#THE POSE IDEA I’M CLUTCHING IT TO MY CHEST

[chimeowrical]

A kissie commishie of Amell and Loghain for garden!!

[callmeimlost]

✷ HEART SHAPED BOX:: main!mark Grayson x Reader

WARNING:: naked pictures, pictures during sex, smoking (weed) kissing, riding, unprotected sex, teasing, friends to lovers, porn w plot, stoner! Mark !

SUMMARY:: after the discovery of an old camera under his bed, you and mark have a bit too much fun having your own little photoshoot !

MEIMEI YAPS:: so this is like an updated version of an old smut I had; I’m a slow writer and someone requested something that I really wanted it to be well written, so enjoy this while you wait🫶🏽

Music played as both you and Mark laid on his bed, the smell of weed taking over your senses as this was the third blunt in an hour you both had smoked. Your eyes were low and glossed over, you let the burning blunt sit between your lips and inhale the strong smoke.

You felt your lungs burning as you held in the smoke. Handing it off to the boy who was equally as high next to you seeing him stare at the ceiling as he hits the blunt as well. The blunt was slowly starting to burn out due to the constant chatter bouncing back between the two of you making you take one more weak drag before patting Mark’s leg furiously.

“Can you get me the lighter, feel like my blunt is on life support over here; Grayson” you whine looking down at the neatly wrapped blunt you had rolled along with 2 others that you and Mark had managed to already have smoked after hanging out only 4 hours. Regardless he groans and pats around sheets before he realized it’s not where he last put it. “Where’s the lighter?” He began rolling around lifting up blankets and pillows before huffing frustrated.

“Your lighters grow legs and walk?” Mark asks now as he’s perched up on the back of his legs looking around stupidly as you raise a brow at him unimpressed. “Did you ever think ‘hey, maybe I could’ve dropped it under the bed’?” And it make’s the onyx hair boy slouch slightly before he rolls to the edge of his bed letting his head slip over it bunching the blanket in his hands.

He finds the glitter covered lighter he’s so familliar with he slides the dusty box he doesn’t recognize to the side before grabbing the lighter, his brows scrunch together before he pulls out the box from underneath him then grabbing the lighter before he sits up on the bed along with his new mysterious box. You hold a hand out for him to give you your much needed tool sparking it again.

“What’s in the box?” You ask sluggishly as you take another hit your voice clouded in smoke that fogs the room; but Mark can only shrug “never seen it before, maybe my mom left it in here on accident” he shakes the box hearing how hard whatever was inside was hitting each other making him stop and shake the lid loose until it popped open.

Digging through the box the sound of rumbling could be heard over the music, feeling for the familiar pair of glasses and camera. He clutched them both in his grasp and pulled them from under the rest of the junk he found with a lazy grin.

Mark had the bright idea that came to his fried out mind "lay down I wanna take pictures of you" he says as his hand gently pushes down on your midriff, you lean back until you're in the position that he was once in before he was sitting on his knees as they dig into the mattress , moving his legs to straddle over your stomach.

Your shirt riding up your stomach caught the eye of Mark who had a small smile on his lips, his brain practically short circuits as his large hand pushes your shirt up over your chest revealing your pace bra with a bow sewn into the middle.

Your eyes widen in shock at the feeling of his cold hands on your warm skin "what are you doing?" You ask shyly, seeing the boy above you with hungry eyes "pose for the camera" he mumbled lifting the camera above you. You smile covering your eyes with your arm slightly embarrassed that your friend was taking a picture of you in your bra.

Waving it around you opens your eyes to look at the onyx haired boy who had still been towering above you. His eyes darken as he looked down on you with your sweet doe eyes looking back up at him like a deer in headlights and he loved every single second of it.

Dropping the camera on the mattress his hands pull your shirt over your head and toss it into the carpeted floor. "Mark" you say just above a whisper at how bold the boy had become. "Pose" he whispered back, picking up the camera, the tension in the air becoming thicker by the moment.

Pushing yourself on your forearms you look up at the lens your eyes drain from the bright flash, again the camera spits out the picture. Pulling it out this time Mark didn't look at the picture he put the camera down and took his own shirt off laying next to you with a smile on his face.

You felt your body flush as your shoulders rub against each other. Lifting the camera above both of your faces Mark looked over at you who had already been looking at him. Your eyes are red and glossy as your eyelashes cast a shadow on your cheeks.

Holding eye contact for what felt like forever his eyes flicker down to your lips then back into your eyes. He didn't move any further making you almost let a whine ripple through your throat at how needy you felt to have his lips on yours.

Moving in closer, your eyes leave his and fall to his plump lips, you feel the tip of his nose brush against yours, even the smallest touch makes your stomach churn with butterflies. Giving him one last look your eyes flutter closed as you close the little distance between you and the feeling of his soft lips on yours was all that surged through your mind.

Sucking in a breath through your nose your hand falls to the back of his neck pulling him in deeper making the kiss more needy and lust filled. Progressively speeding up your teeth clash against each other as the smell of his cologne takes over your senses.

Letting out a small groan Mark's hand makes way to the belt loop of your jeans, hooking two fingers inside and pulling your hips closer against his. Your bra covered chest pushes against his naked one while your hand finds his hair, entangling your fingers and shamelessly moaning into his mouth.

His tongue now licking a stripe on your bottom lip begging for access, parting your lips, his tongue immediately brushing against yours mixing your saliva. As you suck on his tongue the remnants of weed and candy on his taste buds didn't bother you a bit.

The flash of the camera goes off making you pull away with hesitation written all over your face, Mark pulling back to see the picture develop and show up with a frame of you and him swapping saliva and shoving your tongues down each other's throats.

You could see the tent in his jeans starting to grow "I'm gonna hang these up all over my room" he mumbled content how they came out . His words make your thighs push together at the thought of Mark having such intimate pictures of you and him being seen by your friends in his room.

But you aren't as slick as you hoped to be. Mark caught the way your knees and thighs pushed together at his words making the small boyish grin on his lips turn into a smirk. Looking back over at you both still high, Mark couldn't help but ask "you wanna keep going?" You could pounce on the boy at any moment seeing as his hair was now messy, his lips now swollen with your lipgloss smeared on them, and his labored breathing making his chest rise and fall more noticeably.

You nod your head looking him in his deep coffee brown eyes with adoration and lust "I want you to fuck me" you say loud enough for him but just above a whisper in the silent room. Your words make Mark twitch in his boxers. Letting out a groan his head falls back "you're gonna fucking kill me" he said as his cock aches within the confinements of his tight boxers and pants.

The way you looked at him was like you were begging for him to just fuck you dumb on his cock. So when he gripped your chin pushing your head back, you could feel his lips on your neck, aimlessly sucking hickeys on your neck leaving purple and red splotches on your supple skin.

You let out small moans at the feeling of his teeth brushing against your sensitive spot that makes you shiver and your hand entangle in his messy black locks. His thumb rubbing against your bottom lip, you open your mouth letting the harsh pad of his thumb press against your tongue.

Sucking on his thumb Mark groaned as the feeling of your warm mouth engulfing his finger, he couldn't help but imagine how good you would look with his cock on your tongue instead of his thumb. Kissing a trail down your neck to your chest.

Your body is covered in goosebumps at the feeling of his warm tongue licking at your cold skin. His hand finds itself behind your back unclipping your bra letting it slip off your shoulders; watching your breasts spill out of the fabric and padding. Discarding it his hands palm your chest as leans down to lick your sensitive nipples making you let out a small moan.

Licking a stripe on one of your nipples you roll your hips at the feeling. But as soon as he pulled away you whine, "sit on my lap" he says in a low tone. Catching a glimpse of the look on his face as the both of you shift until Mark's back presses against the headboard. Pulling his jeans down and tossing them on the floor he looks up expectantly waiting for you to pull yours off as well.

Understanding without saying a word you pull them off discarding them with his as well. Leaving you in your panties that were sticking to you with a small wet patch seeping through the thin fabric. Crawling into his lap you press your ass down on his bulge with no regard earning you a choked moan. You could feel as if your pussy practically stuck to the wet fabric of your panties while you grind your hips against him.

The small wet watch of precum becomes larger as your panties make friction soaking his underwear as well. The outline of his cock rubbing against your clit makes your head spin and you couldn't help but moan and grind harder against him. "You feel so good" you whimper hearing the sticky sounds of your slick thighs rubbing together, it was messy yet the both of you were too eager chasing some form of an orgasm to care what kind of mess you make.

Your hand moves around the mattress to find the camera as you look down at Mark whose head was thrown back while he lets out the deepest groans of pleasure. His hands guiding your hips against his at a faster pace makes you choke out louder moans.

"Fuck" he whispered harshly as you finally find the camera and holding the camera up you place your eye close to the view finder as you point the lens at a dazed Mark who was on cloud 9.

Pressing down on the shutter button the flash finally goes off making Mark open his eyes and look up at you, "you looked too good" you whisper placing one of your hands down on his lower abdomen as you feel Mark buck his hips into you faster.

The feeling of the fabric running against your pussy slightly burned but it felt too good to care. "Feels so good" he grumbled as the pressure began to build. The both of you chasing your orgasms push your panties to the side rubbing your bare pussy against the fabric of his boxers at a fast pace that makes you whine.

You gasp feeling yourself being sent over the edge, Mark begins to slow down but you only shake your head as you anticipate him reaching his peak. "Please keep going, I want you to cum" you moan as your nails drag against his skin leaving behind a trail of red marks.

Your needy words make his eyes roll back as he pushes your hips down, he ruts into you as he moans shamelessly. Mark had no idea if it was just the weed or if your pussy had fucking magic but your sweet moans and the sloppy sounds send him into a spiral of pleasure. His cum seeps through his boxers as his hips twitch in a bit of overstimulation he didn't care, his hips slow down and then stop completely as he feels himself slowly coming back down to earth.

He lets out a large huff as a shy smile finds its way on his face, he can't believe he just came in his boxers after literally letting you dry hump him like a needy puppy. His hands grip at the flesh of your ass he lets out a small chuckle with a smirk on his lips.

"You're driving me crazy- fuck" he groaned as he continues to catch his breath. You giggle at him still feeling your mind trying to process. Who would've thought getting high off of 3 blunts and having sex would feel this good.

Pushing you off his thighs Mark gently pushes you down into the sheets pulling your panties down and sliding them off your ankle he discards them. The view of your pussy practically shining in all its wet glory. Mark was desperate. To touch, taste and fill you up in so many ways he couldn't even think straight.

Nobody had ever made you feel so good just by barely touching. Until Mark had decided to drag his face down your stomach, littering small kisses on your sweet supple skin until he stopped at the place you needed him most. Kissing down your inner thigh sucking hickeys into your skin you shiver at the feeling of his warm tongue giving your puffy lips a small lick. Whispering a curse under his breath he licks again this time he is much more confident.

he holds your thighs when the pleasure starts seizing your limbs, as the feeling of his warm tongue licking from your hole to your clit and sucking needly. You moan as your hand reaches for the back of his head pushing him against your pussy.

Groaning against you sent vibrations all over as you let out a small giggle that broke into a moan feeling the harsh pad of his thumb rub against your clit while his tongue worked to push inside you.

The sounds you make are music to his ears. He presses his nose on your clit, inhaling your scent deeply before his tongue dives inside your waiting pussy. You pull onto his hair, writhing against his face. "Feels so good Mark" you moan as you roll your hips against his face.

You could feel his lips curve against your pussy sending shivers down your spine. The wet muscle repetitively enters you, eager to gather your nectar. It feels like heaven, stomach tightening with each second.

Pulling away his thumb Mark flattens his tongue against you licking from your entrance to your clit again, kissing it he sucks harshly on the bud with no regard as you moan his name mindlessly. "Oh fuck" you manage to whimper out you tug at his hair as he groaned, your eyes shut as you "please use your fingers" you moan neediness dripping from your tone.

His hand moving from your plush thigh, his thumb rubbing harsh circles on your clit he pulled away licking your clit once more his middle and ring fingers make way to your entrance. Pushing in slowly you groan at the penetration, easing your tight walls around his thick fingers as he pushes them deeper you feel the cool metal on his rings all the way at the knuckles of his fingers as it grounds you from the euphoric feeling.

Pulling his head he looks up at you with your juices on his swollen lips and on his chin his fingers begin to move, opening your eyes. You look down at him feeling his gaze as he watches you react gasping as the feeling you grind down against his fingers "you like that? Hm?" He says as he licks your essence off of his lips.

His hair now disheveled as his cheeks were blooming with a soft blush, you nod eagerly "yeah? You want me to go faster for you?" He coos feeling you clench around him at the sound of his lewd words, you clench harder "yes please" you say losing your mind on his fingers as you absentmindedly grind down on them.

Without a single falter in his movements his fingers began to rub against the gummy part of your walls at a faster rate as the sound of your sopping pussy getting pounded by his fingers made you squeal. "Feels so good Mark" you cry out hoping to god he wouldn't stop the rewarding pace he had set. Your hips involuntarily buck against his fingers as his assault of pleasure on your pussy consumed you whole.

"I'm close" you whine as the sloshing sound and the sound of you and Mark's mixed heavy breathing had been the only thing you could hear "yeah, you gonna cum all over my fingers?" He asks teasingly as his tongue licks a long stripe against your clit that had the feeling in the pit of your stomach churning in anticipation for your orgasm.

"Yes, wanna cum just for you" you whine under your breath as he pushes and pulls his fingers in and out of you faster watching you come closer and closer to the edge waiting for him to catch you. He sucks and licks your clit harshly making you let out a loud moan as you cum all over his fingers.

"So good" he hummed as he fucks you through your high slowing down as he kisses your clit that's now sensitive making you writhed under him. "Doing so good for me" he chuckles breathily as he pulls away from you kissing your thighs as if he was rewarding you.

You let out a small giggle that turned into a choked moan when his long fingers pulled out of you. With no hesitation he sucked on his fingers licking off any essence and cum you had left on his digits.

Pulling them away he leans in to kiss you letting his tongue brush over yours to taste yourself. The smell of weed and whatever sweet smelling candle he stole from Debbie had sent you into a spiral of neediness. "Want' you to fuck me so bad" you mumble against his lips.

"I got you don't worry" he says reassuringly, pulling off his cum stained boxers he let out a sigh of relief, his hard cock twitching and blushing a soft red at his tip he couldn't help but wrap his hand around his length and jerk himself off at the beautiful sight that was you naked in his bed looking up at his with round red eyes.

“Fuck, I wanna see you on top of me” he hissed as the sticky sound of his hand wrapped around his cock makes your thigh twitch. “Ride you?” You ask lazily and he hums as he watches you grin letting Mark lay against the pillows in the middle of the bed.

