#being able to sit down or be alone for an entire day several times a week

[katya-goncharov]

i think this might be the worst i've felt mentally since the pandemic, and it's all because of having to start that stupid job which i NEED to be able to afford to keep going to uni

[heich0e]

it takes touya three days to finally hold the baby.

your baby. his baby.

he waits until you're asleep to consider it--one of the rare bouts of slumber you've been able to get since you returned home from the hospital three days prior. he hadn't been able to be there with you, for reasons that are obvious, and he'd spent the entire time you were gone pacing the floors of your apartment as he awaited your return.

he's so small.

that's all touya can think as he stares down at the little swaddle of blankets and a button nose. impossibly tiny. fragile in every way.

the baby has been sleeping soundly for a while, but he's beginning to stir, little coos and unhappy gurgles that touya's come to learn always shortly precede a shrill cry. he doesn't want you to wake up, but knows that his only other option is to intervene.

so he does.

he reaches into the bassinet slowly, hesitantly.

but he pulls back, just shy of contact.

what if his hands are too hot? what if the baby feels his staples and doesn't like it? what if just by touch alone his son knows the things he's done?

the baby lets out a high pitched whine--the one he's come to know in the past 72 hours is the harbinger of a fit--and it leaves him with no choice but to act.

his two hands move with purpose--one behind the head, and the other slipped beneath his back--lifting him gently from his bed.

he carries him out of your bedroom and into the living room a few paces away, held before him and just slightly away from his frame. every step he takes is slow, measured, and cautious.

he sits on the edge of the sofa, staring down at the little bundle in his arms.

he sighs.

"'ya can't scream right now kid, you've already put her through enough."

the baby's eyes open, but only barely. they don't really do that much until they're older, or so you'd told him when he asked. they can't even really see anything right now, apparently.

touya can't help but take comfort from that fact.

he stares down at the baby in his hands, a foreign choking feeling in his chest that threatens to swallow him whole. the same one he feels sometimes when he looks at you.

he rocks the baby gently, and that seems to soothe him--his little sounds trailing off and his eyes fluttering shut again.

"tou?"

touya's head snaps up towards the door.

you stand there, rubbing at your bleary eyes, watching him. he feels a wave of relief to see you there, even if he'd been hoping you would stay asleep.

"is everything okay?" you ask.

touya hums, clearing his throat a little. "he was making noises, didn't want him to wake you up so i carted him out here."

you shuffle over to him, your hand resting on his shoulder as you peer down at your son.

"he seems happy now," you say softly, your fingers brushing through the hairs at the nape of touya's neck, though your eyes are still on the baby. "i think he likes being held by you."

he swallows thickly, and it's quiet for a moment.

"he looks like my little brother."

your fingers pause in their gentle ministrations.

shouto was the last baby touya ever held, and that was years ago. decades even. but staring down at the little person in his hands, he remembers what it was like to hold his youngest sibling for the first time as vividly as if it were yesterday. how happy he was to do it.

"did you ever think that maybe that's because your little brother looks like you?"

touya freezes.

he doesn't see the resemblance between himself and his family anymore. he hasn't for years. not as his scars grew, his hair was dyed, and his heart hardened. the last reminder that he couldn't quite seem to shake, the final tie he could never sever, was his eyes.

there's a pricking behind them as he thinks of it, as he considers your words. maybe, were he able, he might even be crying. but instead he just stares at the little bundle in his hands. at the nose he thinks might be like his. the shut eyes that he suspects may have come from him too.

and he wonders if maybe you're right.

and if maybe he's grateful for it.

[digital-domain]

Retrieval

Alastor x Reader // word count 4.4k

Pt 3 to Spring Cleaning and Clean Slate

In which you attempt to leave.

Tags/warnings: yandere, intimidation, noncon kissing, choking, Alastor’s shadow doing things a shadow should not be able to do

A/N: Really thought this was gonna be a one-off but here we are. I usually don’t even write one follow-up, much less two, so this is unfamiliar terrain for me. Alas, I could not resist. Enjoy (or don’t. I’m not in charge.)

You remember a time when this was good. Well - no. You’re sure, now, that it was rotten from the beginning. But there was a time when it felt good. When you invited it in. When you wanted more.

Time for bed, my dear. 

He’s said this to you many times. Now, each repetition deepens the never-ending pit in your stomach. But the first time…how long ago was it? You don’t remember. You don’t even remember how long you’ve been here. Here at this hotel, or here, in hell - each one distorts hours and months in its own way. They tug at you until you slip through the fingers of time, and end up on a day you don’t remember arriving at, in a place that is only yours if you forget what has happened there.

It’s far too late for you to be thinking as deeply as you are.

You’d been sitting on the top of the stairs for a long time that night, however-long-ago, fending off the inevitable onset of your dreams. He’d been gone all day, and when he had finally returned (from where, you never found out), he’d seen you from the lobby. Called out to you, in a voice far too quiet and gentle to carry to your ears as well as it did. It wasn’t the first time he’d spoken to you, but it was the first time he’d spoken to you alone. And even if that wasn’t true, there would have been something different about it. 

And, in my opinion, far too fair a night for such misery.

From the beginning, you’d known that nothing about him was entirely unfiltered. The first time you’d met, he’d given a wonderful little performance. Shaken your hand, taken you by the shoulder, quickly escorted you away from the people who would soon warn you not to trust him. And you’d known it was fake. Of course you had. You weren’t, perhaps, the most excellent judge of character, but you knew no one acted like that by instinct. It was calculated. Not to be trusted.

It struck you oddly, then, to hear such an allegedly inhuman character talk about something as mundane as the joy of pleasant weather. It felt entirely real, even at an hour when almost nothing seemed real at all. Hell did have its decent moments, now and then; there were no seasons, so to speak, but very occasionally you’d get a day that felt like summer, and a night to match. It was nice, when it happened. Delightful, even. 

But, if you insist upon staying awake - and I admit, I do understand that impulse better than most - I suggest you do it somewhere with an open window. 

The realization had hit, somewhere in the middle of this, that he was being kind to you. You hadn’t wondered why at the time. You’d take anything you could get, in those early, confused days after your death, and receiving it from an unexpected source somehow made it better. He didn’t do things like this out of obligation. He cared, for some reason you could only guess at.

You’re still guessing, now. But that night, you hadn’t thought so deeply about it. You’d only stared back at him, and nodded almost imperceptibly at his suggestion. 

He’d paused, matching your silence for a long stretch. Considered your expression, in the way those unblinking eyes always seemed uniquely suited for.

Shall I escort you to your room, my dear?

You’d nodded mutely, and he’d ascended the stairs, offered you his hand, helped you to your feet, guided you to your door.

And then, a mistake. Grateful, exhausted, feeling utterly alone in a strange world - you’d invited him in. 

He’d opened your window for you, and lingered beside it for several quiet seconds before you asked him to sit down in your desk chair. He’d smiled strangely at that, softer than you were used to, and left quickly, almost hastily, after only a few minutes. But he’d stood motionless in the hallway for several seconds before you’d heard him walk away. 

After that night, you never invited him in again - you didn’t have to. He came of his own accord. Only occasionally, at first. Then, more often, until hardly a day went by without it. It was almost pleasant, at first, and then a slow, unyielding creep towards what you have now. Something you don’t understand. Something you only started resenting after it was too late to back away. 

You’ve spent a long time wondering why he chose you, of all people. Why he feels so entitled to your space, to your life, why he wants it to begin with. Why he holds onto you so tightly. You’ve even asked him, in roundabout ways, to no avail. But somewhere in your mind, a shoved-down place that only now rises to the surface, you think that it might be your fault. Your fault, for being so desperate for solace, for company, that you’d take it from anyone you could. For feeling proud to have gained his attention, long after the point where it stopped doing you any good.

Now, lying above your bed covers, you toy with the hem of your slip, which you’ve absently pulled up to mid-thigh. Perhaps you don’t need to be wearing it tonight. Alastor has been mysteriously absent from the hotel in the two days that have passed since his last appearance in your room. You doubt whatever’s called him away has left him much time for spying upon you. And still, you feel compelled to act as if he is watching. As if he might return to your bedside at any moment.

Your memory flashes back to two nights ago, and you try to yank it away. You don’t want to think about what he did to you then. You certainly don’t want to think about why. The way his eyes were fixed not on your body, but on your face, as if it was your shame he wanted to see, and nothing more.

It was unsettling. But perhaps not surprising. If it was only your body that he wanted, after all, he wouldn’t be trying so hard to control the rest of you. That, you don’t understand. That - it’s what really keeps you awake.

The light from your lamp, which you have no intention of turning off, stings beneath your closed eyes as you lie rigidly on your back. You barely slept the night before, either, so this day passed in a sort of stupor, the adrenaline of early morning giving way to a numb, heavy feeling as the afternoon dragged on.

But the numbness is good, in a way, you think. It lets you do things you wouldn’t otherwise. With your eyes still closed, you bring your other hand to the hem of the slip. The lace and the silk above it are delicate, and you pull hard with both fists. The light ripping noise that follows is beautiful, for a moment.

Then, the familiar dread snaps back into place, worse for your act of stupidity. 

He will be back, before long. His sudden absence has not been a reprieve, but a looming threat, a two-day stretch in which you have not taken one proper breath, and you have the feeling that he will know what you have done the moment he returns. 

If he does not somehow know already. If you haven’t already summoned him back by the rebellious movements of your hands. There is panic coursing through you, fear not of what is here now but of what has been, and what will be. It’s not the panic you’d feel at an immediate threat, like a wild animal baring down on you in a dark forest - instead, it’s the sort of inescapable head-buzzing sensation you experienced often in life, when you’d been in a room for far too long, and were not yet allowed to leave. An overwhelming feeling that you are trapped, not by physical bonds, but by the consequences that might ensue if you walk away.

If you were to walk away, to run away…what would happen? You do not know, and you don’t want to think about it. You want to leave. No - you need to leave. If you do not do it now, now, you never will. And the idea of never leaving, of this stretching on until he decides that it’s time for it to end - if he ever does -

You sit up, and swing your legs over the edge of your bed. He will be back soon. You’re sure of it. And you cannot bear the thought of being here when he returns. 

What can you do about it? You can do something. You can stand up. You can find the large backpack stuffed into the corner of your closet, and start shoving things inside. You don’t have many things at all, and most of the things you do have are not important enough to keep. You’re certainly not bringing any of these clothes with you. 

All these things, you do quickly, in a sort of daze, driven by a single motive. Get out, get out. It is easy, if you don’t stop moving. If you don’t think more than you have to, if you let this one idea drive you all the way out the door. One set of clothes, you do have to bring - the one that goes on your body. The only one that you feel even remotely comfortable wearing. Black trousers, red sweater. The contents of the small compartments of your dresser have been replaced, so you do not feel comfortable with the things you are wearing underneath these clothes, but they are quickly hidden. You are not in strong enough possession of your body to feel them clinging to your skin.

You’ve discarded the slip onto the floor, and with the way it’s crumpled, you can’t even see the small rip in the hem. It’s not enough. You pick it up and rip it further, until it is torn all the way to the neck, before dropping it like it’s on fire. Perhaps it would be better to take it with you, to get rid of it in a place where he won’t see the remains, but you do not want to have it for a second longer. It flutters back to the floor, and you cover your clean, white, unfamiliar socks with the ragged sneakers you’ve somehow been allowed to keep. 

Where do you go? Where can you go? For reasons that you certainly didn’t come up with yourself (reasons that seemed like cloying but utterly convincing advice, at the time) you barely speak to anyone outside of these walls. You haven’t even got a phone. And even if you did, you can’t imagine pulling anyone into this mess - your mess, a quiet voice in your head reminds you. This is your creation, and you will see it through alone. There is a motel, you remember, a shoddy building a few streets away that you’ve taken notice of every time you’ve passed. You will go there, and you will sleep, and tomorrow -

Tomorrow does not matter yet. Tonight, you only need to leave. 

You’re sure that no one in this building is awake. Or at least, no one is awake enough to check on the noises your feet make as they collide, painfully loud, over and over, with the creaking hallway floor. And yet, you advance as slowly and carefully as you can manage, barely keeping at bay the adrenaline that urges you to run. The night is pleasantly warm, but a shudder runs through you as you crack open the front door of the sleeping hotel. This, too, you keep at bay, instructing your feet to keep moving until you dislodge the disarming chill from your bones, and settle back into your skin. You are walking quickly, but not running, as you wade into the dark streets before you. It is a bad idea, being out here alone, at this hour, and running is loud. 

Then again, you think your breathing might be harsher, at this moment, than any noise the soles of your shoes could create.

You didn’t realize until now that you already had this route mapped out in your head, so clearly that you can follow it without thinking. It’s not far. Quicker if you slide through the little alley to your left. Quicker still if you speed up, just a bit, just enough that your breath catches oddly in your throat, exertion mixing with the faintest glimmer of hope. There is a breeze flowing out from behind you, gentle against the nape of your neck. The streets are mercifully quiet. 

You are not thinking. If you were, you might not be able to tell yourself that all was well. 

As it is, you buy yourself a few more seconds of hope. But your eyes are wide. Too wide and too alert to miss the strange thing that comes your way. Once you see it, you cannot look anywhere else.

Your stomach drops. You slowly ease your bag off of your shoulders, and let it fall to the ground beside you. You will not be taking it any further than here.

You know this, because there is an inexplicable shadow pressed against the side of the alley. It is cast by nothing, darker than the night that surrounds it. A long, abstract shape unfurls bit by bit, extends its tendrils across the worn brick, and drips down until it spills onto the polished boots that have appeared suddenly on the ground in front of you. 

There’s a horribly familiar sigh, but no words. No touch. Not yet.

Soon. Too soon, you’ll hear his voice.

But you find that you do not have the impulse to scream, like anyone else might in this situation. Nor do you want to run. You do not want to take so much as a step backwards. You do not do these things, because you are not scared like you might have expected. No. The thing that quickens your pulse is not fear, but anger. You were so close. You could have made it. And you should have made it.

You should not have had to run to begin with.

You answer a question that you didn’t realize you were asking until this moment. This is not your fault. None of it. Nothing that makes you feel like this could possibly be your doing alone. So, instead of looking up and apologizing, you stare at the ground, and imagine that your eyes shine as intensely as the ones above you. It’s a striking contrast, your worn, comfortable shoes toe-to-toe with polished leather. A victory, in its own small way.

You feel Alastor lean over you, and your hands curl into fists of their own accord. 

“Do you have any idea,” he murmurs, his voice deceptively calm, “what a terrible risk you’ve taken?”

“Some idea.” You’re seething, just as you know he must be underneath the surface - the only difference is that you aren’t bothering to hide it. “You’ll forgive me.”

“Oh…I’m not talking about my own impulses, my dear. Running was a terrible idea for many reasons.” His glove catches you beneath your jaw - you press back against it for a moment before following its guide. Before looking up into the eyes you never wanted to see again, and the grin that bears down upon you. “You might find it hard to wrap your head around, considering its current misguided state, but I assure you that I am far from the only threat that the nights of hell have to offer.”

“But you are a threat.” He’s shown his hand, you think. It’s satisfying to point out - until it’s thrown back in your face. 

“Only when provoked, darling.” His eyes are a brighter red than you’ve ever seen them, glowing with some intense emotion - whether it’s hatred or a deep appreciation, you don’t know, and will never know. He releases your jaw, runs his finger slowly down the line of your neck. “But you’ve no need to worry…it would take quite a lot of provocation for me to hurt you. Even now, I’m not even close to taking such drastic action.” 

Your teeth grind together, clenched as tightly as his pasted-on smile, as the fist wrapped around his staff. “You think you haven’t hurt me already?”

“Oh, my.” He laughs gently, dismissively - but it’s not quite as convincing as usual. He’s standing rigidly, pressing the bottom of his staff tightly against the ground, holding his free hand not behind his back, but at his side. Fingers stiffly curled, practically trembling with the effort of holding still, as if they’re itching to grab onto something.“You are feeling bold tonight. Not as if I couldn’t tell by the little present you left behind in your room…but it is rather strange to experience it in person. You’re usually such a sweetheart.”

You tune out the syrupy condescension of his voice. You’re done with listening to him. Done with beating around the bush, done with getting brushed aside again and again. “What do you want from me?”

“Cliches don’t suit you, my dear,” he intones darkly. “Especially not when paired with that expression.” He slowly raises his hand, and reaches for your face, as if he hopes to rearrange the features he finds so unpleasant. Without a second thought, you jerk backwards, and slap his hand away.

He holds it frozen. Poised in midair. The last time this happened, it was enough to make you tug back everything you’d just done. 

Not this time.

“What,” you hiss, taking another full step back, “do you want from me?”

The corner of his grin twitches so severely that you can almost imagine it dropping from his face. “At the moment, I only wish for you to return home.”

“That’s not what I mean.” You hold your fists at your sides. Spine straight, shoulders pressed back. Toes curled inside your shoes. You can feel the unfamiliar undergarments clinging to your hips, your ribcage - you want them gone. You want him gone. 

“Then pray tell, my dear”-

“All of it.” You hold his gaze as his head tilts slowly to one side. Listen to the cracking of bones, and press on, before you can think better of it. “You won’t let me go. You can’t. And I don’t even get to know why.” There’s a desperation in your voice, rising with the volume of it, quickly spiraling out of your control. “All I know is that you’re - you’re trying to control me, and that I hate it, and that I don’t fucking understand it.”

Images from two nights before descend upon your mind, and your train of thought comes entirely undone. It’s more than images, really. You can certainly picture him standing over you, his red eyes flaring as you stripped yourself bare in front of him, but you can also feel it, the awful heat under your skin battling with the chill of the air, the brush of his finger along your hip, the gentle kiss to your forehead. The hands pulled tightly behind his back. And the way you felt then, the thing you’d be afraid of, if it was anyone else.

“You - you don’t”- You feel strangely distant from your body, as if your mind is a separate entity, floating somewhere slightly outside of your skull. Your mouth takes a sharp breath, and more words cascade out before you can return to stop them. “I was fucking naked in front of you, and you didn’t feel anything. If you don’t want - that”-

Any other stupid words you might say are cut off by a rising buzz of static, which emanates from him as his staff disappears before your eyes, and his newly-free hand takes on the stiff, barely-restrained posture of the other. You wonder, in that detached manner your thoughts take on when you are frightened, if he’s doing this on purpose, or if it’s somehow leaking out in a way that’s beyond his control. 

You feel tears welling in your eyes, and try in vain to shove them back down. You don’t know where they came from. “I don’t understand.” 

For the first time, you see his grin drop - not all the way, but enough that the line of it changes, enough that it becomes a grimace. It’s so unsettling that you wish the usual, terrible smile would return. “That much is obvious, my dear. I wonder if you even realize how tragic what you just said really was.”

You freeze as your wrists are snatched by coils of shadow, smooth and inexplicably solid. Your arms are yanked straight down, and when you try to tear them away, you fail. Your hands are free to form fists, but remain trapped against your sides.

“That you can only fathom being desired in such a shallow way…”

His image flickers before you. You’re already half-turned around when he reappears behind you a moment later, but there’s nothing you can do to stop his hands from curling, one finger at a time, around your shoulders, far too close to your neck for comfort. You stare straight ahead as his face twists into the periphery of your vision. 

