#i *did* write this on the plane with like. my old notes from the other tur morva thing i wrote and nothing else lol so

[aurore-parle-de-ses-idees]

Panic, .....Halbarad?

greetings from tur morva! at the very beginning of when Things Start Happening :)

The wind off the lake in the shadow of Methedras is cold, remembering the ice in the heights and the snow on the peaks, but the fires are warm and enough of the people of Tûr Morva are welcoming that they can forget the wind, for a time.

Halbarad waves a greeting to Radanir, who has been in a foul mood for nearing three days now, and continues into the caves where Calenglad had said he would wait. Just inside the heavy door he finds a pile of crates, a familiar cloak draped over one of the stacks.

“Oh! Hello, Ranger,” calls one of the Hebog-lûth girls with a bright smile. “Your friend told me you would be coming; he said he would help Maelona carry some of these crates down into the drier tunnels and join you as soon as he could.”

Halbarad thanks her and steps back outside, the cool air sharp enough to bite but still preferable to the stuffiness of the caves near the entrance. A small bird lands on a low stone wall nearby and looks at Halbarad inquisitively, as if he has some news for it. The Sun comes around the shoulder of the mountain and he lets his hood down, content to soak in whatever warmth she will provide this time of year. Someone calls out once elsewhere in the village. It’s peaceful.

Esterín and Lothrandir pass him, deep in quiet conversation, and enter the caves. Golodir enters the caves as well, bearing a tray of sweet-smelling tarts that steam in the mountain air, stopping just long enough to make a face at Halbarad when he swipes one.

“If you see Calenglad,” Halbarad adds as an afterthought, “tell him I’m only waiting on him.” Golodir eyes him carefully.

“Anything urgent?”

“Next steps,” Halbarad answers. “I am growing anxious to move on.” Golodir nods, some faint wistfulness briefly touching his face, and goes.

Some time later, neither Calenglad nor Golodir have returned from the caves and Halbarad begins to frown. How deep in the caves can they be? Surely it should not have taken this long to move the crates, even if they made several trips.

“Halbarad?” Corunir’s voice stops him. Worried, though he tries to contain it. “Have you seen Golodir? He should have been back by now. Idele is getting impatient; she set aside a tray of berry tarts for him, but they’re getting cold just sitting out.”

“He went down into the caves perhaps an hour ago,” Halbarad says, worry growing in the back of his mind. “I haven’t seen him since.” Neither Esterín nor Lothrandir have come back, either. “Corunir,” he says, very quietly. “Is anyone else unaccounted for?” Corunir’s gaze snaps to him, sharpening at his tone.

“No one has been noticed missing yet,” he says after a moment’s thought. “But I haven’t seen Idhrien or Braigiar in some time, and there are fewer of us about than there should be for the hour.” Halbarad takes the handle of the thick, heavy door that keeps the howling of the wind on one side and the caves on the other. His other hand finds the hilt of his sword. Corunir takes up a position just behind him. “I have not seen the Brenin either,” he says. Halbarad nods grimly.

“Stay close.”

He had hoped it would not come to this. He had taken Lothrandir’s counsel with all the weight it merited, and with his own judgement he had thought the Falcon Clan sincere, even those who had nearly as little love for the Dúnedain as for the White Hand. He had dared, for just a moment, to believe they could find allies here as they had in Lhanuch, and now he can only beg whatever Powers may be listening that it was not the wrong choice.

Calenglad’s cloak is still draped over the crates. No more of them have gone down into the caves.

The upper cells are empty. Halbarad sweeps deeper into the damp caves, Corunir silent at his back and eyes alight with sharp-edged worry.

They come upon a fallen tray, small tarts scattered about and crushed underfoot. There is blood there, too. Halbarad draws his sword. Corunir curses softly behind him. “Go,” Halbarad says under his breath. Corunir turns a sharp look on him, protest already in his eyes. “Now,” Halbarad hisses. “Find anyone still free and leave the village. Find the Rohirrim in the Gravenwood.” Corunir’s eyes flick to the scattered apple tarts. “Corunir, there is no time.” He tries to gentle his voice. “I will find him. You are swifter than me; take everyone you can.” Corunir closes his eyes and whispers a vicious oath.

