’ll tell Jim it was your fault if the kitchen burns down though.”

“Snitch. Coke?” You asked him as you made your way to the door.

“Just the one line, sweetheart, I’m driving,” Eddie smirked back.

He had an adorable habit of letting his head tilt to the side when he joked with you, as rare as it sometimes could still be. Dimples in both cheeks, stray curls over those big eyes, thick lashes that he liked to bat at you when he thought he was being real funny. It was becoming a problem.

“You’re hilarious,” you told him flatly from the other side of the hatch, shooting some soda from the gun into a glass for him. “Jonathan, coke?” You called to the other boy from across the diner, holding up an empty glass for him too.

“Shhh!” Mr Creel hissed at you, teeth bared, brows furrowed and you grimaced back, a smile that wasn’t customer service worthy but you’d long learnt to stay away from him.

“God, stop annoying the customers,” Eddie told you when you came back in holding two pints of coke, he was grinning as he ladled your lunch into a big blue bowl, letting his eyes settle on you as you passed him his drink.

“Don’t tell Jim,” you joked, but the humour in your voice fell flat as you watched Eddie bring the glass to his lips and gulp the fizz down.

His neck bobbed as he swallowed, chin tilting up and back as he led his eyes flutter close and you could help but stare at the line of his jaw, the up and down of his Adam’s apple, the push of his lips against the cup. Your mouth felt dry, your head a little empty and when he opened his eyes and put the empty glass down, you were still staring.

“What?” Eddie was staring back.

You shook your head, words unable to form. You stuttered and stammered and shrugged your shoulders, gripping tightly to your own glass. “Nothing,” you finally managed. “What?”

“What?” Eddie squinted at you.

“What?” You asked again, before you could help yourself and you realised too late that you’d asked him a question there wasn’t even an answer to. “Shit.”

The corner of the boy’s mouth lifted and he looked at you, amused, if not a little concerned. “Okay,” he drawled, sliding your lunch over to you. “Here, eat. Lack of good food must be makin’ you loopy or somethin’, christ.”

So you ate in silence, sitting across from Eddie and exchanging shy smiles as he watched you hum at each flavour, nodding at Jonathan when he slapped him on the back in thanks, taking his own bowl outside so he could smoke at the same time. It was a new kind of friendship that still made you nervous, too aware when Eddie looked at you - like, really looked at you. Eyes earnerst, watching, gauging what you liked and what you didn’t. He knew that a scrunch of your nose meant you were unsure, a little taptaptap of your feet on the stool meant you loved it.

He still made you shy, even though you spoke more. Stomach dipping and somersaulting when he called your name out of the hatch, some kind of plate made up for you, grouching good naturedly about how you needed to stop skipping meals. It made your heart jolt when he got too close, when fingers brushed as he passed you a bowl of fruit, a sandwich you could inhale between serving tables.

But then again, maybe that wasn’t nerves. Maybe that was just the crush you were telling yourself you didn’t have.

It was becoming harder to lie.

“Good?” Eddie asked like always, letting his foot kick gently against yours. He’d finished his own bowl and was watching you with a fond look on his face as you wrestled with the last few noodles.

You nodded and hummed happily, “mhmm. Could’ve done with some more salt though.”

Eddie did a double take, lips parted to argue because he knew that broth was damn perfect, before he realised you were joking. He narrowed his eyes at your grin, tried to hide his own smile when you laughed.

“Oh, she’s actin’ real cute today, huh?” He snarked but everything about him told you he thought you were hilarious. He took your empty bowl from you, poked at your shoulder with a chopstick. “The self proclaimed crybaby s’gettin’ bold.”

It was a meaner type of teasing that you’d grown used to, but still, you wrinkled your nose at the boy as your cheeks burned, head ducking down at the memories of your teary eyed encounters with certain customers. You heard Eddie laugh as he dumped the bowls in the sink, but it wasn’t a cruel sound at all. And when you lifted your chin back up from your chest, he was back on the other side of the work station, elbows on the stainless steel and leaning over to you. Close. Closer than before.

You blinked and Eddie smiled, a lazy, knowing thing, his eyes darting over your face like he was able to read you. Maybe he could. “There she is,” he murmured softly. “Shy thing.”

“Oh my god,” you tried to joke weakly, your voice a soft, embarrassed drawl. “Stop.”

It made Eddie laugh, a wide grin pushing at his cheeks until the dimples you rarely got to see appeared. You wanted to push a finger to one, to see if the tip of it would fit perfectly into the dip. You sat on your hands instead.

“What?” The boy asked. “She’s got no jokes now?” But he smiled a little softer and went back to preparing the dough for tomorrow’s rolls, not saying anything else when you leaned back over the counter to watch. If you’d looked up, taken your eyes off the way his big hands kneaded at the sticky mess, you’d have caught the boy watching you, still smiling. Awfully fond.

—————

“Hey,” you interrupted a while later, once Robin had arrived to take over you shift, once Argyle was throwing some burgers on the grill for the customers that had finally shown up. “What’re you doing tonight?”

Eddie looked a little startled as he closed over his locker, chef whites in a bundle in his bag, ready for washing. He blinked at you, pretty, pouted lips parted as he wondered where this conversation would lead. “Uhh, I- I dunno. Probably gonna go home, roll a joint and wait for another day in this shithole to start. Why?”

You wondered if Eddie could hear your heartbeat. ‘Cause it echoed in your ears, inside your head. A thud that made your mouth feel a little dry and suddenly the bravery you’d felt when asking that question melted away with the boy’s gaze on you. You weren’t sure what you’d planned to ask. Maybe if he knew of any good films to rent. Maybe if there was a nice park to explore. Maybe if he’d want to hang out—

“That sounds like a really good night,” you said instead, a nervous laugh following your words and Eddie’s brows shot up in surprise.

“You smoke?” He asked in disbelief.

You shrugged, leaning back against your locker as you tried not to sound completely uncool. “Kinda? Not really. I don’t like to smoke it but- but I’d sometimes, you know, bake some brownies or something. I haven’t done it in a while, but—” you wrinkled your nose. “—moving to a new city really makes you wanna just… get really fucking high.”

Eddie was laughing and nodding, beaming at you with a pink flush covering his cheeks. You watched him swallow hard and then gesture to the door. He almost couldn’t meet your eyes when he said, “d’you, uh, wanna come hang out? Smoke with me?”

It took Eddie a whole ten minutes to drive to his house. A trailer that was tucked into the back of the park you passed every day. You shot him a look when he parked up and he rolled his eyes, like he knew what you were about to say.

“You drove me all the way home that day, when you live, like, seconds away from—“

“Oh, shut up,” he told you, scrunching his face. “It was a fuckin’ tsunami that day. You weren’t walkin’ anywhere.” He nipped his fingers playfully at your knee as he bent over to snatch his rucksack from the footwell. When he sat back up, he was too close. You held your breath. “Besides, Wayne told me I had to, remember?”

It was your turn to roll your eyes then, shoving at his shoulder as he cackled. “God, you’re such a gentleman.”

He was still laughing as he jumped out the van, surprising you as he appeared at your door to open it as you busied yourself with gathering your bag and jacket. Eddie waved his hand in a dramatic gesture as you got out, eyeing him suspiciously.

“I’m gentlemanly enough to be sharing my weed with you, sweetheart, don’t put me down too much.”

It made you soften and you followed him to his front door, the trailer humming from a generator you couldn’t see. “Thank you,” you told him shyly. “For this. For the invite.” Somewhere in an ugly part of your head, was an even uglier voice that was telling you you’d made him feel bad enough that he had to invite you. That he felt sorry for you.

You told it to shut up.

But Eddie turned the key and looked back at you over his shoulder, his eyes soft. “S’alright. What’re friends for?”

You blinked, unable to help the smile that spread across your lips. Your cheeks ached with it. “We’re friends, huh?”

Eddie walked into the trailer and waited for you to follow. “I know,” he drawled dramatically. “I don’t know how it happened either.” He was grinning, an awfully pretty thing.

You didn’t know what to say, or do, for that matter. This felt close to flirting, something that made that horrible crush you had rear up in interest, it’s heart pounding. But maybe that was just your own.

“Here,” Eddie gestured to a small dining booth, a c-shaped bench around a little table. He cleared a pile of laundry from it and looked flustered as he decided where to put it. It got thrown onto an armchair in the corner. “Sit down, you want a drink?”

That’s where you sat with a can of soda, watching with a stuck laugh in your throat as Eddie upended his tiny kitchen, looking for the bag of flour he insisted he had. “I swear, it’s in here,” he told you, holding various jars of spices and cake moulds. “What the fuck?”

“You’re supposed to be a chef, Eddie.”

“I know,” the boy wailed mournfully, swearing when he dropped a whole tub of dried fruit, chocolate sprinkles and vanilla pods. “Shit, kid. Looks like you’re gonna have to be a big girl and smoke up.”

He turned, raising his eyebrows at you like a challenge. You huffed, tipping your head back so he wouldn’t see the panic in your eyes. “Fine.”

And that’s how you ended up in Eddie’s bedroom, a space filled mostly with his double bed, a glaringly personal thing that you felt like you couldn't even look at. But he blushed and spread back the unmade sheets, fluffing up his pillows before he told you to make yourself at home. So you perched on the edge and toed your sneakers off, watching as Eddie flitted around his room, kicking things under the bed as he went, pushing cook books and comics back onto his shelves. Then he plopped himself down beside you, knees almost knocking, an old tin lunch-box on his lap. He flipped the lid and grinned as he produced an already rolled joint, wagging it in front of your face.

“A chef is always prepped,” he whispered conspiratorially.

“You’re a dork,” you whispered back but you leaned into his pillows as he brought it to his lips.

A lighter flickered, a flame lighting up his face in amber just for a second or two, and then he was blowing a cloud out towards his open window. You watched Eddie’s eyes shutter closed, pretty lashes fanning over his cheeks and his lips hung open for a second or two, letting out a sigh along with blue-grey smoke. He let his shoulders drop, his head roll. Melting, like butter in the heatwave.

Then, “here, have at it, sweetheart.” Eddie handed you the joint, careful that you didn’t burn yourself on the glowing ash. He watched you take it dubiously, eyeing it with caution as you prepared yourself to bring it to your lips. You cringed a little, inhaling too sharp, too quick, coughing it all back out before you could even inhale it properly.

You were mortified, coughing into your hand as you handed the joint back to Eddie blindly, eyes tearing up, blurring him and his room. He took it quick, making sympathetic noises as he rubbed his other hand down your spine. He waited until you wiped at your eyes, until you managed to catch your breath. “You alright?”

You wanted the ground to swallow you. “Mhmm,” you managed, keeping the heels of your palms pressed to your eyes, just so you wouldn’t have to look at him. “Sorry.”

“Nah,” Eddie said quietly, voice soft. “None of that, c’mon. You want another drink?”

You ignored him, reaching for the smoke instead, insistent on showing him you weren’t a complete loser. But Eddie tsked and held it out of your reach, frowning at you with concern. You wanted to tell him you’d almost missed that stitch between his brows. “Hey, woah, slow down, yeah?” Eddie knocked a hand into your knee, a comforting touch that didn’t push either of your boundaries. Yet. “You sure you wanna smoke? I can run back to Jim’s, see if I can smuggle some flour and we can make brow—”

You shook your head emphatically, not wanting to be any sort of annoyance. “No, no, it’s fine. I can try again.”

You weren’t sure if it was the setting sun that was coming through Eddie’s window that was turning his face fuschia, or if he was suddenly blushing something furious. It took him a second or two to meet your gaze and when he did, you saw a shyness there you’d never really seen before. Eddie was blushing.

“I could, uh,” the boy cleared his throat noisily, awkward and fumbling. He gestured to the joint he still held, to you, to himself. “I could, I could help. I could help you. You know?” He frowned at himself, annoyed at his own stuttering.

You frowned too, confused. “No?” You replied, unsure. Your hands were fisted in his sheets, a nervous reaction.

“Shotgun. I could, well— I could shotgun you.”

“Oh.”

The room suddenly felt infinitely smaller. Warm and intimate, soft with the last of the sunlight, dust motes floating in the rays that came through slats of the blinds. You were on Eddie Munson’s bed. With Eddie Munson. You sucked in a breath. “Okay.”

“Okay?” Eddie seemed as surprised as you were at your answer but you nodded firmly, keeping your gaze on his, your chin lifted in a boldness you so rarely felt. So Eddie nodded too. “Right. Um, yeah. Just— c’mere.”

It was a clumsy thing, the way you both shuffled closer, the mattress dipping, sheets rippling. You moved until your knees knocked against Eddie’s and he was watching you so carefully, cautious enough that you felt too shy, a burning in your chest that spread up across your neck, your face. Eddie was holding the joint out to the side, the smoke being drawn to the open window and you looked back and forth between the cigarette and the boy.

“Done this before?” Eddie asked you quietly.

It was suddenly silent in the trailer, in the whole park. Fuck, Hawkins had fallen asleep, you were sure of it, because looking at Eddie this close, you couldn’t hear the way the generators hummed, you couldn’t hear the crickets or cicadas, no car engines or muffled televisions. You could hear Eddie breathe though, normal enough before it hitched a little and he had to exhale that little bit heavier - like he was nervous too.

You shook your head and swiped your tongue over your bottom lip, chasing the taste of the orange soda you’d drank at the kitchen table. “No, never like this. I— I know what to do though.” You sounded so naïve, small and a little silly, but Eddie smiled and nodded encouragingly.

“Atta’ girl,” he murmured and then he was bringing the joint back to his lips. He spoke around it, muffled. “Ready, yeah?”

You watched the way his cheeks hollowed out, how his gaze got a little heavier even though he kept looking at you. And this time, instead of blowing the smoke out to the window, he leaned in, one hand holding the joint away from you both, the other gesturing for you to come closer. You obeyed, moving forward with your heart lodged in your throat. You moved until Eddie’s fingertips met your jaw, skimming over the skin there and he tapped gently with his thumb.

His gaze was lowered, lashes fanning out over his cheeks as he leaned in closer still, eyes searching yours for some kind of hesitation, a sign that you’d maybe changed your mind. And when he found none, he coaxed you a little further until his nose bumped yours and you gasped, lips parted and waiting. The boy opened his mouth, just barely, smoke slipping from between his lips and he gently blew it into yours. You didn’t realise how his hand had fallen to your neck, fingers curling around the sides of it, the cool metal of his rings on your overheated skin and the blunt scratch of his nails in your hair.

You inhaled, a shuddering breath, shaky from how close the boy was - nothing to do with the weed. Eddie’s hand on your throat made you feel higher than anything else had before. And when there was no smoke left, when the last of it had floated up towards the ceiling and had turned into wisps in the sunlight, neither of you moved. You were still close enough that your nose bumped his when you tilted your head and you could see the freckles on the bridge of it, the tiny silver coloured scar at the end of his right brow. You wondered what Eddie could see when he looked at you, if he’d find your imperfections, if he’d find them as pretty as you did his.

You watched as his eyes looked into your own, unabashed and completely shameless, like another hit of the joint made him a bit more bold than before. Maybe it had, because you were feeling fuzzy, a warm, heavy feeling pulling you into the mattress, into Eddie.

Your forehead touched his.

His thumb was on your jaw, tucked into the space underneath your ear and it was pressed there like he meant it. Like he wanted you to feel it and god, you did. You did. His eyes wandered, flicking from yours to your lips and back again, warmer than ever, a honey colour in the setting sun. You wondered what you both must’ve looked like, sitting cross legged and knees knocking on Eddie’s unmade bed, heads bent together like you were sharing secrets, like you were going to share more.

The boy swallowed harshly, Adam’s apple bobbing and his stare on your mouth and it all made you feel so heavy and warm and lightheaded at once. You weren’t sure if it was the weed, you weren’t sure if it was Eddie.

“Your eyes are really pretty,” he whispered and he sucked in a breath when your idle hands found his bare knees through the rips in his jeans.