And he whispers in your ear, his voice bare of any effect, just the hint of some old, earthly accent slipping through. “I’m afraid that I want much more than that.” 

He slides around you at the same moment the bonds around your wrists release, and effortlessly turns you by your shoulders - he does not push you against the wall that now stands behind you, but you step back out of instinct and flatten yourself against it. He matches your steps with his own, traps you between himself and the rough brick at your back, and latches his gloved hand beneath your jaw, wrenching your face upwards. With his other hand, he reaches down, flips your palm so that it’s no longer facing the wall and interlocks his fingers with your own. His grin springs back into place, and oh - you wish you could run now. You would, if you could.

His eyes slide away from you for a moment as he puts something together in his head. “These little acts of rebellion from you…I think I ought to thank you for them.” He blinks slowly, and returns his gaze to your face. “I don’t think I would have realized just how close I wanted to keep you, if you hadn’t attempted to leave. And now…oh. I understand perfectly, now. I know exactly what I want.” He bows his head, lowers his lips to your ear, so that you can hear the shudder of his breath. “I’ll have your soul one day, my dear. A day when you’re already bound so tightly to me that such a contract will be a mere formality.” 

“And until that day comes…” He draws back from the side of your face, stares not into your eyes, but through them. His teeth part. His tongue flicks out from between them, and slides quickly over their jagged edges. “I feel as if I’m prepared to do anything, if only it will bring you closer.” 

The last vestiges of your anger burst forth, and you attempt to wrench your face out of his grasp. He lets you, and moves his hand to the back of your neck, his long fingers pressing harshly into the sides. You look up, eyes wide with terror, as the palm that has been flattened against your own releases your hand from the wall, and rises to curl tightly around your waist. 

He pulls you close. You do not see the moment that his smile disappears, as it surely must - your eyes are already closed when he kisses you, screwed tightly shut as his hot, rancid breath works its way into your lungs. There’s a hint of whiskey beneath the rot, and something metallic, the same taste that floods your mouth when you bite the inside of your lip a bit too hard. His hand slides around from the back of your neck, and closes at your throat - he keeps it there after he’s pulled away, and watches as you struggle against his grip. 

“You have a decision to make now, darling.” He takes a deep, satisfied breath, the tension leaving his posture even as you fight to breathe beneath his hand. “You can return all by yourself…” His fingers curl tighter around your neck, and tendrils of shadow lash at your wrists and ankles, slowly twisting their way up your limbs. “Or, I can bring you back. I imagine that would cause quite a scene..but the choice is yours.” He tilts his head, stares down at you through narrowed eyes, and - after another moment of watching you struggle - eases his grip just enough for you to answer.

You don’t hesitate for a moment. Even if you had the air to argue, you wouldn’t dare. “I’ll - come back” -

“Lovely.” He releases you, and takes a step back. Pulls one hand slowly behind him, as if doing so takes a tremendous amount of effort. “Since you’re so attached to your freedom, I’ll allow you to walk back unsupervised.” He traces the back of his other hand gently down your cheek, stopping only briefly to press the tips of his fingers against the hardened clench of your jaw. You let it go slack - only then does he pull his hand away. “But as I told you before, darling…there are many threats lurking in the shadows of these streets. So I do suggest that you watch your step.” 

His image fades away before you. In the same moment that you watch him disappear, there is a shift in the surface under your feet. You no longer feel the familiar soles of your shoes, but the ground beneath, rough with the texture of cracks and debris. Cold. Not damp, exactly, but carrying the faint suggestion of something wet having only recently become dry. 

Your toes curl inside your pristine white socks, which will soon be stained by the filth of the ground beneath them. There’s a new shadow against the wall - it slides along with you as you carefully retrace your steps home.

[crypticreid]

KINKTOBER DAY TWO

October 6 -- Phone Sex

masterlist

author's note: first of all, I've been so overwhelmed with the amount of support I've received so far on my first post. Truly, it means the world to me, so thank you! 💖💖💖Also, I've started a tag list for kinktober. If you would like to be added, please reply to one of my posts or message me!

summary: after injuring yourself, you've been forced to stay home from a case and you miss Spencer more than you'd like to admit. Lucky for you, he's missing you just as much.

warnings: female reader, masturbation, guided masturbation, horny ramblings, a little bit of spencer dominance, dirty talk

word count: 2.8k

this is adut content. 18+ plus only. minors do not interact!

Your apartment was spotlessly clean. You’d spent almost the whole day organizing and scrubbing and even rearranging furniture. You hadn’t been able to sit still all day, distracted and bored at the same time. 

While on the last case a few days ago, you had sprained your ankle pretty bad. At least bad enough that Hotch had basically forced you to take a few days of leave. You argued that you could work the current case from the office with Garcia, but he’d simply leveled his ‘this isn’t up for discussion’ look at you, and you shut your mouth. Reid had offered to drive you home and then spent the entire night pampering you and not even letting you lift a finger. Then he had to leave for this case, and you were alone. Which had been okay while your ankle throbbed, but now your ankle was perfectly fine, and you were dying being stuck at home. 

You were restless, but nothing you did helped. And now you’re frustrated. 

You bite down on your bottom lip as you try to think of literally anything else you can do to keep your mind busy. Your eyes fall onto the clock hanging on the wall, and you notice that it’s almost midnight. 

There’s barely a slim chance that he’ll pick up, but you grab your cell phone anyway and call Spencer. It rings for several seconds until his automated voicemail picks up. A sigh falls from your lips. 

“Hey, Spencer. It’s me. I know you’re busy. I just – I just miss you.” You sigh again and feel slightly annoyed at how pitiful you sound. But it’s true. 

It’s been hard to sleep since he’s gone, both because you’ve realized you spend too much time worrying about him and because the bed feels so empty without his long limbs taking up an unfair amount of space. You miss laying on the couch with your feet tucked under his thigh as you both read in comfortable quietness. And you hate how empty your apartment feels without him here. “Anyway, stay safe. And I’ll see you when you get home. Love you.” 

You hang up the phone and slump onto the couch with a groan. After a few minutes of trying to read, you give up and decide to take a shower and head to bed. You toss your cell phone onto your bed as you take off your clothes and grab a towel. In the bathroom, you turn on the shower, and as you wait for the water to warm up, you glance at the mirror. 

You see your naked body, the body that Spencer spends so much time worshiping. Your hands graze up your thighs, remembering how his hands grab onto them when he holds you pressed against his mouth as his tongue brings you to orgasm after orgasm. You continue your journey upwards across your stomach where he presses kisses and murmurs how much he loves you, to your breasts where he licks and nips and takes your nipple in between his teeth. 

A warmth begins to gather low in your belly, and you feel the beginning twinges of need in your core. Quickly, you blink away the images of Spencer and drop your hands to the cool counter of the sink. You take a few deep breaths as you lean against the counter. 

In the shower, you can’t help it when your hands caress your skin, paying special attention to your breasts. You moan out loud alone and realize why you’ve been so restless today. There’s a slight blush coloring your cheeks at the understanding. You rush through the rest of your shower and dry off with the towel so you can throw back the comforter of your bed and settle into the freshly cleaned sheets. 

You start to rub your thighs, massaging and focusing on the sensation against your skin. With your eyes closed, an image of Spencer emerges, leaning over you, touching you. No, now he’s lying next to you, he’s breathing against your neck right after he kisses below your ear, and his hands leave your thighs and travel across your stomach. Just the fingertips, almost tickling, raising the anticipation, and he smiles when you take a sharp intake of breath before he reaches your breasts. Your hands are smaller than his, so it isn’t exactly the same sense of pleasure, but it works for now. 

If he was here, Spencer would be kissing your neck, so gingerly, and then he’d laugh lightly against your skin when you’d squirm impatiently. But since he isn’t here, you don’t have to tease. Release was only a few minutes away. Your fingers gather the wetness at your core and glide upward toward your clit. 

Instantly, you sigh at the contact and begin leisurely circles on the sensitive bud as your imaginary Spencer looks into your eyes. He would lean down to kiss your lips, just as slowly as his fingers moved on you, his tongue teasing your lips, but never giving himself over to you fully. Not yet. You moan his name and speed up your fingers. 

The pleasure rises deep within you, your hips moving in tandem with your fingers, and you apply just a little more pressure. Another sharp intake of breath, and you can tell you’re close. 

Your phone rings. You freeze your motions, unaware of your surroundings for a split second, but then you force your eyes open and scramble off the bed. The ringtone is somewhere in the room, but you can’t remember where you left your phone. 

The phone rings incessantly as though it’s mocking you as you feverishly search for it. When you pull the comforter off the bed harshly, a loud clang on the floor confirms the phone’s location. You grab it and answer breathlessly, “hello.” 

“Why are you out of breath?” Spencer asks on the other end, a thousand or so miles away. 

You press a hand to your sweaty forehead and then push sticky strands of hair off of it. “Oh, I was in the shower, and I heard the phone ringing in the bedroom.” You lie even though Spencer is a genius profiler and would most likely see right through it. But the idea of admitting to him that you were touching yourself to the thought of him made your stomach do somersaults. 

There is a small pause before he replies, “I’m sorry for interrupting your shower.” 

“I was done. It’s fine.” You chew on your bottom lip.

“Oh, good. I got your message.” 

“I’m sorry for bothering you.” You sit on the edge of the bed. 

“Don’t apologize. It was nice to hear your voice.” His words make your heart flutter. “I miss you.” 

You sigh, “I miss you too,” and lie back horizontal across the bed, your feet dangling off the edge. 

“I’ll be home tomorrow. We wrapped up the case about an hour ago, but there’s a bad thunderstorm, and flights were grounded.” You picture him alone in a hotel room holding his cellphone up to his ear, his long body across the bed. 

“How was the case?” 

“I’d rather talk about you. How was your day?” 

You turn on your side so you can fiddle with the top sheet that was left askew by all of your frantic movements earlier. “Nothing exciting.”

“And how’s your ankle?” 

“Perfectly fine. Not even sore.” 

“I’ll see about that. Don’t think I won’t take a look at it tomorrow.” 

“You’re not a medical doctor, Spencer.” You roll your eyes with a small smile playing on your lips. He laughs lightly. 

There is a soft silence between the two of you for a few moments. It isn’t awkward but comforting. Almost as if he’s lying beside you and the two of you are simply resting in the presence of each other. “What were you really doing before I called?” He inquires. 

You smile. He’s too smart for his own good. “Exercising,” you quip. 

“The kind of exercise that requires your hand between your legs.” 

“Spencer!” You gasp. 

He laughs again, and you wish he was next to you because you’d kiss the laugh off his lips. “Am I wrong?” 

“How did you know?” 

“I’m a profiler.” 

“No, really tell me,” you demand. Profiling isn’t a magic trick, and Spencer isn’t a psychic. 

“I guessed.” You roll your eyes because you can see his face in your mind, the sly almost smug smile and the eyes full of amusement. 

“Bullshit.” 

“No, truly. I figured you missed me just as much as I missed you.” His voice lowers to almost a whisper, and it sends a shiver down your spine. “That you’ve been thinking about me just as much as I’ve been thinking about you.” 

“You’ve been thinking about me?” You murmur. 

“I can’t get you out of my head. It’s quite distracting, to be completely honest.” 

“Me? Distracting the brilliant Dr. Reid?” You ask innocently. 

“You have no idea what you do to me, do you?” His voice has taken on that husky tone that sends wet heat straight to your core. 

“Tell me.” You repeat your earlier demand, your hand rubbing mindless patterns across your skin. 

“I’m hard just from hearing your voice. It’s taking everything in me to not to unbuckle my pants and fuck into my hand like I’d fuck into you.” 

You can’t help but bite your lip at his words because it’s rare for him to curse like that. “Do it.” 

“Only if you do it too. Can you do that for me, baby? Can you touch yourself and make yourself come just from my voice.” 

“Yes,” you reply breathlessly, your hand traveling lower. 

He hums low and deep in the back of his throat. “You’re already doing it aren’t you, sweetheart? Couldn’t even wait for me to undo my belt. Needed it that bad, didn’t you?” 

“I need it.” 

You’re about to reach your aching center when he makes a quick tutting sound. “Don’t touch yourself yet.” You instantly pull your hand away. “Go get your earbuds and connect them to your phone. I want to be right in your ear, and I want both of your hands free.” 

You comply quickly, putting in your earbuds and then laying back down on your bed. You set your phone beside you. “I’m ready.” 

“Are you? What are you ready for?” He teases. He wants you to vocalize exactly what you want even though it makes you blush or maybe because it makes you blush. He wants it despite not being here to see it. 

“To touch myself.” 

“And?” 

“To make myself come from just your voice.” 

“Good…” he starts, but you have one more thing to add. 

“And I want to hear you come too, baby.” 

In the distance, you can hear the clanking of his belt as he undoes it and the shuffling of him taking off his pants. “I’ll do anything for you.” You settle into the bed, anticipation buzzing across your skin. “Are you comfortable?” 

“Yes.” 

“Perfect. Close your eyes and just focus on my voice and your breathing. Take a deep breath for me. And let it go, just like that. Where do you need me most, sweetheart?” 

“Everywhere.” You answer instantly. 

“No, baby, I know, but focus for me. Where is that ache? Where do you need me to touch you?”

You take a deep breath. “My breasts.” Your entire body is aching with want, but your breasts are desperate to be touched. 

“I want so badly to touch you, I wish I was there. I want to put your breasts in my hands. Do that for me, please.” You do as he asks, kneading your breasts. “Open your mouth, baby, and take one of your fingers and get it wet. Now play with your nipple, tease it, circle it.” 

You moan as you tease yourself. “Yes. I want to hear you, tell me how good it feels. Show me how much you miss me.” 

“I need you, Spencer.” You groan as you lightly pinch your nipple. 

“I know, I know. I need you too.” On the other end of the phone, you can hear the sounds of him touching himself, slowly. He’s teasing himself just as much as he’s teasing you. “When I get home to you, I’m going to show you just how much I need you. I’m going to make you come with my fingers. With my tongue. Over and over again. And then I’ll finally give you my cock, just when you think you’ve had enough. And I’ll make you come one more time on my cock. Is that what you want, baby?” 

Your back arches off the bed, still playing with your breasts and nipples. “Yes, oh my god. I want it so bad.” 

“How bad, honey? Tell me, is your pussy dripping for me? ‘Cause you need me that bad.” 

Your dominant hand moves to your core, and you feel how soaked you are. “Yes. Yes. I need you. I’m so wet.” 

“Touch your clit, baby. Slow, do it slow for me at first. You know, just like I would.” 

Even though your eyes are already closed, you squeeze them closed tighter when you make contact with your clit. It’s practically throbbing and you exhale a sharp breath. “Oh my god, Spencer. I can’t. I need –” 

“Slow, yes you can. Take a deep breath, focus on my voice.” 

An uncontrolled moan escapes your throat, but you do as he says. You concentrate on his breaths over the phone, and you match yours to his. Then you match the rhythm of your hand to the sound of his as he ruts into his hand. You listen to his grunts and whimpers, both of you racing toward a needed release. 

He lets out a guttural sound. “Do you feel empty? Do you need to be filled?” 

“So bad, so bad.” 

“I’d fill you so good if I was there.” He groans, and you hear him lose his rhythm for a second as his hips falter. “Slip one of your fingers in. But with your other hand. I need you to keep rubbing that beautiful clit.” 

As you slowly push one finger into you, he continues to ramble. “I wish I was there to taste you. You taste so good, baby. I love how gorgeous you look when I’ve got my mouth on you. The way you grind your clit against my tongue because you’re so needy. So desperate to come.” 

Your finger pumps faster into you, the need and pleasure climbing higher within you as you buck your hips in time with the movement of your hands. You’re breathless, but you tell Spencer, “I’m so desperate.” 

“I know you are.” He groans. “Do you know how bad I need it too? Can you add another finger for me, baby? Fill yourself even more.” You clench against your two fingers. He’s panting into the phone, and you can picture the way his hair would be stuck to his forehead as he pounded into you, completely lost in the feeling of you squeezing him.

“I’m gonna come, baby.” You gasp out. You feel like you have no control over your body as though Spencer was completely in control even though it’s your fingers frantically stroking. 

“Are you? Are you going to make yourself come all over your fingers?” 

“Yes, I have to. I –” 

“Yeah, you do. You’re doing so well. I need to hear you come. I need to hear you be so good for me. Coming all over your fingers, all by yourself. But you’re thinking of me aren’t you?” 

“Yes… yes. Always.” 

“I can make you come so hard even when I’m not there. And you’re going to make a mess, a beautiful, perfect mess as you finish.” You moan loudly. “That’s it. Just like that.” He’s groaning and muttering, and you know he’s close too. “I wish I was coming in you, feeling you clench around me. And I’d rub that needy clit of yours, your nails would be scratching against my skin because you just can’t help yourself. Please come, baby. I need it.” 

You come with his name on your lips, your body clenches and shakes, and you listen closely to his climax. He lets out a shaky breath after a few moments. “I love you.” He says, and you hate that you can’t kiss him. 

“I love you too.” Your breathing slowly returns to normal. 

“Are you okay?” He checks in with you, and you smile as you roll onto your side and settle deeper into the bed, suddenly very tired. 

“I’m great. Are you?” You yawn. 

“Yes. Get some sleep, sweetheart.” 

“Come home soon.” 

“I’m coming home to you as soon as I possibly can. I can’t be apart from you like this.” 

“Neither can I. Talk to me until I fall asleep?” 

“Of course. Anything for you.”

tag list: @spenciesprincess @catalinasroom @tylevx

[raz-writes-the-thing]

Sometimes All We Need Is A Good Cry (Doctor Who One-Shot)

Tenth Doctor x GN!Reader / requests are open

Summary: it's in the title

Fic type: emotional hurt/comfort

DW: @nyxiethesimp @quickslvxrr @midnight--raine @blueberry-sunshines @stevekempscocktails @go-bonkers-go-foolish @peytonpenguin37 @yeethaw13 @complimentary-breadbasket @thekirbishow @stilestotherescue @madspads @catlynharper@merrilark @jaziona92 @yeehawbrothers @mochabonesblog @iguirisu @thegen3sisark @wereallbrokenangels  (send an ask to be added to a tag list!)

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Sometimes feelings can be extremely overwhelming. Sometimes when your feelings are so overwhelming that you can’t even breathe, you find yourself tucking away into a dark corner somewhere private so you can sob your heart out. It’s not pretty or comfortable, but it’s necessary to process your feelings and move on with it all. 

It’s been a good while since your last cry, but today- today was the final straw. The final snap. Some days are just truly too awful to even think about. So awful that even when you’re crying your heart out, and you put the thoughts away, you still keep crying. It’s almost like your body doesn’t know what else to do. 

You’d found this room several months ago. The TARDIS was huge, and exploring its true depths was a terrifying concept, but every so often you found yourself bored enough to travel a little further into the corridors and rooms. 