Someone shouts, deep in the caves, and then Halbarad is running, not looking back to see if Corunir heeds his command. Fear rises in Halbarad’s throat and he crushes it ruthlessly. There will be time enough for that later, but first he must know what has happened.

He turns a corner, and there are five Falcons against three of the Company with naked blades, and he throws himself at their backs sword-first.

But Tirneth still falls heavily to the ground, and more of the warriors of Tûr Morva come down into the caves behind him, and though in their surprise they lose hold of the sons of Elrond, the sound of the fighting draws more attention from other tunnels, and soon they are surrounded. Halbarad fights desperately, panic buzzing from the back of his neck to his sword-hand, but the Falcons are many and this is their territory, and at last someone crashes into the back of his knees and sends him to the ground. A knife is put to his throat and the others are commanded to stand down, and to his great despair, blades clatter to the mossy stone and they are hauled away, one by one, into cold, wet cells to await Lheu Brenin’s pleasure.

[reallyromealone]

Can you do a long fic where bakugou has a baby brother like maybe 2 years old?

Title: sibling bonding

Fandom:my hero Academia

Warnings: male reader, baby reader, fluff, big brother Bakugo, soft Bakugo

Notes: I can't promise a long fic as my fic lengths are based off of how much steam I have but ill write what I can

☁️🩷☁️🩷☁️🩷☁️🩷☁️🩷☁️🩷☁️🩷☁️🩷☁️🩷☁️

Bakugo was happy to have the house mostly alone, his parents in Milan for two weeks he had off for a fashion show.

Why was he mostly alone?

Well they couldn't take his little brother, the two year old didn't do planes well and it was just easier to find a sitter or let him stay with someone for the time, usually their aunty. "Uh-oh" (name) said as he dropped his sippy cup carefully lifting it back up before wandering to his brother "ka!" He said happily as he climbed onto the couch "what squirt?" Katsuki said to the young tot who looked at his phone "what do?" He asked as Katsuki got notifications from discord "I'm texting a few friends, they're coming to visit later for a movie" he was always so soft with his brother, sure he was loud as the rest of his family but his baby brother took more after their dad so he always tried to be gentle.

"Oovee?" He asked curiously and Katsuki nodded "yeah a movie, we gotta get some snacks for you and me before it" he said to the boy who smiled "cake!" "No cake but we can get you a cake pop when we get our walk home drink" Katsuki knew how to compromise with the boy who clapped his hands excitedly.

Katsuki helped (name) put on his shoes before putting him on his shoulders, it was easier to do than hold his hands and (name) got to have fun.

The two went to the convenience store as (name) pointed to various snacks, Katsuki having to hinder the boy with the fact he wanted /everything/ the store had to offer but did compromise with some ice cream and little treats for after dinner and such.

"Cake!" (Name) was absolutely thrilled when Katsuki handed him a cake pop, the teen holding the snacks with one hand and had (name) on his hip as they walked home, (name) eating his treat contently, the boy taking a sip from their drink occasionally.

(Name) loved helping his brother, the tot getting to help put things together for the hang out "you get to watch a movie then it's bath time alright?" Katsuki said to his brother who did a little dance before running off to go play with his toys 'weird kid' Katsuki thought fondly as he finished prep.

"YOOOO BAKUBRO!" Kirishima said as he and a few other classmates entered the Bakugo house, Kaminari whistling at how nice it was inside "whose ready to paaaarty!" Mina said as her, ochaco and Momo came inside with snacks "let's watch some scary...shoopuff" mina halted when she saw the two year old in Katsukis arms, little (name) looking curious but recognized Kirishima from a few visits "little man!" Kirishima ran and grabbed the boy and lifted him "what's up!"

"Hiiii!"

"Whose the kid?" Kaminari asked as (name) spoke nonsense to Kirishima but it was probably his day if any context about "walk" and "cake pop" were to go off of "that's my brother" Katsuki said gruffly, a slight glare on his face as his friends looked at the babe curiously.