You played with the frayed hem, the loose threads and tried not to squirm at such a compliment. You hummed, nose wrinkling even when you smiled. “Thank you,” you replied politely and just as quiet. “Your eyes are pretty too.”

The boy turned pink, a pretty flush over the bridge of his nose that you wanted to trace with your fingertip. He tilted his head, inspecting you, eyes flicking over each of your features like he was drawing you in his head. “You shouldn’t be handing out compliments,” he mumured bashfully. “Not when I was such a dick to you.”

You shrugged, smiling as you leaned back just a little, too focused on the way Eddie’s lips moved as he spoke. The small space you put between you both gave you some air and Eddie’s hand dropped from your neck to trail down your arm. His fingers found your ring, a dainty thing on your middle finger that was so different to his own that it was comical and he played with the gold as you did with the rips in his denim.

Touching. Still touching.

“S’okay,” you told him gently. “You’ve made up for it now.”

A wry smile, a thumb brushing over the inside of your palm. “I have?”

“Oh, yeah. Free food and free weed?” You grinned when Eddie scoffed. “What more could a girl want?”

It was a rhetorical question. Eddie knew that, but still, he hummed as if he were thinking about it, his fingers dancing over your wrist now, climbing, climbing, climbing. You wished he’d cup your jaw again, warm, wide hands making you feel small and soft.

“I dunno,” he mused. “What about a d—”

Whatever Eddie was going to say was interrupted by the opening of the trailer door. A sharp noise in the quiet and it rattled off of the wall as Wayne barged his way in, arms full of pizza boxes and a giant bottle of soda. “Ed!” He yelled out in greeting, oblivious. “Grubs up, boy, come get.”

It made you spring apart, the mattress squeaking obnoxiously at the movement and you burned at the noise, at what it made it sound like you were up to. You stared wide eyed at Eddie, like a teenager caught doing something they shouldn’t and suddenly you wondered if Wayne would shout at you both for getting high.

But then Eddie was yelling back something noncommittal as he got off the bed, looking back down at you with an amused expression. He bent at the knees, shins hitting the mattress and his hands found your knees where he squeezed them reassuringly. “Hey, hey,” he smiled like he found you funny. Maybe he did. “S’all good, relax. Wayne doesn’t care.”

You sucked in a breath and willed away the weed induced panic you could feel brewing in your stomach, a knotting of nerves that Eddie managed to unravel with the way his fingers smoothed over your lower thighs. So you smiled back and nodded even though you felt like cardboard and when Eddie offered his hand to help you stand, you took it.

“Hey, Wayne,” Eddie called out into the living room. “We got a dinner guest, that alright?”

You could hear the rustle of pizza boxes being opened, the smell of basil and tomatoes wafting through the trailer. Your stomach rumbled and Eddie laughed, chuckling harder when you batted the back of your hand into his side for his lack of manners.

“You can’t just announce that!” You hissed. “That’s so rude.”

Eddie rolled his eyes and then held out his hand to the bedroom door as if to say ‘see?’ when Wayne grunted and said, “If it’s Steve, tell him I ain’t paying extra for those damn mozzarella sticks when there’s already cheese on the pi— oh, hey, kid.”

Wayne looked surprised to see you as you shuffled out of Eddie’s bedroom in your socks. The boy had his hand on the small of your back as he coaxed you forward into the main space of the trailer. “Hi,” you waved shyly, watching with a hot face as Wayne looked at you, at his nephew and back again, brows raised in interest. “Sorry I interrupted your dinner plans, I—”

“Nonsense,” Wayne said at the same time as Eddie scoffed, “shut up.”

“C’mon, now, sit and grab a plate,” the older man urged. “Hope you like Jeopardy! ‘‘cause that’s pizza night tradition.”

You smiled and nodded as Eddie slid into the breakfast nook beside you, hips nudging yours as you budged up. And as Wayne argued with the remote control, the boy loaded up your plate with pizza slices, ignoring your protests completely.

“God, you’re such a feeder,” you joked weakly, still embarrassed to be crashing the Munson pizza night.

Wayne was still frowning at the buttons when he grunted and laughed. “Yep, the boy doesn’t know how to give someone a damn hug, but he’ll make sure you never go hungry. Gotta show love one way or another, huh?”

Nobody said anything and Wayne won the battle as the channel flicked over and the voice of Alex Trebek filled the room. You couldn’t quite look at Eddie and both of you sat side by side as you ate your pizza, Eddie’s curls hiding his face from view. You wondered if he was pink again, blushing and cursing out his uncle in his head.

You wondered if you should’ve said something.

But then, as if to prove some kind of point, Eddie barely glanced at you as he picked up the last slice of pepperoni from the box, and slid it onto your plate.

#eddie munson #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x reader smut #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson oneshot #eddie munson drabble #eddie munson imagine #linecook!eddie

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themarysuep · 4 months

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I kinda liked Madame Web. It worked fine as an origin story for Cassie:

1. I know they were some weird plot holes and things that could have been executed better. And since this movie was not a part of the mcu, the writers didn't have the excuse that they'd have to go through 50000 movies and shows to make sure there's no plot holes. They could have focused on their story and ensured it was solid. But alas in this house we give female led superhero projects a chance.

BUT

2. I liked how originally the disease was supposed to take her sight, and her mother fought to prevent that and she did. She'd have lost her sight and been a mutant (according to the comics) if her mother wasn't so dedicated to saving her. But she couldn't really escape her fate and eventually lost her sight in the final fight and the spiders gave her powers.

3. Ezekiel was a fun 'spider people' villain. There was something a little more scary about having a villain that uses physical combat and powers to fight 4 heroes with no powers / only precog or mental powers. And him brutally killing the 4 of them in Cassie's visions was kinda dark. Ezekiel is a dope villain name for some reason too.

4. Peter Parker being only the side plot was kinda fun. I loved a young Mary Parker played by Emma Roberts and the constant little hints about who her baby is. The last scene where Anya (I think) tells Cassie that Ben is enjoying being an uncle with none of the responsibility and Cassie responds with like.... that's what he thinks. That was oddly depressing bc she knew Mary wouldn't live long despite her being perfectly fine.

5. The time setting was a win for me. And all the 2000s bops. I need a coat like Cassie's.

6. The teens behaved like teens. They weren't over the top like Pretty Little Liars or Euphoria or something. But they also weren't as unique as Kamala. They were just normal girls, who were good enough people that I'd believe they'd become the superheroes Cassie envisioned.

#madame web #cassandra webb #ezekiel sims #julia carpenter #spider woman #dakota johnson #sydney sweeney #anya corazon #mattie franklin #ben parker #sony marvel

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eulalielatibule · 2 months

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The Lion's Den

Pairing: Alpha!Ari Levinson x Omega!Reader

Word Count: 687

Warnings: Bratty!Reader, A/B/O, Dom/sub vibes, Alpha Commands, hints at smut but not actually written, Ari is a warning!

Summary: You're nearing your heat and you decide to tease your Alpha to get his attention.

A/N: This is my version of A/B/O and I hope you all enjoy it! It is more lion based than wolf based but still has some of our favorite tropes! I wrote this for @stargazingfangirl18 and @labella420 and their community extravaganza! The prompts I chose were: "I swear to God, if you make me come in there, you're gonna regret it," A/B/O, and Primal Play. This is an 18+ fic so no minors are allowed to read this!

🦁

You lounged back in your nest, the picture of luxury like the lioness you were. You had on your favorite satin cami set and a fluffy robe on top. Your nails were freshly painted and now you were letting a face mask dry as you watched your favorite comfort movie.

Your heat was coming on, and you had to try to hold yourself together until Ari, your Alpha, got home. While you tried to take care of your needs yourself with one of those pathetic knotted dildos, you needed the real thing. Nothing compared to your Alpha’s fat knot- you drooled just thinking about it. Another cramp hit you and you whined, curling up in the safety of your nest.

Ariiiiii when will you be home? :(

I'm dying here

I can't survive this

Alpha 👑: Oh you poor thing

Alpha👑: I'm 5 mins away

That's 5 minutes too long

I said I need you

Alpha👑: Are you trying to be bossy with me? That's cute, honey.

Alpha👑: Maybe I should take my time instead of what I had planned…

You gasped at his last text. The audacity! The last time Ari teased you, he had edged you for an hour before he finally knotted you. You thought about back pedaling and begging for forgiveness. But honestly your heat was making you feel grumpy and bratty, so you decided against it.

With a mischievous grin you went into the bathroom with a plan. After wiping the face mask off, undressed and took a series of lewd pictures. Some hinted at nudeness in a tasteful manner while others were very explicit.

You knew Ari would absolutely love all of them.

You picked out your favorite pictures and sent them to Ari without anything else. Nervousness fluttered in your belly, as did excitement. Perhaps this wasn't the best idea, but boy was it fun.

A minute passed and Ari didn't reply. You checked the text thread and- yup, he's seen the pictures. That made you even more nervous. You knew he'd be home very soon but you didn't want to go through whatever he was planning right away. So you gathered up your things and fled the living room to the safety of your guys’ shared bedroom. At least there you could lock the door.

Just as you were settling down into your comfy nest, you heard the door unlock and Ari's scent filled your nose. You could smell how aroused he was and it made you chirp involuntarily. You covered your mouth even if it was useless- Alphas had amazing hearing and if Ari smelled aroused, then you definitely did as well.

Ari's footsteps got closer and closer to the bedroom, and when he found that the door was locked he chuckled darkly.

“I swear to God, if you make me come in there, you’re gonna regret it.” While the words were menacing, his tone was one filled with playfulness and lust. He could feel your mischief through the bond and he let out a low roar. An Alpha's roar was so deep that betas and omegas could feel it vibrating through their core. And since Ari was your Alpha, it just made you even needier.

“C'mon, mega, be a good girl and open the door.” It was a gentle Alpha Command, but you still couldn't resist. You chirped as you got up- feeling Ari’s pride bleed through the bond- and you slowly opened the door enough to peek through the crack.

“Hi, Alpha.” You said in a gentle, docile voice. Ari smiled in amusement at your sudden change in demeanor.

“Hi, Kitten. Wanna open the door some more for me?” You knew it wasn't a suggestion but you still hesitated as you obeyed your Alpha once more.

All at once he was on you, pinning you to the nearest wall and burying his nose in your neck. You whimpered as he snuffled along your neck, nipping at your mating gland that he claimed just months before.

Finally he pulled back, eyes dark with lust as he uttered the words you were longing for all day.

“Present for me, Omega.”

🦁

#ari levinson x reader #ari levinson x you #alpha!ari levinson #my writing #ct 2024 raffle entry

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kelcemenow · 7 months

Text

Pleased To Meet You.

Pairing Travis Kelce x Reader

Words 1288

Warnings Literally nothing! This is super soft and fluffy.

Thank you to the Anon who sent this in! It's super cute and fluffy and just what I needed for a break from all of the smut! But don't worry, the smut will be back soon enough! "would you write a fic where kelce introduces reader to his parents & family 👀👀"

"I'm so nervous." You whimpered, shaking your hands in front of you in an attempt to dry your moist palms.

Travis rested his arms around your shoulders, pulling you in closer, "Baby, it's just coffee. Relax."

"It's coffee with your Mom! I know how important your family is to you, I just want her to like me."

"And they will." He pressed a warming kiss into your temple.

Your eyebrows clenched together, "Wait, what do you mean by 'they'?"

Travis took hold of your hand and walked a little faster, heading towards the coffee shop door, "Nothing, come on. Mom'll be here in a minute."

The heated air of the coffee shop washed over you and your hands instantly clammed up again. You wiped your palms against your sweater, silently scolding yourself for wearing something so warm. Looking around, you took a deep breath to try and calm yourself. The room was bright and welcoming, with soft leather sofas scattered around and old and black and white movie stills adorning the walls.

"What do you want, sweetie?" Travis asked over his shoulder to you.

"A vanilla latte...and an espresso."

He narrowed his eyes.

"What? I need the energy!" You shrugged.

Travis beamed a smile and you turned on your heels, noticing a cosy area in the corner of the room surrounded by hanging plants and warm lighting. As you walked towards it, you passed various groups of people; a smartly dressed man typing on his laptop, a trio of girls sipping iced coffees and giggling, an older couple sharing a blueberry muffin. You reached the corner, your fingers dancing across the top of the deep orange armchair when Travis appeared with your two coffees and a large cinnamon roll.

"Aww thank you baby! My favourite!" You cooed as you took hold of the plate.

Travis rocked back on his heel awkwardly, "Yeah, I got it so you would remember what a great guy I am."

"What does that mean?" You questioned.

Just then, the bell above the door rang and you glanced over to the entrance to see Donna, Travis' Mom walking over to you, a wide smile on her face. You stood up, smoothing down your skirt and running a hand through your hair.

"Hello hello hello!" Donna sang out.

"Hey Momma!" Travis called, walking towards her with his arms out-stretched.

Donna waved him away, her focus solely on you, "You can wait! I wanna meet this beauty first!" She grabbed onto your hands and looked you up and down, "Travvy, how did you get a girl like this?"

You giggled, "Pleased to meet you, Mrs Kelce."

Donna's eyes widened, "And polite too! Honestly sweetie, Donna is absolutely fine, but I appreciate it."

She pulled you in for a tight hug and you instantly relaxed.

"Uh...hello?"

Donna smiled as she turned around, "Oh stop your whining, how many times have you brought a girl home?" She laughed and buried her face in his chest, his large arms wrapped around her.

You loved seeing this side of Travis. He had made it clear that his family were incredibly important to him, and that he loved his Mom more than anything in the world. But to see him interact with her was special.

"Can I get you a coffee?" Travis said, still holding his Mom close.

"Oh, I thought you'd never ask! Just a cappuccino for me please." She let go of her 6 foot 5 inched son and stepped towards you, sitting down on the sofa.

You followed and sat next to her, her sweet perfume filling your nostrils and calming you further. She grabbed at your hands, smiling warmly.

"It really is so good to meet you, Travis has told me a lot about you."

You blushed slightly, "He's told me so much about you too, I feel like I know you already!"

"He's a good boy." She looked over to the coffee counter where Travis was waiting, "When he moved to Missouri a couple of years ago I was worried, of course, as any Mom would be. But he seems to have settled well. And now he's a got a good woman to keep him right."

You winked, "I'll try my best!"

"So, how long have you been dating?"

"It's a been a couple of months, so still really early days but it's going really well. He's a good guy."

Donna squeezed her shoulders upwards in elation, "I am so happy for the both of you!"

Your cheeks flushed again, Donna's warmth radiating to you. You looked up and watched as Travis waited patiently in the queue, occasionally glancing over to you and smiling so broad that his eyes disappeared into slits. You felt a strong flutter in the pit of your stomach, but this time it wasn't nerves, it was sheer happiness.

You chatted more with Donna, talking about your work, your family and your relationship so far when Travis finally arrived back with the cappuccino. His cell phone beeped in his pocket and when he checked it, his face subtly lit up. You narrowed your eyes, watching as he looked back towards the door.

"Is everything okay?" You asked.

Travis smiled and picked up his mug, "Sure." He glanced back at the door before turning to look at Donna, a sly grin forming on both of their lips.

"Okay, what's going on?"

Before either of them had chance to answer, the coffee shop door swung open and a large, bearded man walked in with a dark blonde haired woman in tow. His eyes were fully focused on Travis and they were heading straight for you. You shifted in your seat as another man followed, he was older and had white hair on his head and chin. Donna squeezed your hands whilst Travis gave you a guilty look.

"Heyyyyyy!" The first man shouted, grabbing Travis and slapping his back.

"Y/N, this is my brother Jason, his girlfriend Kylie and my Dad Ed."

You swallowed hard, your eyebrows raised, "Wow, I wasn't expecting to meet everyone at once!"

Travis laughed, "Hence the cinnamon roll. You're not mad are you?"

"No no!" You smiled, "This is awesome! It's so nice to meet you all." You quickly rose to your feet and greeted each of them with a warm embrace.

"Well, we thought whilst everyone was in town." Ed said as he pulled you closer.