He moves your legs open wider as he takes his rightful place in between them once again. Watching the tip of his cock rub up and down your slit as your hips twitch in sensitivity. His cock glistening from a mixture of precum and your slick he presses the head of his cock at your entrance slowly pushing inside you enjoying the warm and tight feeling inside you.

His hands move to either side of your legs as he looks down on you with complete adoration in his eyes. Pushing deeper inside you he lets out a moan "fuck you feel so good" he says as he catches his bottom lip in between his teeth.

"You're so big" you slur seeing how good he filled you up to the brim your arms wrap around his neck your foreheads pressed together as you watch his begin to slowly move. Mark couldn't get enough of the sight as his cock disappeared inside your pussy.

His cock buried deep inside you that you moan and dig crescent shaped dents into his skin. set a pace for bouncing in his lap. The feeling of your velvety walls tightening around making him choke back a moan. "Oh- god" you whisper shakily. His hands holding onto your hips guiding a pace, the soft sound of skin slapping with your small moans could be heard throughout the room.

You looked so good with your chest bouncing and your hair all messy. You looked good with a small sheen of sweat on your skin and your makeup smeared, he was addicted to the sight. Mark; eager to let his load off inside you, holds your thighs stopping you from bouncing any longer and begins to thrust his hips into you. The feeling of his tip pushing at your cervix.

His hips piston into you as your thighs and ass jiggle at the repetitive thrusts "right there!" You moan as you feel him pounding in a certain part of your walls. You tighten around him as your essence forms a white ring around the base of his dick.

"Just like that! I just want you to come inside me" you babble mindlessly as his stomach churns at the words spewing out. "Yeah? Want me to fill you up with my cum?" he groans as the knot in your stomach begins to tighten and Mark's death grip on the fat of your thighs almost sends you over the edge if it wasn't for how hard he was pounding you.

You nod eagerly as you begin to alternate between grinding and bouncing, your nails drag against his back leaving behind a red and irritated trail- yet he didn't mind it as it pushed him closer to his orgasm.

Leaning down to him your moans against each other's lips push you closer and closer. Your back is arching as you move faster wanting to cum so badly "keep going. Don't stop" he groaned, letting his head fall back.

His hair messily pushed against his forehead as it was covered in sweat and his eyes rolled back "god I'm gonna cum" he said breathily "I want you to look at me when you cum okay?" Says opening his eyes looking up at you.

You nod as you let your moans fall past your lips, the sensation building more and more until it became to overwhelming you gasp "I'm gonna cum" you whine as your hips fall more hastily on him, the strings of your juices latching onto your thighs. His moans mixed with yours as he drowned in the feeling of your walls spasming around him pushing him completely over the edge.

"Fuck" he groaned as warm spurts of cum filled you, grinding down and letting the cum spill past your walls and down the base of his cock you hum as your content with your orgasm. And just as fast as all of this began- it ended with you pulling off of Mark and laying down beside him, your chests both slowly riding and falling, you turn your head over to him with low red eyes, he meets your gaze "want me to re-light the blunt?" You ask with a smirk.

He nods, leaning over to kiss your lips he smiles against your lips as his hand reaches over to the bed side table that holds the ashtray his fingers pluck the blunt from out of the ash tray as well as grabbing the lighter he hands bedazzled lighter you gifted him in his invincible colors; he presses the blunt between his lips as you spark the flame watching him glow under the warmth of the fire.

Watching as the thick clouds of smoke begin to cloud the room filled with the smell of weed and sex wafting over your senses. “One more round after this?” He asks as he blows out another puff out handing the blunt to you which makes you laugh and nod as you take a hit yourself perching your naked chest against his.

Mark looks down at the sheets and reaches for the boxy hunk of plastic he leans away from you before holding the camera up to his face “so pretty” he coo’s teasingly as the camera shutters you snatch it from his hands as the camera spits up the picture you toss it to the end of the bed before tugging his body back into yours he rolls onto you slightly pecking your lips twice before plucking the blunt from your grasp with a boyish smile.

[ari-ana-bel-la]

(hoping this ask go through.. sighs)

Imagine George or Alex with a toddler!reader who likes naming her plushie, it was all normal names like candy, baby, rainbow until one day they decided to name it after a driver. the news spread like wide fire and now all the drivers want a plushie named after them?

Estie-Bestie

The sun was warm, the garage buzzing, and the paddock unusually calm for a Thursday media day. George stood at the edge of the hospitality area, watching his four-year-old daughter, Yn, sit cross-legged on a large picnic blanket spread out just beside the Red Bull motorhome. She was surrounded by plushies—at least ten of them—all named, hugged, and carefully arranged.

“Okay, Baby sits here. Rainbow, you go next to Candy. No fighting, okay?” Yn whispered with authority, pointing each plush to their designated spot. “This is nap circle. Everyone gets cuddles. Even Monkey, even if he smells like Uncle Lala."

George chuckled from a few meters away, arms folded across his chest.

“Lando smells bad now?” Carmen asked, slipping an arm around his waist as she joined him.

“No idea. I guess Monkey picked up the vibe,” George grinned. “She’s got a whole social structure worked out. Last week she told me Candy and Rainbow were in a fight because Rainbow borrowed Candy’s hat without asking.”

Carmen laughed. “Drama starts young.”

Then, something unexpected happened.

Yn picked up a brand-new plush—a soft brown bunny with a crooked ear. She held it up, examining it like she was choosing a name from a royal decree.

George leaned in slightly, instinctively tuning in.

“I think,” Yn said, very solemnly, “I think your name is... Esteban.”

There was a pause.

A long pause.

George blinked.

Carmen blinked.

“Did she just—” George started.

“Yeah,” Carmen confirmed, eyes wide.

Yn clutched the bunny to her chest. “Esteban is a good bunny. Esteban likes hugs. He never yells. He eats pretend carrots and tells Rainbow she looks pretty even when she’s grumpy.”

George crouched down next to her. “Sweetheart, why did you name him Esteban?”

Yn shrugged. “I like it. It’s a funny name. It makes my tummy giggle. Estie-Bestie is his nickname.”

That’s when Pierre wandered over, sipping on a protein shake. “Hey hey, little Yn! What’s the plushie update today? Any new ones I need to meet?”

Yn held up the bunny proudly. “This is Esteban! My Estie-Bestie!”

Pierre choked on his drink. “I’m sorry—did you say Esteban?”

“Uh-huh.”

Pierre exploded in laughter. “Oh my God, Estie-Bestie! This is gold.”

George stood up, rubbing his face. “Please, Pierre, do not—”

Too late. Pierre was already pulling out his phone.

“This is going to make his week. Month. Life. Hold still, Yn, smile with Estie-Bestie!”

Yn posed like a pro, bunny up in the air like she’d won a Grand Prix. Pierre snapped a photo, then immediately ran off.

Within ten minutes, Esteban had the photo.

Within twenty, the entire grid had seen it.

By the time the drivers’ briefing rolled around, chaos had fully bloomed.

Esteban entered the room to an eruption of applause. Everyone was clapping. Some were even whistling.

“What—what is happening?” he asked, confused, laughing.

Lando leaned forward, grinning ear to ear. “He doesn’t know? Oh my God, he hasn’t seen it yet!”

Max pulled up his phone. “Allow me.”

The moment Esteban saw the picture—Yn holding up the bunny, captioned “Estie-Bestie reporting for cuddle duty”—he dropped into a chair, hands over his face.

“This is the greatest honor of my life,” he said dramatically. “I’ve peaked. Nothing will ever compare.”

Charles leaned in. “Estie-Bestie, huh? That’s adorable.”

Carlos smirked. “I can’t believe she named it after you. What’s so special about you, huh?”

“Yeah,” Alex added. “I’ve been bringing her ice cream all season.”

“Maybe that’s why she didn’t name one after you,” Oscar quipped. “She prefers bunnies over bribery.”

“Alright,” Lando said, clapping his hands. “We need a plushie strategy. Everyone needs a chance to be immortalized by Yn.”

Lewis raised an eyebrow. “We’re really strategizing over a four-year-old’s plushies now?”

“Yes,” they all said in unison.

The next day, gifts started pouring in.

It began with Max, who casually dropped off a soft lion plush at George’s motorhome.

“Just something for Yn,” he said innocently. “No pressure, but if she likes it… I was thinking maybe she’d name it… Maximus?”

George sighed. “You guys are unhinged.”

Oscar came next, handing over a sleepy-looking koala.

“No name suggestion,” he said humbly. “Just thought it might be her vibe.”

Carmen, now fully entertained, lined them up in Yn’s play corner. “This is officially the Plushie Hunger Games.”

By Saturday morning, Yn had a queue of plushies to meet.

Pierre gifted a penguin named ‘Pierre-Peng’.

Carlos gave her a red fox with a tiny scarf. “Just think about naming it something cool. Something like… Carlito.”

Fernando went full chaotic, bringing her a giant kangaroo that could fit three smaller plushies in its pouch. “If this doesn’t win her over, nothing will.”

George just shook his head. “You guys are hopeless.”

After qualifying, the drivers gathered around in the hospitality garden for dinner. Yn arrived with her arms full of plushies, followed closely by Carmen, who looked both amused and slightly overwhelmed.

Yn stood in front of the table like she was about to deliver a state address.

“I have announcements,” she said clearly.

The entire table went silent.

She held up the penguin. “This one is not Pierre-Peng. He is called Mr. Ice.”

Pierre looked devastated.

“Koala is named Sleepy-Boo,” she continued. Oscar gave a tiny fist pump.

“The lion is named Roary George.” Max groaned.

“The kangaroo…” Yn frowned. “...is too big. He stays in the bag.”

Fernando put a hand to his heart, wounded.

“But,” Yn said dramatically, holding up the fox, “This one… he is Carlos.”

The table erupted.

“YES!” Carlos jumped up, doing a tiny victory dance. “I DID IT! I HAVE BEEN CHOSEN!”

“I don’t understand,” Lando muttered. “I gave her that glitter unicorn. It’s literally called Lando-Corn.”

“She gave that one to Rainbow to ride,” George whispered.

“And Monkey?” Lando asked.

Yn pointed. “Monkey still smells like you.”

Later that night, George tucked Yn into bed inside their motorhome, plushies piled around her like a royal court. Esteban the bunny sat proudly at the center.

“Goodnight, Daddy,” she yawned.

“Goodnight, sweetheart. Estie-Bestie too?”

“Of course. He’s in charge now.”

George smiled and turned off the light, but not before whispering a warning to the plushies. “You lot better behave. No more recruiting.”

As he stepped out, Carmen was leaning on the doorway, shaking with laughter.

“They’re going to lose their minds over this all season.”

“They already have,” George said. “And Yn? She’s just getting started.”

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♥︎♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Authors Note: Hey loves. I hope you enjoyed reading this story. My requests are always open for you.

-♡○♡

Extra Scene

By Monza, there was merch.

Fans were wearing Estie-Bestie shirts. Carlos was signing fox plushies. Oscar got a request to autograph a koala named Sleepy-Boo 2.0.

And in the middle of it all was Yn, sitting in the paddock with a new plush—a small gray elephant.

Lando approached cautiously. “Hey Yn… what’s the elephant’s name?”

Yn thought for a long, long moment.

Then she smiled sweetly.

“Jeff.”

Lando blinked. “...Who’s Jeff?!”

George just laughed. “That’s my girl.”

[cosycafune]

SAVE YOUR TEARS

2.0k words. sylus and you are in an arranged marriage, and you’re pregnant. you pleaded for him to return your love. yet, all he gave you was hanahaki disease — distorting your timeline. all sylus has to do is say he loves you, but sylus is too afraid as destruction follows his every movement. in every timeline, he almost always loses you. masterlist.

acts: pregnancy, straddling, angst, unrequited love, mentions of sex, arranged marriage, hanahaki disease, coughing out blood and flowers, attempting comforting, fear of death, denial, slight physical abuse, pounding on sylus' chest, guilt and crying. mdni 18+.

a/n: request from @gojoskfcbox this is such a beautiful idea; I’m glad you entrusted me with it. I've written sm for sylus; help me.

‘hanahaki’s pitiful victim, can’t a soul rescue you?’

THERE wasn’t anything that you and Sylus hadn’t fulfilled. From the acts of sexual intimacy, a deep emotional connection and a rare, mutual understanding. However, it seemed as if you were completely misled — stricken with something sinister and unworthy.

Hanahaki disease.

This wasn’t what you bargained for, being subjected to an unremorseful curse. A curse that stole away the air of your lungs, leaving you frantically coughing, thick spurts of blooming flowers leaving your lips. Angst flooded you, staining you with an ache — as Sylus had denied you of his love.

Even now, anger, resentment, sombreness and aching tinted you, leaving you to turn your gaze away from Sylus. Currently, you remain before Sylus — posed before the toilet seat. Humiliated, you linger — clinging to the toilet seat and heaving up beautiful flowers. Flowers that contrast the irony of this situation, leaving you wickedly chuckling.

What also didn’t help was that you were currently four months pregnant with his baby, nurturing something he dearly cares for. Yet, when met with whether he’ll finally confess his dearest depths of love for you, Sylus inevitably refuses. Refuses swiftly, knowing that a life, no home, with him, was bound to be swarmed with destruction, devastation and aching.

Clutching your swole stomach, heaving, you refrain from glancing at Sylus — feeling rather unloved. Unloved in distasteful ways, filling your heart with a void you wouldn’t wish upon anyone. Tears, whining, and dizziness apprehended you, but all Sylus could do was hope this beautiful illness disregarded itself.

“Sy’, stop watching me,” Assertively, you clutch onto your baby bump — weakly speaking, “It’s embarrassing.” Mentally torn, you frown at him settling beside you — rubbing your back.

“I’m just…trying to help,” Unsure of what to do, Sylus gently responds — defeat lingering within his tone.

“You’ve already done enough!” Frantically coughing through your shouting, you grow terrified at the array of flowers and pooling blood in the toilet.

You were gonna die.

“Sweetie—”

“—What’s the whole point of helping me if I’m just going to die with our baby, Sylus?” Terrified, you question him — longing for him to confess and shatter this distasteful curse.

“I can’t tell you that I love you, since it’ll ruin everything,” Panicking slightly, Sylus bluntly informs you of his rushing thoughts — unsure of what to do.

“I could die, and that’s all you’re thinking about?” Desperately asking Sylus, you internally plead for him to finally spill his heart — despite the ending of the world enclosing around you two.

“I-I don’t know what to do,” Sylus truthfully tells you, strips of vulnerability flooding his tone — even as he gently rubs your back.

“Sylus! Get serious,” Heaving harder, you bellow at him — irritated at his lack of conclusiveness.