During the movie, the teens would notice Bakugo would be soft with the boy even when he scolded him "oi, leave that alone" "but you're smelly!" (Name) argued back, holding a book in his hands "put it down and park your ass and watch the movie or its night time" Bakugo said to his brother who huffed but complied "you're not my favorite brother anymore!"

"Ah? And who is?"

"Dad!"

The movie went on well, the group putting on a hero movie and before they knew it, it was (name)s bath time "bubububbub!" (Name) was pleased with the bubbles as he played with his toys, his older brother working around him to wash him "head back" the teen said gruffly as he put a visor on the boys forehead and rinced out the shampoo before repeating it with the conditioner "kaa! Ducky!" The boy squirted some water at his brother who rolled his eyes "wanna see something cool?" He asked his little brother who looked curious "ya!'

Katsuki put his hand in the water and activated his quirk, just enough to give a jacuzzi affect "whoa!" The boy said excitedly as Katsuki pulled his hand out "now, out ya go!"

"Nooo!"

"None of that! Come on, let's brush your fucking teeth and get you to bed brat"

(Name) cuddled into his brothers shoulder as he wore his fuzzy pajamas, the other teens waving him goodnight as Katsuki brought him to his bedroom and tucked him into bed "hah? What's this?" Katsuki held up a small handmade plush of him in his hero suit "Die'ite!" (Name) grabbed the plush and Katsuki felt a small smile creep on his face as his little brother hugged the toy "he a hero you like?"

"He's the bestest!"

[marthawrites]

Could you write smut for Aemond targaryen with the prompts 17,40,44,47,53 and 54 maybe with a targaryen reader? Just something gentle, sweet and soft <3 btw I’m talking abt this prompt list

I absolutely can! Apologies for making you wait since January for this. I hope you're still around to see (and, fingers crossed) enjoy it!

"Vok" (Perfect)

Aemond Targaryen x sister reader

Word count: 2.6k+

About: You and Aemond pledged to each other long ago. Tonight, beneath the blanket of darkness, you revel in each other's adoration.

Includes: SMUT. Featuring brother x sister incest, Aemond is soft but only to his little sister, dirty talk, female masturbation, guided masturbation, praise, unprotected vaginal sex, and a splash of breeding kink

Note: Hello lovely reader! It's been a hot minute since I've wrote Aemond - the posters and trailers have me going (affectionately) insane! Triple warning: this fic is brother x sister targcest. If you do not like that KEEP ON SCROLLING. This is my first time writing this dynamic. Reader is implied to have silver hair, pale skin, and purple eyes. Everything else is up to you! As always, I hope you enjoy this fic! ❤️

-

To the realm, Aemond Targaryen was the cruel prince. Aloof, stoic, unforgiving.

To the realm, he was an ambitious and willful young man who rode Vhagar, the largest and oldest dragon in the world–the same dragon who helped Queen Visenya conquer Westeros.

To the realm, he was the second son of King Viserys. And, as such, would play the game of nobility by putting duty above love–marrying outside of his Targaryen lineage to seed dragons further into the world.

To you, his little sister and second daughter of King Viserys, he was your protector. 

Your secret.

A poorly kept secret in some corners of the castle; nosy servants and their obnoxious fucking tendencies. But, with Aemond’s less than idle threats about cutting the tongue out of anyone’s throat who would speak about it, it ended up being a well-kept secret.

The second son and second daughter of the Dragon King; who better to love, and cherish, and pledge to, than each other?

Aemond would sooner die than see you marry off to some lowly lord of a “great” House. You were the blood of Old Valyria. Everyone–no matter their feats–was lowly in comparison to you. And you, his sweet sister, deserved only the best.

Barely a year separated your ages. Neither of you remembered a life without the other.

Long before you gave your maidenhead to your brother you gave him your heart. And your heart he held.

-

The night was late. These dark hours were some of the only unadulterated times you had together. Aemond kissed you slowly, passionately, gently stroking along your cheeks with his thumbs as he did. You were tangled in his bed together. You, stripped down to only your shift, and him, stripped down to only his sleep trousers. One of your shift’s thin straps kept sliding down your shoulder, and each time it did Aemond’s warm mouth kissed over the smooth lovely skin. You panted soft sounds–each feminine simper jolting right to his cock–as he lavished you in affection. 