Kylie moved around the table to sit with you and Donna, "Don't worry Y/N, I got the ambush too when me and Jason started dating. It's nice not to be the new girl anymore!"

You laughed, "Well, you're welcome! How long have you two been together?"

Kylie rested back on the sofa, "Around 6 months, so it's still fresh."

"You two can hold each others hands through the madness of dating a Kelce!" Donna quipped.

Jason's mouth dropped open in mock offense, "I heard that, Mom."

"I hope Travis is treating you well, Y/N." Ed smiled, "Speaking of which, how did Travis get a lovely girl like you to go out with him?"

"Damn...why does everyone keep saying that?" Travis asked, his hands in the air.

Donna sipped her coffee, struggling to keep herself from laughing. You pouted your lips to Travis, giggling under your breath. Jason covered his in an attempt to muffle his loud howl.

"It's a little cramped here with all of us now." Donna finished the rest of her coffee before standing up, "How about a big family barbeque at Mom's?"

"I heard that!" Ed shouted, slapping his stomach.

Travis looked over the table at you, his head titled and his eyebrows raised, "How about it?"

The familiar stomach flutter came back, stronger this time, "I would love to."

______________________________________________________________

I did this one a little different and set it somewhere around 2015, when Jason and Kylie first started dating, and Travis wasn't the big superstar that he is now. This was very cute to write as they seem like such an amazing family so I didn't struggle at all! To be on my Taglist, just let me know!

Taglist @rd14 @dandelionwrites8 @keiva1000 @fantasywritersstuff @caelipartem @anacarangel @she-lives-in-her-dreams @kkrenae @kristencochefski1125 @countrygirl120983 @charmed2000 @nouis-bum @cixrosie @delicateearthquakellama @wordsaresimple-imnot @amylouwho9 @queenisa17 @talicat713 @luvvtrent @purecinnamonextract @savaneafricaine @caelipartem @beyxgrande @caitdaniels @ezgirl1108 @vir-tual @lightsoutstyles @macey234 @s294749w @kelcemesoftly @calirindo @livinginmyfantasies @bernelflo @secretmywritingfictionlawyer @killatravtramp @there-goes-thefighter @unicornblueberry @calirindo @tjkelce87 @kristinamae093 @kmc1989 @ajbird18 @triski73 @ctn26 @kgcaputo07 @abby-splace @bobthe-turmpetman29 @cedricbitch @jmamas92 @bellstwd @killatravsworld @marchmaiden @chimchimmarie @blackstabbath6 @fanficfanatic15 @jessiemariebarnes @mmb219 @vanwritesfan-fiction

#travis kelce x reader #travis kelce imagine #kelce x reader #nfl imagine #original story #travis kelce fic #travis kelce #travis kelce fluff #nfl fluff #travis kelce smut #travis kelce angst #nfl smut #nfl angst #nfl fic #kelcemenow requests

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madlittlecriminal · 11 months

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could i request cockwarming w jonathan crane? like maybe he's had a stressful day and you fuck it out of him, but when you're about to pull off he grabs you and just... asks you to stay right there, with him inside of you... 😞 i'm so down bad for him it's not even funny...

Stress Relief ↦ Jonathan Crane × Female!Reader

anon, i get it. trust me, im down bad for him too. i was like 4 or 5 when i saw the first movie (Batman Begins) even though i was 3 when it came out and i could say he was one of my first celebrity crushes. im 21 now & Cillian Murphy is still a celebrity crush, so...yeah...little me had taste lol

y'all, why did i roleplay with one of his bots and they gonna say he had blonde hair- as far as i know, he was never blonde in general (comics, games, animated series/tv shows and/or movies) i was so disappointed.

Warnings: smut, dirty talk, praise, unprotected p in v, cockwarming, there's like no plot at all, i listened to a lot of spicy songs while writing this...IN BOTH ENGLISH & SPANISH

You saw it on his face when he walked into the house; your boyfriend was stressed. You've been together for almost 2 years, so you lived together and you also knew what relieved his stress.

"Jonathan?" He took off his blazer before looking over at you, taking off his vest. You looked down at his tie before pulling it and bringing him towards you. "You need to relax, baby." You pressed your lips onto his and he quickly reciprocated. His hand rested on your cheek, and you got on top of him, taking off tie and unbuttoning his shirt. You took off his shirt and he quickly rested his hands on your hips.

His hands slid from your hips and under your shirt, before taking it off and kissing your neck. You tilt your head to the side, biting your lip as he nibbled on your neck gently, not wanting to mark you; you both agreed it was better when they couldn't be seen. He unclasped your bra, letting it glide down your arms before kissing and sucking on one before doing the same to the other. You let out a small whimper, him humming in pleasure as he heard your little noise.

Your hands went to his belt, undoing it and his hands fixed your flowy skirt so it covered him. He felt your arousal soaking through your panties, so he knew you more than ready for him. You undid his button and his zipper before he stopped you. "Just take it out, darling. I can't wait anymore." His whisper against your chest made you bite your lip, doing as he said. "Hope these aren't your favorites." Before you could say anything, you heard a rip and let out a breathy laugh. "They weren't. Don't worry." He chuckled, sliding into you without a hassle. After nearly 2 years, you didn't really need to adjust to him as much as you did the first few times.

However, you still loved how he filled you up and pleased you like no one else has.

You wrapped an arm around his shoulder as you bounced on him. "Fuck baby," Jonathan moaned, his hands wrap around your hips as he thrusted into you. "Feels so good inside me, Jon." He bit his lip at your words. "Yeah, darling? You take me so good like the good girl you are." You moan at his words, his lips finding yours as he groans, feeling you clench around him. "Just like that, darling. Let me feel how good praises make you feel." He goes back to kissing you as his fingers go to your clit, playing with it as you continue to bounce on him. He breaks the kiss, tearing his glasses off of his face before meeting your lips once more.

Your fingers tangle into his hair, tugging slightly as he fucks you and plays with your clit. Your eyes widened when he adjusted himself quickly, reaching your sensitive spot, making you let out a moan loud enough for all of Gotham to hear. "Are you gonna come, darling?" You nod as best as you could, knowing your voice would betray you. "Come all over my cock, darling." You pull his hair, pulling him closer to you as you came on his cock. He continued, his thrusts getting sloppy before he came inside you.

As you both tried catching your breaths, he pulled you into a weak kiss. After you felt your heart rate begin to go back to normal, you began to pull yourself off of him, but he gripped your hips, making you stop your movements. "Stay," Jonathan's soft yet raspy voice spoke as your eyes met his blue ones. "You feel so warm, darling, I don't want you to move yet."

"Okay," Jonathan fixed himself, the small shift making you whimper at the movement in your sensitive core. "Sorry darling." You giggle as he pulled you closer to him, rubbing your back slowly as you rest your head on his. "That's okay, Jonny. Are you comfortable?" He chuckled. "You have no idea." His lips met yours in another kiss, making you clench around him. He groaned into the kiss, shaking his head. "Not yet, darling. Let me enjoy your warmth." You nodded, brushing some of his hair out of his face. "Did I relieve your stress?" He nodded. "You always do, but we should really just start doing this. It feels fantastic."

"I'll keep that in mind the next time you come home stressed out."

#jonathan crane #jonathan crane x y/n #jonathan crane x reader #jonathan crane x you #jonathan crane smut #scarecrow #scarecrow x y/n #scarecrow x reader #scarecrow x you #dc universe #asks #ask #anonymous #anon asks #anon ask #anonymous asks #anon

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incognit0slut · 11 months

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Right Kind of Wrong (10)

She never thought she would be involved in a murder investigation and encounter her one-night-stand again, the awkward guy who isn’t exactly that good in bed—Or is he? Offended by the sentiment, Spencer is determined to prove her wrong… But as he gets tangled with the beautiful stranger, he realizes there is more to her than what meets the eye.

Part Summary: she finds herself as a pivotal lead in the case. wc: 4k

Series Warnings: 18+ explicit content, graphic details of murders, mentions of suicide

a/n: I’m so sorry this took so long. I realize I’m not smart enough to be writing a crime-mystery plot so this went through a lot of editing😭

Other parts: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14

Y/N NEVER THOUGHT SHE WOULD SPEND HER MORNING THIS WAY, the unfamiliarity of this foreign place had her questioning how her life turned out the way it did. Becoming a witness to a heinous crime was already overwhelming enough for her, and now sitting in this cold, empty interrogation room was making her lose her mind.

She had never thought of being in this situation—a scenario that solely belonged to crime novels and thrilling movies. Yet, here she was, feeling more uncomfortable as time passed by. She slowly glanced toward the two-way mirror and the thought of watchful eyes observing her every movement intensified her discomfort, leaving her feeling judged and exposed. But above all that, there was one question that seemed to float at the top of her head.

Was Spencer there?

She heaved out a sigh. The one time she allowed herself to indulge further with her one-night-stand, it didn’t go the way she expected. She had thought that maybe—maybe—opening her heart was something she could try again. After a long time of not wanting to be romantically involved with anyone, waking up in his bed hadn’t seemed so bad...

Now it was just wishful thinking, her past naive self becoming a mockery to her now.

She was engrossed in her own thoughts when the door to her left suddenly creaked, drawing her attention, and she couldn't stifle the disbelief laugh slipping through her mouth.

"Out of all the agents in this building and they decided to send you?" She wondered as Spencer cautiously walked into the room with a file in his hand. "Isn't this against the rules?"

"What is?" He asked, pulling out the chair across from her.

"Questioning someone you know personally."

He regarded her with a look she couldn't quite decipher. Something about him seemed so different, it was baffling how someone could change so drastically in such a short period. Last night he had been sweet, attentive, and full of affection. But now, as she looked at him, it was as if he had morphed into a completely different person. The warmth that had once radiated from his eyes was replaced by a distant, guarded gaze.

Spencer Reid and Doctor Reid were really two different people.

"My personal matters won't intervene in the work I do."

"Somehow I doubt that," she murmured, watching as he sat down. She leaned back and crossed her arms. If he was going to act like they hadn't spent the night sleeping on the same bed, she might as well give him the same reserved attitude. "So, what now? Are we going to continue where we left off?"

"Actually, there's something else I'd like to know." He pushed the folder in his hand across the table and opened it. "I'm aware that you were associated with Harvey Webb?"

What the—

A sudden chill ran down her spine as the name slipped from his mouth. It was the last person she wanted to remember, a name she had fought so hard to push into the depths of her subconscious. But now it all came rushing back, threatening to engulf her in a wave of memories. She saw glimpses of piercing eyes that held malice, a voice dripping with menace, and a presence that loomed like an ominous shadow.

As she laid her eyes upon the files in front of her, a shiver coursed through her body. The face that stared back at her from the photograph was etched with lines of time. His eyes, once filled with unsettling intensity, now bore the weight of years gone by, their depths guarded and inscrutable.

"Why are you showing me this?" She asked quietly, trying to think of any possible reason why she was forced to recall her past.

"Did you know him?"

With a hesitant pause, she uncrossed her arms. "I did."

"And how did you know him?"

"He—" she stopped, trying to decide how to describe the nature of her relationship with that awful, dreadful man, and finally responded with, "He was my landlord."

"Was that all there is? Was your relationship with him simply one between a landlord and a tenant?"

She met his gaze. "What are you trying to imply?"

"One of our agents visited his wife before this."

Oh.

This was probably why he seemed so guarded, his words laced with a hint of something familiar yet unspoken. She was sure he already knew what happened. It was in the way he carefully chose his phrases, the slight pause that followed, and the knowing glimmer in his eyes that gave it away. But even when the buried memories were fighting to resurface in her head, a sense of unease gripped her. Why was he delving into her past?

"Why are you—" She shook her head. "What does he have to do with the current case?"

There was a pause before Spencer replied, "We believe he might be a link to the investigation."

She narrowed her eyes. "How?"

The room suddenly fell into an uneasy silence, punctuated only by the quiet hum of tension that seemed to hang in the air. Their eyes locked.

"Let's make a deal," he suggested. "If you answer all the questions I have for you, I'll tell you what you want to know."

She considered his words and slowly nodded. "Fine," she agreed. "But you probably know who he was to me if one of your agents had already questioned Mrs. Webb."

"I want to hear it from you."

The weight of her past bore down upon her, pressing against her conscience. She understood, with unwavering certainty, that the time had come to lay bare the chapters of her history that she had kept hidden. With a breath that carried the weight of her past, she finally mustered the courage to speak her truth.

"Harvey and I had an affair."

A subtle change swept across his face as her words hung in the air. His expression remained stoic, a reflection of the knowledge he carried within him. She wasn't sure how much he already knew, but she continued.

"It wasn't my proudest moment," she admitted. "I was young, it was my first time in the city and I got this great apartment at an affordable price. Harvey helped me when I moved in so we talked a lot back then and easily became friends. He eventually mentioned how his divorce had gotten to him very badly, and I... I guess I took pity on him."

"He told you he was divorced?"

"Yeah, he told me the property that he owned, this apartment building of his, was the only asset he got for their divorce settlement. I was too young and naive to even consider he could be lying, I guess I was too smitten by the attention he constantly gave me."

"How long did it happen?"

"A couple of months. It wasn't until he kept on disappearing that I started to suspect him. He said he had to go out of town for his work, but curiosity got the better of me and I decided to follow him one day." She gave him a pointed look. "Turned out he wasn't leaving town, he was going back home to his wife and kids."

"What happened then?"

"I confronted him about it..." Her body shifted uncomfortably. "That was when I realized how messed up he really was."

"What do you mean?"

"Harvey was a manipulative son of a bitch." He raised his eyebrows at her choice of words, which she shrugged in return. There really was no other way to describe him. "It was as if a switch had turned inside him the moment I confronted his lies. He became overbearing, controlling, possessive, and just—he became someone I was very afraid of."

He studied her closely, trying to decipher the unspoken layers of her narrative, the nuances hidden beneath the surface. "Did he ever hurt you?"

“Physically? No—well, there was this one time he got physical when he got so mad, but that was it," she confessed as her past flashed through her mind. "Although mentally, he was draining me. He would often threaten to harm me, or himself, if I ever left him. I think he was also diagnosed with a lot of mental disorders."

"Was his wife aware of everything happening?"

She nodded. "One day I visited their house when he wasn't home and confronted her about everything. Instead of blaming her husband's questionable behavior, she blamed me for ruining their marriage and started calling me a slutty home wrecker."

"Did he find out about this?"

"Yes," she replied. "He was not happy about it."

"And how did you get out of that situation?"

"I got accepted for the current job I work at now."

"He was fine with that?"

"I didn't tell him about it." She looked down, her gaze focusing on her hands sitting in her lap. "I had to move my things secretly whenever he went home to his family. When most of the stuff I needed was secured at my new place, I finally left, changed my number, and never looked back."

"You never saw him again after that?"

"The next time I heard of him was his own obituary printed on the paper." As the weight of her past slipped into the open, exhaustion suddenly settled over her. Her gaze then flickered toward the files on the table. "Now will you tell me how he's linked to the case?"

Spencer’s attention was completely focused on her, analyzing every detail of her movements. He paid close attention to the way she shifted in her seat, the way she blinked, and the way she tilted her head. "Were you aware of how he died?"

"Yes, he... he hurt himself."

Spencer shook his head, the lines on his forehead etched themselves deeper, highlighting the concentration etched upon his features. He leaned forward, his movements deliberate and controlled, as he turned the files over, taking out a few pictures before presenting them in front of her. "We believe his death was a homicide."

"What?" Her eyes widened in surprise as she gazed at the collection of photographs spread out before her. She should be appalled by the amount of blood seen in the shots, but her eyes darted across the blotched writing carved along the bruised skin. "Something was written on his arm?"

"You didn't know?"

"Of course not, why should I know of this?" She glanced up and was taken aback when she noticed the same doubt on his face she saw this morning. Her heart sank as the realization washed over her like a chilling wave. "You're still pining me down as a suspect."