“If I ever tell you that I love you or admit my feelings, I’ll have to prepare you to kill me to save the world.” Aggravated at Sylus’ confession, you gather the courage to look at him — flowers and blood coating your lips.

“Sy’, you’ll lose your whole world if I die from this,” Tearying, fatigued and distraught, you express your heart — your fears planted in his arms.

“Y-You could get the surgery, but it’ll mean that you’ll stop loving me,” At Sylus’ suggestion, your eyes widen — your heart thundering against your rib cage.

Distraught plagued your eyes as Sylus drew nearer to a pregnant you, wiping away the tender tears that drifted from your eyes. Tenderly, the pad of his thick thumb runs across beneath your eyes — his tender forehead staining your own. In a way that makes your delicate self feel warmth, love and stability — but it’s only something fleeting.

“B-But…” Wordless, you struggle to speak — relishing the ironic sincerity within his unethical touch.

“Whenever I have you in any universe, it never ends well,” Unable to prepare himself for this heartbreak, Sylus utters, “I’d rather have you learn to not love me or destroy me to maintain yourself, sweetie.” Grasping onto you firmer, Sylus presses his nose against your own — his lips a breadth from your own.

“Our baby, Sy’,” Responding to him, you part your flower-spewing lips in shock — defeated at Sylus’ denial of fighting for you in this verse.

“Get the surgery, sweetie,” Not wanting to lose you, Sylus suggests something so heartbreaking — pressing his lips upon your own.

His attempt is so cruel. So cruel, aching your heart.

“I’m pregnant and you’d rather have me hurt than admit something crucial?” Attempting to fathom Sylus’ kiss, you question him with wide eyes — frantically crying.

“No,” Sylus painfully contradicts himself, his crimson eyes tinted with a fathomable ache and lonesomeness.

“Liar!” Mentally exhausted, you scream at him — banging your fists against his chest with an understandable amount of anger.

Glaring at Sylus, through glassy and blurred eyes, you heavily bang against his toned chest — frustrated and aching. Pain, guilt, and self-depreciation adorn you — structuring you with wounds and hardships no pregnant woman should ever endure. A lack of love and reassurance adheres to you, leaving you solitary. Solitary despite the man you love lingering.

Deeply, you knew he romantically cared somewhere — but enabled the curse through his denial. A denial that welcomes one-sided love, even with an arranged marriage and a baby on the way.

“You can’t force me to love you,” Coldness desperately clings to Sylus’ statement.

“You didn’t feel anything when you comforted me after my first time?” Pleading for him to reveal his guarded heart, you carry on.

 “You didn’t feel anything when we built the baby crib? With you watching me grow my belly? Call you so you can see how the baby’s doing?” Experiencing intense heartbreak, you stop your physical abuse – begging for Sylus to soothe your pained state.

“Of course, but not in the way you think,” Millions of weeping souls blanket you as Sylus speaks, witnessing your hanahaki disease worsening – fuller crimson-stained flower spewing from your lips.

“I can’t force you to admit anything, but you didn’t feel anything romantic when we spent nights in the snow, getting vulnerable and talking about the future?” With one last act of devotion, you question Sylus – your heart overwhelmed with the distrust that lingers.

“Sweetie, you’re getting worse,” Heavily concerned, Sylus attempts to calm you down – bringing you against his lulling heartbeat.

“S-Sylus, am I going to die?” A little calm, you look towards him for guidance – worried drastically about your warped fate.

“I’d never let you die, don’t speak like that, sweetie,” Incredibly angst, Sylus holds you impossibly closer – unwilling to fathom you departing from his arms once again.

For once, just once, Sylus wanted the carmine strings of fate to curl for him. To curl for just him and only him, keeping up the facade of unrequited love between you both.

“If you…” Coughing flowers hysterically, you try to converse with a disheartened Sylus, “Didn’t want me like that, why didn’t… you keep your distance, my sweet Sy’?” Simply wanting answers, you grow lulled by his beautiful singing – feeling mildly at peace.

“Because I don’t have the heart to be cruel to you,” Spewing a double-edged confession, Sylus cups your baby bump – kissing the top of your forehead.

“How…comes you being affectionate doesn’t break the curse?” Curious, you question Sylus – burrowing within his tender comfort.

Forbidden comfort, knowing that he’s unable to declare a love you long for.

“Because I denied your love confession, and haven’t said that I love you,” Openly, Sylus admits his loop around the unrequited love – aware that a genuine confession would heal your state.

However, it would trample the world and everything that lingers. You, his unborn baby and the world Sylus has deeply accustomed to.

“I-I’m sleepy, Sy’,” Through the strain of being pregnant, coughing out flowers and blood, tiredness finally decorates you – causing your eyelids to flutter.

“Sleep, sweetie,” Falling unconscious at Sylus’ command, you drift into a pained slumber – unsure of what your fate is bound to be. 

However, all you know is that you’re currently unloved by your husband – upholding a false persona that doesn’t truly matter. All you yearned for was for his false declarations of affection to be truthful, not something he conducts to make you happy.

“I’d rather die than let you die,” Knowing you’re asleep, Sylus sheds a few tears – whispering tenderly.

“I love you, sweetie, but you can never know,” Sylus mutters to you, knowing that it’s bound to cure you – despite not being able to hear him.

You’re deep in a webbed, conflicted slumber.

As cruel as it sounds, to him, it’s only unrequited love on your behalf if he never confesses. He’ll heal you for an eternity, but he’ll never admit to you that he cares for you romantically.

So, as time goes on, Sylus is fated to deceive you with the idea of him not loving you. A heartless cycle it is, but it’s for the better.

–

Confusion stretches upon you while you stir awake, bringing your fingers to your lips with trembling fatigue. Expecting carmine-stained flowers, you attempt to see if more fall from your lips — but only decaying residue slips from your lips.

Baffled, you softly bring yourself to sit up in your ample shared bed — furrowing your brows with conflict. Naturally, aren’t you supposed to be within the last stage? A stage so recklessly tragic and preventable? However, here you remain, tainted with the elements of the unknown.

Instinctively cradling your baby bump, you survey the room with caution — only to notice an asleep Sylus. Sylus who’s settled in a large chair by you, guaranteed to have been watching you throughout the whole excruciating nocturne.

Why did he even bother? Bother to nestle up nearby you, keeping a watchful eye on you — despite the mental storm that engulfs you?

No, why aren’t you coughing up flowers and blood anymore?

“Did he perform secret surgery on me?” Pouting, you stir your gaze towards a blanket-less Sylus, questioning yourself.

Yet, all you felt was an insatiable love — longing for him to return such a thing. However, you cast yourself into trying to suppress your romantic feelings — unwilling to relapse into Hanahaki disease.

“I’m so confused,” Turning to Sylus, you frown – unsure of why no flowers stain your lips.

“Sylus?” Nudging Sylus, you attempt to wake him up – smearing a blanket upon his peaceful state.

“Hm?” Confused, Sylus wakes up – glancing at you with slight defensiveness.

Defensiveness you truly didn’t get.

“Shouldn’t I be dead by now?” Pouting, you cup your baby bump – your lips furrowing at Sylus’ lack of concern.

.

“No, I’m just as shocked as you are, sweetie,” Sylus softly responds, shifting in his seat – tenderly smiling at your prominent baby bump.

“Sylus, be truthful,” Analytical, your tone grows more commanding – silently pleading for Sylus to open his heart.

“You being pregnant could have stopped it,” Fibbing, Sylus maintains eye contact, “After all, why would our child love me if they don’t know me?” Noticing your swelling tears, Sylus’ physique grows tense.

“That’s not possible,” Distraught, you gently mutter – uncomfortable at the mental murkiness that adheres to you.

“But–”

“Say that you don’t love me, Sy’,” Feeling the extent of Sylus’ deception, you resiliently stand before him – concealing your trembling hand.

“I refuse to trigger the disease again,” Unwavering, Sylus contradicts your statement – calculated and torn.

“Please, let me have this one thing, Sy’,” Trying to remain mentally stable, you sit your pregnant self upon Sylus’ lap – glancing down at him.

“S-Sweetie,” Mentally at a stalemate, Sylus gently rubs your back – stupidly much more smitten than he would ever let on.

“I still love you, so tell me that you don’t love me so I can finally mentally move on,” Confessing, you breathily breathe, “This is the least you owe me.” Holding back your sombreness, you maintain eye contact.

“That’s something I can’t do,” Sentimental, Sylus grips onto you tighter – irritated at the distasteful strings of fate.

A fate that bounds him. Inevitably, Sylus is a caged bird.

–

do not copy, modify or claim any of my works as your own. all rights reserved; cosycafune. 2024. small banners credit: cafekitsune <3

[theodorenmyth]

Idk how far into One piece you are. But maybe something fluffly with like Law where reader is playing with his hands because they love his tattoos. And then maybe later Law finds the reader painted their hands like a fake tattoo and just messing around in the mirror. Preferably with a male reader but gn is ok too

Anyways this is the first time I've done this but i absolutely love your writing so much and hope you have a good day!!

Ink and Imitation

Pairings ; Trafalgar D. Water Law x M!Reader

Summary ; You were fascinated by Law’s tattoos, you spend time tracing them while sitting between his legs, dramatically declaring your admiration. Inspired, you sneak off to the bathroom to recreate his tattoos on yourself using ink, striking dramatic poses in the mirror while pretending to be the next Surgeon of Death. Unfortunately, Law catches you mid-performance, unimpressed but amused. After teasing you for misspelling ‘DEATH’ as ‘DEATN,’ he effortlessly flusters you with a kiss before smugly walking away. Despite the embarrassment, you’re still convinced you *totally* pulled it off.

A/N ; I loved writing this so much :3 enjoy bb!

warnings ; none

word count ; 1.2k+

The Polar Tang had its moments of chaos, but right now, it was peaceful. Warm light filled Law’s quarters as you sat comfortably between his legs, your back pressed against his chest. His arms rested loosely at his sides, medical journal in one hand while the other lay freely in your grasp. You were utterly fascinated with it.

“You know,” you mused, running your fingers over his knuckles, “I think your hands might be my favorite thing about you.”

Law hummed, flipping a page. “Not my intelligence? My leadership? My life-saving surgical skills?”

You scoffed dramatically. “Ugh, those are so expected. What, am I supposed to be impressed that you can rearrange someone’s insides like a Rubik’s Cube?”

“I would hope so,” he deadpanned.

You ignored him, gently stretching out his fingers before tracing the bold ‘DEATH’ tattooed across them. “These hands tell a story. They’re calloused, strong—capable of destruction, but they’re also careful, precise. They save lives.” You sighed wistfully, resting your cheek against his arm. “Tragic, poetic, effortlessly cool… If you weren’t already my boyfriend, I’d propose on the spot.”

Law snorted. “So dramatic.”

“I’m not dramatic, I’m appreciative.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

You grinned, pressing a quick kiss to the back of his hand before continuing your inspection. Your fingers trailed down to the intricate tattoo covering his wrist and forearm, tracing the thick, circular patterns.

“These must’ve hurt,” you murmured.

Law tilted his head slightly, his eyes flicking down to watch you. “Not as much as you’d think.”

You gasped, clutching his arm like you were hearing a scandalous secret. “You mean you didn’t shed even one tear?”

He smirked. “No.”

You placed a hand over your chest, shaking your head. “The strength. The sheer willpower.”

“You’re insufferable,” he said, but his lips twitched in amusement.

Your fingers stilled as an idea struck you. A ridiculous, impulsive, absolutely necessary idea.

"Law," you said, voice suddenly serious. "What if I got tattoos just like yours?"

He blinked, caught off guard. “What?”

“I’m serious!” You held up your hands, flexing your fingers. ��Imagine us standing side by side, matching tattoos, striking fear into our enemies. We'd be unstoppable. Iconic."

Law stared at you for a moment before exhaling through his nose, returning to his book. "You're not getting my tattoos."

"Why not?" you whined, flopping back against his chest.

“Because you’d cry after five minutes.”

You gasped so loudly, it could’ve been heard across the Grand Line. “Excuse me?!”

“You heard me.”

“You think I can’t handle it?” You sat up, pointing an accusatory finger at him. “I am a pirate, Law—I’ve been stabbed, thrown off ships, electrocuted by a Marine with an unfortunate Devil Fruit, and you think I’d cry over a tattoo?”

“Yes.”

You narrowed your eyes. “I hate that you’re probably right.”

Law chuckled under his breath, and before you could argue more, he lazily draped an arm around your waist, pulling you back against him. "Just stick to playing with mine," he murmured, pressing a kiss against the top of your head before turning a page.

You melted instantly. "Fine. But I will prove you wrong one day."

Later that night, you stood hunched over the bathroom counter, sleeves rolled up, face scrunched in concentration as you carefully painted ink onto your skin.

This was serious business.

You had "borrowed" some ink from the supply room, along with a fine brush, and you were currently painstakingly copying Law's tattoos onto your hands and forearms.

You'd return it later…

Maybe.

The knuckle tattoos were the easiest part, even though writing backwards in the mirror was a nightmare. The tribal patterns on his wrist and forearm? That was where the real challenge began.

You stuck out your tongue in deep focus as you worked on a particularly intricate swirl.

"Okay, okay, looking good so far," you muttered, nodding in approval. The only problem was that your non-dominant hand was absolutely not cooperating. The moment you tried painting the other side, the lines became crooked.

You groaned dramatically. "Why am I cursed with only one good hand?!"

Still, after about an hour of dedication and minor suffering, you stepped back to admire your work.

You stood in front of the bathroom mirror, hands covered in ink, admiring your reflection like an artist marveling at their masterpiece.

It wasn’t perfect—your handwriting was a little crooked, and the lines on your forearms were messier than you’d hoped—but still, it looked cool. You flexed your fingers, grinning.

"Captain Y/N," you whispered to yourself, striking a pose. "Surgeon of Death 2.0."

You waved your hand dramatically. "Shambles!"

Nothing happened, obviously.

You tried again, this time with more enthusiasm. "Room!"

Still nothing.

You sighed. “Lame. Law makes it look so effortless.”

A slow clap echoed behind you.

You froze.

Turning your head ever so slowly, you found Law leaning against the doorway, arms crossed, face unreadable.

You opened your mouth. No words came out.

Law exhaled through his nose, stepping closer. "What," he said, reaching for your hand, "is this?"

"Admiration," you answered quickly, standing up straight. "Respect. Dedication to my captain. Love, even.”

His fingers traced the ink on your knuckles, eyes scanning your handiwork. “You misspelled ‘DEATH.’”

Your heart dropped. “You’re lying.”

Law turned your hand so you could see. The ‘H’ was slightly smudged, making it look like an ‘N.’