“You’re kissing me silly, lēkia (brother). My head feels full of bees and I’m hot. So, so hot,” you whispered against his kiss-swollen mouth. “Will you not feel for yourself?” He hadn’t yet made a move to touch you where you really, truly, wanted him; something that had you whining and pouting. While his hands alternated between stroking your face and groping your body–waist, hips, thighs–yours were buried in his hair. It was all down and free. The silken sheet of it spilled over his shoulders, spilled over you, and you relished the feel of it inside your hands. Against your bare skin. “Please?”

“Please what, hāedar? (little sister)” He asked, voice mellow with just the right amount of rumble from his chest.

“Please touch me,” you answered, back naturally arching to press your soft body against the hard planes of his own.

Another low sound came from him. He pressed a warm, wide palm up the perfect curve of your back until he squeezed into the nape of your hair. “Such a pretty word from a pretty mouth. Have my kisses made you ache with need, byka zaldrīzes (little dragon)?”

“Yes.” The single word, its single syllable, rolled off your tongue before your brain even fully registered his question. You stared at him desperately. One eye was so beautiful; so ancient in its color and proclamation, just like your own. The other reflected faceted edges of the sapphire he wore in place of his missing eye. You didn’t know which was more enchanting.

“How long can you go, hm? Without me touching you?”

“W-what?”

He laughed. A rumble beneath his pale, taut chest. “How long before you succumb to madness by me not touching your perfect cunny?”

“Aemond…,” you whined. Pitiful. “Not much longer! Please, lēkia, I need you, please.”

A serpent’s grin curved his mouth and darkened his eye as he shifted positions with you. Now, he sat upright with his back against his headboard and pulled you to sit in front of him. 

You nestled between his legs, your back flush with his chest, and his stiff cock rested against the small of your back. A blush bloomed beneath your cheeks. You knew lust ran as wild in his veins as it did in yours.

“Tell me, sweet sister…,” he started, whispering by your ear. Both his hands cupped and squeezed over your breasts. Their softness melted against his palms and he groaned at the sensation. Perfect. You were so fucking perfect. “Have you touched yourself to peak before?”

A stammer replaced the little mewl in your throat. “H-how do you mean?”

He laughed again, pinching your nipples. “Mm… are you sure?”

Lust and need and fire roared in your blood to the point of almost drowning everything else out. “I d-don’t understand,” you admitted. But, it was a lie. You knew what he meant. You could only hope he’d go easy on you so you wouldn't have to admit, prove, or say you knew what he spoke of.

“Why are you playing shy with me, hāedar? I think you know exactly what I mean. There is no shame in it,” he spoke sly, hands pushing the hem of your shift up until he held the material in a fist upon your abdomen. With his other hand he tugged your smallclothes down your bare legs, tossing them off. The flats of all his fingers ghosted over your exposed cunt. Testing you. Feeling you. He hissed an inward breath. “Fuck–”, he growled. “‘Tis a good thing I was born a prince. Gods know if I had this wet little cunt between my thighs I wouldn’t get anything done. Ever. For how often I’d fuck myself silly on my own fingers.”

Aemond’s vulgarity sent a coil of tension wringing in your belly. Slick arousal pooled hotter beneath his touch. Your clit throbbed–the little pearl silently screaming for attention. “Yes,” you breathed, shuddering.

“Yes, what?”

Your older brother wasn’t going easy on you. “Yes. I… I know what you speak of. And.. yes, I do. Sometimes…,” you admitted with a wave of embarrassment.

Somehow he grew harder against the small of your back. He throbbed. “Show me,” he demanded.

“What! Aemond, no. Please, please, please no. Don’t make me show you.” Mortification replaced your previous embarrassment. Yet, your spine quivered with another rush of liquid arousal.

“I would love nothing more than to see how you bring yourself pleasure. Do you think of me when you do, byka zaldrīzes?”

You nodded. Dizziness warbled your brain. 

“Such a sweet perfect thing,” he cooed. He'd felt that nervous energy tense you. He also saw the exquisite thrum of your pulsepoint beneath your neck, too. Two sides of the same coin: carnal desire. When he spoke again it dripped with wicked passion. “Don’t be nervous, I'll guide you through it.”