It was quiet and cozy, with soft bean bags and a few cabinets of god only knows what lining the walls, but what really drew you in was the window. At the size of the entire back wall, it was a sight to behold, and you adored being able to sit down and see out at the supernovas, black holes, moons, planets and whatever else drifted by. It was gorgeous, and a source of comfort for you. 

You hadn’t told the Doctor that you’d found the room, preferring for it to be a private thing. Not that you didn’t want him to know, just that- if you needed a moment alone, this is where you always found yourself. 

But the problem was- you didn’t want to be alone now, and your sobs were wracking your body so harshly that you couldn’t even begin to contemplate getting up and going to find him. You were here, alone, looking out at the vast blackness of space. Not even the stars were twinkling all that bright tonight. It was as if they knew how much pain you were in… Or maybe you just couldn’t see past the wall of tears blurring your vision. 

“I- I don’t know if you can hear me,” you sobbed, reaching out to brush your fingers against the wall. “But if- if you can- can you bring him here- please?” Your arms shook with the effort, and your throat felt thick and lumpy with the force of your breathing. You didn’t know if the TARDIS could hear you. If she was listening even if she could. 

Your hand dropped off the wall, and you sunk lower into yourself, kneeling on the floor and pulling a stray cushion towards yourself. You just needed something to hold. Something to comfort yourself with until you could pull yourself together. But the pieces of yourself shattered over the floor were sharp, and you were afraid of cutting yourself with them when you tried to pick them up. 

Each time your tears started to slow, another wave of emotions would bash themselves against you and release the flood all over again. Your sleeve was wet with snot and tears, but you didn’t have any tissues to use in the meantime. It felt like hours, and perhaps it was before you heard the telltale ‘shhck’ of the door opening behind you. You bit down on your lip, emotions trying to shove themselves back down out of habit. 

“What’s all this then, eh?” A velvet-smooth voice asked, and suddenly he was kneeling down beside you. He didn’t force you to look at him or to respond. He just looked out at the stars through the glass. “You’re alright then, love, don’t you worry,” he whispered, shuffling just a touch closer. 

You could feel the desire rolling off him to wrap you up in his arms. He wasn’t sure what was wrong, but he could certainly tell that it was something big. Your lip struggled between your teeth to stay there, and you finally risked a glance at him. 

It was as if making eye contact with him was all it took to let go once again, a loud hiccuping sob escaping your throat as you threw yourself into his chest for comfort, seeking the comforting beat of his hearts, and the warmth that came with them. 

The Doctor grunted with surprise but was instantly wrapping you up safely in his arms. He pulled you up towards his lap on your side so you could lay against him. He rubbed your arm comfortingly and pressed a litany of kisses to your forehead, but he didn’t shush you.

 

“Come on then, love,” he said quietly, squeezing you tight. “Let it out- go on, there you go- oh, my darling,” the Doctor pressed his cheek to your forehead, rocking you slightly back and forth. “That’s better, oh yes, I know.” 

You could feel his suit jacket grow wet under your eye and readjusted your face so you were pressed onto a dry patch. You could feel how puffy your face was already, and you hadn’t even finished with your tears yet. 

“I know it hurts, darling,” the Doctor cooed, adjusting one arm so he could play with your hair, scratching at the scalp just the way you like. You sniffled, an embarrassing snot bubble forming. The Doctor didn’t seem to be worried about it, though, and just continued to rock you in his arms. “You’re alright, I promise. I’m here, you know me- always around when you need me, aren’t I? Yeah.” 

You nodded, reassuring yourself with his comforting words. He wasn’t going to leave you. He’d keep you safe. The Doctor would always keep you safe. 

Slowly, the tears began to slow, the snot drying on your clothes. You wiped your nose and let your eyes close- irritated as they were from the salt of your tears. 

“Do you want to talk about it, then?” The Doctor asked quietly some time after your tears had stopped and you both had sunk into silence watching the stars. You shook your head no, and the Doctor kissed your forehead as an acknowledgement. 

“Talk to me?” You asked, voice thick and crackly with abuse. The Doctor hummed, thinking of something to say. You’d never known him to need to think before he opened his mouth. Always ready to talk about something, your Doctor was.

“See that moon? Past that asteroid belt, yep,” the Doctor said after another minute of contemplation. He was pointing towards a green-tinted moon over on the left-hand side of the window. It was pretty, you thought. No matter how many moons and planets you saw, you’d thought they were all gorgeous. It was one of the things the Doctor adored most about you. 

“I’ve been there. Had a nasty outbreak of Cybermen in, oh-” the Doctor checked his watch. “About fifteen thousand years. Gorgeous place, nice little outpost for a quick pit stop. I’m still not sure what they wanted there, actually.” 

You settled into his arms, watching the moon in the distance. 

“Met a nice android there. Not a huge fan of androids, me, but he was nice enough. We managed to fight them off and get rid of them before too many people were ‘upgraded’,” the Doctor grimaced at the terminology. 

“How did they get there?” You asked, feeling your eyelids start to droop just a little. 

“Oh, same as always, worming themselves across the galaxy,” he sighed, leaning his chin on your forehead. “I know what you’re thinking- ‘Doctor, how did you know they were there?’ Ah, well, good question.” 

Your eyes drooped a little more and you startled yourself awake, trying to listen to the story. The Doctor’s fingers rubbed soothing circles on your arm. 

“See, it all started how it usually starts. I was hungry, looking for a quick spot to stuff my face when I got a distress signal on my psychic paper. It’s always when I’m hungry, I’ve noticed. Very odd… Anyway, where was I? Oh yes-” 

And so the Doctor started to tell you all about his adventure, and the Cybermen and how he triumphed over them once again. You realised right before you fell into a comforting sleep that he’d stopped talking, but you were too close to the edge to ask why. 

“Sleep well, my darling,” he whispered as you let sleep take you under. “I’ll be here when you wake.” 

[bby-deerling]

can i get some sanji x reader. you’ve been friends for years. end up having a crush on each other. sanji confesses first. you end up kissing snd confessing as well. your first date gets a lil spicy (you don’t have to write smut idc) ands up telling you he loves you. reader ends up crying in happiness. you can have them reciprocate or have sanji say, “it’s okay you don’t have to love me back yet.”

meow meow

meow meow, sweet anon <3 (this has been sitting in my inbox forever, i want u to know every time i'm sad i go back and read this request and the little meow meow at the end would always make me laugh and cheer me up!)

yours truly (sanji x fem!reader)

ft. pining, yearning, confessions, sanji being sanji

wc: 636 masterlist

“I love you.”

The words ring in your head, slowly seeping into your brain like a thick layer of gelatin.  A soft shade of pink creeps into the tips of your ears, the elaborate table setting and candles in front of you long forgotten.  There was only him, blonde bangs covering half of his face and eyes gleaming with sincerity; his breathing is shaky, impatient, and nervous as he awaits your response.

This was far from the first time Sanji had confessed to being under the deep spell of love—over two years ago he had said as much upon first meeting you, before even learning your name or glimpsing your entire face.  And he had said it to Nami and Robin at least three times a day.  Never taking his confessions seriously, you brushed them off as silly, whimsical musings of a man who was blissfully unaware of the severity of his words, not knowing what love—real love—was like enough to know any better.

But Sanji was kind, generous, and sweet, and if you were any more naïve and green, you would have been burning with affection for him from the very start.  He was attentive, anticipating your needs before you were even aware of them yourself.  Selfless to the core, he had no qualms about rushing headlong to protect you in battle—at times even before racing towards Nami.  He was cracked open and vulnerable, for you and you alone as he opened up to you during late nights when sleep was nothing but a feverish ideal for both of you.  As time crept on, he wormed his way further into your soul, despite your rational urge to keep him at an arm’s length to keep your own fragile heart safe.

Sanji is a flirt, you remind yourself.

You repeat those four words to no avail every day for two years and three days until you see him again; unfortunately, absence only makes the heart grow fonder, and fantasies and yearning for him have a chokehold on all of your sweetest dreams.  However, his behavior when you reunited made reality come crashing down around you.

He’s so excited to see you again that he can barely look at you without passing out from blood loss—but it’s the same with the other women, like it always has been.  Despite all your daydreaming, Sanji is still wholly himself; Sanji is only human.

His faults and complexity only spurs you to crave him more.  Temperamental and moody, he gets into bad fits, only able to be soothed by your caring words and touches.  Chivalrous to a fault, he bends over backwards to avoid hurting women in battle, often to the point of ignoring his own safety, but you have no qualms about playing the role of his savior, able to bask in the light of his gratitude as a reward for your efforts.  The frustrating way he swoons over each woman who crosses his path inexplicably only makes you want him more, convinced that you can show him enough kindness, affection, and care to make him see only you.  And somehow, against all odds, it worked.

When he confesses—truly confesses—his feelings to you, upon discovering that he had indeed cared for you deeply and truly this whole time, you’re so overwhelmed that tears prick at your eyes.  He wanted you as you are; all the hoops you had jumped through to woo him were simply icing on the cake, and vice versa.

That why when Sanji tells you he loves you, in between heated kisses on your first date in the kitchen of the Sunny, only one phrase comes to mind.  It’s moving quickly, and on the surface impulsive, but you’ve never meant anything more in your life.

“I love you too.”

[mirage-aera]

•°. *࿐ Stay high

ᴺᴼᵂ ᴾᴸᴬᵞᴵᴺᴳ : Habits (Stay High) - Tove Lo

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x Reader

pt 1. - pt 2

Synopsis: You lose yourself in your grief. You do various things that you never did, or occasionally did. As much as you know it’s wrong, you can’t get yourself to stop. You need to keep him off your mind somehow.

Word count: 2.263

Masterlist

TW!! Mention of character death, eating disorder, alcoholism.

Please don’t read this, read my other work instead if this triggers you. This time it’s pretty heavy on the latter two topics. Stay safe lovelies.

Simon has been officially declared MIA on a mission gone bad. Or so, that’s what you’ve been told. It’s been months and you’ve been spiraling ever since the news broke out. You’re clinging onto the smallest of hopes that he’s still out there. Alone, injured, but alive. It’s scary how you can go from being completely independent to being dependent on someone, only for it to be ripped away from you in seconds, being left alone to figure out how to be fully independent again. You’ve gone from being able to sleep in your bed alone like a baby, to being not able to sleep at all. Tossing and turning, wondering if Simon is still out there kicking, or if he already has kicked the bucket. His body lying in a ditch somewhere or in some organization’s basement. You don’t know, no one knows what happened to him. All that is known is that he was on a solo mission, observing a high-value target. Only for it to be an ambush and get surrounded by tangos. From there on out it was radio silence.

You lay on the couch. Eyes swollen and red from continuous crying. The TV is playing some show that you can’t be bothered to care about on repeat. It’s been months, and you’re still as miserable as the day they came to your door and sent you their condolences. They promised to let you know if there are any updates about him, even if they end up finding his body. They promised they’d tell you. You don’t know if the lack of updates is a good thing or the exact opposite.

I get home, I got the munchies

Binge on all my Twinkies

Throw up in the 'tub, then I go to sleep

You haven’t eaten all day. You either don’t eat for days on end, or eat an unhealthy amount of junk food to keep you going. You know it’s not healthy. You know it’s not what Simon would want you to do. But you can’t help it. You need something, someone to numb the pain. A knock sounds at the door. You rush off the couch to open the door. You hope that it’s Simon at the door. You stumble toward the door and fling it open. Your heart sinks to your stomach when you spot two military officers at the door. They look at you grimly and hold out Simon’s dog tags, bloodied balaclava, and a small wooden box with his personal effects. Your entire world crumbles at that moment. The sight of his dog tags and bloodied balaclava sends bile to your throat. You reach out with shaky hands for the items. You put the wooden box down. You clutch the piece of cloth and metal tightly in your hands. One of the officers speaks up. “Mrs. Riley, we regret to inform you that Simon Riley has been declared KIA,” they take off their hats and bow their heads, “our condolences.” A sob escapes your throat. You nod meekly, wish them a good night, and shut the door. Once the door is closed, it’s only you in the lonesome cold house. You slide down the door and sit on the floor. Cries leave your body. He’s gone, he’s really gone, and he’s not coming back.

You get up shakily and walk to the kitchen. You raid the kitchen cabinets for whatever junk food you can reach for. You grab several candy bars, cookies, cakes. Whatever you still have left, whatever you haven’t touched. You glance at the fridge. All of the food stored is starting to expire. You know you should eat healthier if you’re going to eat at all. But it isn’t appetizing to you anymore. More tears fall from your eyes. You trudge over to the couch. You slump over and start eating. You binge on whatever you grabbed until it’s all or mostly gone. Not even a minute later you feel yourself growing nauseous. You send yourself to the bathroom to throw up. You don’t make it to the toilet bowl. Instead, you empty all of your stomach’s contents into the bathtub. After you finish throwing everything back up. You slump over the side of the bathtub. You rest your head on your arms. Sobs racked through your body. Binging on junk food made you temporarily forget about Simon. Giving you short bliss. Now you’re back into that rabbit hole and you can’t climb out. Eventually, you fall asleep on the cold, hard bathroom floor. Having been tired out by sobbing your sorrows out.

The following morning you wake up with a sore and scratchy throat. Your head is pounding. And the thoughts of Simon are flooding your mind. All of the past memories you’ve made together are looping in your mind like a movie. All of his sweet nothings are playing in your head like a broken record. It’s as if he’s haunting you in your own house. A house you used to share with him. You begrudgingly get up from the bathroom tiles. You walk towards the living room, wanting to go back to sulking on the couch and feeling miserable for yourself. For how far you’ve fallen. Then you eye the liquor cabinet. You aren’t much of a drinker, you never were. But you’d sometimes join Simon in the activity, as he’s fond of dabbling into the occasional night spent with whisky in one hand, the other entangled with yours. You swing open the liquor cabinet. Grabbing the first thing you see. Whisky. Great. Another thing to remind you of him. You walk towards the dining table. A table you’ve always kept neat, a table that is now littered with all sorts of things. You haven’t cleaned the house in ages, not having the energy to do so.

And I drank up all my money

Dazed and kinda lonely

You're gone, and I gotta stay high all the time

To keep you off my mind

You sit down and crack open the bottle of whisky. You don’t bother pouring it into a glass. You take a huge gulp and swallow. Your throat burns as the liquid traverses from your throat to your stomach. You grimace. You never got used to the burning sensation, perhaps you will later. You keep drinking until you feel yourself getting sick.

The same pattern repeats in the following days. You’d binge eat junk food, throw it up, and pass out. The next morning you’d drink yourself stupid and sick. After you run out of alcohol, you’d buy more. You run out of junk food, you order a huge amount of takeout. You burn through your money without a care in the world.

Spend my days locked in a haze

Trying to forget you, babe, I fall back down

Gotta stay high all my life to forget I'm missing you

All of this has one goal, to keep Simon off your mind for as long as possible. Even if it’s only temporary. You’d rather forget about him temporarily than torment yourself with all sorts of trinkets around the house that remind you of him. The picture frames on the wall. His closet. His favorite drink, alcoholic and non alcoholic. Even his toothbrush will torment you till the day you die. Every time you try to pick your life back up. When you try to pick up the pieces of your shattered heart that he has left behind. You’d regress and fall further down that hole. You’ve gone from being an occasional drinker to someone who can’t function without getting drunk at least every other day. To someone who eats healthy and promotes it, to someone who doesn’t bother anymore and eats a very unhealthy amount of junk food. From someone who seldom goes to bars, to someone who frequents them often.

Pick up daddies at the playground

How I spend my daytime

Loosen up the frown, make them feel alive

I make it fast and greasy

I'm numb, and way too easy

You find yourself in another bar. You’ve been hopping in between bars for the last couple of months. People are always telling you that with time grief will get easier. Oh how wrong they are. You feel the same amount of grief, if not more. The bartender recognizes you the instant you make yourself known. He already hands you your preferred drink. You’re a paying customer after all, even if you look like you went through hell and back. As you down shot after shot. You see a man walk up to you and take a seat next to you. You ignore him. Wanting to drown yourself in your sorrows in solitude. But the man is persistent and orders you another shot when you finish yours. You glance at him. “You didn’t need to do that.” You say indifferently. The man shrugs before grinning. “You look like you’ve had a rough couple of days. You could use a treat.” You scowl at the shot on the counter. You down it quickly. The man orders another for you. “Make that a couple of months.” You retort bitterly. He looks at you surprised before he gives you an understanding nod. The bartender gives you another shot. You down that one just as quickly as you did the other couple of shots. “If you need a distraction I’d be willing to give you one.” You arch an eyebrow. He’s offering you to hook up with him. You dwell on his offer. You can’t believe you’re even considering it. It must be the alcohol talking. Before you even realise it you blurt out your answer. “Sure.”

One thing leads to another. A sloppy, messy kiss develops into a makeout session. From the living room to the bedroom. Clothes being torn off. When he climbs up onto you, a thought rushes through your slightly sobered-up mind. You promised you’d stay loyal to him. Even if he’s dead. Everything starts rushing to you and you can’t take it. You push him off you, gather your clothes, give him a rushed apology while throwing your clothes on, and storming out of his apartment. You call yourself an Uber to get you back home. You swear to yourself, that this is going to be a night you’re going to forget. Erase from your mind.

You sit in the car, pondering on the actions that you’ve just done. You were ready to give yourself to another man, a stranger no less. You don’t even know his name and he doesn’t know yours. Tears fall from your eyes. That thought scares you. Yes, you want to keep Simon off your mind, but not like this. Anything but this.

Staying in my play pretend

Where the fun ain't got no end, oh

Can't go home alone again

Need someone to numb the pain, oh

The next few days you spend your time revisiting old places that you often visited with him. Places he would take you out on dates, places that you begged him to take you to. You’d stay out from morning until late in the night. You’d bring enough that’ll be enough for two people. You and Simon. You’d pretend he’s still here with you, telling you about his day. How his teammates, friends are doing. People who pass you by think you’re insane, and honestly, they might be right. But do you care? No. This is your way to grieve. You keep his death off your mind by pretending he’s still here with you. Your own little play pretend. Because you know when you get home, the harsh reality will sink in and destroy you again. You want to savor these moments as long as you possibly can. Oh, how it hurts. That the one you need to numb the pain is Simon himself, and no one else.

You're gone, and I gotta stay high all the time

To keep you off my mind

Ooh-ooh, ooh-ooh

High all the time to keep you off my mind

When you get back home from your adventures. The loneliness, and coldness from the house you once called comforting, and warm, seep into your bones. You go back to your routine. Drown yourself with more junk food or alcohol. Cry yourself to sleep. Wake up. Cry again. Go out until late. Rinse and repeat.

A figure hiding himself in the shadows outside your shared home observes your behavior. His heart breaks when he sees how far you’ve fallen. He watches how his strong independent woman, resorts to bad habits to keep herself afloat, mourning the supposed death of her husband. He wishes he could barge in, and comfort you. But he can’t. At least, not yet. And that fact hurts him tremendously. He just wishes he’ll be able to finish his mission before you fall rock bottom in that rabbit hole you’ve dug up for yourself.

For now, the only comfort he can give himself is watching you in your home. He’ll have to stay in the shadows and watch from afar. Keeping you at arms’ length.