“…DEATN,” you read aloud in horror.

Law’s smirk widened. “Truly intimidating.”

You groaned, dramatically leaning against him. “All my hard work… ruined.”

“Maybe if you actually got a real tattoo—”

“Don’t say it,” you warned, pointing a stained finger at him.

“—you wouldn’t have this problem.”

You pouted, but the warmth in his voice betrayed his teasing. "You're just jealous."

He quirked a brow. "Of what?"

"My natural artistic talent."

“Right.” He let go of your wrist, giving you a once-over. “You look ridiculous.”

“You’re just mad because I pull it off better than you.”

Law chuckled, shaking his head before gently wiping a smudge from your cheek. “Keep telling yourself that.”

You huffed. “You just wait, Trafalgar D. Water Law. One day, I will get a real tattoo, and then you’ll regret ever doubting me.”

Law leaned in, his voice barely above a murmur. “I’d never regret anything about you.”

Your breath caught in your throat.

Stupid. Infuriating. Unfairly attractive man.

Before you could formulate a response, he pressed a soft, lingering kiss against your forehead.

You blinked up at him, momentarily dazed, before remembering yourself. "Don’t think you can distract me with affection!" you huffed, even as your face burned.

Law smirked. “Seems to be working.”

You groaned, dragging a hand down your face. "Ugh. You’re the worst.”

He patted your head like you were an annoying but beloved pet. “And yet, here you are.”

You sighed, giving in to your fate as his eternally bullied boyfriend. “You’re so lucky I love you.”

He chuckled. “Now,” he said, pulling away, “go wash your hands before you stain everything.”

Then, with one last smirk, he turned on his heel and walked away.

You stared after him, then looked back at your reflection.

Your fake tattoos looked awesome.

You let out a defeated groan, turning toward the sink.

He was so lucky you loved him.

[half-bakedboy]

From Drabble List #2.

#32: "No. Not going to happen."

May it spark.. something ✨

I hope you like slight crack fic with family feels cause that's what this turned into 😂 Thank you for the inspo!!

read on ao3

“But dad!” Christopher whines. 

“No. Not going to happen.” 

Eddie’s words are laced with enough annoyance that Buck considers turning around and walking right back out the door he just bypassed. Then he hears no more complaints, so he keeps walking and peaks around the corner into the kitchen. Christopher is at the table scrolling rapidly on the tablet in front of him while Eddie stands at the sink, washing the dishes Buck assumes are left over from dinner. 

It’s a good thing he came when he did, though, because Christopher huffs from his seat and Eddie turns, soap bubbles dripping to the floor from clenched fists. When he notices Buck, he visibly relaxes and Buck tries not to think too much about it. 

“What kind of teenage angst have I walked into? And does it help that I brought chocolate-filled puff pastry?” 

“Yes!” Christopher shouts. 

“No!” Eddie practically huffs. 

Buck’s eyes dash between the two of them who have apparently decided that glaring at each other is more important than the pastries Buck has brought. He sighs and places the basket on the table before pulling out one of the chairs opposite Christopher. 

“Sit,” he directs Eddie–who follows immediately. He takes a seat between them and laces his fingers together on the table. “Now, what’s going on?” 

“Nothing!” Chris says, panicked. 

“Not nothing!” Eddie accuses. Another round of traitorous glares pass between them before Eddie continues. “Christopher here is doing a project on Ben Franklin. You know, the guy who discovered electricity.” 

“Well, he didn’t exactly discover it, more like explained it, but…” Buck trails off as Eddie’s glare moves from Chris to him. “Okay, so Ben Franklin. Not quite sure what he’s done to warrant the tension…”

“Chris, why don’t you tell Buck the idea that you had,” Eddie urges. 

“It wasn’t exactly my idea…” It’s Chris’ turn to stop himself from finishing his sentence when Eddie raises his eyebrows and crosses his arms–his ‘I mean business’ pose as Buck knows it. “Okay, well, when I mentioned to my friends that I was assigned Ben Franklin for our historical figure project, they said that it’d be–which I wanna start by saying I don’t agree with it, by the way, and I told dad that–”

“Buddy, what am I missing here?” Buck asks. 

“They thought it’d be funny to have you come in as Ben Franklin,” Chris finishes in mumbles, eyes so focused on the floor, Buck thinks he might be trying to see into the foundation of the house. 

Buck snorts. He can’t stop himself. He clutches his hands over his chest and positively cackles. He’s only partially silenced by a smack to his arm from Eddie.

“And he wanted me to ask you!” Eddie adds, like that aspect is the most audacious. 

“He likes you more!” Chris argues. 

“I’m sure he will now!” Eddie shoots back. 

“Will both of you stop?!” Buck interjects. Both boys close their mouths and look over at Buck, identical expressions of guilt on their faces. “Chris, you’re aware of why your dad is upset, yeah?”

Chris nods. “I know, I know. It’s insensitive. But–”

“No buts, Christopher!” Eddie interrupts. This time, Buck nudges his arm to quiet him. 

“And Eddie, you have to know how objectively hilarious this ask is, right?” 

“Buck,” Eddie sighs. Buck tilts his head, urging Eddie to agree with him. “Alright, fine,” Eddie grumbles. 

“Eddie, you raised a hilarious kid, and Chris, you’re crazy if you think I like your dad better than you.”

“Hey!” Eddie scoffs, pushing at Buck’s shoulder good-naturedly. 

“So, can we eat some of these delicious desserts I made and put a pin in the Ben Franklin conversation?” Buck suggests. 

“Don’t you mean ‘key’?” Chris adds with barely contained laughter. 

Buck glances at Eddie, ready to stop him from chastising his son for yet another Ben Franklin joke, but instead, Eddie cracks up beside him. Buck can’t help but follow right along.

[xx-dinah-writing-xx]

And if it wasn’t mentioned because I might have forgotten but Matt Smith with his Mohawk.

Thanks! ☺️

Bruv

Matt Smith x reader Fluff

A/N: I have no idea what the whole accent thing was supposed to be, but it kinda happened and I just went with it.

————

You were not prepared for this.

Matt had already shocked you with the red Mohawk, but seeing him in full glam was a whole new level of absurdity.

He strutted into the room like he owned the place—combat boots thudding against the floor, ripped plaid pants hanging low on his hips, a distressed band tee barely visible beneath a leather jacket covered in studs and chains. His fingers were adorned with thick silver rings, and the worst part? Smudged black eyeliner lined his eyes, making his already sharp features look even more intense.

He looked ridiculous.

And annoyingly hot.

Matt struck a dramatic pose, throwing his hands out to the side. “Well? What d’you think, darling?” His voice dropped into a rough, exaggerated accent. “It’s for the role.”

You clapped a hand over your mouth to stifle your laugh. “Oh my God. You look like you just crawled out of a dingy underground club where they only serve beer in dirty glasses.”

Matt gasped, clutching his chest. “Oi, rude. I’ll have you know, I’m the face of the movement. A proper rock ‘n’ roll legend in the makin’.”

You snorted. “Matty, you look like you’re about to yell at someone for listening to pop music.”

He grinned. “Exactly the vibe.”

You eyed his outfit, then his ridiculously spiked Mohawk. “I need to try this on.”

He smirked. “Oh, absolutely.”

—

A few minutes later, you stood in front of the mirror, drowning in his oversized leather jacket. The sleeves were way too long, and the studs dug uncomfortably into your shoulders. The ripped band tee hung loosely over your frame, and Matt had even handed you one of his silver rings to wear.

You turned to him, adjusting the jacket. “Alright, how do I look?”

Matt tilted his head, rubbing his chin in mock thought. “Like a groupie who snuck backstage and stole my clothes.”

You laughed, then tried to copy his accent. “It’s for the role, innit?”

Matt’s head threw back in laughter. “That was atrocious.”

You straightened your shoulders, crossing your arms. “Oi, don’t mess wif me, bruv.”

He wheezed. “Bruv?!”

You pointed at him. “Don’t start no trouble, yeah? I ain’t got time for posh little lads like you.”

Matt was practically crying. “You sound like someone who got kicked out of a pub for fightin’ over a chip.”

You dramatically flipped the collar of the jacket. “That’s punk, Matty.”

He grinned, stepping closer. “Y’know, I am missin’ one thing in this look.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

His hands settled on your waist. “A proper punk girlfriend.”

You rolled your eyes. “I don’t think I’d survive in your world. Too many questionable substances.”

Matt laughed. “Fair point.”

Then, your gaze landed on his ridiculous Mohawk. A wicked idea formed.

“…Can I braid it?”

His eyes widened. “What?”

You grinned, already reaching up. “Come on. Let me style it.”

He groaned, but let you push him onto the couch. “This is against the rules of punk.”

“Shut up, rockstar,” you muttered, carefully threading his spiked hair into small, intricate braids. It was tricky—half the strands were too stiff from whatever product they had used—but you made it work.

Matt sighed dramatically. “This is humiliating.”

You kissed the top of his head. “It’s for the role, love.”

[horoscope1078]

:)

Hector had many talents, defending, passing, looking effortlessly good in any lighting, but above all, he excelled in one thing... being the main character. And today, as he strolled through Barcelona with you, he was in peak attention seeker mode.

“Babe...” he said, stopping dramatically in the middle of Plaça de Catalunya. “Do you realise how lucky Barcelona is right now?”

You blinked. “Uhm... why?”

He gestured to himself. “Because I am here. Gracing these streets with my presence.”

You snorted. “Oh, right. Barcelona must feel so honoured.”

Hector nodded seriously. “Exactly. But even luckier than Barcelona…” He turned to you, eyes twinkling. “…is you.”

You groaned, shoving him lightly. “You are too much.”

Hector gasped dramatically, clutching his chest. “Me? Too much? Babe, I’m just the right amount of fabulous.”

You rolled your eyes, but couldn’t help smiling. The streets were buzzing with life, tourists snapping photos, locals sipping their cortados, and somewhere in the distance, a street musician played a lively Spanish tune. It was the perfect Barcelona afternoon. And yet, Hector still needed to be the centre of attention.

As you walked along La Rambla, he suddenly grabbed your hand and twirled you like you were in a ballroom dance.

You squealed. “Hector! What are you doing?”

“Giving the people a show!” he said, spinning you again. “I mean, if we’re going to walk around, we might as well do it with style.”

You giggled. “You are so extra.”

He smirked. “And you love it.”

You hated that he was right. You continued walking, but Hector still couldn’t just be normal. That was too easy. When you passed a group of young Barça fans, he made sure to accidentally stretch his arms, subtly drawing attention to himself. It worked instantly.

“¡Eh, es Hector Fort!” one of the kids shouted.

Hector grinned. “The one and only.”

They rushed over, asking for selfies, and of course, Hector happily obliged, posing like a superstar, flashing his signature grin, even ruffling one kid’s hair like he was royalty blessing a subject. You stood to the side, watching in pure amusement.

When he was done, he strutted back to you. “See? They love me.”

You laughed. “I swear, if your ego gets any bigger, it’s going to need its own zip code.”

Hector gasped. “That’s not true. My ego is perfectly sized.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Uh-huh. Sure.”

You reached a street vendor selling churros, and Hector turned to you with wide, dramatic eyes.

“Babe” he whispered. “We need them.”

You chuckled. “Ok ok. But I’m paying.”

Hector gasped in horror. “Absolutely not! My queen does not pay when her football prince is around!”

You rolled your eyes. “Football prince? That’s a new one.”

He winked. “I’m full of surprises.”

Hector paid for the churros with a proud flourish, like he had just gifted you diamonds instead of fried dough.

As you walked away, he took a dramatic bite, closing his eyes. “Oh my god. This is art.”

You giggled, taking a bite of yours. “Mmm, ok, I admit, this is really good.”

Hector smirked. “See? Another example of how I bring greatness into your life.”

You playfully shoved him. “Please, you didn’t invent churros.”

“No, but I did introduce you to these churros. Which is basically the same thing.”

You shook your head, laughing. You wandered toward the beach, the salty sea breeze mixing with the scent of street food.

Hector suddenly stopped and turned to you. “Babe. I have an idea.”

You eyed him suspiciously. “Oh no.”

“Let’s take one of those touristy couple pictures.”

You groaned. “Hector, no.”

Hector pouted. “Come on! You know you want to!”

You sighed. “Fine. But only if you don’t do something ridiculous.”

Hector beamed. “Deal.”

Five seconds later, he was doing something ridiculous. Instead of a normal, cute couple pose, he dipped her backward dramatically, extending his arm to the sky like he was in some grand romantic movie.

You shrieked. “HECTOR!”

A random passerby had taken the picture and laughed as they handed you phone back.

Hector grinned down at you. “Now that is a legendary photo.”

You glared at him. “You are impossible.”

He smirked. “And yet, you still love me.”

You tried to hide your smile, but he caught it. You strolled back toward the city centre, and Hector suddenly sighed dramatically.

“What now?” you asked.

He gave you the biggest, most exaggerated puppy-dog eyes. “You haven’t complimented me in at least ten minutes.”

You stared at him. “Are you serious?”

He nodded solemnly. “Yes. I am suffering.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Ok, fine. You’re charming.”

Hector grinned. “Go on.”

“You’re funny.”

“And?”

You sighed. “And you look really cute today.”

Hector clutched his heart. “Babe, you just saved my life.”

You rolled your eyes. “You are such an attention seeker.”

“And you enable me.” he smirked. “That’s why we’re perfect.”

You couldn’t even argue with that.

As the sun set over Barcelona, painting the sky in warm hues of orange and pink, you realised something. Yes, Hector was dramatic. Yes, he was an attention-seeking menace. But he was also yours. And honestly, you wouldn’t have him any other way.

[sciencebecameouraddiction]

Hi, I have a request: Could you do Angel Dust x Human Reader in platonic way? Where Reader have magic skills and, for a mistake of a spell, fall in hell and meet Angel Dust.

(I don’t see much fan fiction where Hazbin Hotel characters interact with human reader and I hope this can be possible)

Thank you

omg yes!!! i loved this idea so so much! thank you for your patience as i did this request and i hope you enjoy it!

down the rabbit hole

rated: G

the spell was supposed to be simple. a simple spell that was to protect your home and transport any negativity away from your home. but after you chanted the last spell for it, you heard rumbling that grew louder. your dog, luna, whined as she darted closer to you and the rumbling increased.

“shit. how are we getting an earthquake?” you ask yourself out loud, not thinking anything of the shaking yet. that is until the ground started to fall away from your feet. your eyes widen as you see a maroon ground and desolate surroundings. your feet glued to where you were as you tried to run and pull luna with you, but to no avail. your scream echoed as you and luna fell through the portal and landed on the ground. your breath knocked from your lungs as luna landed on top of you. you look at her and the around you, seeing a city, but more conveniently a large building that showed it was the “hazbin hotel”. you blinked and murmured to luna to keep close by as she whined and followed you.

shakily making it up to the door, you hesitated for a moment, anxiety clutching in your chest as you froze. a soft lick on your hand pulling you out of your paralysis as you look at luna and sigh.