It had been quite some time since you last brought yourself to climax all on your own. Aemond was always more than eager to give you pleasure. Tonight, however, something was different. Idly you wondered what it could be. Before you thought about it too much, Aemond guided your dominant hand to that delicate space between your thighs. You gasped at the sensation of your own touch. Torture never felt so divine. Your little bud sang as you circled it, rubbed over it. You sighed sweetly. “How did you make me so wet?”

It took controlled effort to not spill himself across your back at that very moment. “Spread your legs for me, princess. Let me see and hear what you’re doing.”

You obeyed. With your legs spread wider, now, it was all the easier to resume your previous motions. Flicking and rubbing over your bud felt divine–excited little sounds already spilled from your mouth. You ached inside, too, wanting–needing–to be stretched around something. The memory of Aemond's long fingers pumping into you while his thumb claimed your clit had your face hot. You couldn't reach those same spots he could. You bit your bottom lip, whimpering.

Aemond watched from above with a hungry lecherous eye. Beneath your shift he could see your breasts, slope of belly… and then further below, your creamy thighs spilled wide open. Fuck–he was so hard his back hurt. Your girlish sounds sent his desire blazing. “Your little clit is so achy, isn’t it? I know how much you like it played with,” he said by your ear. “Do you ever go inside?”

You nodded, allowing your head to fall back against his shoulder. You stayed on your pearl, still, legs tensing with bliss as it warmed and tingled your blood.

“Show me,” he growled again. “Be a good girl. And afterward? Don’t worry, I'll take care of you. Promise.” 

Without hesitation you pushed two of your fingers into your warmth. Your body squeezed around the intrusion, inner walls flexing, trying to pull them in deeper. A gasped moan left your parted lips. “I-I’ve never done this before.” You’ve never shown anyone this before is what you meant. Aemond knew what you meant.

“I know. Shh… it’s okay, I'll guide you through it.” He gently touched the top of your hand and relished your little tendons flexing with the effort of your self pleasure. He pushed–coaxing your fingers deeper, silently urging you along. More. 

Soon the wet sounds of your hand against pink swollen flesh mingled with your moans. Lewd. Dirty. You tried to stay quiet. You really did. But it felt too good, and Aemond’s hand on yours guiding you along had your toes curling. Of course he would help you. Of course he wouldn’t let you do it all on your own. “Aem..!,” you whimpered, hips rocking with your movements. “‘M close.”

“I got you,” he whispered, voice heavy.

As soon as your fingers found that little patch of hidden nerves along your walls, you weren’t able to hold on much longer. The bliss, all at once, became too much. Tension snapped in your belly as colors flashed behind your closed eyelids. Your legs trembled at the tip of your peak, and as you crested downwards Aemond held you tighter against him.

“Vok (perfect),” he said as he watched you. How perfect you were with your silver hair framing your face. How perfect you looked when ecstasy became too much. How fucking perfect your eyes were as they opened and locked on his, bright and glassy with excitement. 

You carefully pulled your fingers free and began to turn around to face him. Before you could, however, he held you tighter against him. Confusion furrowed your brow and whatever you were about to say was cut off by his impatience.

“I’m greedy, byka zaldrīzes. Go on, one more time. I know you can do it. Show me again how you peak.”

Without arguing you again settled back against him. You planted your feet along the outside of his legs, spilling your thighs open wider than they were before. You angled your hips to the perfect position and this time a third finger joined your previous two. This time you fucked yourself without shame–not that you held on to it long in the first place.

Aemond all but snarled behind you, absolutely ravenous at the sight of three of your little fingers pumping and curling up into your body. He moved a hand downward, too, and the pads of those fingers worked over your clit in time with your pumps.

“Gods! Aem–!” You quivered against him. The addition of his lascivious attention had your hips squirming. Wanton moans, no longer trying to stay quiet, had your mind blanking. Nothing existed outside of you and Aemond. Nowhere existed outside of the spaces in which your bodies touched. Climax found you faster this time. Your second orgasm had you crumbling against him. Sweat sheened your brow. Your face bloomed. Sated. You were wholly sated.