"Your personal connections to all three victims have raised some concerns," he pointed out, voice carrying a controlled intensity, each word measured and deliberate. "And what's even more concerning is that they all had somehow wronged you in the past."

She suddenly felt a surge of anger as he leveled his accusations. Her lips thinned into a tight line, and her eyes narrowed as all her frustration and tension bubbled over. "I had nothing to do with their deaths."

"So it's a coincidence that they all suffered the consequences of their actions that affected you directly?"

"Just because I had issues with them doesn't mean I'd resort to murder," she spat. "Why are you so persistent in painting me as a suspect?"

"Your past grievances with these victims paint the picture." Spencer leaned forward, his palms pressed firmly against the cool surface of the table. His eyes, narrowed with determination, locked onto hers with palpable intensity. "Tell me, do you have an alibi for the times of their deaths?"

She leaned forward and held his gaze, not wanting to back down. "I'm not responsible for any deaths, so no, I don't have an alibi for something I didn't do."

"That's a very vague answer."

"You don't say?" She responded sarcastically. "Are you going to dump me with facts on how my body language is being defensive right now?"

"Would it help you to answer my questions clearly?"

She felt her patience breaking. She had been doing her best to remain calm and collected, but as his gaze remained fixed on her and he continued judging her with that harsh stare, she finally snapped.

"You know what, you want an alibi? I'll give you a damn alibi."

The tension she had been holding in her body suddenly exploded. With every inhale, her chest tightened, a reservoir of pent-up emotions yearning for release. And then, like an unleashed storm, she let it all pour forth.

"According to his obituary, Harvey Webb's death happened on Halloween and that was when I attended this stupid party held at the office. I was in the parking lot when Jamison called for my help before I scurried back only to witness his death. And don't get me started on Kevin Marshall."

She steadied her gaze on him.

"I studied his files for work so I'm aware of the time frame when it happened, and for someone with an eidetic memory, you sure had forgotten where I was that night so let me help you jog your memory back, Doctor Reid, because I spent the night in your bed before you fucking kicked me out the door!"

A heavy silence settled upon them only to be broken by her labored breathing and the pounding of her heart.

Had she really said that?

Y/n was never one with a foul mouth, but with the way the cuss word flew out of her lips in the heat of the moment, it was clear to her how furious she was. Although she did feel a sense of relief as if a huge burden had been lifted off her shoulders after speaking her truth... But at what cost?

The room seemed to hold its breath, suspended in a fragile stillness, as his eyes locked onto hers. The weight of her words settled between them, casting a heavy shadow in the room. And there he sat, frozen in the moment, his face etched with shock and surprise. His mouth opened and closed, but no words emerged, as if the force of her words had momentarily robbed him of his ability to respond.

She wondered what was going through his mind right now. Was he processing her words, attempting to unravel the layers of her frustrations? Or was he grappling with his own emotions, struggling to find the right words to respond?

And suddenly she couldn't take it anymore, feeling an overwhelming sense of exhaustion washing over her. All of the emotions unleashed during her frustrated rant had left her feeling drained. Every fiber of her being ached for respite and seeing him again felt like an additional burden she wasn't ready to bear. So she let her eyes fall on the two-way mirror, focusing in nowhere particular.

"I want to request another agent in here."

She noticed the way his shoulders tensed from the corner of her eyes but decided to ignore it, keeping her gaze on her reflection instead. And just as she was about to accept the fact that nobody was going to listen to her, the sound of the door opening echoed throughout the space, its noise cutting through the silence.

A dark-haired woman stood by the entry, her hand gripping the door as she focused her attention on the only man in the room. "Dr. Reid, I can take it from here."

The weight of the situation suddenly settled him. He studied the woman sitting across from him who was trying to maintain her control. But beneath it all, he saw the cracks in her facade, the vulnerabilities concealed beneath her frustration. It became clear that her actions, though seemingly distant and cold, were rooted in a desperate attempt to protect herself from further hurt.

And he was responsible for it all.

With a heavy sigh, Spencer finally rose from his seat, the chair scraping against the floor as he pushed it back. His mind was telling him he was only doing his job, yet his heart was pointing out the unfairness of his judgment of her. And for the first time in his life, he didn't know what to do.

"There you are," Emily announced, walking into the meeting room as she spotted Spencer standing by the large board adorned with webs of information, his back facing her. "Are you okay?"

Spencer turned around and regarded her with a sigh. "No."

She gave him a sad smile. "She left already." Then she crossed her arms, studying the way his expression fell at the mention of the woman she had questioned for the past hour. "Do you really think she has anything to do with the case?"

He opened his mouth, closed it, then shook his head, his shoulders dropping at the revelation of his words. "No."

"Then why were you being so hard on her?"

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

As her gaze focused on his face, she observed the flash of vulnerability that briefly danced across his features. His eyes darted away, evading direct contact, betraying a flicker of unease that she couldn't ignore.

"I think you do," she noted. "I think you have this logic in your head that if she had something to do with the case, you'd have a reason to stop getting involved with her. But now that you know she's innocent, you think it's too complicated to harbor your feelings after the way you accused her. "

He drew his eyes back to her. "I thought we agreed not to profile each other."

"I wouldn't consider this profiling when you literally have your heart on your sleeves."

He let out a sigh, his voice trembling as he mustered the courage to acknowledge the truth of his actions and the pain he had caused. "What should I do?"

"You're asking the wrong person for relationship advice here," Emily remarked. "But what I do know is that if you wronged someone, you apologize."

But was it enough? Was apologizing to her enough to compensate for the hurt he had put her through?

Guilt has a funny way of coming after the moment has passed, like a relentless pursuer in the shadows of our conscience. Right now it was sneaking up on him, resurfacing with a relentless grip on his emotions. After he left the room, he got inside the small space behind the two-way mirror, continuing his job as an observer instead of the one questioning her.

Hotch had looked at him pointedly when he stepped to his side, and although his boss kept his mouth close the entire time, Spencer knew he was secretly assessing him with judgment. Especially when, after observing Y/n behind the glass, it was clear that she wasn't a suspect. He saw the scars of his misjudgment etched upon her face and the guardedness in her eyes.

It took him as an observer to comprehend she was innocent, that the darkness he had attributed to her was merely a reflection of his misguided assumptions. But it was too late now. He had allowed his biases to cloud his judgment, staining their relationship—or the potential of it anyway—with a hue of mistrust that was now difficult to wash away.

"I don't think she'll ever forgive me," he admitted, feeling dejected.

"Reid, you haven't even tried, and even if she won't, I'm sure you'll find a way to fix it." As the weighty words of their conversation hung in the air, a playful spark suddenly ignited in her eyes. "So."

Her teasing look cut through the tension, catching him off guard. "What?"

"I didn't know you had a girlfriend."

"She's not my girlfriend," he quickly responded.

"After all that tension between you two and you're still denying it?"

"She's—" he stopped. "I'm not sure what we are, honestly."

Emily let out a soft chuckle. "Well, any type of relationships are complicated. That's why I don't bother with them anymore." Her eyes then shifted behind him, noticing the numbers written on the board that wasn't there the last time she was here. "What do you have there?"

Spencer let out a sigh of relief. Her request to shift the conversation to something else offered him a lifeline, a respite from the vulnerability of delving into his own feelings. A flicker of gratitude flashed in his eyes as he realized that she had unknowingly granted him an escape from his discomfort.

"I did the geographical profiling and these numbers are each respective coordinates of the location where all the victims were found." Emily nodded and he continued, "Basically, I did a coordinate rounding to eliminate the decimals until I come up with two digits for each location."

"And you think these numbers mean something?"

"They must. Here, take a look at this." He motioned her to step closer toward the round table before showing her the map he had drawn over with his handwriting, highlighting three precise locations that formed a triangle. "Even when Harvey Webb wasn't found at his house, he was found at his apartment which was technically his second residence. The same goes for Kevin Marshall, his body was found at home."

Then he pointed at one of the marks located at the top of the map.

"But Jamison Lynch was found at his workplace. The Unsub must have a reason to commit the crime six blocks away from his house."

Emily scanned the map before turning her attention back to the board. "So these numbers represent each location? Eleven is the first victim's residence, ninety-one is the second victim's workplace, and nineteen is the third victim's apartment?"

"Precisely."

"You know," she started, head tilted to the side and eyes piercing onto the numbers presented before her. "The third victim is technically the first victim if you consider the timeline."

As her words lingered in the air, a spark of realization ignited within him. It was as if a puzzle piece he had been searching for had finally fallen into place. "Wait." He walked over and grabbed the marker by the table. "You're right."

Emily watched as he rearranged the line of numbers.

19 91 11

"Does that mean anything to you?"

But Spencer couldn't hear her, his head was already turning its gear as shreds of evidence he had gathered these past few days swarmed his mind. "The Unsub has the same MO in all the victims and they're fixated using verses from the bible so if those numbers have an indication of that conviction then the first two digits could be the number of The Old Testament which means—"

He quickly wrote down his next words.

"Psalm 91:11," Emily read out.

"For he will command his angels concerning you to guard you in all your ways,"Spencer recited. "That's it—a guardian angel."

Emily's eyes widened as she stared at the revelation before her. The pieces of the puzzle clicked into place, revealing a connection that had eluded her grasp until now. It was as if a veil had been lifted, granting them to reshape the narrative of the case.

"Y/n isn’t the killer," she mumbled, turning her head towards him. "She's being protected."

He returned her gaze with the same disbelief.

"Someone else is doing it for her."

>> NEXT PART

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squerlly · 28 days

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Fair Exchange Chapter 5

------"some silences can scream louder than words ever could"--------

Alastor x (F! wife doe reader)

The Doe-----------------------------------------------------

It was later in the morning when Charlie wanted us to do a show and tell day, we all reluctantly agreed but Alastor stayed behind to eat his breakfast. it was Angel's turn claiming he wanted to show us his "best film." I figured it was a movie or play but... it was a porn video...

I tried to keep my eyes away, swiping invisible dust from my dress attempting to stay distracted. Husk eventually jumps in arguing with Angel "Everybody likes to bitch to the bartender! I know everything about you and these motherfuckers" he points at Pentious "That one's an insecure buffoon who watches you all sleep at night" he then points to Charlie and vaggie and then me "that one's constantly taking bullets from everybody because she's a pushover and nifty, tch you don't even wanna know what her deal is." I'm not a pushover...

the argument is short-lived when Angel gets a call from his boss calling him in for work, talking about some emergency shoot and storming out.

Charlie wanted to go and help get Angel some time off of work by talking to his boss, I would have gone with her but I know Alastor wouldn't be too happy if I was out in the Vees district without him. seeing as how our last visit went I don't think it would be a good idea.

Charlie left and I went back upstairs to Alastors room to pick up his dishes, knocking on the door "Alastor? may I come in" There was a long pause before the door opened, Alastors shadow giving me a grin as he stepped aside to let me in. I don't really see Alastor's shadow that often considering he only uses it for scouting, investigating, or fetching things when I'm not available.

however, when I stumble upon his shadow, it stares at me with that same evil grin. from what I have gathered over the years, the shadow is just an extension of Alastor, mimicking his personality and actions. Sometimes, if you look closely, it can display his emotions with its cold black body and inky blue tongue. It's more curious than Alastor, peering around people's shoulders and poking through others business. I never seemed to mind it.

there's something different this time, it's acting off. usually, it just pokes around and then returns to Alastor but not this time. No, it's staring at me, watching me, almost like it's inspecting me... I try to ignore it, walking over to pick up Alastors dish "Thank you my dear" "of course, is there anything else you need?" "no, your free to enjoy the rest of your morning"

I turn to leave but then remember something "Oh I almost forgot, do you mind if I grab a book from your shelf, I finished my other two.." not looking up from his desk he says "As long as you don't touch the books on the top shelf" I look at the shelf of various books next to his fireplace, walking up to choose one. I like to read romance and fantasy, but Alastor as romantic as people say he is, doesn't collect those types of novels. he likes books that are mostly nonfiction.

I ended up choosing a book that wasn't too thick just enough to pass the time and left the room, heading to the kitchen to drop off the plate. on my way there I see something rush from the corner of my eyes but when I look around there's nothing there, that was until I turn back to keep walking. I ended up running right through Alastors shadow, A cold chill running up my spine from its solvent body.

I quickly regain composure, making sure to not drop the plate in my hands "Oh for all that is unholy, you scared me!" I said looking at the shadow "Do you uhh... need something?" it cocks its head and smiles like I said the funniest thing in the world "ok... I guess not." I continue on to the kitchen, washing the dishes before heading upstairs to my room to read, all while having it follow me the entire time.

I walk into my room, kicking off my heels with a tired huff and I plop down on my bed "Are you going to stay here all day?" I say to the shadow that is currently looming around my room, snooping through drawers and various items. I should tell Alastor that there is something wrong with his shadow, but... I'm curious to see what it wants.

I decided to leave it alone since it's not causing much trouble, it's just exploring. I lay back on my bed against the headboard and opened the book to the first page, I only got to page 10 before the shadow poked its head through the book to look at me "Alastor will be mad if you're over here, I suggest you behave" it hovered over me with a frown and it felt almost illegal to see, Alastor never frowns and to see his shadow do it feels wrong "wait... I'm sorry I won't tell him you're here, promise" it doesn't smile but it's not frowning either, it just leans closer to me until I'm nose to nose with it.

it brought a hand to my face and to my surprise I could feel it, not just that cold feeling when it runs through you but its hand was well...there. not knowing what to do I just sat there watching as it caressed my cheek earning a blush from me. what is wrong with me, blushing at Alastors shadow, it's not even a real person, but it feels like it is "What is it you want...?" I say practically whispering.

the door opens startling me and making the shadow turn its head. Alastor stands at the door with a strained smile "Enough!" he says, his voice laced with static. the shadow frowns and retreats behind Alastor "Apologies my dear, it has a mind of its own..." he said through gritted teeth, shooting the shadow a glare "I-it's ok it didn't do anything bad-" "This will never happen again, I will make sure of it." he says in a harsh tone. I opened my mouth to say something but quickly shut it, not wanting to aggravate the situation more.

"Alright..." I say and he turns on his heel to walk back to his room, the shadow looks back at me one more time before it follows Alastor down the hallway. I feel almost sorry for it, even though it's not technically its own person it's still capable of feelings... Alastors feelings. but it makes me wonder, if that shadow is a part of Alastor, emotions, thoughts and all, what was it doing? Why was it following me? and why was Alastor so angry...

there was a loud thud downstairs and I slid off my bed, put my shoes on, and walked downstairs. Charlie had returned but she looked pretty upset "Charlie, how did it go with Angel?" "I messed up, I- I made him angry at me and-" vaggie walks up to her rubbing her back "Hay it's okay, maybe he didn't mean it!" Charlie bursts out in tears and vaggie whisks her away to comfort her.

Husk scoffs from the bar and I scowl at him "Don't be like that!" he growls and takes a swig from his bottle "She's too soft for her own good" I sigh and walk over to take a seat on a stool "a lot like you, showing kindness to other who don't deserve it" "is it so bad that I don't want to be like any other person in this horrible place!" he raises a brow at my sudden outburst "what's on your mind..?" "there's nothi-" "yes there is, your frustrated."

I stare at the counter thinking about my next few words before I speak "Do you think Alastor hates me?" I feel stupid for asking such a thing, but Husk doesn't question it "I doubt that creep likes anyone but himself" I frown and he seems to notice because of what he says next "But I wouldn't be surprised if he did like you" I throw him a puzzled look "why do you think that?" "tch, haven't you ever questioned why Alastor made you his wife" he was right, Alastor was an overlord, if he needed somebody to prepare his meals and clean his house he could just...buy a maid.

"no, I- I haven't..." When Alastor and I first discussed our contract, he said that he and my ex-husband would trade places, me being married to Alastor in exchange for complete devotion to him...and my soul. in the 1950s it was looked down on to divorce your husband or divorce at all, and now that I looked back at it I didn't care about my reputation enough not to get a divorce. but I was desperate for an escape, and desperation makes you do stupid things.