“okay, girl. i just have to knock right?” you ask, posing your hand to do so, when the door suddenly opens.

“well, hello there-“ the voice is cut off as you scream, startled and step back. luna takes this as whoever was there as a threat and lunges. your mind catches up to your body as you scream at her to heel. not before a very high pitched scream comes from whoever opened the door and they fall back. you, holding luna, look at the… man? deer? person. he was on the ground and his arms in front of his face, subtly shaking.

“i am so sorry. that was my fault. you startled me and she thought i was in danger.” you explain as you tell luna to sit and stay, and you walk over to help the red deer man up. he glares up at you, looking like he was going to have some snarky comment, when his eyes widen.

“where are you from?” he asks, getting up himself and brushing off his coat like nothing happened. you blink for a moment, and straighten up.

“i’m from california?” you answer, framing it more like a question. his glare is unamused as he stands up straight.

“no, where are you from, what ring? you don’t look hell born.” he says, his eyes narrowing in distrust.

“i-um-i don’t know how to answer that. i’m from earth. i guess? i’m a witch, and i did a spell and i think it went wrong. where am i, actually?” you ask.

“oh yer in hell toots.” a voice comes down the stairs. “charlie we got a new one!” the white spider yells up the stairs, still consumed on their phone. you blink.

“is everyone animals down here?” you ask, but before you can get an answer, a woman with blonde hair bounds down excitedly.

“oh another guest! are you ready to be-“ her eyes widen looking at you. “redeemed?” she trails off, her face scrunching in confusion.

“are you an angel?” another woman, who is next to the blonde asks. you blink owlishly at them.

“i mean, i’ve had compliments before, but if i look that much like an angel, thank you?” you say and the woman shakes her head.

“no, you’re an angel.” her face distorting into anger as she pulls out a spear. “why are you here?” she yells as you back up. luna jumping in front of you and growling. everyone takes a step back at that.

“oh my fuck. is that a dog?” the white spider demon asks, and walking up to luna. luna’s growls deepen and you tell her to heel again.

“be nice.” you mutter to her as she whines and sniffs the spider demons outstretched hand. deeming him a worthy friend, goes over and sits in front of them for pets. “you can pet her. she’s fine.” you say, looking at the spider demon and smiling.

“i haven’t pet a dog in almost 80 years…” he trailed off.

“that’s a dog? from earth?” the blonde squeals and goes over, mimicking the way the spider demon introduced himself and then petting luna too.

“so, let me get this straight… i’m in hell?” you ask. the red deer nods, standing far away from luna.

“yes. you are in hell. but why don’t you look like demon spawn is beyond me.” he provides.

“probably because i didn’t die.” you conclude. “im assuming you all were born here or died and ended up here, right.” there were murmurs of agreement.

“except vaggie,” the blonde points to the spear wielding girl, “she’s a fallen angel.” you nod.

“heaven that bad?” you ask.

“you have no idea.” she deadpans.

“so, i apologize if this is rude, but who are you all?” you ask.

“oh my goodness! i don’t introduce myself!” the blonde exclaims getting up and rushing over to you. “i’m charlie! charlie morningstar. and this is the hazbin hotel. a place where sinners can be rehabilitated and go to heaven.” your eye brows raise at that.

“morningstar, as in lucifer morningstar?” you ask, a bit shocked.

“that’s the very one!” she exclaims.

“how is he? he’s felt a bit off recently, and hasn’t liked the offerings i’ve put out.” you ask as charlie looks at you confused.

“you know my dad?” her head tilted in confusion.

“well, not really. i work with him, in my practice. i’m a witch.” you explain.

“oh, like alastor!” charlie says, making a connection. you look over to where she pointed at the red deer demon, alastor you assumed.

“i don’t think she deals in my magic, charlie.” alastor explains.

“what is your magic?” you ask, curious.

“partially voodoo.” he looks at you and smiles.

“oh, goodness no. my family doesn’t practice voodoo, and that is a closed practice i respect. but more power to ya man!” you say, nodding at him. he tilts his head at you curiously and you look over at luna now on her back and the spider demon rubbing her stomach.

“if you rub her chest to her stomach in one fell swoop, she’ll be your best friend.” you laugh as the spider demon looks at you, does that and watches as luna’s tail wags quicker. he laughs and does it again.

“oh my god, i’m in love.” he says, petting her ears.

“that’s angel.” charlie explains. you smile and nod, until a new person descends the stairs and calls out for charlie.

“charlie, sweetie!” the voice says, getting louder coming down the stairs. “you don’t happen to know where my hat is, do you?” you look curiously at the man, who is barely taller than you, his eyes fixed on his jacket not looking up.

“ummm… no, dad. also. i want you to meet…” charlie looks at you. “i never asked your name.”

“oh! it’s y/n. it’s a pleasure to actually meet you in the flesh lord lucifer.” you say, bowing your head slightly. he stops and looks at you, looking taken aback.

“you didn’t die y/n, why are you down here?” he says coming over to you and grasping your arms.

“i was doing that protection spell for the house and i think i fucked it up.” you say, a bit downtrodden.

“don’t be so hard on yourself, sweetie. we all make mistakes and luckily i can get you back up to earth.” he says, smiling at you.

“thank you. it’s a wonder to actually meet you. i was worried, you hadn’t liked many of my offerings.” you said and he looked bashful.

“how do you guys know each other?” charlie asks.

“well, i work with lucifer in my practice, like i said before.” you say.

“she’s a witch charlie. there are many different types of witches, but there are some who have the gifts to communicate with beings outside of earth, or choose to honor certain beings through what earth calls offerings. they can be food, trinkets, etc.” lucifer continued to explain.

“they’re a form of devotion. and there are many different types of relationships you can have. i work with your dad for help with my spell work, i’ve been working with him for almost 10 years now. not so long to him, but a long time to me.” you finish.

“i had no idea…” charlie explained.

“that’s why i said about the offerings and your dad not liking them. i can normally get a vibe.” you laugh. “maybe i need to put more apples?” you ask, chuckling. lucifer chuckling with you.

“nah, just put a damn rubbah duck.” angel says, still petting luna. “he loves ‘em!” you look to lucifer and he shrugs.

“i do like ducks.” he bows his head, bashfully.

“noted.” you say as you walk over to angel and luna, sitting with them. you smile at angel and pet luna’s head and sigh.

“so, how do i get outta here?” you ask, looking at lucifer.

“how about ya nevah leave and luna stays here. she’d love fat nuggets!” angel exclaims.

“fat nuggets?” you ask.

“my pet pig. sweetest little doll eva.” angel says, leaning to you like he was telling you a secret. you smile and coo at that.

“i’m going to need to get an asmodeon crystal from lust and then i will be back. stay here until i get back all right?” lucifer said, materializing a portal and getting ready to step through it. you salute him in understanding and he disappears.

“that means we’ve got more time to talk and i’ve got more time to let this dog!” angel exclaims, laying down next to luna who was fast asleep now. you laugh and look around.

“it seems i do.”

[rylem33]

A Good Person -- Ending #2: Reality Rewrite to a Bitchy Girlfriend

I asked you all for ideas on endings to my story "A Good Person" and you came through. Here's the the second one, requested by @shift-change. "Maggie's alterations becoming her new reality, with ripple effects flooding backwards, altering her memories, and Scott's memories too, so that they both remember her getting the nails, and the lip injections, having the bigger breasts, and blonde hair, and also remembering being the kind of person who would have wanted to be like this. It could affect her personality, making her more vain, more selfish, more materialistic, with a shorter fuse. Maybe even tailoring the particular personality changes to specifically fit her "bad" slip-ups from earlier in the story (e.g. road rage -> crass and vulgar; lying to boss -> dishonest and catty; judging the couple -> bitchy and judgy; skipping work -> lazy and entitled). It could also affect her and Scott's dynamic as well. She with her altered personality would be a very different wife (or even girlfriend if you want to make her not the kind of person to get too tied down), and Scott is put off by her changes, but too enraptured by her to leave. the Devil and she becomes a succubus." Here's a link to the original story in case you need it: https://www.tumblr.com/rylem33/773678228559872000/a-good-person?source=share

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Scott’s fists clenched, his voice trembling with desperation. “What do you mean, collect?”

The man tilted his head, his smile widening with faint amusement. “Oh, Scott. It’s quite simple. Maggie made her choices, and choices have consequences.”

Before Scott could respond, the air around Maggie shimmered. She gasped, her hands flying to her chest as a ripple of heat coursed through her body.

“No!” she cried out, stumbling backward. “What’s happening to me?”

The Devil chuckled, stepping closer. “Not just you, Maggie. The reality you’ve created with your actions is rewriting itself. A new you. A new life. Perfectly tailored to the person you’ve been this past week.”

The room trembled as invisible waves of energy radiated outward from Maggie, distorting the air like ripples in a pond. Scott staggered, clutching his head as his vision blurred. Memories crashed into his mind, layering over the life he thought he’d known.

When the sensation faded, Scott opened his eyes. Maggie stood before him, but she was completely different.

Her hair was a sleek, platinum blonde, cascading perfectly down her back, and he suddenly remembered her excitement the day she came home from the salon. Her smile had been wide, her eyes gleaming as she’d run her manicured fingers through her freshly dyed locks, tossing her head back with a confidence that felt foreign and magnetic all at once.

“Do you love it, babe?” she’d asked that day, posing dramatically in the mirror. “I have to look perfect if I’m going to turn heads.”

Scott stumbled back, his breath catching in his throat as more memories flooded in. He remembered Maggie’s complaints about her body, her obsession with achieving the “perfect” figure. He recalled the hours she’d spent researching surgeons, the arguments about the cost of breast implants, and the way she’d dismissed his concerns.

“This is about me, Scott,” she’d said sharply. “You just don’t get it. Women have to look good to get ahead. You’ll thank me when I look amazing in everything I wear.”

He could still hear her delighted laughter after the procedure, the way she’d flaunted her new curves in front of the mirror, running her hands over herself with pride. “I told you this would be worth it,” she’d said with a wink.

Scott’s heart pounded as he took in her crimson nails, long and glossy. Another memory hit him of Maggie dragging him to the nail salon every two weeks, insisting on the most expensive designs. “You don’t want me walking around with chipped nails, do you?” she’d said teasingly, holding up her hands for him to admire. “This is part of the whole package.”

His mind reeled as the ripples continued to rewrite their past. He remembered the lip fillers, the complaints about how her natural lips weren’t “voluminous enough.” The painful sessions she’d insisted on enduring to get them just right, and the endless stream of selfies she’d posted afterward.

He saw the countless shopping trips, the designer dresses, the sky-high heels, and her obsession with curating her appearance for maximum impact. Every memory painted a picture of a woman who was vain, self-absorbed, and relentlessly focused on her looks.And yet, despite all of it, he remembered telling himself he loved her. He had to love her.

“Maggie…” Scott whispered, his voice shaking as he took her in.

But she wasn’t paying attention. She was scrolling through her phone, her manicured crimson nails clicking against the screen as she smirked.

Another ripple hit, and Scott’s memories twisted again.

He no longer remembered Maggie as his loving, caring wife who worked tirelessly for their future. Now, she was the Maggie who always wanted to be the center of attention, the Maggie who pouted until she got her way, the Maggie who loved flaunting herself for the stares and admiration of others.

He remembered their arguments about money, not because they didn’t have enough, but because she demanded more for designer clothes and expensive nights out.

Maggie looked up from her phone, her lips curling into a smirk as she caught him staring.

“What?” she asked, her voice sharp, almost dismissive. “You’re acting weird, Scott.” She flipped her hair over her shoulder and crossed her arms, her body language oozing entitlement.

Scott struggled to speak, his mind wrestling with the fragmented memories. “Maggie… you’re… different.”

She rolled her eyes dramatically. “Ugh, you’re always so boring. Honestly, Scott, why don’t you loosen up for once?” Her tone was dripping with condescension.

Another ripple hit, and Scott’s chest tightened as more memories shifted.

He saw her snapping at waiters when her food wasn’t perfect. He remembered her yelling at drivers on the road, flipping them off while laughing. He remembered her lying to her coworkers to avoid blame, brushing it off as “survival of the fittest.”

Now, all of those traits fit perfectly into the woman standing before him.

Scott’s head spun as he tried to reconcile the memories with the woman he loved. He stepped closer, reaching out to her. “Maggie, I don’t…”

She slapped his hand away with a laugh, her expression both playful and cruel. “Ugh, don’t be clingy,” she said, rolling her eyes again. “It’s such a turnoff.”

His heart broke at her words, but he couldn’t look away. She was stunning, but she wasn’t his Maggie anymore.

“You’re lucky, you know,” she said, picking up her purse and slinging it over her shoulder. “Most guys would kill to have someone like me on their arm.”

Scott’s jaw clenched. “Maggie, we’re supposed to be partners. We’re supposed to love each other.”

She laughed, loud and dismissive. “Love? That’s cute, God, you’re such a loser.”

Her words cut like a knife, but he couldn’t tear himself away. Another ripple hit, and Scott’s feelings shifted. His heartbreak mingled with a desperate need to please her, to keep her happy, no matter the cost.

Scott’s knees felt weak as he sat back on the couch, watching her adjust her dress in the mirror.

The Devil stood silently in the corner, watching the scene unfold with a satisfied grin.

“This is what she chose,” he said softly, his voice dripping with amusement. “And this… is what you’ll live with.”

Maggie turned back to Scott, pouting as she inspected her nails. “Well, are you going to get up and take me out, or are you just going to sit there?” she snapped, her tone impatient.

Scott blinked, his heart breaking all over again. “Maggie… where would you even want to go?”

She rolled her eyes. “Somewhere expensive, obviously.” She grabbed her phone, snapping a quick selfie before tossing her hair over her shoulder.

“Let’s go,” she said, striding toward the door without waiting for him.

Scott hesitated, glancing back at the Devil. “Why are you doing this to us?”

The Devil’s smile widened, his sharp teeth glinting. “A deal is a deal, Scott. She’s perfectly tailored to the choices she made. The real question is… what are you going to do about it?”

Scott’s turned back to Maggie. She stood by the door, scrolling through her phone with one hand while adjusting her purse with the other. She didn’t even look at him.

“Well?” she snapped, finally glancing over her shoulder. “Are you coming, or do I have to find someone else who knows how to treat me right?”

Her words were a dagger to his heart, but the thought of losing her terrified him even more.