Sometimes you’d see a dark, hooded figure by the window. They wear a mask similar to Simon’s. But it can’t be him. He’s dead and isn’t coming back. So for now you’ll ignore the figure. As long as they don’t come in here and interrupt your peace, you don’t give a damn about them. But you can’t help but have that gnawing feeling in the pit of your stomach. What if it really is him?

[dearanakin]

trust you | anakin skywalker: episode III

Warning: mentions of grieving, injury, cursing

Word count: 1.6k

Previous chapter | Read on Wattpad

*

Anakin

I woke up to the bright lights of the medical room, my eyes slowly opening to adjust my vision. I felt my body ache like hell, as though I had been run over by a truck.

I also felt a sharp pain on my left side and on my chest. Fuck. It took me several seconds to realize I wasn't alone there. Looking over from the corner of my eye, I noticed someone was attaching my metal arm back again.

It was (Y/N). I took a sharp breath and inhaled loudly. She got caught up, not expecting to see me awake. "Oh- I'm so sorry, did I wake you?".

She didn't manage to finish attaching the piece as she waited for a response, and I shook my head. I could say I was glad I have finally gotten it back, but I was beyond pissed.

My mouth was dry, and I was feeling like shit. I tried to lift my torso and sit up, but she stopped me right away. I shot her a confused and annoyed glare.

"You're not supposed to be moving too much, Master" She said in a whisper. "Do you need anything? I- I can let the doctors know you're awake. Luke fell asleep on the couch".

Then I looked on my left side and saw my little boy all curled up, deep in his sleep. I sighed, he must have been really worried about me. Confused, too.

It was taking all of me to not call her out after what happened to me. But I wasn't going to do that, not in front of Luke.

"I want you to finish this-" I looked over my faux arm. "And I want you to be out". My voice came out hoarse from the lack of speaking and drinking water.

(Y/N) looked at me in complete shock, but nodded and didn't say another word.

As soon as she finished it - which didn't take her much, since she was professional at it - I watched as she stood up from her chair. (Y/N) kept her gaze on the floor the entire time, not even noticing when I gripped my metal fingers around her wrist tightly.

Her eyes shot up to where I was holding her, and she hesitantly looked at me. "This is-" I had to clear my throat as my voice wouldn't come out. "This is your fault, I hope you know it".

I let go of her, staring at her back as she made her way out of the room. I pinched the bridge of my nose and muttered under my breath.

Lukey was still out, and I didn't want to wake him up.

-

It took me two fucking days to actually get released from the medical bay as they wouldn't let me get out at all. My stab wound was barely healed, even though they made sure I would be able to be up and walk.

I spent almost the entire day with Luke, helping him with his homework, as well as playing with his toys or teaching him a few mechanic skills I learned back in Tatooine.

When I could finally do something rather than being completely useless, I headed to the office where we usually plan our missions. I walked past the door and Cal hurriedly came to meet me with a hug.

I groaned from the touch and he realized he pushed the boundaries. "I'm sorry, Master! Jesus, I forgot about it for a second there. I'm just glad you're up and good".

He started rambling, and I placed a hand on his shoulder, calming him down, "I appreciate it".

I smiled briefly before sitting down on the desk, releasing a low sigh. It's only been two days and I already missed being out there.

After discussing for a couple of hours, we were all dismissed for a gathering outside the Temple. I excused myself and made my way to the dining hall, where Luke should be having lunch with his few friends and C-3PO.

I felt my spine become rigid and my hand went cold as I saw him bonding with (Y/N), again. I couldn't help but roll my eyes in annoyance, trying to simmer down. I haven't forgotten I was pretty mad for what happened.

"Luke!" I called out in a rather loud tone and he looked my way. The boy waved at me and proceeded to get back at what he was doing with her.

She barely looked at me and I knew she was keeping her guard up when I was around. I walked toward them, watching as she managed to handle a T-16 skyhopper toy. It was probably his.

-

NO POV

(Y/N) felt her heartbeat go off too fast, and she could hear her blood pumping through her veins. After what happened between them two days before, she couldn't even handle being near him again.

And the fact she was found making company for Luke made the situation even worse. She followed his steps as he approached them and sat next to the boy.

It was like he was never really calm. He was constantly angry or frowning at everyone and everything. The only moments he seems to be at peace is when he's with Luke.

"What did I tell you the other day?" Anakin mumbled, not even disguising how he glanced at her. His son pouted and apologized.

"He came to me, asking to help him with hi-" (Y/N) was about to explain but he cut her off.

"Didn't I make myself clear the other day? You have to stay close to 3PO" He pretty much sounded coarse, although he wasn't yelling.

"He said she's trustworthy, daddy. And she was helping me set up my toy" Luke kept his head down the whole time, not daring to look up at his father.

This is ridiculous, she thought. What? He thinks she's gonna literally lose it and kidnap him? Or just vanish with the kid without anyone noticing?

He huffed, still not giving two fucks if she was there or not. Anakin tried to look indifferent by the way his son was literally trusting a person he couldn't trust. Someone who was strange to them. Well, quite like it.

"I'm sorry, I have work to do" She gathered her things and rushed out of the table without even looking back.

Anakin took the toy from his son's little hands and gave it a look. "What's up with it?".

Luke sat on his lap and pointed to one of the wings. "One of the wings is hanging loose. I thought she could fix it, since she fixed your arm".

He sounded frustrated, especially because his father noticed how low the boy's voice came out. Anakin felt guilty about Luke and swallowed hard.

Maybe he could fix it himself. Or maybe he could ask some engineer or a Droid to do it.

He just didn't want to have to see her again.

-

He was definitely frustrated. He felt like he wasn't being a good father, like he wasn't able to actually educate his son and be there for him all the time. Even though he had time to rest his body and heal faster, Anakin felt worn out.

Obviously he noticed the way people looked at him, even his fellow Masters. It didn't matter to him to be honest, he already made himself clear that he didn't care about that.

His eyes were holding a shadow of sadness and frustration with himself; they weren't vibrant with the same determination he had before. The blue irises became cold and sad.

He was in the training room, practicing his movements with the newly fixed robotic arm. Anakin couldn't actually complain about the job they had done, because it seemed to work better than before.

The limb was polished, even. He swooned his lightsaber around the room, avoiding any abrupt movement to prevent any harm to his wounds.

It was a lot easier when Obi-Wan was around. He definitely had a good mood to practice, he was always supporting his apprentice. 

Sometimes, when it got too quiet, Anakin would hear his rough words shout out to his former Master.

"I hate you!" He had just lost the love of his life. "You were my brother, Anakin. I loved you".

"Were". "Loved". It felt like his heart got ripped out of his chest and stomped on.

After that, he promised he wouldn't trust anyone. Besides C-3PO and R2-D2, he knows he can barely trust the other Jedi he goes on missions with.

His mind goes way back. To the day his mother died. To the day Padmé died. To the day he felt betrayed by Obi-Wan. To the day Palpatine left him behind, beaten up and mourning for his losses.

It has been six years already. He should've gotten over it. He has Luke now. He has the Droids; and somewhat, he had Cal Kestis, who was a loyal Jedi and colleague.

His flesh knuckles were almost raw from the punches he was throwing at the punching bag. It was becoming hard to reach his relief that day. He let out a strangled groan as he threw his final jab, sending the bag flying.

Anakin fell to his knees, feeling defeated. He didn't want to cry out his sorrows, he told himself he was past that.

From the corner of his eyes, he felt like he was being watched. The shadow standing behind the closed doors was glancing at him with a knowing look.

They have been there before. 

@jackie-on-the-loose @adorbzliz @himesuedi @kingdomhate

[supernaturalscribe67]

Author in the Making

Words: 3,286

POV: 3rd Person

Pairing: Sam Winchester x Male!Reader [Preestablished]

Warning(s): None

Summary: The reader loves to write, and he has kept it a secret from his book-loving boyfriend for the longest time, fearing his reaction. What happens when his boyfriend accidentally stumbles upon the document that the reader had been working on for the past several years? How will he react?

The time was 11:53 PM. 

The Winchesters had long since retired to their rooms for the night, leaving (Y/N) alone in the library. His laptop rested on the wooden table in front of him, a small notebook open to his right with a variety of pen colors scattered over the pristine white paper. (Y/N)’s fingers worked rapidly against the keys on the keyboard, his eyes glued to the screen as the words appeared on the Word document. 

For years, (Y/N) had a dream. That dream was to become an author. He had been interested in books ever since he was a little kid, the first book he had ever read was Of Mice and Men when he was in the second grade. Ever since, he introduced himself to a wide array of authors across different genres, taking in all of their writing styles and techniques. As he got older, he knew he wanted to be just like the authors that wrote some of his favorite books. He wanted to have his name on the shelves of hundreds, potentially thousands, of people around the world. He wanted to be the inspiration for another young writer, just like the authors before him. He wanted to be the reason people got back into reading and writing. 

However, being a hunter meant that (Y/N)’s schedule was random. He never had a set time where he could sit down and write what he wanted to. The book that he was working on was a couple of years in the making, after all. With all the cases and personal issues that seemed to pop up constantly around himself and the Winchesters, he knew that he would have to improvise at times when it came to his writing. While nothing was set in stone, he had made some adjustments to his everyday life so that he was able to get some writing done every day. 

On long car rides, when they were driving to or from a case, he would bring out his phone and jot down any ideas that he had. Occasionally, he would get up early in the morning to guarantee that he added something to his word count. Some nights, if the day had been busy, he would stay up later than Sam and Dean to get his thoughts onto paper as quickly as he could. 

Sure, it was exhausting at times. He craved the warm feeling of his bed underneath him and the soft sensation of a pillow resting beneath his head, but he knew that if he didn’t write, he would go insane, and he would rather be sane and tired than energetic and crazy. 

After what he assumed was, twenty minutes of non-stop typing, (Y/N) leaned back in his chair, reaching his arms above his head to stretch his back. He clenched and unclenched his hands, feeling the muscles in them tightening from being overworked. Then, he did something that he had promised himself before his writing session that he wouldn’t do. 

He looked at the time. 

The time was 1:40 AM. 

It had been longer than he thought. When he saw the time, he felt a yawn building up inside of him. Suddenly, he comprehended just how tired he was. His eyes began to droop and his entire body felt as if there was a weight of a thousand pounds resting on it. He glanced down at the writing in his journal for a moment before another yawn escaped him. He cursed under his breath. 

(Y/N) turned back to the computer, placing his hands on the keys for a moment to read over the paragraph he had just completed. He read it a couple of times, yet his fingers would not move, no matter how much he tried to convince himself he knew what he should write next. Nothing was coming out. So, all he did was stare at the screen in front of him. He sighed. 

“(Y/N)?” A deep, tired voice came from beside him. 

(Y/N) jumped as he placed his hand over his chest, turning to look at the person who spoke. Sam stood there, clad in a long-sleeve night shirt and sweatpants. His hair was slightly tousled and he seemed as if he had just woken up. (Y/N) let out a shaky breath.

“Jesus, Sam, you scared the Hell out of me,” he said. 

Sam chuckled as he took a couple of steps through the threshold of the library. “Sorry,” he mumbled as he ran his fingers through his hair. “What’re you still doing up?” 

“Um…” (Y/N) trailed as he glanced between Sam and the document in front of him. He rubbed his hands together before he shrugged. “Couldn’t sleep,” he replied, which was followed by another long, dramatic yawn. 

Sam raised his brows as a small, amused smirk made its way onto his lips. He gestured behind him towards the room. “Come on,” he said. “Let’s go to bed. I can tell you’re exhausted.” 

(Y/N) inhaled deeply and ran a hand over his face, giving a small nod. “Alright, yeah, yeah, you’re right,” he mumbled as he reached forward, saving the document before closing the laptop. 

(Y/N) stood and grabbed his laptop, journal, and pens. He stuffed the pens into his pocket, tucked his journal underneath his arm, and held his laptop close to his chest. He pushed his chair up to the table before he tiredly shuffled over to Sam. Sam couldn’t help but smile warmly as he watched him. When (Y/N) moved next to him, Sam placed his hand on the small of his back and pressed a kiss to his temple. 

“What were you working on anyway? Research?” Sam asked as the two of them began to make their way down the hallway toward their bedroom. 

(Y/N) glanced up at him before shrugging his shoulders. “Something like that.” 

(Y/N) had never told anyone about his dream. It was always something that he had kept a secret. He knew about the history that Sam and Dean had with the prophet Chuck, he had even read a couple of the books that Chuck had written, and the last thing (Y/N) wanted was for them to think that he was just like him. Nothing that he wrote had anything to do with the hunting life. He needed an escape from the life at times, and creating his own realities was a way for him to get out of it. 

A part of him knew that, if he were to tell Sam and Dean, they would be supportive of his efforts. Even so, with the lack of schedule that he had created for himself, and with him being on only the first draft of his novel, he didn’t want any expectations put on him for them to read what he had written. Perhaps he was overthinking it. He had considered it a couple of times, but he always told himself that it was better to be safe than sorry. 

Sam gave him a smile before they entered the bedroom. (Y/N) walked over to the small desk that was located in the corner of the room and sat his laptop next to Sam’s, placing his journal and pens on top of the computer. He plugged in his laptop, ensuring that the charging light was on before he walked over to the bed. Just looking at the bed, (Y/N) craved the feeling of the soft comforter around him. His body felt heavier than ever. 

As Sam crawled into the bed, (Y/N) stripped himself of his shirt, tossing it onto the ground, vowing that he would pick it up in the morning once he was well-rested. He then crawled into bed next to his boyfriend. It didn’t take them long to press their bodies against one another, their arms wrapping around each other’s middles and their legs tangling together. (Y/N) felt a sense of relief hit him at the embrace. With a smile on his face, Sam pressed a kiss to (Y/N)’s forehead. 

“Goodnight,” he said in a soft tone. 

“Goodnight,” (Y/N) whispered back to him. 

It didn’t take long before exhaustion overtook him. His eyelids fell shut as he allowed his body to relax. His breathing steadied and he felt himself slowly drift off into a peaceful slumber. 

The next morning, (Y/N) stirred when he felt the bed shift underneath him. He inhaled sharply as a warm hand reached up and caressed his bare arm gingerly. He furrowed his brows and slowly opened his eyes. The room was still dark thanks to the lack of windows in the bunker, the only light being from the bedroom door, which stood ajar. Looking up, (Y/N) could see the dark outline of his boyfriend standing over him. 

“Sorry to wake you, sweetheart,” Sam whispered, a chuckle following his words. 

(Y/N) groaned. “What time is it?” He asked, his voice sounding as if he was still half-asleep. 

“About eleven. You can go back to sleep, I know you were up really late. I was just wondering if I could use your computer for research. I forgot to plug mine in last night and the battery is completely dead.” 

(Y/N) raised his brows as he reached over to the nightstand and picked up his cell phone. Turning on the screen, he squinted at the bright light and read the time. 

The time was 11:24 AM.

(Y/N) had slept for almost ten hours. 

“Holy shit,” he grumbled. He put his phone down and stretched. “Why did you let me sleep so late?” 

“You seemed tired,” Sam answered, and (Y/N) could tell that he was smiling by the way he spoke. Sam reached up and gently ran his fingers through (Y/N)’s hair. “Plus, you’re really cute when you’re sleeping.” 

“That’s a little gay, don’t you think?” (Y/N) smirked. 

“Maybe a little,” Sam chuckled before he leaned down and pressed a kiss to his lips softly. “Do you mind if I use your laptop?” 

“Sure, sure, yeah. I don’t mind.” 

“Thank you. Are you going to go back to sleep?” 

(Y/N) shook his head, yawning as he did so. “No. I need to get up. I’ll be out there in a little bit.” 

“Alright, I’ll be in the library when you want to join me.” 

“Sounds good, and just go ahead and leave the door open. The light will keep me awake.” 

Sam gave a slight nod. He stood up from the bed, walked over to the desk, unplugged (Y/N)’s laptop, and made his way to the door. He propped the door open a little bit more before he moved down the hallway. Once he was out of his line of sight, (Y/N) stretched his arms above his head, letting out a small groan as his muscles began to wake up. 

Ten minutes later, (Y/N) was awake enough to get up. He swung his legs over the side of the bed, stretched his arms once more, then stood up. He walked over to the shirt that he had discarded on the floor the night before and put it back on. When he was fully clothed, he left the room, closing the door behind him. 

The faint smell of coffee still wafted through the air as he made his way into the kitchen. He could see there was still a tiny amount of coffee left from the pot that had been made that morning and he thanked the Lord that he had been so lucky. He grabbed a mug from the cabinet and placed his hand on the side of the pot, feeling the warm heat radiating off of the glass. He decided that it was still hot enough to where he didn’t have to warm it up. He poured the remainder of the coffee into his cup before he walked over to the fridge. He put his favorite creamer and some sugar into the cup, stirring it lightly with a spoon until the color and consistency was one he desired. 

When he was finished making his cup, he turned his back toward the kitchen counter and leaned against it. He took a sip, a small shiver running down his spine when the warm beverage coated his taste buds. (Y/N) basked in the comforting warmth for a moment before he took another sip. He stood in the kitchen for a couple of minutes, enjoying the peaceful silence. 

(Y/N) pushed himself off of the counter and finally began to make his way toward the library. When he rounded the corner, he saw Sam sitting at the table, in the same spot that he had sat the night before. His eyes were glued to the computer screen in front of him, brows slightly furrowed in a concentrated expression. His left hand rested against his face while his right made small movements against the mousepad. A smile found its way onto (Y/N)’s face as he walked closer to Sam, moving to stand behind his chair. He placed one hand on his back as he leaned down and pressed a small kiss against Sam’s temple. 

“So, what’re you-” (Y/N) started to ask before he stopped abruptly. 

What he had assumed would be research on the screen at first was nowhere close to what was staring back at him. The smile slowly fell from his lips as he skimmed over the familiar words. 

It was his novel. 

He had forgotten to close it the night before. 

Sam looked up at (Y/N) and cleared his throat. “Uh, um…you, uh…did you write this?” He asked, his voice and expression matching that of a child who was caught with their hand in the cookie jar before dinner. 

(Y/N) licked his lips nervously as he shuffled a bit behind Sam. “Uh…yeah…” he said, his voice filled with uncertainty. 

“I didn’t know you wrote. I mean, I knew you liked to read and that’s one of the things that I love about you, but I never knew you wrote your own stuff.” 

“Well, I just…dabble here and there. It’s nothing really-” 

“I like it.” Sam interrupted. 

(Y/N) looked down at Sam, their eyes connecting. “Really?” He asked, surprised. 

Sam nodded. “Yeah! I mean, I’m only on the second chapter, but the first chapter pulled me in,” Sam gave a small smirk as he chuckled. 

Slowly, a smile made its way onto (Y/N)’s lips. He walked over, pulled the chair out that rested beside Sam, and sat down. He took another sip of his coffee. 

“You haven’t gotten to anything important, yet. Trust me. It’s still in the works. This is only the first draft.” 

“How long have you been working on this?” 

“Two years? Maybe three, give or take. I’m not able to write all the time and sometimes I can be slow, especially if I decide to write after we finish a hunt.” 

“You’ve got a lot written here,” 

“Almost ninety-thousand words,” (Y/N) gave a brief nod. “It’s still not what I want it to sit at, but it’s coming along.” 