"if he didn't tolerate you, he wouldn't have married you, it's one of the weirdest contracts I ever saw but I wouldn't pry into it too much, just know you're the last person on his shit list" I nod but that doesn't explain why he was so angry, was he even angry at me? suddenly the door to the hotel opens and Angel walks over looking spent.

he plops down on the stool down from me and asks for the strongest drink Husk can make "Excuse me, didn't think this was a drink to forget kinda night" Angel and Husk end up fighting about Angels "acting" resulting in Angel throwing a bottle. I stand away and steer clear of the glass shards before watching Angel storm off "Angel wait..." he pushes past vaggie and out the door. vaggie tells Husk to go after him and Charlie leaves to go make "100 apology letters."

eventually, Husk returns with Angel, laughing and talking while being dirtied and damaged. Charlie rushes over to Angel and apologizes over 50 times before he reassures her "He he he he he said HE FORGAVE ME!!!" Charlie says in tears while vaggie carries her back to their room. I quickly run up to Angel checking up on him "Angel!! are you ok you- you're covered in blood."

"ahh don't worry tuts, I'm alright" I breathe a sigh of relief, thankful that Angel isn't hurt "Come on, let's go get a drink" "Oh angel I don't-" "I won't make you anything strong, Alastor would kill me if I did" I hesitate but agree "Ok, but just for a little while..."

so sorry this came out late but here it is!! chapter 5!!! I got writer's block halfway through but still managed to make it work. I will be gone for the weekend to Knots Berry Farm for a family trip so expect chapter 6 to be a little late. and with that have a wonderful day/night love you all!!!

-squerlly

@kimmis-stuff @pooplyface1423 @strippezzz

for more content and chapters please click this masterlist

#hazbin #alastor #alastor x reader #hazbin alastor x reader #hazbin hotel x you #alastor x reader smut #hazbin hotel smut #hazbin hotel x reader #alastor x y/n #hazbin hotel

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celiastjamesoscar · 9 months

Text

Comfort Holds

Pairings: Sam Carpenter x fem!reader

Summary: A long day at work leads the best kind of de-stressing at home: Sam holding you.

Warnings: light cussing, mentions of overdoses, extremely soft Sam, Sam and R showering together, not proofread

AN: a real quick one in celebration of me passing my logic exam! I promise I will crank out some longer ones soon!! I also hate how I couldn’t find a good Hozier/Taylor/Lana song to fit this and it’s going to drive me nuts :(

My Masterlist

Word Count: 1.7K

With a soft sigh, you clocked out of work. Today was rough; it seemed like dispatch could not leave you alone, and the calls were the worst. Just today alone, you had four overdoses, which was a new record. On top of that, you also helped deliver a baby, which was a first. You didn’t hate your job, but sometimes you wished for a simple desk job. Something that wasn’t constantly putting stress on your body.

You locked the ambulance before leaving the station and getting into your car. Being an EMT was fun, and you enjoyed it, but just like any job, it had its ups and downs. As you put your key into the ignition, your phone dinged with a message, and your heart fluttered when you read the name.

Sammy Bear 🔪🖤: When will you be home? I miss you.

-Sam

You rolled your eyes with a small smile as you read the text. No matter how often you told her not to, Sam continued to sign her texts. At this point, you were convinced she was doing it to irritate you.

Y/N ❤️: Babe, I have you saved in my contacts. You don’t have to sign your name

You watched as the bubbles appeared and disappeared for several minutes, and you were starting to get worried you had upset Sam when she sent you a picture. The breath in your throat got caught, and your mouth started to water as you admired the jaw-dropping picture your girlfriend had just sent you.

It was a picture of her lying down in bed on her stomach. The angle at which it was taken had a perfect view of her cleavage, especially with the necklace that had your first name initial resting between her breasts.

The picture was effortless but still breathtaking, and you couldn’t believe how you managed to pull that gorgeous woman.

Sammy Bear 🔪🖤: Just answer the damn question.

-Sam

Y/N ❤️: …Not even 5 minutes

As soon as you sent the text, you drove your car and quickly hurried home to Sam. You two have been dating for almost six months, the best six months of your life. It took you several months to break down Sam’s mile-high walls, but after enough late-night conversations and you taking care of Tara while she was at work, Sam slowly allowed herself to be vulnerable with you. Sam didn’t trust easily; hell, sometimes she didn’t even trust herself, but when she was with you, she knew that she could trust you with her heart and her world: Tara.

Once you had won the approval of Tara (a trial that consisted of her forcing you to watch all of her favorite movies and shows), Sam finally opened up her heart to you, and within a week, you two were officially dating.

Within record time, you parked your car outside the Carpenter apartment and hastily approached Sam. When you reached the door to her apartment, you knocked three times and patiently waited for Sam to open up.

“Took you long enough,” the woman in question stated while opening the door. Like in the picture, she only wore a sports bra and leggings, and your mouth began to water as you admired her abs.

“I tried my best to get here quickly,” you retorted while entering your shared apartment. Technically and legally, it was Sam’s apartment, but you were over so much that you two started calling it your ‘shared’ apartment, and you couldn’t be happier.

Once Sam shut the door, you moved to hug her, but she quickly stepped back from you. “Y/N, I love you, but you smell,” Sam defended as she walked into her room, “go take a shower and change, then we can cuddle.”

You grumbled as you followed her and went to your shared dresser. The top two rows were for Sam, and the bottom two were for you, not that the factor in determining who was on top pertained to your sex life at all. No way.

Rummaging through the dresser, you pulled out a pair of shorts along with a baggy t-shirt and a pair of underwear and then carried them into Sam’s bathroom. You turned on the shower and stripped out of your dirty clothes, and deciding to see if Sam was lying, you smelt your shirt. You hated agreeing with your girlfriend, but it didn't smell good.

You threw your dirty clothes into the hamper before stepping into the shower. You were in the middle of washing your face when you heard the bathroom door open. “Hello?” You called up, and when your lips moved, you got soap in your mouth.

As your luck would have it, you were frantically trying to get the awful soap taste out of your mouth when Sam violently pulled back the shower curtain.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Sam!” You exclaimed as you touched your heart, “You almost gave me a heart attack.”

Sam gave you a small laugh and racked her eyes over your body. “You look pretty,” she stated when her eyes reached your face, silently laughing at your startled face covered in soap.

“Thank you,” you replied before sticking your face under the water and washing off the soap. By the time it took you to get the soap off, Sam had undressed and stepped into the shower behind you. Her firm, muscular arms embracing you from behind.

“I miss you, baby,” Sam mumbled against your neck as she hugged your back, kissing your neck. “I missed you too,” you replied, leaning against Sam’s hold and relaxing.

Sam hummed against your neck as she held you tighter. You were her home, and she only ever felt entirely safe in your presence. In time, she planned to make a wife out of you, but only if you wanted her. Sam would move Heaven and Hell for you; she would fist-fight God himself for you, but she would never do something you weren’t okay with. So, if you were crazy enough to grant her your hand in marriage, Sam’s life would be complete.

“How was work?” Sam asked as she let go of her hold on you, grabbed a shampoo bottle, and put some on her hand. “It was rough, to say the least,” you replied with a weak smile, even though Sam couldn’t see it.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Sam asked as she set down the bottle and rubbed the soap together in her hands. “Not really,” you replied while Sam massaged your scalp and applied the soap to your hair. You knew about Sam’s past drug addiction, so you didn’t want to tell her about all the overdoses you encountered today. “But,” you cheerfully stated, “I did help deliver a baby!”

“Oh yeah? Who would trust you with their baby?” Sam teased while she ran her fingers through your hair. You huffed at her words, “A woman who is shooting a child out of her vagina at rocket speed, that’s who.”

Sam laughed at your response and turned you to face her, “You’re a smart-ass, you know that?”

“I know, but I’m your smart-ass,” you said with a smile as Sam gently pushed you backward into the running water of the shower. “Yes, you are,” Sam replied as she began washing the shampoo out of your hair.

It wasn’t rare for Sam to wash your body, as it was her own way of worshiping you. She loved touching your body in more intimate ways than sex, and she also loved that you trusted her enough to allow her to connect with you in such ways. The respect you both had for each other was undeniable, and your love was sacred; no one could ever shake it or ruin it.

For the remainder of the shower, you and Sam took turns washing each other’s body. And when it was time to get out, you both dressed in clean clothes and brushed your teeth. It wasn’t much, but you would kill for these domestic moments with Sam.

“Come here,” Sam said as she climbed into her bed and opened her arms to you. You smiled at her as you turned off the bathroom and bedroom lights and got into bed next to her.

Within a second, Sam had her arms wrapped around your waist and was pulling you into her chest. You placed your head on her chest as one of her hands left your waist and gently rubbed your back.

“Sam? Can I ask you a question?” You asked after Sam had turned on the lamp next to her bed. “Of course, my love,” she responded as her fingers lightly danced across your back, even though you felt her tense up.

“Can you please try not to snore tonight?” You pleaded with beady eyes as you looked up at her, and you could see her visibly relax. “Y/N, I don’t know how many times I have to tell you this, but I do not snore,” Sam declared with a hurtful look in her eyes.

“Oh come on, you big baby,” you jolly teased as you propped yourself up on the bed with your elbow and looked at Sam’s big, brown eyes, “You snore, and you know it.”

“Nuh-uh.”

“Yes, you do! I even recorded you, Sam!”

“That’s a fake video,” she defended, “Why do you hate me?”

Now, this question was her favorite card to play. No matter what you two argued about, this one never failed her. When Sam played this card mixed in with her puppy dog eyes, she knew you were a goner.

“Sam,” you whispered as a hurt look quickly replaced your teasing, “You know I love you.”

“Then why do you insist I snore when I do not?” Sam questioned as you unpropped your elbow and laid back on her chest, listening to her comforting heartbeat.

“Because I love teasing you, Sam. And because your snoring is awful, you should seriously get it checked out,” you responded sarcastically. “Haha, you’re so funny,” Sam dryly replied but hugged you tighter, telling you she was joking.

The two of you talked about your day for several more minutes before you yawned, and Sam reached over to turn off the bedside lamp. You were still lying on her chest as sleep slowly took over your body whenever you heard the faintest whisper, “Delete that video of me snoring.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Taglist: @elduster @silentwolfsstuff

I stole the text messaging part from the great @maskthedwarf <3

#sam carpenter #scream #sam carpenter x reader #melissa barrera #sam carpenter x female reader #sam carpenter x you #sam carpenter x y/n #sam carpenter x fem reader

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teenytinyjimin · 3 months

Text

too sweet (k. namjoon)

i’d rather take my whiskey neat,

my coffee black and my bed at three

you’re too sweet for me,

you’re too sweet for me.

summary: in which kim namjoon is their husband. nothing more, nothing less. their beautiful, delightful, wonderful husband.

pairing: namjoon x reader

word count: 1.1k

tags: genderless main character, get over it. domestic!joon, incredibly loving!joon, domestic fluff for sure, marriage!au

warnings: none, maybe some strong/sexual language here and there

author’s note: this hozier song makes me think of domestic 9-to-5 namjoon so hardcore it’s painful </3 pls enjoy

── ⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅ ──

“Shit,” Namjoon breathes out, throwing his head back and running his hands through his hair. It wasn’t uncommon that he found himself overwhelmed by his workload, but when these times came, they were unpleasant nonetheless. His impeccable work ethic and work mentality was something truly admirable because he would often get through these moments with ease, but even he himself could admit that it was sometimes too much to handle.

He stared blankly at the computer screen in front of him. His brilliant mind had unfortunately started an automatic system shutdown, so there was no way that he’d be able to finish what he was working on today. Glancing at the clock on the wall in front of him, which read 10:23pm, he sighed. Yep, it’s not going to happen. He was more than happy with admitting defeat and engulfing himself into the arms of his waiting spouse.

As he wandered out of his home office and into the living room, he saw his partner sat on the couch, cuddled up in blankets and focused on the movie they were watching on the tv. He approached the couch and took his spot next to them, manspreading and unbuttoning the top button of his shirt in the process.

“You’re done early,” His partner said softly, bringing a hand to his hair and brushing it adoringly. Namjoon sighed, closing his eyes and allowing himself to melt under his spouse’s touch. “Didn’t finish. Was too much.”

“Oh. ‘M sorry,” They frowned in response. “Let me go get you something to drink. What sounds good love?” Namjoon looked over to his partner, his eyes glazed with adoration. That was something he’d always love about them - they knew how to make him feel loved and appreciated through the small things. “Would you make me some tea, darling? The way you make it?” He asks softly, bringing a hand to their cheek to trace it gently. “I love the way you make it.”

A blush crept to his lover’s cheeks as they shyly nodded. Years of marriage down the road and Namjoon never failed to make them absolutely swoon over him. It was the Namjoon charm, a blessing and a curse all at the same time. They pressed a soft kiss to his temple before standing up and heading over to the kitchen to start boiling the water.

“What are you watching?” Namjoon calls from the couch. The truth is that he hasn’t yet looked at the television screen because the only thing he wants to look at is his breathtaking partner. The partner that he was lucky enough to marry, so was damn well going to take advantage of his luck by looking at them as much as humanely possible.

“Oh, just some animal documentary. I was trying to find something that I could fall asleep to just in case you were working extra late.” They called back in response. “Love, is decaf okay for you? Wanna make sure that you sleep well tonight.”

“Mm. Decaf is perfect. Thank you for looking out for me, dear.” At this point, Namjoon had moved from his spot on the couch to right behind his partner in the kitchen and snaked his strong arms around their waist. Resting his head on their shoulder, he closed his eyes and let out a hum. “You’re the best.”

“Is this why you married me?” They responded, letting out a small giggle. “For my tea-making abilities?”

Namjoon pulled back slightly, enough to where he could gently spin his lover around to face him. He rolled his eyes and shrugged dramatically. “Maybe a little bit. But also because you’re impossibly beautiful. And extreeemely sexy…” He trailed off, burying his face into their neck and letting his big hands start to roam.

“Kim Namjoon!” They scolded with a laugh, playfully pushing him off of them. “Stop it. Let me make your tea.” While they absolutely loved the feeling of their husband being all over them, they weren’t necessarily in the mood to entertain it. Let’s be honest, it’s almost eleven at night and they would’ve been asleep had it not been for Namjoon giving up on his work for the night.

“Oh right, you were making tea for me. Sorry, got a little distracted,” Namjoon joked, earning a playful swat from his partner. Allowing them to have a little space to do what they needed to do to make the tea, he backed off a little and decided to lean against the counter. “You know I love you, right?”

“You tell me every day. Multiple times a day,” They hum in response pulling out a spoon to stir the tea. “And I love you too, Joon.” Hearing the words come out of their mouth was music to his ears. A dimpled smile crept onto his face as he shyly looked away. “Jokes aside, I’m not sure what I’d do without you.”

“Probably be some boring, disgruntled businessman. I keep you from being an absolute robot,” His lover reminds him without missing a beat. “Not to boost my ego or anything.”

“No no, you’re right. Without you I’d probably be nothing except for my work.” With a smile on their face, they hand Namjoon the cup of tea and he smiles in return, leaning down to press a gentle kiss to their lips. “I know I already said this, but you’re the best.”

“I know I am,” They joked, reaching up to steal a second kiss from their husband. “Let me know if it’s missing anything. I tried to make it with extra love but got a little distracted so I might’ve missed something.”

Namjoon smiles softly as he takes a grateful sip of the tea. He stands in silence for a second as he ponders the taste of the tea, but very quickly comes back with a verdict. “It’s absolutely perfect. Just like you.”

“Good.” His lover blushes, satisfied with his reply. “Well, the least you could do is give me an extra kiss for my troubles.”

He raises an eyebrow as a smirk creeps to his face. “I’m not sure you wanna do that, darling. You know I’m more than capable of absolutely drowning you in my kisses.”

His spouse turns around, back facing him, and shrugs. “Maybe that’s what I want…” They trail off, beginning to walk away from him. Practically throwing his cup of tea onto the counter, Namjoon reaches out and grabs his partner back, pulling them into his arms and kissing them over and over.