“Good girl,” he praised. “Such a good girl. Giving me exactly what I wanted,” he kissed you, stealing your lips in a kiss that had you floating all over again. You could have fallen asleep right there in his arms and been the happiest thing in the realm. Breaking away, he added, “now I’ve a promise to make up to you, hm?”

Honestly, you’d forgotten about it. But, now that he mentioned it, your belly did a silly little flop.

With great care, Aemond moved from behind you and stood. Offering a hand to you, he said, “take your clothes off and lay on your back.”

And with that, you both finally shed the last pieces of your clothing. 

Laying like he said, you leaned back on your elbows to prop yourself up to still see your brother. Spilled messy hair, tall lean body littered with nicked scars, sapphire eye on full display…hard cock blushed angry red with need. They say Targaryen’s are closer to Gods than men, and with the hearth’s orange light reflecting on his ivory form, you believed him to be a God.

Aemond thought the same about you as you laid there bathed in the moonlight and hearthlight. 

“Spread your legs for your lēkia, I want to see you.”

As soon as you did–proudly showing off the slick mess of two climaxes, Aemond pumped along his rigid length. Despite butterflies twirling in your belly, your smile up at him was purely feline.

To Aemond’s credit, his voice only broke slightly when he said, “get on your hands and knees.”

You did. You dipped your spine as low as it could comfortably go, propping your ass up for him. As much as he loved fucking you with your legs wrapped around his waist, you knew he loved this position, too. “Māzigon va, lēkia (come on, brother),” you purred. “Keep to your promise.”

In an instant one of his hands squeezed harshly into the fat of your hip while the other spread the meat of your ass apart. He planted one foot firmly on the bed, and the other stayed rooted on the ground. The position gave him more leverage, and power, and control as he loomed above you. With a flex of his entire abdomen he pushed forward; the hot stretch of your body around him had both of you gasping. “I plan on leaving a babe in your belly tonight, hāedar. That way mother will have no other choice than to wed us,” he groaned, pulling backwards only to snap his hips against the smooth underside of your cheeks once again. And again.

You fisted the sheets as Aemond fucked you. You moaned your delight at his words, nodding. “Yes, please,” you panted. “Faster,” you begged.

His thrusts were precise and brutal. The slap of your smacking skin was utterly depraved and you hated–no, loved–how it made you impossibly wetter. Aemond did too. “Already squeezing around me? Fuck–I’m not going to last much longer,” he said, strained.

You began to push back against him, meeting his thrusts halfway with a frenzied need to make him release. “Fill me. Fill me up, Aem,” you still begged, breathing heavily. 

He rutted against you with the same need–a primal haze taking over as his stones began to tighten. His fingers dented firmly into your flesh as he continued plunging in and out of you. Instinct to spill his seed built by the moment and soon he became sloppy. He grunted and growled, and with a final shove–cock buried as deep as it could be inside your walls–he spent against your body’s end. Pulse after mighty pulse emptied his spend into you. Stray strands of hair stuck to a sheen of sweat upon his forehead.

You joined him in peak; left boneless and exhausted after three orgasms. Even at the top of your bliss, and his, he never eased until you were both done.

Aemond pulled his softening length out from you and urged you to fall forward upon his bed. You followed his motion and happily laid there. Naked, glowing, and full. You reached a hand out to pull him to you. “Avy jorrāelan (i love you).”

Aemond easily settled next to you, scooping you into him. “Avy jorrāelan tolī (i love you too),” he said between slow, satisfied kisses.