“How many more chapters do you think you’ll need to finish it?” 

“I don’t know,” he chuckled. “I’m writing the finale at the moment, but I guess it depends on if I want to add anything. Of course, I’m going to be taking some parts out and putting some other parts in that I had written down and thought of as I was writing, so I don’t know what the final word count will be, but I’m impressed with myself so far.” 

“You should be!” Sam smiled as he reached over and placed a hand comfortingly on (Y/N)’s leg, rubbing his knee gently. “Why didn’t you tell me you liked to write?” 

(Y/N) stared at the table for a moment before he shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know. I think the stories you told about your interaction with Chuck made me not say anything at first.” 

“I hope you know that I wouldn’t have given you a hard time about this.” 

“I know, I know,” (Y/N) nodded slowly. “Plus, I think that if I would have said something, I would have felt pressured to finish quicker than what I wanted because, knowing you, you would have asked to see what I had written.” 

Sam smirked and chuckled. “I would.” 

“And I would have to burst your bubble and say ‘No’ because I wanted to finish everything and go over everything before I let you look.” 

Sam nodded. “I understand…” he trailed as he glanced back at the page that he was on. “Were you ever going to tell me?” 

(Y/N) hummed as he took another sip of his coffee. “Probably. I do need help proofreading. Plus, I need an audience’s reaction. I already messaged Charlie and she said that she would give it a read when I was done.” 

“So Charlie knew about it before me?” Sam asked exaggeratedly, placing a hand delicately on his chest to feign hurt. 

(Y/N) snorted and rolled his eyes. “Yes, and she doesn’t bug me about it like I knew you would. She likes reading from time to time, but, and I’m sorry to say this Sam, but you are a book whore.” He chuckled. 

“You know what? I take that as a compliment.” Sam said, tilting his head up in a proud manner. 

“As you should.” (Y/N) leaned back in his seat, getting comfortable. 

Sam licked his bottom lip as he glanced between (Y/N) and the computer screen. After a moment of hesitation, he asked, “Can I finish this chapter?” 

(Y/N) pursed his lips in contemplation, furrowing his brows together. He reached over, saved the document, and then exited out of it. “No.” 

Sam’s shoulders slumped. “Come on,” he groaned. 

“Sorry, Sammy, but maybe you should read faster next time.” 

Sam sighed heavily and shook his head before he turned his body back towards the table. He paused for a minute. “Do you feel like writing right now?” 

(Y/N) smirked and shook his head. “I need to relax for a little bit. I stayed up late last night writing.” 

Sam nodded. “Do you promise you’ll let me read it once it’s done?” 

“Sam, as soon as I am finished with the first draft and go over everything, I will print out all of the pages for you so that you can read it. That way I can make my revisions while you read over it. Deal?” 

Sam smiled. “Deal.” He said as he leaned over and gave him a quick peck on the lips. “You’re going to be one hell of an author, babe,” 

(Y/N) smiled. “Thank you, Sammy.” He said. “I love you.” 

“I love you, too.” 

Sam never realized how much those words meant to (Y/N). Sure, there was a part of him that thought those words to be true, but the other part of him was doubting himself every step of the way. Still, he persisted, working as hard as he could toward the dream that he wanted to become a reality. In that moment, (Y/N) knew that, if Sam Winchester believed that he was going to be a good author, then he was destined to be. 

(Y/N) sat his coffee mug down on the table and gestured towards the computer. 

“On second thought, let me have my computer,” he said, the smile still present on his lips. “I think I found my new inspiration.” 

[tip-top-cloud-surfer]

The Ironies of Life - Rooster

Pairing: Rooster/ Fem!OC (Naomi)

Word Count: 2.6k

Warnings: (Unplanned) Pregnancy; Exes; Emotional Angst; Brief Vomiting; Rooster Being a bit of a Dick; Named Female OC (Naomi), but No Physical Descriptions

This work, all of my other works, and my entire blog are 18+ Only.

Naomi is referenced as being a woman and she was previously an officer in the Navy. But otherwise there is no description of her physical features or her surname, so fill in as you wish.

Summary: A few weeks after breaking up with her long-term boyfriend because he wouldn't commit to marriage and kids, Naomi finds out that she's pregnant with his baby.

Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

Master List

Naomi had several big plans for her thirties.

Being alone, pregnant with her ex-boyfriend’s baby, and with her head in a toilet was not on the list. And neither was being blocked by her ex-boyfriend, Lieutenant Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw, on every single possible messaging service, so that she couldn’t actually get in contact with him.

Yeah, that was nowhere on the list of her plans.

And the stupidest part about the whole situation was that she was the one who broke up with him. If she’d just waited a month longer, maybe she’d still have Bradley beside her, holding back her hair right now. But that wasn’t exactly a guarantee either.

After all, the whole reason behind her decision to break up with her boyfriend of six years was because he refused to commit to a future that included marriage and kids. They had a fight about it. And then another fight. And another. And then another. And then Naomi ended things because they just didn’t want the same things in life and Bradley was never going to end it.

So, she broke up with him. And she was clearly doing so well with her post-break up life.

Naomi spat what was left in her mouth before slowly lowering herself to sit on her bathroom floor. She rested her weight against the tub and pressed a cool towel to her head to try and control her nausea. After she was sure that she wouldn’t throw up again, Naomi flushed the toilet, slowly got to her feet, and made her way out of her bathroom.

Sitting on her bed, Naomi pulled out her phone and tried to call Bradley again. But apparently, she was still blocked. Sighing, Naomi tossed her phone onto her bed and held her head in her hands to try and compose herself. She let out a calming breath and laid down. Resting a hand on her abdomen, Naomi took another deep breath.

“Looks like it’s still just you and me, Little Bean,” she murmured tiredly. 

She was on the verge of entering her second trimester and her baby bump was just starting to form. Any kind of loose shirt that she wore still hid it, but she knew that she would quickly reach a point in her pregnancy where baggy clothing wouldn’t do the trick anymore.

She wouldn’t be able to hide a baby forever. And Naomi just hoped that Bradley would talk to her soon, before he learned about her pregnancy through someone else.

But part of her kicked herself for being so focused on telling Bradley.

He very clearly didn't want children and he very clearly hated her after she broke up with him. And it wasn't like she expected him to want to get back together and raise a baby that he never wanted in the first place. Naomi accepted that Bradley didn't want to be a dad and that forcing someone to be a parent who didn't want to be one was wrong and it would only create more problems in the future.

So, why was she so hellbent on finding him to tell him the news?

She wasn't entirely sure to be quite honest.

She just felt like after spending six years of their together, she owed him the truth. She owed him an in-person heads up. And maybe she just needed some closure too. Maybe she just needed to hear him say it one last time and then she could move on with this next stage of her life. Maybe she just needed confirmation for herself and for her Little Bean, who would inevitably ask about their father one day.

But regardless, she needed to find Rooster. And she was quickly running out of time with that project.

~~~~~

Naomi tried to not stare at the happy couple that left the obstetric office holding hands and absolutely giddy about the ultrasound they carried with them. And she really tried to not picture Bradley sitting beside her in the office. It would only make sure sick and anxious and doctors offices already made her nervous enough.

Another two months had passed and she was still nowhere closer to getting in touch with Bradley. Last she heard, he was out somewhere in the Atlantic, but he must have marked her email address as spam or otherwise blocked her because he hadn’t responded to any of her messages.

It was still just her and the Little Bean, who wasn’t so little anymore.

“Naomi?” one of the medical assistants called, standing in the doorway.

Naomi quickly gathered her things and followed the medical assistant back into an exam room. After a few minutes and some screening questions, Naomi was staring at the photo of her baby wiggling around on the ultrasound screen.

“Measurements are all normal and right on track,” the obstetrician stated, typing in notes as she moved the ultrasound wand around. “And the baby’s heartbeat is strong and normal. You have a healthy baby on your hands.” The obstetrician turned back to Naomi and smiled kindly. “Did you want to know what the baby’s gender is?”

“No, that’s alright,” Naomi replied quietly, forcing a smile. “I can wait a few more months.”

Her brain rationalized that it wouldn’t be a crime to find out without Bradley there—he hadn’t responded to any of her messages, including a handwritten letter—but Naomi still wanted to wait.

The obstetrician took some final measurements and sent Naomi out with two freshly printed ultrasound photos in hand. Naomi made her next appointment and headed out of the office. Just as she reached her car, her phone buzzed in her pocket. Pulling it out, Naomi glanced down to see a text message from one of her old friends from her time in the Navy.

I know that you’ve been asking around about Rooster. I just thought that I should give you a heads up that he was at the Hard Deck in Miramar last night.

Her friend sent a photo along with the text and Naomi’s breath caught in her throat when she recognized that particular Hawaiian shirt and matching mustache.

What was he doing in Miramar? He was supposed to be out in the Atlantic for two more months.

Naomi quickly shot her friend a text back, thanking her for the tip, before climbing into her car. She managed to get out of work on the earlier side and rushed back to her apartment. Stepping inside, Naomi didn’t break her confident stride until she was sitting in front of her computer.

She didn’t know how long Bradley would be in Miramar for, but it was the closest thing that she had to a lead in months. And she wasn’t going to waste that opportunity.

~~~~~

“Do you mind grabbing some pretzels?” Phoenix asked Bob, staring down at her list. “The spears, not the normal ones.”

The Dagger Squad decided to have a beach day after the mission and divided up the work. Phoenix, Bob, Payback, and Fanboy took the job of buying the snacks and non-alcoholic drinks. Fanboy and Payback were probably still debating whether red or green grapes were better and Phoenix wanted to speed up the process.

“Yeah, sure. We want chips or anything else in that aisle?” Bob asked, causing Phoenix to shrug.

“Probably. Fanboy would know better than me, but I know that Harvard really wanted the pretzel spears for whatever reason.”

“I’ll see what they have.”

“I’ll be there in a second,” Phoenix promised, earning a nod from Bob.

He walked down the aisle and started looking for the pretzel spears. Bob glanced over at the noticeably pregnant woman struggling to reach something up on one of the top shelves, and well, he couldn’t not offer to help her. He was Bob Floyd, after all.

“Do you need some help?” Bob offered to the woman. She took a step back from the shelf and shot him a small smile.

“If you wouldn’t mind,” she replied sheepishly.

“Just the blue bag?”

“Yeah, just that one.”

Bob reached up and grabbed the bag on the top shelf before holding it out to the woman. She took it with a thankful smile and placed it into her small cart.

“Thank you so much for the help.”

“Of course,” Bob replied with a polite nod. “Do you need help with anything else?”

“No, I should be all set. Thank you again.”

“Not a problem.”

Naomi nodded back to Bob before heading towards the checkout counters. She stopped at the grocery store to grab a few quick snacks before starting her search for Bradley. The Little Bean was very hungry and needy these days and she wanted to be prepared.

But as Naomi walked down the aisle, Phoenix turned into the exact same aisle. The two women stopped in their respective tracks, staring at each other incredulously.

Naomi really shouldn’t have been surprised. Phoenix was in the photo of Bradley that she’d received from her friend, so, of course, Phoenix would be in Miramar too. But Naomi wasn’t planning on running into Phoenix in the middle of a random grocery store. And Phoenix, meanwhile, was focused on Naomi’s very noticeably baby bump.

“Fuck,” Phoenix whispered out, blinking rapidly.

It all made sense now. Naomi’s sudden disappearance from social media. All of her random and quite honestly incessant attempts to reconnect with Rooster over the last few months.

Fucking hell, Phoenix told Rooster to call Naomi back.

“Phoenix,” Naomi greeted the pilot, clearly nervous and unprepared for the interaction. “How are you doing?”

“I’m alright,” Phoenix replied, still shocked.

“You guys know each other?” Bob asked curiously, walking over with a bag of pretzel spears.

“We do,” Phoenix told her WSO before turning back to Naomi. “Does Rooster know that you’re here?”

“No, I tried to call him, but I’m pretty sure that he still has me blocked,” Naomi stated quietly, shifting her weight on her feet.

“Probably,” Phoenix agreed, just as quietly.

“I actually came to town because I needed to talk to him,” Naomi continued as her heart started to beat out of her chest. “About . . .”

Naomi gestured to her baby bump, which was already out and prominent enough that she couldn’t hide it from Phoenix even if she wanted to try.