As the night comes to an end in the Kim household, all that can be heard is a chorus of laughter coming from a married couple that never truly left the honeymoon stage.

#teenytinyjimin #bangtan #bts fanfic #bts fluff #bts fanfiction #bts fic #fluff #bts namjoon #bts rm #namjoon fanfic #kim namjoon #rm fanfic #namjoon fluff #rm fluff #namjoon x reader #rm x reader #fanfic #genderless

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i-literally-cant-with-this · 4 months

Text

A/N ::: I'm fucking out of gas and runnin' on E when it comes to my TokRev stuff and I'm super sad. So I watched this today and fell in love with it a little bit more. To my besties out there, I'm sorry 😭😭😭 for tagging you in something you probably don't even CARE about. But thank you if you read this, anyway. Ilygsm <3

C/W ::: NSFW Headcanons. Just MDNI UNDER THE CUT, please.

Asahi Azumane HC’s

SFW

This man is the type you want to bring home to have dinner with your parents and then throw down on your childhood bed after dessert.

His favorite parts of his body are his eyes and his hands. He says he likes them because they help him win games and they helped him win your heart.

He. Is. Sappy. Fairly often.

His favorite parts of your body are your eyes, lips, hands, ass and thighs. He likes to stare into your eyes and look down at your lips before he kisses you. He likes that he can cover a good portion of your thigh with his hands and leave a huge handprint on your ass when he's in the mood to do so.

He used to sleep on his side until you started sleeping over. Now he sleeps on his back so you can cuddle up next to him under his arm and rest your head on his chest.

Has written you secret poetry. Nothing epic, but just like 5-10 lines about how you remind him of the most beautiful and exotic flower.

Secretly hopes you find the stash he has of these papers so he can quit living the lie about how he writes poems for you.

L-o-v-e-s it when you let him lay his head on your lap while you're just sitting around watching a movie or at a picnic on the hillside overlooking the city. He says it relaxes him (but if you do it for too long he gets to feelin' it and then is like - "Hey, *raises his eyebrows a couple of times* ... you wanna uh, go for a ride with me?"

Gets along with moms and dads. Moms can't get over how handsome, charming AND nice he is. Dads are always impressed with his professionalism and drive when it comes to practice, game days and his education.

Your friends like him because he treats you like his own private queen. But like, low-key. He doesn't want you to get all arrogant because that's such a gross character trait. He loves you and he lets you know. And that's good enough for you both.

Doesn't love you unconditionally - which is refreshing. It's an equal partnership and you've both never been in something like that before. You both say it’s your first ‘adult’ relationship with someone else.

NSFW

He's so big that you can actually climb him like a tree (he not only lets you, but encourages it).

Will kiss you so softly and sweetly until he starts to get into it. Then he's a moaning big little mess over/under you - wherever he happens to be at the time.

He likes it when you're on top, though, so he can sorta be face to face with you. He's so damn tall that his head is either banging against the headboard or his feet dangle off the edge of the bed. So if you're on top, then he has all kinds of leisurely positions at his disposal.

His hips are wide and his thighs are too. (But not in a weird way - in a strong fucking hot ass athletic man way)

Likes it when you ride his thighs - doesn't have a preference about which one - is just happy when you're dragging your wet pussy across his muscular leg until you're cumming all over it.

His cock. sigh It's so fucking gorgeous: Cut, 7"L x 2.25"Diameter, goes straight up against his abdomen - has been bigger on occasion, depending on how pent up/turned on he is.

Kisses your neck a lot, whenever, wherever.

Gives you a lot of back hugs when he's horny. He thinks it's funny how his cock presses into your back. Jokes that if you just stood on a stool to do the dishes or cook things, it'd be so much easier to just have you.

Into spanking, but not hurting you. It's more like foreplay for him or in the heat of the moment. He has spanked you harder than at other times, but you never say anything to him about it because you like it and don’t want him to stop.

He likes to fuck you after games. Whether he wins or loses. It's just become a sort of tradition.

Blushes when you suck his dick. He thinks it's so lewd and so sexy that he has trouble looking you in the eye but FUCK HE LOVES HOW YOU LOOK WHEN YOU'RE BETWEEN HIS LEGS so he forces himself to maintain eye contact - not for extended periods of time, but throughout. He found it was easier to break up the intensity rather than face it all at once.

Has a breeding kink but doesn't even know what that is/won't admit it. He. Loves. To. Cum. Inside. Of. You. He says things through loosely gritted teeth, "Ohhh yeah? 'M g'na fill y'r cute li'l hole, angel. G'na be so full from this ... mmhm. Geh ready, cum-cummin'!"

Is shy about saying "cunt" and "pussy". You're working on it w/him.

Has cum before from just eating you out. Was NOT embarrassed about it.

He likes to watch your pussy twitch after he makes you cum on his tongue.

Likes to tease you about your kinks. He's always like, "Ooooh, you're such a ... s-slut - wanna get fucked by your dad, huh? I knew you were a little dirty brat - you like to take it in all your holes, baby girl?"

Is absolutely ruined and humiliated when you say "Asa," you slap your forehead with the palm of your hand, "NO ONE wants to be fucked by their - oh god. It's 'daddy', ok babe? D-A-D-D-Y."

Vows to never tease you about the filthy shit you like so long as you don't remind him how he said that to you one day.

Taglist ::: @arlerts-angel @kazutora-kurokawa @katkitkats @viburnt

@mackenziebrooks (hope it's ok to tag you in this! i think we talked about it at one point, yeah?)

#asahi azumane #azumane asahi #haikyuu #haikyuu headcanons #haikyuu hcs #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu x you #asahi x reader #asahi x you #asahi fluff #asahi azumane fluff #azumane asahi fluff #asahi smut #haikyuu smut

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freeuselandonorris · 17 days

Note

❤️ here to request lando/max f, first kiss... pls :)

tysm this is the perfect prompt for nortrell!! i ended up doing a kinda 5+1 here ig? five times they could've kissed and one time they did? idk~

It could have happened years ago, is the thing. Almost has, a couple of times.

There’d been a few nights even back when they weren’t much more than kids, sharing the tiny, basic hotel rooms Ricky Flynn rented out for them after kart races. Nights when they’d watched Naruto on DVD on Lando’s tiny little laptop, cross-legged on the same bed, and Lando would rest his head on Max’s shoulder to see the screen better, so close his breath warmed Max’s cheek.

Or the first night out they’d had after Lando signed his F1 contract. They’d gone out drinking – the last big night, Lando said, because he’d have to be good from now on, had a reputation to think about – with Theo and a group of Lando’s other mates, some Max knew, some he didn’t. It had all been a bit of a blur after the sambuca shots, apart from the feeling of Lando’s arms around his neck as Max spun him round, whooping. Half a dickhead attempt to make him sick, half genuine delight. Lando’s mouth had smeared wet and slick across Max’s cheek, over his top lip. Max’s breath had stuttered in his chest and he’d dropped Lando from his arms. Lando had bumped his chin off Max’s shoulder, spilling his vodka cranberry down Max’s arm in the process.

And there’d been lockdown, of course, when they’d seen barely anyone but each other for months on end and sometimes it hadn’t seemed to matter much what they did, because nothing was ever going to be the same anyway. The nights they’d fallen asleep curled in the same bed. Waking with Lando’s sweaty face pressed into the hollow between Max’s shoulder blades. The way Lando stopped bothering to shut his bedroom door fully even when he was wanking, and Max just got used to the sound of his soft, hitching breaths as he walked past to go for a piss. Their tangled limbs on the sofa. Entire days spent watching the Fast and the Furious movies in chronological order because there was fuck all else to do. Lando running his toes idly up and down Max’s bare calf.

The closest they’d come – the most dangerous night of all – had been after everything went tits up with Luisa. Halfway through a night of pizza and self-recrimination, where Max hadn’t done much but occasionally say hmm and yeah but you know what girls are like, mate, Lando had turned to him with a wild and desperation expression and said I just want – I want to not feel like this for a bit, I want to not have any thoughts. I want to not think about it. Max had swallowed hard and patted his knee, shuffled off to the fridge and returned with beers.

Lando’s career goes from strength to strength. Their paths cross every few months. Every time, Max feels the phantom pull of their bodies. Lando’s eyes on his face, tracing a well-worn path from his eyes to his mouth and back again.

Max realises he can’t remember any of the reasons why this is a bad idea.

When he finally lets it happen, it’s almost an anticlimax. There’s no reason for it. No special occasion. Just Max, on Lando’s sofa in his untidy Monaco apartment that smells of cleaning products and cologne. Stone cold sober, apparently in full possession of his sanity. Turning to Lando midway through PSG v Dortmund extra time, and pressing their mouths together. Simple as that.

It’s soft. Just a gentle touch of their lips. He feels Lando’s inhale, the tiny wet point of his tongue-tip.

He pulls back just enough to look Lando in the eye. Lando blinks. He doesn’t look shocked.

“Mate,” he says, a breathy giggle. “What took you so long?”

#prompt fill #ln4 #mf7 #nortrell #f1 fic #answered

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darkworkcourier · 2 years

Note

You’re doing Ghost!! Can I request an exercise in sharing body heat in cold conditions that turns into *other* forms of exercise? Preferably a non-military female reader if that tickles your fancy. So excited to see you back on tumblr, I loved your RDR2 and FC5 work back in the day 💕💕💕

Hi yes I’d like to apologize that this tiny prompt turned into EIGHT THOUSAND WORDS OF PORN OH GOD

(Also, try and find all the Far Cry 5 references. :3c As a thank you for hanging out with me all this time!)

Reader works for the National Park Service and gets pulled into a mission involving guiding Ghost to go after a (wink) paramilitary organization in (WINK WINK) Montana. Things go awry.

---

“Piss poor excuse for a shortcut, Ranger,” Ghost says to your back.

Your mid-back, actually, since you’re about two feet above him on the hillside which is way steeper than you remember. You could have sworn there was a trail cut through here, or maybe that was a half mile down the ridge, or maybe— Maybe it’s good to not second guess it when you think Ghost’s about a full thirty seconds from ditching you and going off on his own.

“You wanna get shot at?” you ask over your shoulder, voice slightly muffled in your scarf. “Because if you took the main road, that’s what you’d get.”

“I would do just fine,” he replies dryly.

Right, he’s got a tactical vest on. You have a down jacket that would just make for a really interesting display of flying feathers if you got shot. The best defense you have is the handgun he gave you for protection, and a Park Service badge that would elevate the threat of killing a federal employee. Not that Ghost’s targets would care, but it makes you feel better.

The two of you trudge through waist-deep snow, thick even on the incline. You’re practiced enough with winter weather hiking to approach it fairly spryly, but you’re also not lugging an incredible about of gear like he is.

“It’s not that far, anyway,” you tell him, just to make conversation. “It’s this ridge, then the Beaver Dam River, and then the lookout tower.”

“Real walk in the park,” he replies.

“Literally,” you say brightly.

His grunt isn’t very amused.

The biggest problem is the cold. It’s northern Montana in the depths of winter, and every shrieking sickle of wind that cuts through the mountains physically hurts. You’re prepared enough for the temperature drop, but you worry more about what happens after dark, when it goes from tolerable to goddamn polar. If it wasn’t vital for you to be out here, you would have stayed in.

For lack of anything better to do as you finish ascending the ridge, you think on the whole situation. A paramilitary extremist group hiding out in the mountains, some multinational task force you’d never heard of swooping into the park, and you getting swept up into it all and taken on as a guide. It sounds like something straight out of an action movie, but here you are and there Ghost is.

Hell, even his name and whole look makes the reality of all this seem that much out of pocket. He’s dressed in winter tactical gear, white and gray mottled camo, hood pulled down low over the skull-plated balaclava that you’re fairly sure he never takes off. He blends in with his surroundings, but at the same time, he really sticks out.

You get to the top of the ridge, pausing for a moment to take in your surroundings. Sure enough, by your reckoning, you’re about a quarter mile off from the actual trail. It’s easy to remedy, leading Ghost down the relatively level ridge to where the trail appears as a shallow divot in the snow.

Of course, he points it out.

“Got lost, did we?”

You roll your eyes. “Not lost,” you correct. “Just slightly askew on the directions. Everything looks the same in the snow.”

“Thought you knew this place like the back of your hand.”

“I do,” you say, stepping down onto the trail and grimacing when the snow goes up to your hips. Ghost is so damn huge that it probably barely goes over his knees, but you don’t turn around to look. “And I wasn’t too far off!”

“Slightly off is still off,” he retorts.

You really wish they would have sent the nice, happy Scottish guy with you instead.

Once you clear the ridge’s treeline, you see the lookout tower poking above the trees straight ahead of you. Grinning, you point it out to Ghost.

“Affirmative, Ranger. I see it.”

“You can just say ‘yes’.”

You can hear him sigh, and then, “Yes,” said like he’s punching the word out of the air.

The trail crosses over the river, cutting through at its shallowest section for this part of the park. The only problem is that the Beaver Dam River doesn’t freeze, so there’s a very real risk of soaking through your boots and defeating the purpose of having moisture-wicking socks. With any luck, you’ll have some downed trees or rocks to cross over, and the river won’t be too high.

That’s with any luck; the opposite being the luck you currently have, as the river’s clearer than you’ve ever seen it once you reach it. You hiss out a curse under your breath, glancing up and down the banks to see if there’s any easier way to cross.

Nada.

“Shit,” you mutter.

“What’s shit?”

“River’s clear, but it’s... well, it’s fuckin’ cold is what it is,” you say, watching the glacially-fed water happily rush by you.

He shrugs. “Looks shallow enough.”

“It is, except—” You look down at your boots, cringing at the thought of all the fun ways water can get in them.

Beside you, Ghost looks down at them as well. “They’re not waterproof?”

“They are, but probably not for walking through a river.”

“Jesus,” he murmurs, then steps right into the water. You see it course around his ankles, protected by his thick boots that probably cost more than a month of rent back home. Once he’s on the other side, he turns back to you, dark eyes peering out through his mask, making him look like a bizarre death motif hanging out on the banks of a very chilly River Styx.

“Damn it,” you hiss. You’ll have to be quick, not settling long enough for the water to leach into your boots and socks.

It’s probably comical to Ghost to watch you hopping across the river, up until your boot hits something—loose gravel, a slimy rock, or just a pocket of underwater bad luck. Whatever it is, it sends you right on your ass and into the water. The only good thing is that it’s not deep, but that does shit to negate the cold shock that knocks the wind right out of you. Cold pierces right through your clothes, hitting your skin like dozens of tiny knives. You gasp first, then yelp, and finally scramble out of the water and right into Ghost’s arms.

To be fair, in the shock, you didn’t see his sudden movement toward you, so you yelp again—right into his ear—when he scoops you up. His head jerks back, but he holds you steady regardless.

“Jesus fuck!” you gasp, already shivering hard. Parts of you are too numb to register on your brain’s running docket of limbs and appendages, but others hurt like shit.

“You okay?” Ghost asks, sounding a little breathless. His hands are on your shoulders, holding you in place.

Great question; you don’t have a good answer. You nod, but you’re pretty sure the uncontrollable shivering is telling another story.

“Let’s get you to that tower,” he says. His voice takes on the command form you only heard back when you sat in on the task force’s meeting. It’s solid, and strangely comforting to hear him take charge. “Sooner we’re inside, the better.”

“C-couldn’t agree m-m-more,” you manage, crossing your arms and digging your hands into your armpits.

Ghost takes the lead up the trail, which is good because your legs feel pretty damn numb. You don’t think it’s frostbite yet, but you know that’s a very real risk, especially as the clouds overhead start to darken with the oncoming evening. Because of the tower’s high perch, the trail snakes back and forth up the hill—a half hour’s walk in good weather and a steady pace, but longer in your state.

Ghost’s surprisingly patient, purposefully slowing his pace so you can keep up. He looks over his shoulder again and again, like he’s making sure you’re still there and not face-down in a snowbank. On your end, you keep your eyes fixed on his backpack, determined to keep it in your sight.