-

Thank you so much for reading! If you enjoyed, please consider a follow, and/or reblog, and/or letting me know as it all makes me vvvery happy! ♥

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Masterlist

Main taglist: @watercolorskyy @melsunshine @girlwith-thepearlearring @arcielee @barbiedragon @targaryen-dynasty @succnfuccubus @fan-goddess @schniiipsel

Aemond taglist: @darylandbethfanforever9 @bellaisasleep @aemondsblog @khaleesihel @sirenofavalon @doublesparrows @aemonds-fire @nikstrange @abbyandizzysmum @rafeism @lost-and-founds @castellomargot @avidreader73 @snh96 @boofy1998 @connorsui

[niningtori]

make you cry | part two: beomgyu's ending

part one | part three: hyuka's ending

pairing: choi beomgyu x you

summary: after your feelings for beomgyu are revealed, you take some time to heal from your "breakup". as for beomgyu, he's realizing just how important you are to him, but it may be too little too late.

genre: romance, angst, smut (MDNI), fwb

warnings: smut (mdni), unprotected sex, creampie, sub!gyu, oral (f. rec), dacryphilia, dirty talk, praise, degradation (m. rec), if i missed anything lmk

word count: 3.4k

notes: hello again friends! am i satisfied with this? no. am i still posting it? YES. as you may know, there will be an alternate ending with hyuka as the lead. i will probably post that on my bday (the 24th). until then, i hope you enjoy this! and again.. pls don't be mean ;_; i'm still new to writing smut and this is not proofread

it’s almost been a year since the night you said goodbye to beomgyu. time has healed most things, but your rage certainly helped speed it along. throwing away old polaroids beomgyu took of the both of you, past birthday cards he wrote when he was feeling particularly sentimental, and clothes he had forgotten to take home with him most definitely aided your catharsis, even if you did it all in the midst of a rampage. do you regret it now that you’re relatively calm? maybe a little bit, but not having reminders of beomgyu around your home outweighs any sliver of regret you may or may not harbor. traces of him fade from your body first, then your mind, then your heart. you still sort of miss him, that much is clear, but when you really think about it, you’re not sure why that is. so you try not to think about it at all.

you're doing okay now, truly. it's not like you forgive him or anything, but you're not as angry as you used to be, which, you know, is better than nothing. you regret sleeping with him, regret not speaking up for yourself sooner, even regret taking his hand when he held it in front of you all those years ago, but you're starting to realize that it doesn't matter anymore. what's done is done, no use crying over it any longer. as for everything beomgyu did to you, he did it and he meant it. fuck whatever explanations he has. 

on beomgyu’s end, it's not like he hasn't tried to contact you, but that only resulted in you blocking him on every conceivable plane. he convinced one of his friends to give him his instagram login so he can see your posts, but that’s about all he has to go off of these days. from the looks of it, it seems like you’re doing pretty well on your own. your friendship with kai seems to have strengthened because you’re calling him your best friend now, and who knows if you’re fucking each other. the jealousy he feels is all-consuming. to be honest, beomgyu knows he wasn’t the best of friends towards you, even before the hooking up, but he still feels wronged somehow. he’s thought, in great detail, about how he would act if the roles were reversed, but that only makes him feel worse. because he’d forgive you. he’d be angry for a while, this much he knows, but he’d always forgive you. you are, or were, his best friend, after all. and maybe even something more, but he doesn’t want to think about that. 

he’s shown up at your apartment, too. especially while drunk. sometimes, it’s because he misses you. most times, it’s because he’s so drunk it feels like the only place that feels like home. you never open the door, though. he likes to think it’s because you’re not there, but after the fifth time, he knows better. 

-

well, it had to happen sooner or later. your town is only so big and your friend circle is so small, of course running into beomgyu was not a matter of if, but when. even still, he looks positively shocked to see you at the house party of one of kai’s friends. as soon as you lock eyes with him, you know you’re in for it. you should leave, and you really, really would, but it’s a birthday party and kai’s your designated driver. you’d make him look bad if you left so soon, so you decide the best course of action is to get drunk so your head stops hurting. after downing some drinks, you carefully avoid beomgyu and make your way to some random bedroom just to cool off. 

you’re a few drinks in, head buzzing and tongue feeling heavy. it was bitter work, but each shot had you feeling less and less suffocated by beomgyu’s presence. you wish you didn’t care as much as you do, but the feeling is still there. seeing him should spark nothing in you, but you can’t help but feel indignant. and honestly? a little sad, too. things have gotten better, but all the old feelings have been dredged up with a vengeance. 

while you’re trying not to think about him, as if on cue, beomgyu bursts through the door. 

“h-hi,” he says hesitantly. really? that’s it? hi?