Bob dropped his bag of pretzels.

~~~~~

Rooster was setting up a beach umbrella when his phone began to ring in his back pocket. Straightening up, Rooster checked his phone to see that Phoenix was calling him.

“Hey! You need help carrying stuff down to the beach?”

“No, I'm not at the beach,” Phoenix explained, eerily soft. “But the guys should be there soon.”

“Why did they ditch you?” Rooster asked, suddenly concerned.

“I sent them ahead. Something came up.”

“What? Are you okay?”

“When was the last time that you talked to Naomi?” Phoenix questioned Rooster, getting straight to the point.

Rooster’s blood went cold at the mention of his ex-girlfriend. The woman who quite literally shattered his heart in his chest when she broke up with him five or so months ago. And maybe he wasn’t over it yet. But watching a six-year relationship implode overnight was a rather jarring experience and Rooster felt that he was entitled to be a little petty about it.

“Nat, why the fuck are you talking about Naomi?”

“When was the last time that you talked with her?” Phoenix insisted, ignoring Rooster’s squawk.

“When she broke up with me,” he deadpanned, starting to pace around. He ignored the curious and concerned glances from the other Daggers. “There? You happy, Nat? Now why are you bringing up my ex all of a sudden?”

There was a brief pause, but then Phoenix’s voice cut through the line with her usual crisp confidence.

“She’s in Miramar, Rooster. And she needs to talk to you.”

“Why is she in Miramar?” Rooster asked, furrowing his eyebrows.

“Because she needs to talk to you.”

“She could have called or texted me.”

“Don’t you still have her blocked?” Phoenix questioned, a bit of annoyance seeping into her tone.

“Well . . . you know what I mean, Nat,” he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Why is she here? Did you talk to her?”

“I’m with her right now.”

“What!? Right now?”

“Yes, Rooster. We’re at a coffee shop a few blocks from the beach.” Phoenix paused, most likely weighing her options before adding, “You really need to talk to her, Rooster. And I’m not fucking around. Don’t make me drag your ass down here.”

“She made it clear that she didn’t see a future with me, Nat. Why do I want to deal with that again? Why should I deal with that again?”

“I know that she broke your heart. I know that you felt completely blindsided and betrayed and every other negative emotion when she broke up with you.” Phoenix trailed off, and Rooster could picture her stern expression clearly. “But you need to talk to her. Now.”

“Why?”

“It shouldn’t come from me,” Phoenix stated seriously. “Look, I can give her my phone and you two can chat. But you need to talk to her, Rooster. And I’m not fucking around. And I know that you'll regret it if you don't talk to her now.”

Rooster sighed, rubbing his face tiredly with clear aggravation.

“Fine. Put her on.”

“Thank you,” Phoenix sighed, sounding relieved.

“Bradley?” Naomi’s voice broke through a moment later.

“Yes?” Rooster snipped, failing at hiding his annoyance.

“How are you?” she began softly.

“Fine. Why are you in Miramar?”

“I need to talk to you.”

“About what?”

“We shouldn’t have this conversation over the phone,” Naomi stated, standing her ground on that part. “I have some news to share with you and I . . . I need to do it in person.”

“Why?”

“You’ll understand when you get here.”

Rooster let out an annoyed curse under his breath and rubbed his face, clearly aggravated. He stared up at the sky for a second before finally responding to her.

“Fine. Where are you?”

“The Green Café,” Naomi replied, sounding relieved. “It’s about four or five blocks from the beach.”

“Okay.”

Rooster hung up the phone and tucked it into his back pocket. Grabbing his bag, Rooster ignored everyone’s curious gazes and turned for the parking lot.

“What’s got your panties all in a twist?” Hangman called after Rooster.

Ignoring Hangman, Rooster flipped him off as he trudged through the sand. He walked up the steps to the boardwalk and spotted Bob with Payback and Fanboy pulling into the parking lot in Phoenix’s car. Rooster ignored their looks, which seemed to be shocked and nervous more than anything else, and headed straight for his car.

The drive to the Green Café was simple and Rooster quickly parked before heading over to the outdoor seating. Phoenix and Naomi were chatting at one of the tables and Phoenix quickly spotted him. Rooster shot Phoenix an annoyed look before turning to Naomi.

But when Naomi turned around, Rooster literally froze in place. His breath left his body and his keys clattered down onto the sidewalk as his eyes focused on the very noticeable baby bump that Naomi was now sporting.

That wasn’t there the last time that he saw her.

“I’m going to give the two of you some privacy,” Phoenix announced, which did little to quell Rooster’s shock. “Have fun.”

Phoenix walked around the table and over to Rooster. She quickly bent down to snatch up his keys and kept walking towards where he parked the Bronco. And Rooster was still too stunned at the fact that Naomi was sitting right there in front of him and pregnant to grab his keys back.

Naomi offered Rooster a small, awkward smile. Her hands trembled with nerves as she smoothed her hands over her bump.

“Hi, Bradley.”

Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

[intimidating-fettuccine]

I've seen several questions like this, so I wanted to know, could you do a scenario or headcans of Toby visiting his Y/N's grave please?

take care of yourself

Make sure to take care of yourself too! Some angst for ya coming right up.

After your passing, Toby finally shatters. He doesn't know what to do, or how to control himself, and he rarely talks or interacts with others, and when he does he's constantly screaming and yelling and picking fights because he doesn't have you there to comfort him and calm him down anymore. He's never felt more lost and alone in his entire life, and it terrifies him and breaks him all at once. He doesn't know how to process any of his emotions over your death, and so he's constantly exploding into either anger or tears, unable to think or center himself without you by his side. 

During this time, he spends the majority of his free time at your grave. It's the one place he feels calm and restful, when he's lying down on top of your grave just breathing and resting, feeling exhausted from all of his outbursts. He never processes how much time passes when he's out there, and it could even start pouring down rain and he still wouldn't notice or make any indication that he should move from his spot, which has gotten him sick multiple times. A few months pass like that until he finally starts to calm down. He goes through a period where he's feeling too distressed and guilty to go to your grave, when he clings to Tim and Slender, feeling so alone and desperate for connection that it scares him. Eventually, they encourage him to start visiting you again.

Sometimes he goes alone, and sometimes he brings one of them with him, for reassurance that it's okay for him to visit you. He blames himself for your death, and he feels wrong, seeking you out for his own comfort, like today. He sits on your grave, picking grass and sitting in silence as Slender watches from a distance, nodding at Toby that it's alright whenever he glances towards Slender for assurance. It's these days that Toby is able to speak to you like he does now. He tells you about how he's been feeling, the things he's been doing to cheer himself up and make up to the others for all of his angry days. He apologizes for not being able to save you, for being alive when you're unable to. He tells you about how he misses you, and all the things he wishes he'd been able to do with you. It's days like today when he sheds tears the whole time he's out there, unable to stop them from coming out as he sobs and screams for you, his body shaking as he falls to the ground above you. He always says that he feels better when he gets to cry in your company, and so he spends hours there weeping until his body collapses and he has no more tears left to shed. 

Slender comes over to collect him, but Toby shakes his head at him, not wanting to leave you yet, so Slender joins him, sitting next to him on the ground. Toby lays there, fists gripping into the grass he lays upon, unable to bring himself to separate from you. He promised you he'd always stay by your side, and so he does his best to uphold that promise. He eats his meals with you, tells you all of the things happening in his life, and some nights he even sleeps out here with you when it's not too cold. Today, he ends up falling asleep upon your grave, with Slender resting beside him. Slender strokes Toby's hair comfortingly, melancholy emotions running through him as he glances upon your tombstone. Slender apologizes to both of you as he lifts Toby from your grave, Toby's hands trying to grip tightly to the dirt, but in his sleep they aren't strong enough, and so he goes along with Slender's movements, curling up into his arms. It's too cold today for Slender to knowingly leave him there, and so he regretfully carries Toby away from you, back to the warmth of the mansion. As he sleeps soundly in Slender's arms, a faint 'I love you' can be heard passing from his lips, swaying in the breeze back towards your grave, and the breeze seems to echo it right back to Toby, passing your own 'I love you too' back to him. A soft smile blooms on his face as the breeze brushes softly over him, the first smile he's had since your passing as your words settle over him, words that only he can hear.

[stratossphere]

the basement | v.v

you’re alone in the basement for the night. or so you think.

warnings: smut, masturbation, mutual masturbation, cum eating, basically porn without plot

word count: 4.3k

taglist: @asskickedbygirl @lieutenant-cinnamon-roll @kissofdawn666 @brandons-wife (lmk if you want to be added!)

— —

Today had been...a day. Everyone had been drinking all day (as to be expected), you’d driven three hours up to some fancy-ass skatepark to watch and film Bam skating (during which you’d been trapped between Ville and Raab for the entire trip), and then you’d come back and showed Ville the American dream sport of drag racing.

So, because of this, everyone was passed out drunk in various parts of the Margera house by the time it hit a crisp 12 at night. However, you were still awake, and for several reasons.

You and Ville had been…playing at something…for a while now. You knew he thought you were attractive, and you could barely tear your eyes away from him every time he was anywhere near you. However, neither of you had yet to make a move, and Ville was clearly playing a game of who could fold first.

He had been fucking with you all day. Touching way more than what he needed to every time someone wasn't looking, holding your gaze at every chance he got with that stare that made you feel like he was eating you alive, and speaking the most suggestive phrases known to man at you all day had left you pent up and expecting him to get you alone at some point during the night.

But he never had. You had no idea where he had even ended up, because you were completely alone in the basement despite that being where he was staying, so you assumed he had just found a home in Bam's bed or something (which was what had happened the night before). Meaning, in turn, you were left completely alone and about as horny as a person could physically get while you tried to will yourself to go to sleep.

But, that wasn't working, and instead you were just left overheated and underworked. You considered going to find Ville, because you knew you would probably get what you wanted from him based on his behavior throughout the day, but that would've drawn attention to you from everyone else upstairs had anyone still been awake, so you decided against that idea.

And, instead, resorted to one that wasn't exactly your most admirable moment, but one that needed to happen in order for you to refrain from being up all night.

So there you were, in the middle of Bam's basement with some old western that was playing on one of the channels going for noise, with your hand down your pants under the blanket you were wrapped in. If Ville wanted to fuck around and never find out, you weren’t exactly going to sit for a few more days and wait on him.

You finally felt your overly-frenzied nerves settle when you touched your fingers to your clit, taking a deep breath to allow yourself to relax due to the fact that you were, in fact, spread out on your friend's couch in a basement that didn't exactly have any privacy from anyone that could very likely come downstairs if they didn't like sleeping on the living room floor.

You couldn't help but imagine Ville. Ever since you’d first met him, you hadn't been able to get him off your mind for more than a few seconds at a time. The intimidating darkness of his eyes, his low voice, the way he looked when he smoked...everything. You were already worked up from when he'd gotten out of the car on your side and had put his hand right between your legs to hold himself up, and thoughts of him fucking you into oblivion weren't making it much better.

You spread your legs a little wider, one knee pushed against the back of the couch and then other hanging off the side as you rubbed your clit languidly to the thought of Ville fucking balls-deep inside of you. The back of your free hand was pressed tightly against your lips just in case, and although a vibrator would've been much more effective in getting you off quickly when you were trying to be discrete, going manual wasn't taking very long either considering how long you’d been itching for a release after being at the mercy of Ville's games all day.

However, that was quickly interrupted when your eyes opened momentarily only to see Ville walking around the back of the fucking couch. You had never moved so fast in your life as you ripped your hand away and let your knees drop, watching him with wide eyes. He wasn't acting like he had even realized you were there, and after a second of him pausing to stare at the TV, you relaxed a little after remembering how drunk he'd been a couple of hours ago. So there was a very low chance that he’d even noticed what you’d been doing. Thank fucking god.

"Jesus Christ. You scared the shit out of me." You muttered as you pulled the blanket tighter around yourself, letting out a slight sigh of disappointment at having to stop so close to your climax. Timing was impeccably horrible, as always. Ville barely glanced back at you where he was still standing in front of the TV.

"Why are you down here? Everyone else is upstairs." He finally turned to face you, and you were surprised to see that drunken glaze in his eyes was almost completely gone. He continued to shock you with how easily he seemed to bounce back compared to the rest of you. It was unbelievable.

"I didn't want to sleep on a floor. Plus, I'm not tired." You supplied simply, rolling over onto your side so that you could watch him sit down on the couch next to you. And when you said next you, you meant right next to you. He sat down so close that you could've taken your head off of your pillow where you were laying on the long part of the couch and set it right on his thigh. If only he knew you’d just been rubbing one out to the thought of him. "I thought you were going to be passed out by now."

"Figured I'd come down here so that I didn't have to share a bed with Bam." He was looking right down at you, and you could feel guilt swirling in your stomach where your pants were still pushed down low on your hips from what you’d been doing only a couple minutes before. "Didn't know I'd have company."

"Well, I'm watching this until I pass out, so you're welcome to join me." Really you wanted him to join you under the blanket and do things completely unrelated to whatever garbage was playing on the TV, but despite what people said, you did have some couth.

"Turn something better on. This is garbage." Ville clearly settled in then, manspreading so far that his knee knocked against your arm as he stuck a cigarette in his mouth and lit it while gesturing at the TV. You had no other option but to use his knee as a leverage point so that you could sit up on your elbow, looking around for the remote that you’d tossed towards the end of the couch when you’d first sat down.

"What would you rather watch?" You huffed as you crawled to the end of the chaise to grab the remote, silently praying that the line of your thong wasn't visible over the waistband of your yoga pants for decency's sake. When you got no response, you glanced back, and he was still staring at you. You swallowed. "Hm?"

"Just something else. Westerns are for sad old men." He muttered, and the look in his eyes told you that your thong very well might've been showing. You could just see a bit of his tongue pulled between his teeth, and he spread his legs a little further while readjusting his hips. Jesus Christ. "You look tense."

Yeah, because you’d left yourself high and dry.

"You're taking up the whole goddamn couch." You lied in place of a valid reason, motioning to where he was spread out like he owned the goddamn place. You wouldn't have been able to lay back down where you’d been without his knee digging into your side. He then held your gaze as he moved over about a fraction of an inch, afterwards motioning to your spot.

"There. Plenty of room." He sounded pleased with himself. You could tell by the way he was talking that he was starting up whatever dumbass game he had been playing throughout the day again. And you didn't think you would be able to handle it again, because you were so horny that you were having trouble focusing on finding something else on TV.

"You pick. Since the choices are so shit." You sighed, handing him the remote as you gave up and just crawled right back over to your spot. This time you stayed sitting, because you felt out of your element lying down where Ville could look at you but you couldn't look at him, and watched as he began to flip through channels so fast you could barely comprehend what he was skipping past.

Part of you was wishing that he had never come downstairs in the first place. You were more sexually frustrated now than how you had started out, and all he was doing was making it worse while he remained focused on the TV without a single care in the world. Thankfully, the cover of your blanket gave you the opportunity to squeeze your thighs together, and you shifted uncomfortably at the same time as you cast a quick glance over at Ville seeing as his attention was focused elsewhere.

On a scale of hotness concerning the men you had had even the slightest chance with, there was no competition that even came near Ville. And, honestly, hot wasn't even really the right word to describe him, because Ville was beautiful. His features were so sharp and distinguished, and the low lighting of the basement made his eyes seem even more shocking where they were lined with two-day-old eyeliner. Mentally, you were praising Bam into the high heavens for introducing you to the most mouth-watering man you had ever laid eyes on in all your years of living.

"A Nightmare Before Christmas! This is a great fucking movie." Ville said with finality before he tossed the remote to the other end of the couch without much thought, a hint of a grin pulling onto his features as the screen settled on the animated scene of Sally making the doctor soup.

You had to force yourself to watch the movie so that you’d stop staring at Ville. You knew he was going to notice if you kept it up, and you also knew that he hadn't really seemed too interested in actually making a move on you tonight considering his attention was now completely off of you. Meaning you were just stuck suffering until he either got bored and left, or fell asleep. And you didn't know if you had a conscience lenient enough to let you stick your hand back down your pants with him unknowingly sitting less than a foot away from you.

After a little while, Ville slid his arm over the back of the couch so close to your head that if you hadn't been forcibly sitting away, it would've been touching you, and then once again...nothing happened. He didn't say a word, and he didn't even glance for a second in your direction. Just watched the movie.

A bit longer after that and you were actually getting into the movie, because Ville was right; it was a great fucking movie. And you were trying your best to distract yourself both from the almost-painful ache between your thighs and the hottest man you’d ever met sitting directly next to you. The only time you allowed yourself to glance over at him was when he grabbed an ashtray off of the couch arm that forced him to reach directly across you. Other than that, nothing.

So, when you heard just the slightest bit of sound from Ville where he had relaxed next to you, you didn't really pay attention to it. The TV was kind of loud, and he'd laughed a couple times since you’d started watching it.

That was, until you heard that same sound again. And then again, but louder. And you quickly realized that what you were hearing was absolutely not a laugh. In fact, it sounded a lot like—

You had never side-eyed someone so fast in your entire life. Yoy didn't turn your head completely in his direction for fear of what you would see, but what you did see almost made your heart drop out of your fucking body.

Ville was in fact letting out tiny, almost inaudible groans, because less than half a foot away from you, he was fully palming himself through his pants. He was so hard that you could completely see the outline of his hard cock through the material, and you choked on the breath that you had been inhaling hard.

He knew. He had to have known what you’d been doing when he'd walked into the room earlier. That thought was confirmed when you looked a little further towards him, still not enough to actually turn your head in his direction, and saw that he was staring right at you.

"...what are you doing?" But you were playing dumb anyway. Mostly because you were so startled that you could feel a shake starting to settle in your fingers, and also because the way he was looking at you felt as if he was burning a hole right through your head. The arm that had been behind you on the couch suddenly slid down onto your shoulders, and then his hand was touching your jaw and forcing you to fully look in his direction.

And watch him rub his cock over his pants with his lip drawn between his teeth.

"Exactly what you were doing when I came down here, darling." Despite the fact that he was currently doing what you couldn't do, his voice was completely, unwaveringly steady, and he looked at you with a knowing gleam in his eye as he glanced downwards where your thighs were still pressed together (more so now, with the sight in front of you) under the blankets. "Did you think I wasn't going to notice you with your legs completely spread and your hand over your mouth?"

"I was..." Yeah, you really didn't have a good answer for that. All of your acting skills were flying further and further out the window with every look you stole down at where his hand was still moving slowly. He hummed before you could try to explain yourself any further.

"Touching that pretty pussy? I know." He finished for you, leaning down and letting his lips drag hotly against your cheek as he groaned audibly this time. "I want it. Let me see."

Your breath was ragged and fast as he kissed just barely at your cheek and jaw, his tongue touching your skin just slightly as his free hand began to pull the blanket off of you. Your head was spinning so intensely and your heart was racing as you let him remove the blanket and toss it over the back of the couch, not sure where to put your hands or what to do with yourself. You were so enamored with the sight of him touching himself that not a single other thought seemed to be computing in your brain.

"What?" You managed to mumble out, finally tearing your eyes away from his hand to move back up to his eyes. He chuckled lowly, his hand stopping completely on his cock and instead reaching forward to push your drawn up knees out to spread.

"I know you didn't get to finish, so finish. I'll watch." He said it like it was the simplest thing someone could do, but you felt your entire body jolt at the idea of touching yourself while Ville Valo sat and watched you with that infamous stare. "Close your mouth. I haven't even shown you my cock."

As you slammed your half-open mouth shut, he pushed your legs open completely before he was closing the tiny amount of space between you to kiss you slowly, his tongue lapping sloppily into every kiss against yours as his hands got so close, yet so far, to where you were desperately craving him.

"I have to...have to take my pants off." You stuttered out against his mouth, unable to do so with his hands forcibly holding your legs open the way they were. He kissed you one more time, biting at your lip enough to sting, before he pulled away, leaning back into his spot on the couch next to you with an entertained look on his face.

You felt like you were about to go make a speech in front of thousands of people with how nervous you were as you shed your bottom layer, but his deep groan when you stepped out of your thong was enough to spur you on. His hand was back on his cock now, but it was barely moving, and you knew that he was waiting on you. Waiting so that he could touch himself to the sight of you touching yourself.

"Good girl. Spread nice and wide." He cooed as you laid against the back of the couch with your legs spread completely to him, your hand itching to jump between your legs and satiate the need that had been burning within you for hours upon hours. "God, you’re fucking wet."

You couldn't wait anymore. You didn't care if you looked desperate. Your fingers were back on your clit before he was even completely done with that sentence, and you let out a soft moan at finally getting the stimulation that your body had been screaming for ever since Ville had interrupted you before. Your legs spread a little further then, and you rolled your hips just slightly in tune with the feeling of your fingers.

When you found the mental capacity to look back at Ville, because you’d been so distracted by your own pleasure that you’d forgotten his clear original motive, you were met with exactly what you were hoping to see. He was pushing his jeans down enough to free his cock, and you watched intently as he did so, seeing the way precum was smeared across his tip as he wrapped his hand around himself and let out a shaky gasp.