“I’m coming,” he said quickly, his voice small and desperate.

She smirked, turning back to the door. “That’s what I thought.”

Scott followed her, his shoulders slumped. He hated what she had become, but he couldn’t bring himself to fight her. She was intoxicating, and his love for her, twisted as it was now, kept him tethered to her.

As they stepped outside, Maggie didn’t wait for him. She strode confidently toward the car, her heels clicking against the pavement, her head held high.

Scott hurried to catch up, reaching for the car door to open it for her.

She slid into the passenger seat without so much as a thank-you, immediately pulling out her phone again. “Drive me to that new rooftop bar downtown,” she said, her tone commanding. “And don’t embarrass me this time.”

Scott nodded silently, starting the car. His hands gripped the steering wheel tightly as he drove, her laughter and selfies filling the quiet between them.

The Devil’s words echoed in his mind. What are you going to do about it?

Scott glanced at her in the rearview mirror, she posed for another photo, oblivious to his feelings.

And yet, he couldn’t stop himself. He would do whatever she wanted, anything to stay by her side, even if she barely noticed him.

[itscoucouharry]

Falling Slowly Ch. 2- Niall Horan x Plus size reader

As always, hope you enjoy!!:)

My Masterlist

Chapter 2: Cracks in the surface

You tried to shake it off as you got dressed. Leggings and a hoodie again, the same uniform you’d adopted since arriving. No one here cared about appearances, but that didn’t stop you from tugging at the hem of your hoodie, trying to hide the parts of yourself you wished you could erase. The mirror above the desk caught your eye, but you avoided it. You already knew what you’d see: tired eyes, a body that felt too big, too much.

It was the same feeling you carried into every room at Willow Ridge—the unshakable sense that you didn’t belong. It wasn’t just the self-consciousness, though that was a constant hum in the background. It was deeper than that, like you were an imposter here, too. The others seemed to have a purpose for being here. You still weren’t sure what yours was.

Breakfast passed in a blur, and soon enough, it was time for group therapy. You shuffled into the beige room, clutching your notebook like a shield. The same mismatched chairs, the same tired faces. You dropped into your usual seat, hoping you’d be able to sink into the background.

The session began as it always did, with everyone sharing their highs and lows for the day. You offered a vague answer when it was your turn, your words stiff and carefully chosen. No one pushed you to elaborate, which was both a relief and a disappointment.

And then it was Niall’s turn.

“I’ve been sleeping better,” he said, his voice steady but quiet. “That’s good, I guess. But… I don’t know. It still feels weird, being here. Like I’m just waiting for someone to tell me I don’t belong.”

The words hit you like a punch to the gut. You glanced up at him, surprised to see the vulnerability etched into his face. He was looking at the floor, his hands fidgeting in his lap.

The counselor, a middle-aged man named Rick, leaned forward slightly. “Why do you feel like you don’t belong, Niall?”

Niall hesitated, then shrugged. “I guess… people think I have everything, right? Fame, money, whatever. But none of it feels real anymore. It’s like… I don’t even know who I am without all of that.”

You swallowed hard, the weight of his words settling over you. You wanted to say something, but your throat felt tight. Instead, you stared at your notebook, gripping it so hard your knuckles turned white.

After group therapy, you headed to yoga, dreading every step. The idea of contorting your body in front of strangers made your stomach churn, but skipping wasn’t an option. The staff here made a point of keeping everyone on schedule.

The yoga room was warm, lit by soft light, and Eva, the instructor, greeted everyone with her usual bright smile. You hesitated in the doorway, scanning the room. That’s when you saw him.

Niall was sitting near the back, fiddling with the hem of his hoodie. When he looked up and saw you, he smiled. It was small, barely there, but it was enough to loosen the knot in your chest.

“You coming in?” he asked.

You nodded, forcing your legs to move. Grabbing a mat, you settled a few feet away from him, your hands gripping the edges as if it might steady you.

The class began, and it was just as humiliating as you’d feared. Eva’s voice was calm, encouraging everyone to “listen to their bodies,” but all you could focus on was how ungraceful you felt. Every stretch, every wobble, every time your body refused to cooperate—it was like a spotlight shining on all your insecurities.

The tipping point came during a particularly difficult pose. You were supposed to balance on one leg, your arms outstretched. Your body swayed, your foot slipped, and you stumbled, nearly knocking over the person next to you.

Heat flushed through your face as you straightened up, avoiding the curious glances of the others. Your breathing quickened, and a familiar voice in your head whispered, Why are you even here? You don’t belong. You’re just taking up space.

The voice grew louder with every passing second, and before you could stop yourself, you grabbed your mat and bolted.

You didn’t stop until you reached the gardens, your breath coming in shallow gasps. The cool air hit your face, but it did little to calm the storm inside you.

You sank onto the nearest bench, gripping the edge as your emotions spilled over. Tears blurred your vision, and you bit down hard on your lip, trying to keep the sobs at bay. But it was no use. The feelings you’d been holding back for days—weeks, maybe even years—poured out of you, raw and unfiltered.

You didn’t hear Niall approach until he spoke.

“Hey,” he said softly.

You looked up, startled, and quickly wiped your face. “What are you doing here?”

He shrugged, sliding onto the bench beside you. “Saw you leave. Figured you might need some company.”

You shook your head, staring down at your hands. “I don’t. I’m fine.”

“Doesn’t look like it,” he said gently.

His words stung, but not in the way you expected. They didn’t feel like judgment—they felt like understanding.

For a long moment, neither of you spoke. The silence stretched between you, filled only by the faint rustling of leaves and the distant chirp of crickets.

“I don’t belong here,” you said finally, your voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t belong anywhere.”

Niall frowned, leaning forward slightly. “Why do you think that?”

You hesitated, the words caught in your throat. But when you looked at him, his expression was so open, so free of judgment, that you found yourself answering.

“Because I’m… too much,” you said, your voice cracking. “I’ve always been too much. Too big, too emotional, too everything. And no matter what I do, it’s never enough.”

His gaze softened, and he nodded slowly. “I get that,” he said. “I’ve spent my whole life trying to be what people want me to be. Perfect. Charming. Whatever. But no matter how hard I try, it’s like… it’s never enough.”

You looked at him, surprised by the honesty in his voice. For a moment, the weight on your chest felt a little lighter.

“You’re not too much,” he added quietly. “And you do belong here. You’re doing the hard thing, showing up for yourself. That’s enough.”

His words lingered in the air, wrapping around you like a lifeline.

And as you sat there, side by side in the quiet of the garden, you felt something shift. It wasn’t a solution, and it didn’t erase the pain, but it was enough to make you think that maybe, just maybe, you weren’t as alone as you thought.

[gayoung-lover]

dance with me  ๋࣭⭑ chocol

after years of dancing in the comfort of your living room, you finally stepped into a dance class for the first time. throughout the class, your teacher—chocol, a participant from street woman fighter 2—closely observed your every move.

| wc: 1.5 k 🫶 | sorry it took so longgg ive been so busy 🙁💔 |

Although you have always enjoyed dancing at home, the idea of attending an actual dance class made you nervous. However, after being fascinated by the dancers on Street Woman Fighter 2, particularly the girls of Wolf’Lo, with their years of experience and passion for dance, you could not help but be inspired. Knowing that Chocol was organizing a pop-up dance class nearby, the temptation became irresistible. 

Clutching your water bottle, you made your way to the studio—trying not to draw much attention, you dressed in all black with minimal makeup. As you entered the studio, you noticed it was almost empty, with only a few people arriving after you—the total count barely reaching twenty people. An unexpected wave of nervousness washed over you—having anticipated a larger group, thinking that with more people, any missteps on your part could easily blend in. As you began warming up, you positioned yourself in the corner, contrasting with the people that clustered towards the front—presumably wanting to be as close to Chocol as they could. 

You looked down at your watch, noticing that it was time and the orange-haired dancer could arrive anytime soon—and you were right; the girl walked into the room and went to the front, smiling at everyone.

“Hello, my name is Gayoung—you can call me Chocol, too.” She made a pause, grabbing some papers that were on a table. “First thing I’ll do is take attendance—yeah, like if we were in high school.” She laughed—you thought how prettier she looked in real life, the cameras truly did not capture her beauty enough.

As she began calling names, you heard her call yours. “I’m here!” You said, and she looked through the people that were covering you.

“Come closer, no one bites.” Gayoung jokes, continuing to take attendance—you walked a bit closer but still chose to stay at the back. “There we go, everyone’s here.”

Gayoung showed the choreography she intended to teach—it was something somewhat beyond your comfort zone. However, witnessing her dance in person was a shock—the fluidity and precision of her movements were mesmerizing. As she finished dancing, everyone clapped, and she acknowledged it with a smile. "Let's get started then." She said, turning her back to the class and facing the mirror to go through each step.

Lost in perfecting the steps, you remained oblivious to Gayoung's observant gaze in the mirror. Her admiration was evident, captivated by your skill, the way you incorporated your hair into the choreography, and your overall elegance, giving off the vibe of a professional dancer. 

"We're going to step to the front in smaller groups to check for any details—any volunteers?" Gayoung asked, scanning the room. "It's not mandatory, but it can be really helpful if you're up for it." Without hesitation, you raised your hand, seeing Gayoung raising her eyebrows. "Come to the front. Anyone else?"

Another girl volunteered, and you made your way forward, the crowd making space for both of you—your legs trembled from a mix of dancing and nervousness. "One, two, three." She counted down, syncing with the music. While her attention should have been shared, Gayoung's focus remained predominantly on you—you were too impressive.

Your facial expressions made her nod in approval—smiling crookedly. As you finished the choreography, you struck a pose, hand on the hem of your pants, smiling with your chest rising and falling. "Good job!" Gayoung exclaimed, clapping.

You smiled, bowing to both the other girl and Gayoung. "Thank you, it means a lot."

Following the class, you headed home and excitedly shared the photos and videos you took, tagging Gayoung with the caption "First dance class :)"—never really expecting her to notice amidst her popularity after the show. To your surprise, after a few hours, you discovered that she not only liked your posts but also followed you. Just as you were about to happily share the news with your friends that Chocol had followed you, a direct message from her appeared in your Instagram inbox.

iamchocol: Hello, I just wanted to say you did such a great job! Can’t believe it was your first dance class

iamchocol: You’re such a good dancer, are you self-taught? 

y/n: hi! yes it was my first class :) i really admire you from swf2 !!

y/n: yeah, i’m self-taught hahaha thank you

iamchocol: Thank you!

iamchocol: I’m actually hosting another class in two days, I would love if you could come around

iamchocol: It’s a duet class

y/n: wow, a duet class?

y/n: but i don’t have any dancer friends :( 

iamchocol: You’re going to dance with me

iamchocol: Well, if you want to :) 

y/n: that would be such an honor :)

It was Friday, and as you made your way to the studio, you were even more nervous than last time. Upon entering, you noticed that Gayoung was already there, and you smiled at her. "Hello, nice to see you." You greeted her.

"Nice to see you too." She responded, drawing closer. "Since you're dancing with me, I'd like you to step to the front."

"But, don't I need to know the choreography first?" You giggled.

"It'll be easy for you; you'll catch on quickly." Gayoung assured, motioning for you to join her at the front of the class. "So come here."

As you stood beside Gayoung, the girls who were already in the class began whispering. When the time came, Gayoung explained the concept, insisting that everyone pair up. The moment the music started, you sighed nervously—it was a sultry, sexy song. Initially, the steps Gayoung went over seemed normal, almost basic hip-hop moves. However, as the duet segment began, the dance took an unexpected turn, it was touchy, yet the move that Gayoung was about to teach was going to change everything.

"So, the next step is this." Gayoung whispered, her voice close to your ear. "Bend down a bit for me." You complied, leaning your elbow against your knee, your back arching slightly. Gayoung's hands adjusted your body to the precise position she wanted. "After this, your partner should put their hand on your shoulder and turn around, moving their head from side to side, letting their hair flow, okay?"

Following her instructions, you executed the move. "Like this?" You asked, meeting her gaze, desperately trying to focus on the dance rather than the fact that you were dancing sexily with Gayoung. 

"Exactly, see, you got it." She responded. "If you're following the choreography as me, make sure your hands are on your partner—anywhere they're comfortable. It can be on their waist, back, hips." Gayoung placed her hands on your hips, and you caught a glimpse of your blushing face in the room's mirror—as Gayoung's back was turned to it, she could not see your reaction. "That's basically it. Let's go over it again!"

You nodded as Gayoung let you go and began reviewing the steps. Despite feeling comfortable with the routine, her hands on your hips during the final pose sent butterflies fluttering in your stomach. While Gayoung seemed used to such interactions, you could not help but feel a nervous excitement.

"We're doing it one last time." She said, pointing at you and herself. "Then, one by one, every pair is coming to the front."

You nodded, and as the music filled the room, you danced with precision and made sure your facial expressions were playful. The moment you bend down, every dancer in the room cheered. Placing your hand on her shoulder, you winked, and she smiled, letting your hair flow to the music. After Gayoung's hands found their place on your hips, you moved them gracefully, holding the final pose for a few seconds after the music stopped.

Everyone clapped, and you nervously rested your face on Gayoung's shoulder, feeling her pat on your hips gently. "Good job, pretty." She praised.

You let out a breathy. "Thank you." You felt your entire face blush, as you heard her call you pretty. 

After each pair had their turn and people began to leave, you gathered your belongings, ready to leave. However, Gayoung stopped you, leaning against the door frame. "Hey."

“Hey, what happened?” You asked, nervously clutching your phone.

“I'll be honest, I think you're pretty, and I was wondering if I could get your number.” Gayoung confessed, smiling at you. “I have your Instagram, but, you know, I get tons of messages, so I have my notifications turned off. I was hoping I could pay attention to you.”

Nervously, you bit your lip, finding it hard to believe. “Sure, give me your phone.” Taking her phone, you typed your number, handing it back to her. “Make sure you text me.” With a burst of confidence, you placed your hand on her shoulder and leaned closer. Gayoung looked at you, slightly raising her brow as you softly kissed her cheek. “I think you’re pretty too.”

Feeling a rush of embarrassment, you quickly left, avoiding eye contact. Meanwhile, Gayoung was left giggling and blushing—finding you adorable. “She’s going to be the death of me.” She whispered to herself before going back into the room.

[chloessleepystories]

For your fic requests, how about this?

You give the briefest of knocks as you sweep through the door. “Miss Watson, they wanted me to tell you you won’t be – Emma!”

You had told yourself not to call her Emma but it just slipped out in your surprise, for, whatever you had expected to see, it wasn’t this: the movie star is half naked, lounging on a white settee with three black men who seem twice her size.