Halfway up the hill, Ghost decides to change tactics. He stops, shouldering off his backpack, then handing it to you. “Put it on,” he says. “Then get on my back.”

“What?”

“Just do as I say,” he says, brooking no argument in his tone. “It’ll be faster.”

You put on the backpack, not surprised that it weighs a metric ton. At the same time, your vision swims a little, dark shapes appearing in your vision before fizzling out like little firecrackers.

Oh, we’re in trouble, you think.

Ghost makes sure the backpack’s secure before turning around and going down on a knee to give you space to climb up. Non-hypothermic you would find this a great opportunity to make a down-on-one-knee joke, but you’re way too fucking cold to do much more than shiver and hang on to him for dear life. His hands go to the back of your thighs, supporting you while you cling to his neck, pressing your face into the back of his coat.

“You good?”

You nod.

“Need a verbal confirmation, Ranger,” he says, not without a hint of humor.

You manage a stifled, shuddering laugh and say, “Yep.”

“Good enough.”

He carries you up the hill, the incline steep enough to make the backpack feel heavier somehow. You don’t know how he’s managing it as well as he is, except for whatever freakish training they probably do in England. In your swimming, dizzy mind, you imagine Ghost hoisting crates of tea over his head, and that sends you into a giggling fit.

“What’s so funny back there?” he asks. However, you can’t miss the sliver of concern in his voice.

“H-how d’you train in Eng-g-gland?” you ask, the middle syllable briefly caught in the back of your throat.

“How do I what?”

“B-back where-e-ever you come f-from-m-m,” you say, shivering harder even though you can feel his body heat close to your core. “W-what do th-they make you d-d-do?”

He’s quiet for a long moment, and all you hear are his boots crunching in the snow and the wind snapping through the trees around you.

“Vigorous biscuit lifts,” he says.

You snort against his coat, and then cling tighter, feeling your limbs prickle in the cold.

You’re silent the rest of the way up the hill, shivering and sniffling as Ghost carries you. Finally, you reach the top, and you glance up to see the lookout tower’s staircase which until now has never looked so fucking tall.

“Sh-shit,” you say.

“Just hang on,” Ghost says. “You’ll be fine.”

“N-n-no, I th-thought I’d l-l-let go,” you joke, but your arms do feel like they’re going to fall off, and you’re starting to lose feeling in your fingertips.

He grunts and adjusts his hold on your thighs, then starts the ascent up the stairs. You really do have to wonder about his physical training regimen, because you’re pretty sure you’d be dead before you reached the top in your state. He’s only panting, breaths coming out in thin clouds in front of his balaclava.

“S’it locked?” he asks.

“No.”

“Good,” he says, letting you down onto your numb feet so he can open the door. He goes in first, hand close to his thigh holster, quickly scoping the single room before letting you in. "Clear.”

Your steps waver a little as you walk in, then quickly fall onto the bed without much ceremony. You’re a shivering mess, every part of you that you can still feel trembling with the cold. It’s not much warmer in the tower, but at least the wind’s blocked out. Ghost walks over and helps you shoulder off the pack, then leaves your line of site, his presence indicated by heavy footsteps, the sound of the backpack’s zipper being opened, and then soft clanking and thumping.

Your consciousness wavers on a very dangerous precipice, and you know you really need to get out of your wet clothes. You’re not at the paradoxical undressing stage of hypothermia, which is a good sign. But that also means you have no strong desire to strip, either.

Somewhere in your half-doze, you hear Ghost working on the potbelly stove, opening it on its whiny hinges, loading its gullet with wood left over from the last restock, then striking a match. It doesn’t take long to hear the throaty crackle of burning wood, and that’s a comfort in of itself.

Ghost is back at your side, gently shaking your shoulder. “Hey, Ranger,” he says. “Let’s get you out of those clothes.”

“Mmn,” is your best response, and not a particularly eloquent one.

“C’mon,” he presses, then manhandles you up into a sitting position. Your muscles give a pretty passionate protest, and you blink wearily up at him as he helps you take off your gloves, then unzips your jacket. His eyes flicker up to yours, assessing you. “You still with me?”

You nod, lifting your stiff arms for him to help you out of your sleeves.

“You know the signs of hypothermia, right?”

“Y-yeah,” you say, squeezing your eyes shut as a fresh rush of pins and needles goes down your right arm.

“Alright, let me know if any of ‘em get worse.” He drops your coat in front of the stove, then gestures to your half-soaked sweater. “Can you get that off by yourself?”

You nod again, then start the suddenly grueling work of getting out of it. It’s heavy wool, designed specifically to be as thick and warm as possible. That also means that it’s a bitch to get out of when your arms feel like cooked pasta. Still, Ghost’s already doing a lot for you, so the least you can do is prove that you’re better at a toddler than taking your clothes off.

Oh. Yeah, there’s that. You’re taking your clothes off in front of Ghost. That’s a whole thing to parse through.

But you manage to get out of the sweater, and that’s a victory. You drop it next to the bed, then start undoing the laces on your boots, fingers fumbling the whole time.

“Need help?” Ghost asks.

You look up at him, and then feel a very welcome heat rush to your face.

He’s ditched his coat on a chair next to the stove, tactical vest laid aside on the lookout’s desk. He’s down to a skin-tight black long-sleeved shirt that does wonders in showing off his musculature, and his hand are— Holy shit, he’s undoing his belt.

“W-what are you d-doing?” you ask. Bonus points for you that you’re not shivering as hard. Lack of bonus points that you’re openly ogling the lieutenant like he’s a prime beef steak (and he is).

He gestures back to you, one boot off, the other half-undone. “Getting undressed,” he says very plainly. “Fastest way to warm you up. You know that.”

You do, is the problem. It’s in every survival manual you’ve read and every class you’ve taken for your job. At the same time, it’s in at least four romance novels you’ve perused. And you’ve spent nearly four full months without coming into contact with any human being for more than an hour at a time; getting naked with a gigantic, musclebound man nearly sends your addled brain into a tailspin.

You quickly undo the other boot, trying to will your hands to stop shaking.

This isn’t the time to get shy, especially as your limbs ache in new and profound ways and you feel like you’re never going to be warm again.

The boot comes off, then you peel your wet socks off and drop them on the floor with a very telling plap sound. Your feet prickle and ache as the chilled air hits them and your shivering renews in spades. The faster you get undressed and under any kind of cover, the better it is for both of you.

Snow pants go next, then your work pants, until you’re down to a t-shirt and long underwear.

And Ghost is—

Fuck.

If there was any blood left in your suffering arms and legs, it must redirect right up to your face, making your head swim in a whole new body of water. Ghost’s stripped down to his boxers and (of course) his balaclava. His back’s to you, but that means it’s on full display as he puts all of his clothing in a semi-neat pile. When he turns back to you, you see his eyes widen a little as he lifts his brows.

“Still wearing too much, Ranger,” he states.

You know that, but there’s a pretty firm disconnect somewhere in your synapses, body firmly resisting any higher command to do literally anything useful.

He seems to register that issue, because he’s at your side in an instant, tugging on the hem of your t-shirt to help you out of it. You squawk in surprise, almost falling back onto the bed.

If you could read masked expressions a bit better, you might think he’s amused.

“I— I can d-do it m-m-myself,” you stutter out. Fighting down any urge to be bashful in a survival situation, you get out of your t-shirt, then maneuver yourself enough to take off your long johns. At the end, you’re down to just a sports bra and panties. Pointedly, you don’t look up to see Ghost’s reaction.

“Take this side of the bed,” he says, gesturing to the edge you’re sitting on. “It’s closer to the stove.”

You do so, feeling him get on the bed and go over to the far side closest to the window. He pulls up the blanket and quilt, then slips underneath them before holding them up for you.

With your back to him, you lay on your side and shimmy under the cold blankets. Behind you, Ghost grunts in what sounds like irritation.

“Turn around,” he says.

You swallow hard, worrying that he’d say that. Reluctantly, you roll over to face him. Or, rather, face his chest, which is alarmingly close. And it’s a good chest, all muscle-y and firm, with a fine dusting of light blond hairs on his pectorals. When you look up, he’s still wearing that balaclava. You squint at him.

“H-how come y-y-you’re still wearing th-that?”

“Doesn’t come off, Ranger,” he states, although the corners of his eyes crinkle like he’s smiling.

“Ever?”

“Affirmative.”

You groan and lean your head forward until it touches one of his collarbones. “Just s-say yes-s,” you complain.

He actually laughs this time, a low, rumbling sound deep in his chest, before you feel his arm wrap around you, pulling him close to him. It’s startling, and damn embarrassing, but you definitely can’t argue with the results. Almost immediately, his body heat seeps into your skin, first warming your hands pressed in between your chests. One of his feet brushes over one of yours, causing you to jump, and then settle with your eyes squeezed shut in mortification.

But that mortification gives way to blissful comfort as everything warms up. The stove radiates heat as the wood crackles and shifts, and Ghost is a stove in himself. The little space beneath the blankets is a pocket of glorious heat, and you start to feel the ache in your limbs recede and your head clear of its chilly fog.

You don’t know how long it is before he speaks again, but his voice comes in close to your ear. “You doing alright, Ranger?”

You’re relaxed enough that you nod and smile with your eyes closed. “Yeah,” you say.

“You ever do this in survival training?”

You scrunch up your nose a little. “I read about it. We never actually practiced stripping down and cuddling.”

He snorts. “It’s not cuddling.”

You crack open an eye, looking up into his greasepaint-ringed gaze. Feeling emboldened by the fact you can feel your arms and legs and nothing hurts, you gently shove his chest. “What do you call this, lieutenant?”

“Hypothermia prevention.”

You roll your eyes. “Just say it’s cuddling. It’s easier. Less syllables.”

He doesn’t say a word.

Before long, the crackling of the fire and Ghost’s steady breathing lull you into a doze. You go in and out of sleep, deeper and deeper as the sky darkens outside and causes the fire to make strange shadows around the room. You wake once to find your arm around Ghost’s waist, your chest pressed against his, the crown of your head under his chin. You’re sleepy enough that this doesn’t strike you as odd or something you should remedy. It’s way too easy to fall asleep after that.

You wake again to Ghost moving against you, getting out from under the blankets and crawling across the bed until he steps down on the floor. You groan and roll over to watch him as he crouches in front of the stove, opening the door to add more wood to the fire.

He stands back up and looks down at you, shadows making his face look like an eyeless skull. You admire his body cast in the warm light, more than happy to openly stare at him when he walks back to the bed.

“You feelin’ alright, Ranger?” he asks.

“Mm. I’d be better if you got back in bed,” you say, heart outrunning your mind by leagues.

He lets out a soft laugh and shakes his head. “Things that sound better outside of a survival situation,” he says.

As he crawls over you and back under the covers, you do manage to parse that sentence out through the thick haze of sleep. You turn back to face him, looking up into the dark sockets of his mask.

“What does?” you ask.

“Hm?”

“What sounds better?”

He’s silent for a thoughtful moment before he breathes out through his nose. “Nothin’. Forget it.”

Nope. You’re not forgetting it, especially as you wake up a little more and take in the sight of him laying next to you.

Briefly, you think back to the meeting back at the ranger station, when Captain Price outlined the mission to gather intel on the extremist group. You stood across the table from Ghost, watching him as he stared down at the topography map, then at the dossier in front of him. But then he looked up at you, eyes striking in his mask. After that, you felt his eyes on you all afternoon, and again in the morning when you set to head out.

At the time, you thought he was just observant. He needed to know he could trust you to lead him through the wilderness, assessing you in depth and measuring you up against the other rangers at the station.

But now? Well, now you’re not so sure. You could test it, though. Now that you have all your faculties pretty well in check, you’re tempted to see how he would react to you.

Besides, it’s dark and the two of you are isolated in the Montana wilderness. The only bad thing that could come of this is a very awkward morning.

So, in line with Ghost’s whole vibe—go big or go home.

You pull yourself into a sitting position, tucking your fingers up and under the elastic hem of your sports bra. The second you pull your bra up, you hear Ghost’s breath hitch. He doesn’t make a sound as you take your bra off, sighing in relief and dropping it off the side of the bed.

Behind you, Ghost’s voice is a dry, hot rasp. “Feel better?”

Nervousness flutters around in your chest as you shimmy back under the covers, bare chest now just a suggestion in the fabric. You force a smile. “I hate wearing a bra to bed, and you’re not wearing anything.”

“Thought you’d be warmed up enough by now.”

Taking in a breath to steady your nerves, you don’t answer but raise one of your hands to brush over his chest. He doesn’t move back, or seize your wrist. Instead, he holds still, letting your fingers explore the textures of his skin—scarring and all. One particularly rough scar catches your attention, and you run your fingers around its circumference.

“What’s this one?”

You don’t look up, but you feel Ghost’s eyes burning on you. “Bullet wound from an insurgent. 2017. Laid up in hospital for three weeks.”

Your hand goes lower, finding a raised scar as long as a pencil above his navel. “And this one?”

His breathing is steady, but you’re more aware of it now, of the rise and fall of his chest, your shadow cast across his skin. “Hunting knife to the gut from a drug trafficker in London.”

“When?”

“2012.”

“How long were you in the hospital?”

“Two and a half weeks. Most of it was from surgery.”

You nod, getting bold enough to scoot closer until your breasts press against his chest. His breath hitches, which feels like some kind of success. Something you should report back to Captain Price.

Then, one of his hands brushes over your side, fingers tracing the curve of your waist, down to your hip. Goosebumps rise on your arms and a shiver runs up your spine, thrilling you. His hand goes back up, then follows a line downward over your stomach to a set of small scars on your right side.

“Appendectomy?” he guesses.

You smile. “2019,” you respond. “In the hospital for two whole days.”

“How did you ever survive?”

“Ibuprofen and HBO,” you reply.

You see his mask move with a smile, and then his hand goes up to your chest, following the divot of your sternum. Below his hand, your heart beats deceptively quick, threatening to upend your calmness. Ghost notices, of course, moving his hand to rest over your left breast, your heart threatening to break right out of there like an escaped prisoner.

His voice is like liquid heat in your ears when he says, “Do you want this?”

You could ask him to clarify—play dumb, like you have no idea what you’re insinuating. But the darkness is so all-encompassing, so protective. The world outside doesn’t know about the world in this room, in this bed. You feel safe here, and there’s an opportunity literally laying in front of you.

You smile, and say, “Affirmative.”

He doesn’t jump into action. Instead, his left hand moves down, massive palm covering your breast, pressing gently as he leans his head down close to yours, hard shell of his mask pressing against your forehead.

You look up at him, reaching to tug at the bottom of his balaclava. “Can you take this off?” you ask. “Or at least pull it up over your mouth?”

Another thoughtful silence, and then he does something a little more unexpected. He pulls you close to him, chest to chest, and bodily rolls you over until you’re on the far side of the bed and his back’s to the stove. This way, you can’t see his face, his mask disappearing in his silhouette. You see him reach up and pull the balaclava off, some of his short hair clinging to the fabric before falling away. He sets it down behind him, probably within arm’s reach.

“That better?” he asks, his voice clearer now, hotter, like he’s removed a physical and emotional barrier.

You grin. “Is there anything stronger than ‘affirmative’?” you ask.

“Hard copy,” he says, and you can hear the smile in his voice.

“Well, then, hard copy, sir.”

And you lean in, pressing your lips to his. In the dark, you miss a little, kissing somewhere closer to his chin; Ghost corrects the approach and kisses you in full. His kiss is like him—strong, solid, an undercurrent of ferocity as he catches your bottom lip with his teeth. Your left hand goes to the side of his face, reeling yourself into him and deepening the kiss. In a word, it’s exhilarating. Maybe it’s in part because of what you’ve gone through today, but you go at him like you crave him, and he returns the favor.