"What's got you so riled up, eh? What do you touch yourself to?" He asked after he clearly got himself under control, his hand pumping his cock slowly in comparison to the quick circle of your own fingers on your clit. You didn't even care by this point. Humility was gone and hormones had taken over completely.

"You." You whimpered, your foot moving so that your leg was resting over his thigh as a way to satiate your unquenched thirst for his touch. The hand that wasn't still jerking his cock moved from your ankle up your calf, and once again, he used it as a way to pull your legs open wider.

"Yeah? About my cock balls-deep inside of you like you’ve been waiting for all day?" His words were tinged with a hint of condescending nature, but all you did was moan in agreement, eyes zeroed in on his hand moving languidly up and down on his cock over and over again as he watched you touch yourself. "Does that feel good, love?"

"So good. I'm gonna—I can't—" You couldn't form complete enough sentences to get the message across, which was that you weren't going to last much longer with him talking you through it like that while he continued to stroke himself, but it was pretty obvious. Your back was arched away from the couch at that point, and your fingers were circling fast enough to make your wrist ache as you chased your own high without much care over how close Ville was. You’d been waiting too long and too patiently to pace yourself any longer.

"Make yourself cum. Let me see." He pressed just as you moaned, his grip tightening on your leg where he was still holding your calf as his eyes watched your fingers move without a single break to look up to you. "Fuck, you look so fucking beautiful."

That was it for you. You let out a moan that made you pray that no one else in the house was awake as you came, your back arching completely off of the couch and your hips pushing upwards as your muscles spasmed. Your eyes were closed as you rode through your orgasm, but you could hear the wet sound of his hand picking up pace on his cock, and you quickly fought to open them. You had obviously never seen Ville cum, and on the likely case that this was the last time this ever happened between you, you wanted to engrain the image in your brain forever.

He was moaning tightly with each stroke of his hand, and you watched with your chest heaving as he began to fuck his own hand, his hips rolling harshly off the couch as he rode closer and closer to his own climax.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck—" When he reached that tipping point, his moan was almost as loud as yours as his hips gave one final jerk before he was coming in slow streams all over his hand and partially on his jeans. His perfect features were screwed up in pleasure as his hand eventually slowed to half, barely-there strokes until the last bead of cum dripped from his slit and he let out the breath he'd clearly been holding.

You had sunk down to almost being on your back with your leg still thrown over his, and all you could do was watch him come back down to earth with your lip drawn between your teeth as he sucked in deep, shaky breaths.

"Shit, it's all over." He mumbled when he finally registered just how much he'd cum all over himself, his hand leaving your calf in favor of pulling his jeans out of the way where his cum was literally dripping from his fingers. You finally pulled yourself back into sitting position then, leaning over his lap and then running your tongue along the underside of his hand where it was dripping.

He then watched with his lips slightly parted as you took his wrist gently and began to suck each individual finger clean, trying to get past how long they were as you finally dragged your tongue across his palm before letting him go. If he wanted to go for shock factor, then you could, too. However, when he went to kiss you when you lifted your head again, you leaned back slightly.

"I just—" You had just licked what felt like five loads' worth of cum off of his hand, and you could taste the salty tang on your tongue, so you weren't sure he would've been a fan. You’d been shoved before for trying to kiss after cum had gone anywhere near your mouth. He just scoffed and laced his clean hand in your hair.

"I don't give a fuck." He muttered just before he was pulling you into a kiss, going softer and slower this time as he eventually let his grip in your hair go lax. He kissed you as if he was trying to eat you alive, his hand falling to grip your hip as he licked in your mouth just as he had before.

You kissed for a long time before you finally broke apart, both for air and because you had kind of made a little bit of a mess that really needed to be cleaned before Bam's couch was left with a ton of suspicious stains on it.

So, after about ten minutes of scrubbing cum stains (both out of the couch and out of Ville's pants and shirt), you could finally feel yourself getting tired where you’d been unable to fall asleep before. And Ville had stripped down to his boxer briefs, so it was apparent that he was staying.

"Ah. I missed my favorite part." He sighed in discontent as he paused to stare at the TV for a few seconds where the movie was still playing, shaking his head before he turned it off and then tossed the remote carelessly in the general direction of the TV stand.

"I'm sorry for distracting you." You said dryly as you laid back down on the chaise part of the couch, pulling the blanket off of the back and then silently wondering whether he was going to sleep next to you or perpendicular on the sitting portion of the couch.

"I'm not." He snickered, coming towards your part of the couch and then dropping unceremoniously down almost on top of you where you were trying to get comfortable and spread the blanket out. "Tired you out, didn’t I."

"Yeah. So shh." You mumbled, throwing the blanket over him and hoping that it was long enough to cover his seemingly-never-ending legs. He immediately slid right up into your side, his hand slipping down to find your leg where you weren't wearing pants so that he could rest his warm palm on your thigh.

"Stay down here when everyone else gets up and I'll fuck you in the morning." He whispered in your ear then, his lips brushing gently against the shell as he spoke. You inhaled shakily but didn't respond, feeling a bit of warmth flooding your chest despite your best attempts to control it when his free arm wrapped around you and pulled you flush back against his chest.

So far, you were 1-0 for scoring the hottest guy on the planet. And it didn't look like you were gearing up for any losses.

[voraciousvore]

Hot Chocolate

Ever imagine being a tiny on a freezing cold day, and sitting on a marshmallow in a cup of hot chocolate? :3

Winter-themed g/t vore oneshot below (2.1k words)

Content warning: soft, fatal, willing vore (an unusual combination, I know, but this is my version of comfort vore, as bleak as it may be)

Life was always hard for tiny people in a giant world, but this winter was especially brutal. The snow accumulated on the ground higher than we were tall, turning the landscape into a frozen white wasteland. Food was scarce as the plants withered and died into bare skeletons. The cold was bitter and biting, significantly worse than in previous years. Most of the time, us tiny folk would hole ourselves up in underground shelters with stashes of supplies and hope for the best until spring.  

However, this year, calamity struck. A blizzard destroyed our shelter, ripped open our tunnels, and exposed us to the harsh elements. Wild animals raided our stores of salted meat, grains, berries, and nuts, and the flesh-eaters devoured many of our own before we could fight them off with sharpened spears fashioned from twigs. In the aftermath, most of us starved from lack of food or died from exposure.  When a gigantic fox attacked us, I was separated from the rest of the group, and I returned to find my entire tribe demolished, their red blood still bright and fresh in the white snow. 

I was alone, and I knew no matter how much I struggled, I probably would not survive the winter. I fought my internal despair as savagely as I fought the external world around me. The woods were a severe and unforgiving environment, full of life-threatening hazards and carnivores. My clothes were threadbare from snagging on thorns and branches, and failed to protect me sufficiently from the chill. I was hungry, tired, and cold—so horribly, painfully, agonizingly cold. 

Without the support of my family, I realized there was only one place for me to go where I might have the slimmest chance to live. I desperately needed food, as well as clothing and tools that I lacked the skill to fashion on my own. I might be able to find some raw materials in the forest, if I got lucky, but supplies were more plentiful in the giant city nearby. 

I dreaded going anywhere near the giants, though. They were extremely dangerous, miles tall, and aggressively hungry for any human morsels despite how ridiculously small we were compared to them. Despite us being no larger than the size of a giant fingernail, they viewed humans as special delicacies, and would typically eat any human they discovered without hesitation, purely for pleasure. They also possessed a keen sense of smell for hunting any humans that attempted to hide from them. Normally, I would avoid the giant city like the plague. 

In this case, though, I was desperate. I didn’t know what else to do. So I left the relative safety and quiet emptiness of the woods for the hustle and bustle of the city. On my way there, I rubbed pungent herbs all over my clothes and body in the hopes that they would successfully conceal my scent. The snow would probably wash some of the smell off, but it was worth a try. Fluffy flakes fluttered down from the gloomy gray sky, and I picked up the pace so I wouldn’t get buried under layers of snowfall. 

I emerged from the trees to a plain of white and gray. The silhouettes of titantic buildings far in the distance, speckled with yellow lights from the windows, gradually sharpened through the brumal flurries as I approached. When I finally reached the roads, I found them slushy and wet. I was splashed by frigid, dirty, salty water that chilled me to the bone whenever a gargantuan car roared past. The wetness saturating my clothes only added to my misery and made me freeze faster. I shivered uncontrollably as I watched my breath form visible puffs in front of my face. 

I was reaching a point of no return: Either I would find salvation here, or perish a heartless death, with nobody to mourn me. As I trudged through the layers of snow and slush, I was having increasing difficulty forcing my legs forward. I kept having to brush piles of snow off my head and shoulders and shoes. My fingers and toes hurt as the winter frost nipped them with its icy teeth. I feared I would soon be frozen in place, like a statue carved from ice. 

The fear in my heart exploded as I penetrated deeper into the city and the giant inhabitants stomped past me, bundled in thick layers of winter gear. Not too many of them were out and about, on account of the weather, but every towering colossus that came near me jolted my heart with terror. Their footsteps shook the earth, and their immense shoes splattered me with chilly droplets. While none of them detected the insignificant creature at their feet, I still feared being crushed into a red stain. I sank further into misery with every leaden step. 

I had journeyed far, but I spied on the horizon a coffee shop that I believed would save me. If I could slip through the door, I’d be warm. I could find crumbs to eat on the floor. It’d be risky, but I might yet survive. I forced my legs, which were growing numb, to progress in a straight line. My hands and feet were blocks of ice by now, and my whole body was screaming in pain, but I kept moving. Just a little farther. 

I was almost to the door, perhaps a few hundred feet away, when I found I could no longer move. No matter how much I internally screamed at my body to proceed, I was overwhelmed with agonizing cold. I collapsed with a shudder, curling up into a quivering ball. My consciousness was fading, but I strained to stay awake. If I passed out here, I’d never wake up again. 

A shadow encompassed my vision. At first, I believed I was beholding the specter of death itself, until the looming figure crouched down over me, dwarfing me with its impossible size. A giant. A terrifying, bloodthirsty, man-eating giant. I was doomed. I couldn’t even scream or run with how frozen I was. I could only shiver as I saw in my peripheral vision a massive hand hover over me, until the tips of a gloved finger and thumb closed around me. I had been captured. 

I felt a rush of vertigo as the giant stood up, and I ascended at a whirling speed to incomprehensible heights. I was blind, muffled by thick wooly fabric from his gloves. He released his hold on me and I plopped onto something plushy and warm that gently rippled beneath me like a boat in a lake. Heavenly heat radiated from below. I instinctively snaked my hand down, craving the warmth, but was met with a searing heat that made me jerk my arm back with a sharp yelp. My fingers stung with sharp pins and needles. Whatever the heat source was, it scalded me in my current half-frozen state. 

The tepid warmth that did reach me wasn’t enough to thaw out my insides, but it helped to bring me back to full awareness. I opened my eyes and sat up, trembling, only to see I was sitting on a big, soft, white mass, surrounded by other identical fluffy cylindrical shapes, bobbing in a hot brown sea of sweet-smelling liquid. The realization hit me like a truck. I was sitting on a giant marshmallow, in a thick pile of other marshmallows, that were floating in a great big mug of hot chocolate.   

I nearly fell backwards off my marshmallow perch into the boiling lake when the giant’s enormous face, like a mountainside, loomed over the lip of the mug and stretched high above me and outward in all directions. I had never seen a giant’s countenance up close, since their heads were usually so far up in the sky, so the sight was quite a shock. His skin was pale from the wintry bluster, but his nose and cheeks were flushed red. He was clean-shaven and looked to be in his 20s.  

“Hey there, little one,” his voice boomed, like the voice of a god, making me flinch. “You look cold. Want me to help you warm up?” He spoke through a pair of vast, plushy, pink lips easily the length of six men. The steam of his breath felt divine on my icy skin. I was so miserably cold, to the point where I feared I may never experience a comfortable temperature again. I was sorely tempted. Without concern for the consequences, I nodded. I would do anything to be warm again, to not freeze to death. 

His lips curved into a devious smirk. He tilted the mug as he touched the edge to his mouth and took a small sip. I couldn’t help but squeak in fear as the heap of marshmallows rushed towards the edge, carrying me with them.  

“Are you sure this is what you want?” the giant teased. Raw terror pierced my heart as his mouth opened slightly, showing off massive white teeth that beckoned into an unfathomable darkness beyond. Even so, I was so, so fatigued from the unbearable cold that even now burrowed through my worn clothes, tearing at me with icicles for teeth. I couldn’t take it anymore; I just wanted to give in. The heat from the beverage, from the giant’s body, was so close, so tantalizing, yet just out of my grasp. I nodded again, sealing my fate. 

The giant raised a thick eyebrow, curling his mouth into an amused smirk again, but obliged. The immense lips parted, showing a glimpse of the forbidden depths, yet the warmth of his internals drew me in like a moth to a flame. The mug tipped forward, and before I could regret my decision I was swept inside in a deluge of marshmallows and chocolate. 

The mouth closed, cutting off the chill from the wind. The space within, encircled by walls of teeth, was easily as big as a living room. The warmth kissed me in a loving embrace like stepping into a sauna. The marshmallows dissolved underneath me into a sticky puddle, and the liquid from the beverage flowed down the gullet yawning in front of me, yet the giant kept me in his mouth. I lounged back on the huge fleshy tongue, soaking in the heat like a jacuzzi. It felt so good to finally give in, to give up, to no longer have to struggle through miles of snow. I should’ve been terrifed, but I was desperate for heat. 

The tongue curled around me, massaging me against the rows of teeth and the roof of the mouth as it explored my flavor. As wonderful as the physical sensations were, my body tingled with prickles of pain as the numbness from the cold wore off and blood circulated to my extremities. Even with the heat flooding over me, along with a bath of saliva, I was still frozen in my core. I shivered violently. I needed more; the mouth couldn’t provide me with enough. I was greedy for heat. 

In that moment, I stopped caring about anything else. I had nothing left in my life anyways; everyone I knew was dead; I just wanted to be warm and comfortable in my last moments, above all else. I crawled alongside the row of craggy white molars, sidling up to the red meat of the gums, sensing the pulse of hot blood through the flesh. Deeper inside, it would be warmer. I crept over the curve of the slimy tongue as I descended toward the throat. I slid down into the squishy chute, and it gladly received me, flexing tightly around my tiny body as the giant swallowed. 

The throat squeezed tightly around me in a tender hug as it dragged me down to the internal depths. The pressure was strong, yet pleasant, kneading me down through his immense chest. His heartbeat throbbed in my ears, and the expansion of his lungs compressed me further as I slid down. I fell deeper and deeper until I eventually splashed into his stomach. 

The infernal heat felt divine, enveloping me to the point where I was smothered. At long last, I was warm, blessedly warm, in gurgling heaven. I curled up and allowed the shifting walls to churn me up in the boiling fluid. Like a marshmallow in a cup of hot cocoa, I melted into the larger whole, blissfully free from my tormented existence. 

[elisela]

read until end omg check please / nurseydex / au for @missanniewhimsy who has been waiting for this fic since the wild beat the caps in march, whoops .

Apparently, being a writer doesn’t pay the bills.

Yet.

Derek always likes to tack that on there. Being a writer doesn’t pay the bills yet, because it will. One day. Hopefully not in the far-off future because he’s got high hopes of moving out of the closet his landlord calls a studio in Flatbush, but that would require several things to happen first, like finishing a manuscript.

He’s working on it.

Turns out that while writing in college had been fairly easy for him, making time to write in between the dead-end jobs that pay the bills when he had no energy left for anything that wasn’t staring blankly at moving pictures on a screen wasn’t so simple. And thanks to the endless parade of dead-end jobs—barista, ticket seller at an off-off-off Broadway theater, cashier—he rarely had an entire day off to devote to finishing the last three chapters of his book.

And when he does get a day off, miracle of miracles, he goes and does stupid things like says yes when his friend asks if he can please, pretty please (with a cherry on top) cover for him this weekend. So instead of burying his face in his computer and a gallon of coffee, he’s out here at the Flatbush farmer’s market, sitting underneath a stark white tent surrounded by books that no one’s so much as glanced at in the last forty-five minutes.

The pies have been flying off the table. Bitty’s in no danger of not making a profit today and Derek’s pretty sure he’ll have to erase the last two flavors—peach and strawberry rhubarb—from the board any second, but the books.

No one’s even looked at the books, despite the large sign declaring them free.

He doesn’t even know why Bitty has them. Well, he knows why—because Eric Bittle has never been able to say no when faced with his sweet old neighbor dropping off anything at his door, let alone seven full boxes of books that she claimed she couldn’t take with her to the retirement home. What he doesn’t know is why Bitty couldn’t just turn around and take them to the nearest donation center. They look out of place in the tent that had been filled with baked goods, and Derek doesn’t blame anyone for looking right past them.

He’s not looking forward to packing them all back up at the market’s end, but at least he won’t ever have to bother with it again.

—

Of course, where Bitty can’t say no to sweet old ladies, Derek apparently can’t say no to Bitty and his big pleading eyes. So when he calls again on Wednesday night—talking so quickly that the words blend together—Derek ends up right back at the market with the books.

The Thursday crowd is calmer than they had been on Saturday, which is both a blessing and a curse. It means Derek’s not on his feet the entire time, but there’s only so much people-watching he can do before he goes crazy. It’s basically inevitable that he picks up the nearest book, despite its god-awful cover, and starts reading.

And reading.

He has to set it down every few pages to smile charmingly at people wandering by and make small talk—no, he’s not the baker, that’s a friend of his … oh yes, everything from scratch, you wanted gluten-free? Right over there in the blue boxes—and it's during one of those conversations that he hits on an idea. 

“Wouldn’t it be nice to spend a quiet afternoon reading and eating pie?” a woman asks her friend as Derek loads up a paper bag with her purchases. 

“Feel free to take as many as you want,” he says, and watches as she reaches towards the pile and hesitates.

“They don’t really look like my thing, but thanks,” she says. They leave without another word and he hardly sees them go. They didn’t look like his thing either, but the one he’d picked up was good, and—

It doesn’t take much to rip a paper bag in half and rustle up a tape dispenser and marker from Bitty’s supply bag. He spends a few free minutes sorting through the books on the table, setting aside a few that look promising, and then googles reviews on his phone as he wraps them up. All it takes is writing a few generic, key phrases on the paper before he scatters them carefully throughout the boxes of pies and sits back in his seat.

The books fly off the table after that, so quickly that Derek’s previously chill afternoon is now spent feverishly wrapping in between schmoozing and doing the job Bitty is paying him in baked goods to do. Closing comes as a relief this time for a different reason, and he’s just starting to pack the remaining books back into boxes when a shadow falls over the table.

“No more blackberry?” someone asks, and Derek almost snorts. He’s been out of pies for nearly an hour, he’d only stayed to get rid of some more of the books. 

“Sorry man,” he says, glancing up—a mistake. Derek’s always been a sucker for redheads, and the setting sun has cast a glow that makes his hair shine nearly golden. “No more anything.”

The man’s face falls, and Derek’s heart along with it. 

“Come back next week, I’ll make sure you get one,” he says before he can stop to think about all the things wrong with that sentence, starting with the fact he won’t be there. 

The guy’s fingers trail over one of the wrapped books Derek hadn’t yet put away. “Magical realism,” he says, sounding amused and more than a little dismissive. “Never really got the point.”

Derek straightens up at that and looks across the almost-empty table. “Sounds like you haven’t read any,” he says, and reaches over to push the book closer with two fingers. “Should try it before you make up your mind.”

The man grins at him, crooked but sure. “Too late for that.”

—

The next Thursday morning finds Derek wishing he’d never been born as he listens to Bitty repeat every word of their conversation to Jack, only to come back on the line to say, “You can come along, Sugar, but this I’ve got to see.”

A few more minutes of cajoling Bitty gets him nowhere, and, already resigned to his fate, he fires off a text to Jack. 

I’ll give you $20 if you convince him to stay home.

It doesn’t take long for Jack to respond. This is excessive, especially for you.

The day is nice, at least, and Bitty running his own booth does mean that Derek is kept well fed and can hide behind his laptop screen. He’s writing in the sense that he deletes two out of every three sentences he comes up with but it’s more than he’s produced in the last month, so he’ll take it. He’d definitely be more productive elsewhere, but being elsewhere would mean that he couldn’t glance up and down the street every forty-five seconds hoping to catch a glimpse of bright red hair, so he stays. The constant tapping at the keys earns him proud looks from Bitty, who seems to think he’s getting much more done than he really is. 

Derek doesn’t dissuade him of that notion.

It figures that the man he’s been idly thinking about all week comes up at the exact time that Derek’s zoned in, fingers punching out sentences he’ll no doubt hate the next day. It takes Bitty poking his shoulder to realize it, blinking at the slight disorientation of the sun being in a completely different spot than he remembered—shining right into his eyes—and being addressed with a question.

“—says you saved him a blackberry pie?”

Bitty’s blinking in a manner that is likely supposed to look innocent and misses it by a mile. He knows perfectly well the pie in question is resting in a bag at Derek’s feet, because he’d put it there himself. 

Derek stares back at him. If Bitty’s going to insist on intervening, Derek’s not going to make it easy for him.

“For heaven’s—” Bitty mutters, and turns a sparkling smile on the man as he reaches down. “Sorry, Will. Derek just gets so focused sometimes, it’s like he’s on another planet. You know how writers are.”

“I really don’t,” the man—Will—says, but he’s grinning as he looks at Derek. “Thanks for saving that for me. My shift ends too late for me to get over here any earlier.”