“Oh, come in, come in, shut the door,” she waves, unfazed. “You know how it is, I just needed some stress relief. What were you going to say?”

 “You – they –” You swallow and try again. “They decided you wouldn’t be needed on set today after all,” you squeak out.

“Oh, I know that, silly, I already got that memo. Obviously!” She runs her right hand lovingly over the sculpted chest of one of the men, while another comes up behind her and starts massaging her shoulders. “Fuuuck … I get so horny making movies! You know what I mean?” The big strong hands move from her shoulders to cupping her breasts, and teasing her nipples, from behind. Emma Watson moans.

“And isn’t it funny how I never seem to have any trouble finding people to help me out with that?”

The man to her right plucks her fingers from his chest, and sucks them into his mouth. She squirms as his tongue dances between her digits, and draws the third man, on her left, in for a deep kiss.

You just watch, powerless, enthralled, kneading the bulge in your trousers with the hand that’s not clutching your cell phone.

After a few moments, she breaks the kiss, and looks toward you, seeming a bit dazed. When she can focus, she cocks her head. “You’re still here …” she murmurs. “Well, listen, you can go tell them that you delivered your message, or …”

The man behind her stops mauling her tits, and snakes one arm down her belly to cup her pantied crotch possessively. It’s remarkable how thoroughly all three of them are completely ignoring you.

“Or, listen, do you want to sit down over there and watch? I mean … it seems like you want to, and … fuck yeah, keep doing that … I’ve got to confess, though it sounds dreadful, I find the only thing that turns me on more than having three big black dicks at the same time … is having a little white dick watching me. Isn’t that simply terrible?”

She doesn’t seem chagrined, however, as you gingerly sink onto a sofa. If anything, it is turning her on confessing her kinks. And there’s something about hearing these slutty words in her elegant accent, it seems to be turning you on even more. You set your phone down beside you on the couch, but as one of the men begins to nibble at her neck, she spots it.

“Oh! You’ve got your mobile with you! Were you going to ask me for a picture?? Oh, you were, weren’t you … Oh I’ve got a perfectly wicked idea. Do I dare?”

She leans back, and gropes two of the black cocks, while fixing you with a stare. “Take my picture. Do it. God, that’s turning me on!” You fumble with your phone, as she directs the man behind her. “Fuck, you’re driving my pussy wild, stick those thick fingers inside me already.”

She moans as you click, and click again. “All right, boys, I need those cocks out, fill my hands with your meat. You, keep playing with my cunt. I’m drenched!”

You keep clicking away, since she never tells you to stop. In fact, she poses for your camera again and again, as your manhood throbs in your pants.

“God, what is it about having a camera pointed at me,” she mutters. “It’s always just really added something … Go ahead, make me pose, make me perform for your camera, I want to be a black cock slut …”

You wonder if you dare to take your own cock out and stroke it at the show, but without permission, you don’t dare. You don’t want to do anything that might make you wake up from this dream! So you take photo after photo of the men dropping their underwear, of their strong hands stripping Emma Watson naked, as they finger and rub and tongue that famous, sought-after pussy, as she massages their impossibly hard, huge dicks in her little white hands. “Fuck, I wonder if I can take all three at once,” she whispers in awe. “What do you think?” she asks you, hefting the weight and girth of his dark shaft.

She gets on her knees, as the cocks surround her. She still wants to make sure you’re getting good angles, though, so she’s careful none get in her light. She’s a natural. “I like all kinds of wands,” she whispers, sounding a little drunk, or cock drunk … “but I think I’ve been touched by the Dark Mark! Because these are the kind I like best!!” She giggles and takes as much of one in her little red-ringed mouth.

She sinks down on a thick black erection while stroking another and sucking on a third. As she slams down on the cock beneath her, harder and harder, balancing herself on his chest with both hands as the other two stroke and watch, she looks up at you again through sweaty bangs.

“The beauty of it is,” she says in a sly tone, “no one will ever believe you. Do you know how many thousands of fake sex photos there are out there of me? Hundreds of thousands! And some of those fakes are really good! I rub my slutty cunt to them all the time … and they give me … ogod … ideas … fffuckk!!”

Her first screaming orgasm makes you get your cock out. Fuck it. You keep taking pictures as best you can while fisting your dick.

“I don’t know what it is, but … shit yes, more, take me from behind … seeing all those pictures of me fucking and sucking … well it’s just been driving me wild! For years! So now I can’t stop having orgies, because it looks so fucking fun!! Yes, yes, cum on my tits, that’s nasty …”

Emma Watson takes all three hard cocks surprisingly deeply in all her holes for at least another half an hour, during which you cum twice, and take hundreds of pictures. You never see her again …

But every day you scroll through the pictures from that afternoon, and replay the day in your mind. Every day you spill loads of cum thinking of Emma Watson. One of your favorite photos is the very first one you took – you even use it as your phone’s wallpaper. It’s the cleanest of the bunch, since most of the rest are filthy… And, just as she predicted, no one ever believes you that it’s a real photo. They just shake their heads at what a perv you are …

But you don’t care. You know it really happened.

Funny, that was supposed to be the quick one! I just can't do short, apparently lol ...

[sl-newsie]

Christmas Sweater (Dr. Spencer Reid x OC Coworker) *Christmas Special* 🎄

Summary:  It’s the FBI staff Christmas Party, and the theme is ugly sweaters much to others’ dislike. However, Spencer is determined to help his favorite coworker get into the Christmas spirit (kinda based on The Christmas Sweater by Michael Bublé).

Warnings: some slight talk of intimacy at the end.

“Are you serious?” I groan in disgust. “An ugly sweater party?”

“What’s so wrong with that?” Morgan asks openly. “It’ll be fun!”

I scoff. “Why on Earth would anyone wear something with the name ‘ugly’ in it? No, just- no!” I throw my hands up. “I will not wear one!”

“Aw, come on, Angelica!” Penelope begs. “It won’t be the same if you’re not there!”

Her enthusiasm is welcoming, however I’m still against the idea.

“I will be at the party, but I still refuse to wear anything that is deemed ‘ugly.’ Besides, it won’t make much difference. I’ve only been working here for a few months.”

“Won’t make a difference?” A voice speaks up from behind. We all turn to find Reid strutting over to join us, and I’m surprised to find him wearing a festive Christmas tie.

“I thought your thing was Halloween,” I comment.

“It is, but I like Christmas too.” Reid gives me a funny look. “What do you mean you ‘won’t make a difference?’ Of course you do!”

Morgan lets out a laugh. “Got a favorite coworker, do we? I’m crushed!” He dramatically clutches his chest.

Reid gives a shy smile and walks back to his desk. I don’t think it’s funny at all. I think it’s… cute. If I’ve already gotten Reid’s approval after being here for so little time, I don’t know what better compliment to look for. At first I was skittish around the BAU since they already seemed like an established family, but Spencer was the first one to help me open up. He noticed I liked reading history books on the jet, so of course that turned into hour-long conversations that helped turn him into my favorite coworker. We both know he’s the smartest, but he never flaunts it to me as much as he does to Morgan. If anything, it’s entertaining to see Reid taunt him! Especially after the cellphone prank! The more we talked, the more we seemed to enjoy each other’s company. On a crazy whim, we both kinda admitted that we’d want to go on a date. You might say that we asked each other out at the same time. We decided to take a walk through the park to keep it simple and professional in case things went south. But our date never faltered, and after a few weeks Reid asked if we’d want to try the official title of dating, though not yet using the terms ‘boyfriend’ and ‘girlfriend.’ Some might say it’s strange that we’re nearly 8 years apart in age, but that hasn’t posed a problem so far. It’s been a comfortable way of dating that I’d never have thought of if it weren’t for Spencer.

“Nice work, Morgan. Is making fun of Reid one of your hobbies or something?” 

“It’s my favorite!” Morgan laughs.

I just shake my head and head over to my own desk, which is right across from Reid’s.

“For what it’s worth, I think it’s a great honor to be your favorite coworker,” I say with a smile at the profiling nerd.

Spencer looks up from his current novel with bright eyes. “So you’ll be at the party tonight?”

Internally, I groan at the thought of having to force myself to socialize with people I don’t know at a party with a theme that’s super lame. But Spencer’s pleading eyes are too capturing to ignore.

“Yeah, I’ll be there. But there’s no promise I’ll actually dress up.”

“Sounds good to me!” Spencer says cheerfully.

After work, I return home to find something that goes along the lines of ‘office Christmas party.’ I’m not one for dressing up unprofessionally, so the closest thing I can find is a classy red dress. So what if it doesn’t match the theme? Vintage Christmas is even better than ugly Christmas! I know Spencer’s wishing for me to dress up, but I can only give what I have. After I’ve applied some light makeup and curled my hair into a 50s updo, I decide it’s plenty enough for the party. Before I head over I grab some homemade cookies from the fridge to pass around, just so people will know I’m participating. By the time I drive back to the office, I can tell I’m one of the last to show and the party’s in full swing.

“Angelica! You made it!” Rossi walks up and hands me a glass of red liquid. He’s also chosen not to wear an ugly sweater and is instead sporting a pair of reindeer antlers. “I heard you were a bit undecided on coming, so here’s some punch to help kickstart your Christmas spirit.”

I thank him and take a sip of the punch to find it has a bit of a kick. “One of your creations?”

“One of my very best,” the Italian smiles proudly. “Relax, and enjoy yourself!”

I smile kindly. “I will! Thank you, Rossi.”

He goes back to conversing with other staff members, leaving me to make my way to the back so I can avoid the big crowd. Aside from the few who showed up from the BAU, I’ve got no clue who anyone is.

“Nice outfit. Did Marilyn Monroe lend it to you?” Someone asks in a mocking tone. 

I face the woman and see a nametag titled “Regina,” and look up to find a pointed face with brunette hair. Did she just insult me?

“That’d be nice if she did, considering she was one of the most popular models of the 1950s,” I state in an even voice and stick out a hand. “I’m Angelica, from the BAU. Nice to meet you.”

Regina looks at my hand as if I’ve offered her a piece of trash. “Hm. I’m surprised you don’t have blood caked under your nails. Don’t all you people ever do is deal with blood?”

My jaw basically drops to the floor, and before I can respond the sassy agent prances away.

“God, how can she even have the audacity to-?”

“Merry Christmas!” I get wrapped into a hug, and it doesn’t take a genius to recognize the cheery voice behind me.

“Merry Christmas, Garcia! What’s with the snippy Scrooge?” I point after where Regina just vanished.

Garcia rolls her eyes. “Regina Watson. She’s only been here for a week and she already thinks she owns the place just because her dad’s on the board.”

I nod in understanding. “I see. And may I say what an… interesting outfit this is!”

It’s definitely a bold fashion statement. Garcia’s poofy green dress basically makes her look like a human Christmas tree, decorated with bows, bells, and ribbons, while also complete with sparkly red heels and a giant headpiece.

The blonde gives a giddy smile. “Thanks! I’m a bit sad to see yours is a bit dull, but I’m still glad you came!” She tugs me in for another hug and points to the back office. “The best food is in the back, and I suggest you go grab some before Reid eats it all by himself.”

I take her advice and make a beeline for the back office, locating Spencer sitting at the round table. When he sees me, the nerd’s head perks up and he gets a wild look in his eye.

“Angelica! You made it! Wait right there, and close your eyes.” He strides over to one of the filing cabinets.

“Um, ok.” I do as he says, trying my best to hear what’s going on.

“Ok- open them!” Reid says excitedly.

I do, and find Spencer holding a red sweater trimmed with tinsel and candy canes.

“Oh my! What… Reid, what’s this for?” I stifle a laugh.

He gives a lopsided smile. “I knew you wouldn’t have a sweater to wear, so I made you one. And after tonight, you can eat the candy canes and use the tinsel for decoration, and then use the sweater on its own.”

I graciously take the thoughtful clothing article and feel its soft fabric. “Spencer… Thank you! This is so considerate! I love it.”

“I’m glad, ‘cause you deserve to be just as cheery as the rest of us.” Reid helps me slip on the beautiful sweater over my dress. “Are you enjoying the party?”

I fight the urge to groan. “Um, yes? I donno. I don’t know most of anyone here, and I’m not one for socializing as you already know.”

Spencer nods in agreement and we both sit down at the round table to sip some punch.

“This reminds me of Emile Durkheim's sociological theory of functionalism. He viewed society as an organism, with different parts functioning to ensure the smooth and orderly operation and evolution of society.”

I let out a chuckle. “Leave it to you to help me get through this party by lecturing. Mind if I add in?”

The boy genius is surprised, but still excited. “By all means, go ahead!”

“Do you ever notice that smiling and laughter is seen as occasional? It’s as if we need an excuse to smile instead of doing it simply because we feel happy at the time.”

“You know, the reason that most vintage photos don’t have people smiling is because it was seen as a sign of insanity?” Reid informs. “Maybe that’s why. But I agree, smiling is done less and less nowadays probably because our emotions are used to being expressed online.”

“I suppose so. I’m just going to ignore the social norm altogether and smile.” In saying so, I turn to give Reid a thankful grin. “You always make me smile, Spencer.”

He blushes, but doesn’t get too flustered. However he doesn’t get to respond because Morgan now decides to barge in.

“There you are, Reid! Come here- you gotta try this fruitcake!” He drags Reid behind him, while Spencer gives me a quick look of apology that I return with a teasing “go ahead” hand gesture.

Now that I’m alone again, I decide to recollect my thoughts about the past week. I usually stay here during cases, but this time I had to follow the team to Florida for a special case. It was strange to see palm trees dressed up for Christmas. We were able to catch the unsub thanks to Reid’s last-minute conclusion, though it still nearly made my heart stop when he almost took a bullet to the leg. Thankfully no one was hurt, and now I’ve got to enjoy the moment of peace I have right now.

“Well well, hello again,” comes a snobbish voice dripping with fake enthusiasm. I see that Regina has returned, and brought her uppity mindset along with her.

“Hello, Regina. If you’re looking for finger foods, I suggest you try the Polish roses.”

She gags. “God, no! They give terribly bad breath! Anyways…” She slinks closer with a devilish grin. “Whatcha doing back here?”

Why do you care? Please leave me alone.

I shrug. “I was chatting with someone earlier, but now I’m just enjoying the peace and quiet.” At least I was before you showed up. “The last case gave me a bit more stress than I expected.”

Regina snickers and shakes her head in disappointment. “Girl, you’re a wreck of nerves. You need to get laid.”

Her laid-back statement makes me choke on my punch and cough it up across the table. How dare she!

“I am not belittling myself by using such serious matters as a stress reliever! How can you even suggest such a thing?”

She shrugs. “It helps me.”