His right hand cups the back of your neck, a gentle but firm pressure. His other hand moves down to your chest, thumb brushing over right nipple, drawing a gasp out of you against his lips. You feel him smile against you, then tweak the nipple again. A small, hot shock of pleasure follows a current down your spine, relaying right into your core and sparking a small fire.

If that’s how he’s going to do it, you’ll do the same.

Pressing your hand to his chest, you bring up one of your knees in between his legs, pressing gently against his crotch and making him bite back a curse. You’re quick to kiss him harder, shutting him up before he can say anything about it. In retaliation, he drops the hand on your neck to palm your other breast, massaging both simultaneously as you moan into his mouth.

Where you were freezing before, it now feels like the room can’t get any hotter. That spark lit by Ghost’s first few touches fans into a fully-fledged flame, threatening to burn right through you. You begin rocking your knee in between his legs—alternating pressure, then no pressure—until his hips begin to move against you, his cock growing hard against your thigh.

You tilt your head back and grin. “Well, isn’t someone an eager beaver?” you tease.

He groans and presses his forehead against yours. “Your pillow talk needs work,” he replies.

Your response to his complaint is to reach down and stroke your fingers over his tented erection, earning a surprised grunt and a hissed, “Shit.”

“What’s shit?” you ask, echoing his words by the river.

His voice is all irritation and arousal in equal parts, “The fact we still have clothes on, that’s what’s shit.”

“Oh. Easy fix.”

Again bypassing ceremony, you curl in on yourself enough to pull your panties off, wiggling out of them before tossing them somewhere in the direction of the stove and hoping they don’t get burnt. Then you hook a leg over his still-clothed hip, grinding against his thigh.

“Jesus Christ,” he groans, reaching up to run his fingers through your hair, then forming a half-tight fist so you’re forced to look up at his silhouette. “Now who’s eager?”

“I think it’s a firm tie,” you say, feeling another thrill of victory as Ghost reaches down to shove your leg off and pull down his boxers. Once they’re gone, all the proverbial bets are off. Aside from the shadow he’s wearing like a second mask, he’s completely exposed to you, bare and vulnerable to every touch. It’s like a drug to you, intoxicating and really fucking addicting.

Apparently, Ghost thinks about the same of you. His hand is back on your hip, but trails down to your sex, palming your mons, fingers just brushing over your labia.

You feel him look at you. “Can I?”

No further question from you, especially when your arousal is threatening some serious whiteout conditions in your head. “Yeah. God, yeah.”

One large finger slides against your slit, and you hear yourself, the slick, wet sound audible above anything else in the room. Ghost curses again, drawing his finger back and forth, listening to that sound like he can’t get enough of it.

“Fuck, Ranger. You’re so fuckin’ wet.”

“You kinda have that effect,” you manage to say, before the pad of his finger brushes over your clit and draws out a moan that you bury in his chest.

But his other hand finds your shoulder, pushing you back, before he nudges up under your chin. “No. It’s just us two out here. I wanna hear you,” he says, his voice so hot, smoldering in your ears.

He rubs your clit again, and there’s nothing to hide behind, no muffler to conceal the gasp and moan that follow. Your pleasure is completely on display, and Ghost seems more than happy to draw it out further, admiring it from every angle. He draws circles around your clit, teasing you, adding more fuel to that particular fire—the irony of feeling this way in a tower meant to watch for fires isn’t lost on you.

His finger goes lower, trailing down to your opening, going back and forth several times. The friction is damn near unbearable, and it takes every iota of self control not to grind on his hand. But your hips roll outside your control, and he catches the movement with another low rumble of a laugh.

“There somethin’ you want?” he asks, index finger running a low, lazy circle around your entrance.

You nod, shuddering when he only just dips the tip of his finger in. “Ghost, please.”

“Please what?”

You hear yourself whine, a sound you never thought to hear coming out of your own damn mouth. This man makes you feel ridiculous. And he also probably gets off on hearing you say stuff like this. “Finger me,” you say, exasperated and aroused. “Please, for fuck’s sake.”

“That’s not very pretty,” he teases, and you’re very close to shoving him off the bed. But then he pushes his finger in, and any retort you were set to say or do dies immediately, consumed in the wildfire he’s ignited and fed. He presses his lips to your cheek as you moan, now very unapologetically rolling your hips against his hand as he fingers you, per request. You feel a second finger insinuating against you, and then hear Ghost whisper, “Okay?” against your ear.

“Yes. Oh my God, yes, please.”

“Much prettier,” he says, and the second finger joins the first.

The thought that he’s done this before only just brushes your thoughts as he hooks his fingers in a ‘come here’ gesture, sending hot sparks of pleasure running through your body, using your nervous system like an electrical conduit. You rock against his hand, moaning and gasping as Ghost kisses your neck, scraping his teeth over your tender skin.

“Good girl,” he says, breath hot over your shoulder, before he presses a kiss against your clavicle. How his kisses can feel so chaste while he relentlessly fingerfucks you is beyond your comprehension. The praise just makes it better, making that hot coil inside of you turn tighter, ready to be sprung on a hair trigger.

Ghost picks up on that, too. He suddenly doubles down on the effort, fingers thrusting into you at a much more rapid pace, the wet sound of his hand against your pussy practically deafening. Only his murmurs of praise against your ear register above that.

You’re reduced to a repetitive litany of ‘god’, ‘fuck, ‘please’, and Ghost’s name. All those months without seeing people and having only your hand to keep you company make this oncoming orgasm all the more vibrant and bright, a flare launched high into the air with a huge charge set to explode.

Your hips arch up, and Ghost hooks his fingers again, saying, “Come for me,” in a firm command tone.

And you are not one to ignore a command.

You come hard, crying out and arching off the bed, toes digging into the mattress, hands grasping for literally anything solid, including Ghost. He fucks you through it, coaxing your release out with the finesse of someone defusing an explosive. You come down in fits and starts, catching on little plateaus of pleasure along the way, moaning all the while. Finally, you go practically boneless on the bed, and only then does Ghost relent and pull his fingers away.

You hear him chuckle, a dry and throaty rasp of sound that makes you feel hot all over.

“What’s so funny?” you say, although your words are slurred as endorphins run relay races through your body.

He holds his hand up so that the firelight catches it, and you very plainly see how wet his whole hand is. To show it off, he presses his fingers together, then spreads them out, showing thin strings bridging between them.

“Oh, God,” you squeak, covering your face with your hands and fighting back a round of giggles. “I am so sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry for, sweetheart,” he says, clearly pleased. He reaches somewhere behind him, presumably to wipe his hand off on the side of the bed.

And sweetheart. This man is going to kill you, and it has nothing to do with his occupation.

You tilt your head up to kiss him again, sighing against his lips and pressing yourself close. His right hand finds the side of your face, residual dampness from your orgasm still very present. Except he treats it like a trophy, dragging it down to your neck so you can feel it.

It’s also impossible to ignore his arousal prodding against your hip. Not that you intended to ignore it.

Before you can think and reason out an appropriate response, your primal brain takes hold. “Can I ride you?” you ask, and only after it’s said do you feel any kind of horror at outright asking. He purposefully arranged the two of you so you couldn’t see his face, like a Montana wilderness version of Eros and Psyche. Now you’re asking for him to lay on his back, exposed to you in every way.

He’s silent, and you’re about to apologize and suggest spooning or something when he says, “Sure.”

You blink, almost certain you misheard. “Say what?”

“You can, yeah.”

“What about the—”

It’s his turn to kiss you quiet, taking the opportunity to pull you close again and roll on his back. You meet the movement with your own, straddling his hips and feeling his erection press against your sex with insistence. You keep kissing Ghost with your eyes closed, finding his hand next to his head with your own and weaving your fingers together. His grip on your hand is firm—a solid, warm reassurance.

You turn your head, keeping your eyes closed. “I can keep my eyes shut if you want,” you tell him, only to feel his other hand come up and run over your back.

“You can look,” he says.

It feels like a point of no return now. Seeing his face, knowing that a person who this morning was still a stranger with a codename is now going to be very real—you’re almost breathless at the thought.

Slowly, you sit up while astride him, and open your eyes.

He’s— Well, handsome doesn’t seem like a well-rounded enough word. You were more on the mark with the Eros and Psyche metaphor. Firelight and shadow play across sharp features, making him look otherworldly. There’s still greasepaint around his eyes, which makes his gaze all the more intense. But the intensity is mitigated by a plush mouth, a distinctive nose, and a firm jaw. His light hair catches the warm ember-gold hue from the fire. All his features put together make for a face that you want burnt into your memory.

“Jesus, Ghost. You hide this on purpose?” you ask.

He smiles, and it’s only hearing him speak that connects the Ghost you know to the man underneath you. “Yes,” he says. “And it’s Simon.”

You must look owlish, eyes wide, blinking, damn sure you misheard again.

Ghost seems pleased by your reaction, reaching up with his free hand to brush hair out of your face. “That’s my name. My actual name.”

“Simon,” you repeat. A human name to a human face. There’s some poetry in there, but you’re too dazzled to work through it.

“Sounds good when you say it.”

You preen a little, then lean down and kiss him, savoring the sensation for everything it’s worth. And you know he read your name on the dossier, heard it from the other rangers—still, you whisper it into his ear like a secret, and he repeats it back to you in his low voice, accent curling around it perfectly.

Yeah, you’re absolutely going to ride this man until sunrise.

You reach down and take his cock into your hand, stroking it a few times and pressing your thumb up under the exposed head. Ghost—Simon moans and tilts his head back, watching you under half-lidded eyes. Carefully, you go up on your knees and align yourself with him, slowly lowering down and adjusting as needed. He’s big, which you expected from everything else about him. But it’s not a painful fit; if anything, it feels damn good.

“Fuck,” he breathes, hand stroking over your hip as he looks to where you’re joined. “You have no idea what you look like right now.”

“Neither do you,” you reply, very much enjoying the angle. He fills you up completely, the strain of him just a pleasurable ache. You moan at the sensation as you experimentally rock on top of him. “Ohhh, I am so glad you got me off first.”

“What can I say? I’m chivalrous,” he replies, although it sounds a little strained as you move your hips again.

“That’s what you call it?”

Another roll, and he looks like he’s seconds from thrusting up into you. But he’s being conscientious, letting you adjust and go at your own pace. His eyes flutter closed, and you almost want to ask him to keep them open so you can enjoy their expressiveness.

“Something, something about being a British gentleman,” he mutters, and you can’t help but laugh. Apparently, that sensation’s pretty good for him; he shudders beneath you and keeps his hand braced on your hip.

Without his mask, you want to put him through the paces of reaction, committing each expression to memory, cataloging them for future use. So you go up on your knees again and come off his cock, then bring yourself back down. You do it a few more times, watching Simon’s expression with enormous interest, the pleasure and arousal doing fabulous things to his face.

He moans your name, and you’re definitely going to use that as fantasy fodder in the future.

Your earlier orgasm gives you plenty of lubrication to work with, and so you start to fuck yourself on him in earnest. In return, you’re rewarded with a low moan and a quiet, “Fuuuuck.”

The friction feels way too goddamn good, setting up another explosive charge inside of you as Simon starts meeting the bounce of your hips with thrusts of his own. Two opposing forces working toward the same goal, and it feels incredible.

You start to rock back on his cock, using his upward thrust as momentum to hit you just right. It’s the perfect angle, apparently for both of you, as Simon’s now breathing heavily, sweat a fine sheen on his skin.

“Yes, Simon, fuck me,” you whisper, beyond turned on at the wet sound of him fucking into you. You can’t tell if it’s hearing his name like that, the command, or both that make him really lean into this, but he’s pushing up hard, groaning and pulling you down so you’re pressed to his chest.

You wonder how long it’s been for him, too—briefly thinking oh god what if he’s got someone back home and I’m a fucking homewrecker before one particular upward thrust makes you cry out, clenching down on him in a way that’s audibly very good for him. You turn your head enough to see your joined hands, and when you squeeze his hand, you don’t feel any rings on his fingers. He does squeeze back, though, and it just feels like another reassurance.

There’s no way to keep track of time, and you really wish this could go on forever. The heat generated between the two of you is scorching, all-encompassing, a forest fire caught on the cusp of the lookout tower and reported to no one but yourselves.

His pace stutters a moment, the first hint that he’s very close. He releases his grip on your hand to grab at your other hip, pushing you up and off of him before you resolutely sit down, taking his cock in full and drawing a sharp gasp out of both of you.

“No,” you pant. “No, I have an IUD. You can— Ah, fuck— You can come inside me, Simon.”

“Oh, bloody fucking Christ,” he breathes, eyes wide and beautiful. “You’re sure?”

In response, you rock back against him, squeezing hard around his cock. “Affirmative,” you say, then lean down and kiss him again. “Very hard copy.”

And that’s enough to tip him right off the edge. He thrusts once, twice, and then he moans against your mouth, one of his hands going up to card through your hair, pressing you so close to him that you can feel his heart beating against your chest. You feel him come inside you, a pulse of heat, a sense of fullness. The room seems to take on new, brighter colors, and when you look at Simon, he looks fucking euphoric. The firelight gives him a look that’s like a touch of divinity, a golden cast over his face and body.

You take your time getting off of him, enjoying the feeling of him inside you too much. That, and there’s no bathroom, no shower—the comedown also means that reality’s a little too close at hand.

Simon catches his breath, hand loosely stroking your hair, and he presses a kiss to your temple before letting his head fall back onto the pillow. “Holy fuck,” he says.

You grin and nod against his shoulder, then slowly pull yourself off his softening cock, causing both of you to groan, albeit far weaker than before. You collapse onto the narrow bed beside him, nuzzling up close to him, hand on his chest, as he pulls the blankets up over you and wraps an arm around your shoulder. Your foreheads touch, and you listen to his breaths even out, his heart rate firm and steady under your hand.

“Probably too late to ask if you have a partner, huh?” you say, smiling as you run your thumb over his skin.

“If it’s any consolation, I don’t, and I also feel stupid for not asking.”

You look up at him, the orange line of firelight tracing his features. “I don’t either. You’re good.”

He smiles, and you set that expression in your memory, drawing it in great detail. “My job kind of gets in the way.”

“Mine, too,” you reply, tracing spirals over his chest with your index finger. “It’s hard to get a date when you live out in the middle of nowhere.”

“Didn’t want to go check out the paramilitary extremists next door?”

You grimace and hide your face against his chest, shaking your head. “Gross. No.”

His chest shakes with laughter, and it’s wonderful.

---

Morning comes too quick, dawning cold and gray, reminding you that there’s a whole weird world outside the confines of the lookout tower. You and Simon get up, both aching very pleasantly, exchanging one too-brief kiss before his radio goes off.

“Ghost, how copy?” Price’s voice comes through in a crackle.

“Fuck,” Simon hisses, getting up and crossing the room to his radio. You at least can enjoy that he does so fully nude. He picks up the radio and keys it, scratching at his stubble as he responds, “At location 29-B and holding, Captain,” he says, his voice a dry scratch of sound. “The ranger had a medical issue.”

“Is she alright? Do you need a med evac?”

“Negative,” he replies. “We’re moving in about an hour.”

“Rog’. Keep me posted.”

“Will do, sir.”

An hour. You groan and fall back on the bed, staring up at the bare wood ceiling, decades worth of cobwebs in the corners. Simon falls back into bed beside you, cupping your face and drawing you into another firm kiss. Then, something dawns on you, and you lean back, looking over his handsome face in the morning light.

“When you say we’re moving in an hour, do you mean moving out, or just moving?”

His brows go up, slightly crooked smile on his face. “I think I didn’t specify, Ranger,” he says. “Do you have a preference?”

You laugh, leaning in close and pressing your forehead against his again. “Affirmative,” you say.

Simon laughs and shakes his head. “You could just say yes.”

#simon ghost riley #simon riley #modern warfare ii #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #prompt fill #VERY big prompt fill oh god i'm so sorry #i've spent most of the day on this!!#and it's not edited yet because it's 10pm now and i'm very tired #did i have cody in mind as the model for the reader? yes. do i kinda ship her and ghost now? YEAH

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