“All good,” Derek says. His back, which has not appreciated the last several hours molded to a metal folding chair, chooses that second to twinge. He shifts and stretches, and catches Will’s eyes dropping to his torso as he does. “I saved you something else, too.”

Bitty had given up on giving away the books—Derek was mostly certain that was Jack’s doing—but he’d had brought what he’d needed along. He takes the immaculately wrapped book out of his backpack and passes it over, forcing himself to keep a straight face as Will’s eyes scan the bullet points. Sword fights, he’d written at the top, followed by patricide and descriptions of food so good that you’ll need at least five snacks while you read.

Magical realism had been conveniently left out.

Will grins, his shoulders shaking with a short laugh. “I’m not much of a reader.”

That’s—almost a deal-breaker, and Bitty seems to know it by the way he jolts into action. “Five snacks—well, you’ve already got the pie but I’ve got some of these cookies I’ve been testing, they’re missing a little something but I haven’t figured out what. Take some and come back next week and tell me what you think. And if you go to Justin over there—he’s got the best salsa, just tell him Eric sent you and he’ll toss in some chips. Derek, sugar, would you go get the peaches that Chris is holding for me and start loading them in my car?”

He looks over at Will—already biting into one of the cookies Bitty had almost thrown at him—and winks. “Enjoy.”

The reader comment can be forgiven by the way two identical patches of red immediately bloom on Will’s cheeks.

—

It takes just a few days for Derek to get a text from an unknown number on his phone.

Still isn’t my thing.

You read until the end, Derek writes back. He’d written his number on the fifth to last page—just far enough from the end that it probably wouldn’t be seen if someone was just flipping through.

Only because I kept expecting it to get better.

He taps the back of his phone, ignoring how Jack jostles him when he squeezes his way onto the couch, tossing a bag of chips down on the coffee table as the theme to Hockey Night in Canada plays. We can hit up the bookstore, he finally types in. I’ll find something you like. Cornerstone, Thursday at 7.

Three dots appear and disappear so often that Derek is sure Will is trying to find a polite way to turn him down. What he gets instead, however, is—It’s a date.

--

(And they lived happily ever after the end)

[putellas14]

6000 Miles Apart (Alexia Putellas x Reader)

Summary/anon request: Reader gets stuck in the US during COVID lockdowns and can't get back to Alexia for more than a year. Happy ending.

Warning: I cried while writing this. I think we all have a lot of emotions about the last two years. So just be sure to take care of you when you read this one. And skip it if it's too much to handle. There is a covid death mentioned (although not in great detail and the actual cause of death is unknown - as many were in those early days) and also mentions of how long wait times for funerals were.

I also wasn't about to go figure out when Americans were let back into Spain. This is just based on memory. So go with it.

Waking up that morning, you were glad you'd decided to take a later flight back to the US. Alexia was still asleep next to you. It was raining outside. Your bags were sitting by the door of your studio apartment, ready for the long journey. Even though you were only meant to be gone a week, it felt like you would be gone for an eternity.

You pulled the blankets up, trying to ward off the cold and snuggled closer to Alexia. She wrapped an arm around you, bringing you in closer.

"Good morning," you mumbled into her chest. She kissed the top of your head in answer. You let your hands wander over her, tracing the muscles of her back that you already knew so well. You knew every curve and every freckle and every scar. You'd never known or explored anyone else's body the way you had Alexia's.

"Do you have to go, mi amor?" she mumbled. But she already knew the answer. You'd talked about this for hours. Your dad was really sick. So sick that he'd gone to the hospital. The doctor's didn't know what was wrong with him and they weren't hopeful that he was going to recover. You and your father were not close. In fact, you hadn't spoken in many years. Despite that, you didn't think you'd ever forgive yourself if you didn't go to say goodbye to him.

You tangled your fingers in the ends of her hair. Looking up at her, you whispered, "You know I have to."

"I wish I could go with you, even if just to hold your hand through it." She moved her head to kiss you, gently moving her lips against yours.

You badly wanted her to go with you. You had no idea how you were going to get through the week alone. But she had commitments this week that couldn't be rescheduled. It was part of being captain of a large club. A part that you sometimes hated, no matter how proud you were. Letting your hands wander under her shirt, you rolled onto your back, pulling her with you.

You let your lips and hands wander over her gently for the next hour, taking advantage of every minute you two had left together this morning. You were frequently separated from each other for football duties, but this felt harder.

She dropped you at the airport, giving you a kiss and holding you in a hug for several minutes until security yelled at her to move her car. You promised to call as soon as you touched down.

You touched down in Los Angeles on March 9, 2020, with the plan to return to Spain a week later. If you'd known that the entire world was going to shut down that week and you wouldn't return to Spain for over a year, you would have told the security guard at Barcelona airport to back off so you could hold Alexia for a little longer.

You were glad to have gone to the US because your father passed away that week. You were able to make peace with him. Although you were estranged until his death, the rest of the family had always remained quite close to him. Which meant that you were the only one together enough to sort out all the funeral details. If you wanted the funeral in Los Angeles county, there was a 6 week waiting list. If you were willing to drive down to Orange County or out to Riverside, the waiting list was only 4 weeks long. You made the decisions for your family, hoping you were doing the right thing.

Every day for over a year, you woke up hoping this was the day you'd get to buy a ticket home. To Alexia. To Nala. To Barcelona. To your friends. Every day for over a year, you'd blow a kiss to Alexia over facetime, desperately wishing you could actually kiss her. Every day for over a year, you trained alone in the tiny studio apartment over your mom's garage, with barely anything in it because every store was sold out of everything. You had your mom's camp cot to sleep on and a few extra dishes she had around the house. Every day for over a year you tried to find some loop hole to get you back to Alexia. And every time you did, your hopes were crushed from either the governments of your countries or the management of Barca, who threatened to fire Alexia if she left the EU to see you. Every day for over a year, you cried yourself to sleep thinking you were never going to get to go home again. That you were never going to get to hold Alexia again. Or take Nala to the dog park. Or surprise your teammates with coffee at training. Or walk around the streets of Barcelona with your love next to you.

Every day for over a year was a complete nightmare.

It only got worse when the borders remained closed but life started to return to normal. Except it wasn’t normal for you. You were stuck in a country you no longer called home. You were stuck watching Alexia come out of lockdown in Barcelona and go on with life. Life without you.

Every day the border remained shut was a complete nightmare.

Until one random Friday in June 2021, you woke up to a text from Alexia that had you crying for hours - We open to Americans on Monday!!!!! I booked your ticket. You called her and you cried together on the phone, neither of you really believing this day had finally come.

You had expected to feel a lot of emotions on the flight. But you hadn't expected nerves. You fidgeted for a couple hours until the woman next to you started to talk to you, hoping it would calm you down. She was traveling with a baby to meet her parents and husband. The two of you talked for the remainder of the flights, helping each other through the mess of emotions you were both feeling.

Your anxiety nearly got the better of you as you waited in passport control. You had texted Alexia as soon as you landed and knew she was already waiting there for you. You were bouncing on your toes, anxiously moving with the slow moving line until finally it was your turn. As soon as your passport was stamped, you ran. You ran as fast as you could, maneuvering around people pulling large suitcases and pushing luggage carts. You had burned the clothes you'd taken with you from Spain, hoping to never wear them again. All you had with you was your carry on duffel. You slowed your pace to pass through customs, although you had nothing to declare.

And then the door to the arrivals area opened and you could see the swarm of people waiting. Your eyes started burning and you tried to blink the tears back, not wanting to miss sight of her. But when you caught a glimpse of her in the crowd trying to stand on her toes to see over the people, you couldn't stop the tears from falling down your cheeks. Pushing through, you barreled into her, lifting her into your arms.

You aren't sure how long the two of you stood there holding each other. Five minutes. Ten minutes. Maybe twenty. It didn't matter. After almost 500 days apart, the only important thing was holding each other, crying together, touching not through a screen. She was here in your arms, you could feel her tears through your shirt, her breath hot on your neck, her hair tickling your fingers. You could smell her. When she went to step back, you held her a little tighter and asked for one more minute, which she gladly gave you.

You finally let her go, stepping back from her, but keeping your hands on her waist. She reached up and pulled your mask down so she could kiss you properly. Instinctively, your fingers curled into her shirt. You'd forgotten what it felt like to kiss her. And it nearly brought tears to your eyes again.

"Can I take you home, my love?" she asked, lacing your fingers together. You nodding, holding onto her arm with your other hand. You weren't sure you were going to be able to let her get more than five feet away from you for at least the rest of the day. Maybe the rest of the week. She seemed to feel the same way as her hand quickly found its way onto your thigh when she drove out of the parking lot. You covered her hand with yours, reaching out with the other to gently stroke her face.

You didn't have much need for words right in this moment. Words were all you'd had for more than a year now. Right now, you just needed to touch her, to remind yourself that this wasn't one of the hundreds of dreams you'd had since leaving, that you had finally made it back to Spain, and that she was actually sitting here next to you.

Once at the apartment, Nala circled you a few times, hesitant it seemed to trust her memory. You knelt down and held your hand out, hoping she would give in. Her small butt started shaking and then she started jumping up onto your thighs. Picking her up, you cradled her to your chest as she happily licked your face. You felt Alexia's hand on your back and sighed, beyond happy to be reunited with your little family.

“Are you hungry, baby? I made some things you probably haven’t had in a while.”

"You're an angel, my love. I'm starving." Setting Nala back down on the ground, you followed Alexia into the kitchen.

"I lied to Jonatan. Told him you weren't getting in until tomorrow," she said, pulling a few plates out of the fridge. "I hope you don't mind."

"Of course not." You rubbed a hand over her shoulder when she sets the plates on the table and took the covers off. "I don't mind any extra time we can have alone."

"Glad you agree." She leaned towards you to kiss your cheek. "I've got ham sandwich or tortilla or I can make you anything you want."

"Just relax, babe." You nudged her into one of the chairs. "We've got this food. Let's eat this." You pulled out the chair next to her and sat down. "We can cook something together for dinner later. Which one of these do you want?"

"I can eat either. You pick." You playfully rolled your eyes before moving half the sandwich onto the other plate and using the knife to cut half the tortilla slice for her.

"There. Now neither of us has to choose." You could feel her eyes on you while you took your first few bites, savoring the taste of home. You'd tried to recreate a basic ham sandwich in the US but it hadn't tasted like this. This is what it was supposed to taste like. When you turned your head to give her a smile, you saw tears falling down her cheeks. Dropping your sandwich, you reached out to touch her cheeks. "What's wrong, babe?"

She shook her head, giving you a small smile. Her hands came up to cover yours. "I just missed you. I didn't know if I'd ever get to see you sitting here again. Just eating here, with me."

"Baby," you said, quietly. The both of you had expressed over FaceTime how much you missed each other while separated. Every time she'd gotten teary eyed, you wished you could be there to comfort her. Finally, you did what you had been wished to do every time she'd said she missed you. Standing, you turned and sat in her lap, wrapping both arms around her neck. You pressed soft kisses to the crown of her head as her arms settled around you. "I didn't know if I would ever be back here with you either. I'm so so happy to be back with you finally." You felt her lips against your shoulder. "I love you, Ale."

You leaned back to look at her. Stroking a thumb across her cheek, you let yourself just look at her for a minute. "Can we take Nala for a walk after lunch?" She nodded. You leaned down to kiss her, savoring the feel of her lips against yours, of her tongue touching your lips, of her teeth gently sinking into your bottom lip. When you leaned back, you rubbed your thumb over her lips.

"I love you, Y/N." You let her hold on for a few more seconds before slipping off her lap and back into your own seat. You scooted your chair closer to her so you could rest your leg against hers while you both ate. Her hand snuck out to hold you to her side as you finished up.

"Ready for that walk?" you asked when she finished eating. "I'll take care of the dishes when we get back." Alexia got sunglasses and hats for you from the bedroom while you got Nala's leash attached. She settled the hat on your head and slipped the sunglasses on your face. Giving her a smile, you put an arm around her waist and lead her out of the apartment. She slung her arm around your shoulders as you walked down the block to the park you remembered nearby. She let you lead the way, taking in the streets of your city.

You'd missed Barcelona. You'd missed taking Nala on walks. You'd missed this park and the bench near the small pond that you liked. You'd missed feeling Alexia next to you on these walking, talking about everything and nothing. Doing all these things again should have felt overwhelming. But it just felt like coming home.

You convinced Alexia to let you take Nala to the dog park on the way back. While Nala ran free and played with a few other dogs there, you stole kisses and whispered sweet nothings in Alexia's ear. When her hands started wandering, you figured it was time to go home. "Can we take a quick nap when we get home?" you asked, leashing Nala again.

"Of course, mi amor." She took your hand in hers as you walked back to the apartment.

You laid down on the bed while she got Nala some water. Getting comfortable, you put your hand under the pillow below your ear. You felt something like a t-shirt under the pillow and pulled it out, confused why there were clothes in the bed. Looking at it, you recognized one of your shirts.

"I hope you don't mind," Alexia said from the doorway. "I brought a few of your clothes over from your apartment. They smell like you." Tossing the shirt to the side, you opened your arms for her. She came closer, collapsing into you. "I prefer the real thing, though," she mumbled.

"Me, too." You ran your hands over her back, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "Twenty minute nap?" She nodded against you, closing her eyes. Letting your cheek rest against the top of her head, you closed your eyes, enjoying having the weight of her on top of you again. Her leg fell between yours as you shifted a little. This was your favorite nap position, and something you had desperately missed while stuck away from her.

You’d been watching Alexia fall asleep 6000 miles away over Facetime for over a year. Finally you could fall asleep together. Touching each other. Tangled together. It was all you had hoped for and all you had dreamed of for the last year. Holding her close, you drifted off to sleep praying that you'd never have to be separated that long from each other again.

[purecantarella]

A Dream is a Wish Your Heart Makes

day six yall HAHAHA i hope yall are enjoying this kinktober with me bc i am having fun doing this everyday HAHAHA i am incredibly sleepy and writing this while in class tho i hope you all enjoy this one HAHAHA myoui mina x reader disclaimer/s : smut. i suggest going to look for fluffier or angstier content.

mina in this gif has me on my knees

It was incredibly difficult to catch Mina's attention, but when you did it was impossible to get you out of her mind. It became a little bit of a controlled obsession but she didn't want it to get in the way of anything.

Especially when you of all people caught her eye. Her bandmate and best friend's girlfriend.

When Mina first met you, there was no spark. After all she was meeting you for the first time as Momo's girlfriend. She hyper-analyzed you as a potential partner for her closest friend in the group. While she did think you were attractive and kind enough, she didn't think anything more of you.

Her opinion on you was nothing more than someone she would see often around the dorm. That wouldn't change until one night.

She had been careless and dazed during their dance practice and wound up tripping and twisting her ankle. It wasn't too severe but she was asked to go home as to not further worsen the injury.

The managers weren't able to stay home and take care of her though given that they needed to take the girls to other schedules. So Momo asked you to go over to the dorms, despite Mina's insistence that she could stand to be alone for a couple hours.

"Hey, I'm here." You called from the door, much to Mina's dismay. She looked up at you as you entered the common space with a variety of random medical equipment. The Japanese woman stifled a laugh as she watched you looking around anxiously.

Mina waves from the couch while smiling widely, "Over here."

Your gaze shoots over to her and you're instantly relieved and you jog over to her. Like a puppy, Mina thinks to herself as you kneel down before her, examining the ankle delicately. "You should really be careful, Mina..." You pause, looking up into her eyes. "I would loathe the idea of you being hurt any worse."

Her heart jumps into her throat as she stares deeply into your gaze, the sincerity and concern that dripped from them. You pull your attention away from her momentarily, "Momo told me they applied a cold compress in the car so I'm just going to wrap it, alright?"

She nods before you take a medical bandage and pull it around her foot. Mina winces as you knot the ends together, you place a hand on her thigh, dangerously high. She now winces for an entirely different reason. The Japanese woman looks down at you, checking if you'd meant to do it, but you were so focused on her foot.

Her cheeks flush as you slip your hand to her knee before you smile up at her kindly. "There you go, now let's raise this thing." Again, her eyes bulge and her cheeks deepen in hue. But you simply prop her injured foot onto a nearby ottoman.

You sigh before standing up, "You want some water? Some food? Anything?"

Mina stares up at you shyly before quickly shaking her head. You smile awkwardly before sitting down beside her carefully, trying not to move her foot more than it should've been.

You two sit silently for a moment. Both of you weren't alone for long periods of time, Momo or someone was always there to break the silence. It was foreign to Mina but she found comfort in your presence...far more than she'd have liked.

Finally, she speaks, "I'm...I'm sorry that you had to go through the trouble of coming here." You chuckle and fall into the back of the couch, facing her and looking at her intently. The usually pale woman was now an embarrassing tint of pink as you were a mere fist away from her own face.

Your voice is soft, so soft she could lay in it forever, "You aren't a burden, Mina. Anywhere or anytime, I'm there if you need me." You nudge her shoulder playfully before pulling away, "Plus it's a nice apartment, I could be stuck in worse places."

She giggles and her eyes begin to droop as you prop your own feet up next to hers on the ottoman. You were still speaking but your voice was now muddled as she drifted off to sleep.

Mina's eyes opened and she was in, not her bedroom, but Momo's. She rubbed her eyes shocked. 'Did you bring her here? Did you not want to invade her privacy by just tucking her here?' She thinks to herself.

It was odd, her foot wasn't feeling as sore. Maybe the swelling had gone down. She swings her legs off the bed to try and look for you and thank you for taking care of her.

"Minari." Your voice soft and teasing, it made her heart jump.

The feeling was like nothing she'd ever felt before when she thought or saw you. Your eyes were hooded, a stark comparison from how wide-eyed and happy you always looked. "Y/n! You scared me."

You smirk her way as you take small steps forward, "I like it when you scream my name, Minari." The Japanese woman feels herself heat up before laughing awkwardly. Before she can retort anything, you're in front of her, on your knees as you were earlier. You were dangerously close to her lips and her eyes were the size of the moon as you stared at her, the smirk on your face never wavering.

"Y-Y/n. We—" You tut and press your index finger to her lips, dragging her lower lip down with your digit gently. Instantly, her mind is blank as you do that. Her mouth is dry and she can feel ever bodily fluid rush to her legs.

"Do you think I could pull more screams from that pretty mouth?" You ask, your breath fanning her lips only tempting her further. Your hands are quickly on her thighs, rubbing up and down while applying light pressure. She bites back a reluctant moan as you do so, only making your smirk grow wider. "Don't hide those noises...I'm sure they sound irresistible."

Her head is fuzzy but she utters out a shaky voice, "But I can't do this to Momo."

You scowl before shaking your head, "Fuck her..." You snarl, leaning down to kiss and suck her neck, very clearly leaving marks. Mina finally releases an airy moan as her hand flies to the back of your head. "It's only you and me here." You move back up and force her to look directly at you, "And you're all I want, Mina."

You pull her lips down onto yours roughly, the Japanese woman groaning upon impact before relaxing into your arms. You grin against her lips as your hands make haste to the waistband of her shorts.

With one swift motion, you slip her shorts and underwear off, leaving her slit exposed to you. You pull your lips away from hers, quickly making your way between her legs. Tongue poking out and trailing from her knee to right onto her inner thigh, repeating the same process on the left leg. She shifts uncomfortably, guilt boiling in her chest, Momo not straying far from her mind, but all at once it fans the flame of her desire for you.

"Ohhh, you just smell so delightful, Mina." Your thumb presses onto her waiting clit, just enough to have her whine so high for you. You grin, pressing just a little harder, enjoying just how much she squirmed for you. "Do you want me?"

Mina nods, her tongue out as she panted like a dog in heat and her eyes glassy. 'Morals be damned' She thinks to herself before pulling you into her lips again roughly. Her hands tug at the locks of your hair, starving for your lips, your touch, you.

"I want you so bad, Y/n." She moans as she pulls away. "Please give me everything." You smirk before nodding, lowering your head to her drooling cunt.

"Anywhere or anytime, I'm there if you need me." You whisper before shoving your face into her, tongue lapping and leaving broad strokes in and around her center. She cries out in sudden ecstasy at the indelicate movement of your tongue.

Mina's eyes glue shut as she chants out your name, "Y/n...Ohhhh Y/n. Y/N!"

"Mina!"

She jolts out of her actual rest. Wailing in pain as her foot falls to the ground again. "Agh!"

"Shit! Are you alright?" You ask from beside her. Concern filling your eyes, a rather unwanted shift from when she last saw you.

Mina reorients herself to where she is. She's sitting with you in the living room, right where she fell asleep last. You jump onto your feet, and dash to the kitchen, returning with a cold ice pack.

"You were shifting so much and whining in your sleep. I thought..." You trail off before pressing the ice cold pack onto her ankle. She stares at you, on your knees, so focused on her before your dedicated eyes move to meet hers.

She's suddenly burning red and she looks away embarrassed, you brush it off as nothing more than shame from accidentally hurting herself again. "Does that feel alright?" You ask, rubbing her swollen ankle.

"FINE!" Mina screams, the look in your eyes catching her off guard, before thinking that the ice pack would feel nice much higher.

You quirk a brow before excusing yourself to cook both your dinners. Leaving Mina to reflect on her dream, a hot flush hitting her each time she thinks of you and her in such a compromising position.

'This got complicated fast...' She thinks before pressing the ice pack to her dampening center with a soft groan.

the ending made me laugh and i can't explain why HAHAHAH i hope you all enjoyed this!! i'm beginning to feel a little overwhelmed by this on top of school but i'm still having fun HAHAHA i will see you all tomorrow!! keep safe and i love you all vv much!! - r