“O-K, did not need to know that. If I’m going to be engaging in any conversation tonight, I’d like to have a mature conversation now so if you’d be so kind as to remove yourself and any other outlandish ideas from the room I’d be very grateful.”

Regina huffs and pivots to walk back to the crowded room outside. How can she even have the audacity…? First I think I’m in the clear and can put the situation behind me- but then I notice Reid waiting in the doorway, having returned holding a plate of cookies for us to share.

“Um… You heard that, huh?” I bite my lip.

“Yeah.”

I groan and clutch my head in my hands. “This just makes things awkward and weird, and I don't want that! I think our dating has been going very well, and I don’t want to mess it up.”

“This doesn’t mess it up,” Reid replies softly as he comes to sit next to me. “If any healthy relationship is to continue to grow, these types of conversations need to be dealt with eventually.”

“I know, I know. ‘S just… I don’t want to disappoint you,” I whisper in a small voice I hope he doesn’t hear.

Reid chuckles a little. “Angelica, how could you ever disappoint me?”

Help me God, it’s time to tell him. “Because I- I’m a virgin. I’ve never been involved with anything like that, and when I hear others talk about it like it’s an everyday thing like the weather then I get really nervous. I’ve figured out enough to know that people have their own types and some can be more kinky than others, and it’s just all too stressful trying to fit into what someone might expect. That’s why I’ve never had a relationship before.”

I can tell Reid’s surprised by my confession, but he chooses to mull over the thing I least expect.

“You’ve never had a relationship? Angelica, how is that even possible? You’re the most beautiful, smart woman I know and you’re telling me you’ve never had a boyfriend?”

His surprise is heartwarming and adorable, making me be even more thankful to have him help me through this.

“I’ve always put education first. I guess… my age started to catch up with me and I thought I’d always be alone.” I slide a hand over to take his. “You’ve been so kind, and I’m happy our dating has been going so well.”

“Me too,” Spencer says softly. “And… if you feel uncomfortable doing anything with deeper intimacy, I understand. We don’t have to.”

This surprises me. “Huh. Usually every time I decline involvement the opposite party leaves me high and dry.” I give Reid a smile. “It’s not normal.”

He laughs. “You know I’m strictly against germs and physical contact, right? Our way of dating is far from normal, angel. Our first date was almost the equivalent of a job interview.”

We both burst out laughing and my uneasy awkwardness washes away. Instead of feeling alone again this Christmas, Spencer’s made me feel welcomed and loved.

“I can’t tell you how grateful I am,” I look up at his curious eyes. “This doesn’t seem like what I pictured dating would be, it’s more like- like a team. We’re a team just like our team here, solving problems.”

Speaking of the team, Prentiss, Morgan, and Garcia now decide to enter the room and terminate our privacy.

“Hey, guys. Leave any food for us?” Prentis asks as she takes a sip of punch.

“Forget that! I see some mistletoe magic about to happen!” Garcia declares in a singsong voice.

We both freeze and look up, spotting the ugly mass of green weeds hanging from the ceiling. Of course Garcia would put that up. Spencer and I exchange hidden panicked looks, both knowing we’ve never kissed before during our dating.

“Well, it is tradition,” I shrug and seem to give into Garcia’s edging despite my brain yelling for me to run away.

Reid gets an odd look. “Since when are you keen on being tied to social rituals?”

Ignoring this and the fact that the team is watching, I lean in closer. My heart is in my stomach, but I show a steady face and show Spencer a look silently asking for permission. But I don’t have to go further, because he cups my face and closes the gap. The kiss is soft and sweet, almost like drinking hot chocolate. I don’t know how long it goes, only that soon we both have to break apart to breathe.

“So… that’s what kissing’s like,” I comment in an airy voice.

“Wait,” Spencer pants. “You’ve never even been kissed?”

“Whoa, whoa!” Morgan interrupts and throws his hands up. “Is there something you’re not telling us, pretty boy?”

“I knew it!” Garcia giggles and claps her hands. “You two make such a cute pair!”

“Don’t forget the paperwork,” Prentiss taunts as she raises a glass to toast the celebration. 

“We can worry about that later!” Garcia tugs us both into a tight hug. “I’m so happy for you guys! And you put on a sweater! This is the best Christmas party ever!”

“What’s going on?” 

JJ and Rossi enter the room, both intrigued by the noisy group.

“I was right! You owe me 20 bucks!” Garcia holds her hand out to JJ. “Pay up!”

“Is she serious?” Rossi looks between me and Reid. “You two, together? We thought it’d take at least a year.”

“What would?” Hotch steps in and we all go quiet. “Is something wrong?”

Spencer squeezes my hand and gives me a determined look, one which I share in response.

“Hotch, there’s something we have to tell you.” Reid stands up and faces our leader with a even face. “Angelica and I have started dating. And before you remind us, yes we know about the paperwork we need to fill out. We know what consequences there are and the risks we’re taking, but I don’t care as long as I can make her happy.”

If it weren’t for the eerie silence draping the atmosphere, I’d be tearing up with joy at his kind words. We all wait in silence for Hotch’s response, so quiet you could hear a pin drop.

“There is paperwork,” Hotch says. “But I’m not going to spoil this festive occasion with something like that.” He gives both Reid and me a proud smile. “You kids enjoy the party. Worry about paperwork next week.”

The whole team cheers and raises a glass to toast our relationship. Meanwhile, Spencer’s looking at me as if I’d just given him the moon.

“Nice ugly sweater, by the way!” Morgan comments.

I roll my eyes and start to defend Spencer’s gift, but the nerd takes my hand to quiet me.

“Just play along with it. You look gorgeous in that sweater!”

[nevermore-grimes]

Be Good For Me

Pairing: Demian Vu x Bucky Barnes

Warnings/Tags: Smut (mdni...), top!Bucky x bottom!Demian, brief mentions of The Winter Soldier, knife play (no actual injuries, but brief allusions/mentions of them), light bondage, Bucky hesitates for a moment but consent is 100% present, nude x clothed sex, frotting, praise, degradation, edging, choking

Word Count: 1,080

Notes: Hiya, @saccharineshippers! Smut anon here! Well, not anon anymore, mwehehehe! >:)

I hope you enjoy your Selfship Summer Surprise gift from me! I had a lot of fun writing it. But, also, please don't hesitate to let me know if anything seems off or not to your liking. I'll do the best I can to fix up any mistakes for the sake of making this a more comfortable read (and also I feel like my smut writing may be rusty so constructive criticism is welcome).

And, also, it took me embarassingly long to realize that Demian is not just an s/i but also part of your system, so, Demian, if you do end up reading this, I’m sorry for thinking you were just a self-insert… 😔💔 And, also, I hope you like what I came up with! Especially considering I wrote this about you, ehehehe! 😅

Without further ado... Enjoyyy!

“There you are…” The former Winter Soldier purred as he trailed a hunter’s knife down Demian’s bare chest.

The chill of the blade made Demian shiver. He knew Bucky would never actually hurt him—well, unless he asked him to—but the thrill of the danger that the knife posed made him twitch with excitement, nonetheless.

Clad in his full combat gear, Bucky’s intense eyes ravenously scoured over Demian’s bare body from above his mask, as if Demian were a prize from a battle well-fought. With the way his naked body was bound by his wrists and ankles to a chair, he might as well have been. A prize whore. Bucky’s prize whore. He practically salivated at the idea.

“…Right where I want you.” Bucky continued, the tip of his blade drawing near Demian’s apparent arousal, eliciting a quiet hiss from him. “Right where you're supposed to be.”

Bucky’s gaze was intense—cold even—as it raised to Demian’s face. But, a new emotion briefly flickered behind those eyes. Trepidation. Bucky’s worries as to whether or not Demian actually wanted this were evident in his sudden hesitation.

Demian gave a gentle nod. Of course he wanted this.

Bucky’s resulting relief was unmistakable, before his gaze hardened again, the conviction returning to his voice. “You dirty little whore...” Bucky’s knife slowly trailed its way back up Demian’s chest, raising goosebumps along his skin. “Showing off that gorgeous body of yours just to get my attention.”

As Bucky’s knife reached Demian’s chin, he used the flat of the blade to tilt it up to face him. “Well, you've got it now, princess… and you’d better be prepared for what happens because of that.”

Demian’s heart fluttered as the flat of the blade held his chin up, his body instinctively arching towards Bucky’s in anticipation. “And, what are you going to do to me?”

Bucky slowly leaned in, his face just inches from Demian’s as he angled the knife to rest against his neck. “What's it look like I’m going to do to you?” With his vibranium hand, Bucky worked the front of his pants open, gruffness creeping into his voice. “When I said you got my attention, I meant it.”

Demian’s tongue hungrily raked across his fangs as Bucky freed his already semi-hard cock, muttering just loud enough for him to hear. “You have no idea what you do to me…” He clutched Demian’s hip, his other hand still keeping the knife at his throat. “Be a good toy for me, yeah? And maybe I’ll make it worth your while. Now let’s see what that sexy little body of yours can take…”

Demian found himself practically dizzy with excitement as Bucky finally connected with him. He rocked his hips gently against Demian’s, testing his reactions to the new sensation before rutting into him with full force.

“Hah-” Demian strained against his bindings and mewled as their hardening lengths rubbed together.

Bucky growled as he felt precum begin to roll from Demian’s tip. “Fuck, doll… Already wet for me?”

“Mmhmm!” Demian squeaked while trying, and failing, to buck his hips against Bucky’s.

The crushing grip Bucky had on his hip did more than enough to hold him in place, and Demian was sure it would bruise over come morning. He was enamored with the idea of his lover marking his body, but he remained as still as he could manage for the moment, allowing Bucky to use him how he pleased.

“That’s it,” Bucky grunted as he kept his brutal pace. “That’s my good girl… Take it just like that.”

Demian winced as the blade at his neck began to dig into his skin. Though it wasn’t enough to draw blood, being dangerously close to that point was enough to make Demian’s eyes roll. A pornographic moan escaped his lips as he felt himself grow closer and closer to his peak.

Bucky sensed Demian getting close and, without warning, he stopped.

“Nonono…” Demian huffed out a soft cry of frustration, his approaching climax slipping away just as quickly as it approached.

“Aww,” Bucky mockingly cooed as he moved the blade from Demian’s neck, using the steel to caress his face. “You were already so desperate to cum?” A sadistic chuckle escaped him as Demian squirmed against his grip to no avail.

“Mmhmm!” Demian softly whined.

“Use your words, then, pretty girl.” Bucky purred as he used his knife to move a lock of hair away from Demian’s face. “Tell me how badly you want it. Tell me how desperate you are, getting off on being used like a filthy little slut.”

“P- please…” Demian whimpered. “Please, Bucky… I wanna cum.” Bucky silently raised an eyebrow, prompting Demian to continue. “Touch me… Use me… Fuck me… Let me be your filthy little slut… Please?”

Bucky let out a hum of approval. “Now that wasn’t so hard, was it?”

Without missing a beat, he quickly threw his knife across the room with a force that sent it sticking into the floor with a thump that made Demian jump. Bucky quickly wrapped his now freed hand around Demian’s neck.

Demian instinctively tilted his head back, a broken moan escaping him as Bucky squeezed the sides of his throat before returning to his teeth-rattling force against his hips.

“You’ve been so good for me so far,” Bucky panted by Demian’s ear. “You’re gonna cum with me, yeah? Come on… You can do it… Cum with me, princess.”

Helpless in Bucky’s grasp, Demian whined as the pressure returned between his hips, release within his grasp once more. “Pleasepleasepleasepleaseplease…”

Bucky’s grip on Demian’s neck tightened as sloppiness crept into his thrusts. “That’s my good girl. My good little toy, letting me use you like this. ‘M getting close… Fuck-”

Just as the edges of Demian’s vision grew dark, Bucky let go of his throat, and the two cried out as their orgasms washed over them, painting Demian’s chest with their shared mess.

Demian lightly trembled as he came down from his peak, resting his head against Bucky’s shoulder.

Bucky quickly removed his mask to plant kisses along the side of Demian’s head, gently scratching the back of his head. “You okay, Pinky? That wasn’t too rough, was it?”

“Mm-mm.” Demian mumbled, burying his face into Bucky’s neck. “‘Was perfect.”

Bucky let out a small sigh of relief. “How about we cut you loose, get you cleaned up, and watch a movie, yeah?”

Demian softly smiled at the idea. “Yeah.”

[thecelestiallegacies]

Start The First Gen Start This Gen Simmers for St. Jude

Devin "Beetle" Soriano decided to stay in Copperdale a little longer.

He’d fallen in love with Cliff's library—floor-to-ceiling shelves stuffed with dusty tomes and obscure records: discoveries on Batuu, mysteries in Selvadorada, diagrams of ancient portals, and written in extinct languages.

And then—he found it.

Eternity Lake, nestled deep in the forests of Ravenwood. A place said to bring ghosts back to life.

He floated swiftly up the stairs, unable to contain his excitement, ready to tell Rhea everything.

But Rhea had other ideas.

She'd recently declared that photography was her new phase and was in full creative mode.

Rhea: "Hold still. I need contrast. The light off your ghost shoulders is kind of perfect."

Beetle smirked and struck a pose.

Beetle: "Make sure you get my good side." (He gestured to his head.) "I have two of them. It’s the front that’s the problem. Now, about Eternity Lake—"

Rhea: "I've heard of it. It's not really a revival thing. It’s… rebirth. A clean slate."

Beetle: "Rebirth sounds fine. I’d rather be alive than floating through walls."

Rhea: "You wouldn’t remember anything from your life. You’d be starting over."

Beetle (grinning): "So if I came back as a baby, you wouldn’t raise me as your own?"

Rhea (deadpan): "Nope."

They both cracked up—Beetle dramatically clutched his chest like he’d been mortally wounded (again), then leaned in, more serious this time.

Beetle: "I still think it’s worth it. And if I forget everything, I’m sure you’ll remind me who I was."

Rhea lowered her camera. She hadn’t expected this decision to come so quickly, and the idea of losing him —even if he was technically still there—made her heart twist.

Beetle: "Tell me you’ll go with me. To the lake."

There was a long pause. Then she nodded.

Rhea: "Yeah. I’ll go."

He surged forward and wrapped his cold arms around her, grateful. For a ghost, he always managed to feel so alive.

Beetle: "I was kind of worried you’d be mad."

Rhea: "Ahh, you don’t know me that well. My mad face and my happy face look the same. Folks assume I'm just mean."

Beetle (softly): "I don’t think you’re mean. Your eyes are too sad."

Outside, the full moon cast a silver glow through the window, touching Beetle’s transparent skin and making him shimmer with an unspoken energy.

He closed his eyes and basked in the pull of its celestial magic.