“uh… hi?” you say unsurely, kind of at a loss for words.

“how are you?”

“what do you want?” you ask as if he’s a fly who won’t stop buzzing around you. he supposes, in a way, he is. 

“i-i just wanna talk to you,” he says meekly. 

“about what? there's nothing left to say,” you argue. and with that, you rise from the bed, preparing to leave.

“i’m sorry!” he exclaims, the words leaving his mouth before he can get a chance to reel them back in. “i’m just… really, really sorry.”

“i don’t care,” you say flatly, crossing your arms and not even sparing him a glance. now that stings. 

“but i’m sorry!” he repeats, just like a child. “can’t you forgive me?” 

“and what exactly are you sorry for?” you turn to look at him. “sorry for treating me like shit for years, sorry you fucked me when i told you i wasn’t interested, or sorry because i’m not there at your beck and call anymore?” his face crumbles at your unforgiving words. 

“i’m… i’m sorry for how i treated you. i know i was wrong, but i’ll never do it again if you just give me a chance.”

“no,” you reply firmly. 

“please?” he begs, teary-eyed and words unsteady.

“what exactly do you want from me?” you sigh irritatedly. “if you want things to go back to how they were before, you’re out of your fucking mind.” 

“what if i don’t want things to go back to how they were? 

“then what do you want?” you ask, genuinely curious now.

“i want you, that’s all. things don’t need to go back to how they were. i just need you.” 

“need me?” you laugh dryly. “you need me now? you only miss me because you don’t have me at your service anymore. stop wasting my fucking time.” 

“that’s not true! i miss you. i-i know i’m late, but i really miss you. i’m sorry i didn’t realize it sooner.” he looks so… pathetic like this. it’d be sad if it weren’t so goddamn vindicating. before you can come up with a response, he’s hurriedly saying his next words. 

“i-if you wanted me to learn my lesson, i’ve learned it. i promise i have. i promise i’ll never, ever take you for granted again.”

“beomgyu,” you sigh, closing your eyes and massaging your temples, “this isn’t about teaching you a lesson. this is about me not being willing to put up with you anymore.” he looks absolutely devastated by your harsh words.

“i’m begging you,” he says, voice shaking like a leaf. 

“why does it matter? what, you haven’t been able to get your dick wet? do you need pussy on tap again?” he blushes at your words. you must’ve hit a sore spot.

“so that’s it. you don’t miss me at all. you just want to take advantage of me.” you don’t know why, but your own words don’t just hurt him, but yourself. you’re not sure what you were expecting, but you can't help but feel disappointed. missing you is still all about him. what he wants, what he thinks he needs. 

“i love you,” he says. what?

“w-what?” 

“i love you,” he repeats with more vigor. "i didn’t know it then, but i know it now. i miss you so much because i love you. and i want to be with you.” this whole thing is so ridiculous, you don’t know whether to laugh in his face or beat the shit out of him, but you can’t deny the way your heart flutters (and clenches) at his words.  

“you have no idea what you’re talking about,” you say coldly. what the hell does beomgyu know about love? love is selfless, self-sacrificing. he doesn’t know a fucking thing about that. this must be a new way of trying to keep you all to himself. but it’s working.

“i know you don’t think i do, and i understand why. i just want you to give me a chance to show you that i mean it. i’ll do anything.” 

he’s annoying, no doubt, but you like how he looks when he begs. you could get used to this.

how do you say no to him when he’s begging so feverishly like this? beomgyu hasn’t begged for anything in his fucking life. he hasn’t needed to, given how easily everything has worked out for him thus far. but this new side of him sparks a new fire in you you had no idea existed. you’re struck with a sadistic new idea you will probably regret, but right now? you want to act on it.

“anything?” 

“anything,” he says so quickly you can’t help but laugh a little.

“then strip,” you command.

“w-what?” he asks, eyes blown wide in shock.

“you heard me.”

“b-but the party?” 

“whatever,” you sneer. “if you’re not going to do it, i’m leaving.” you turn to leave, but he yanks you back and looks at you with pleading eyes. 

“i’ll do it,” he says with newfound determination. you slyly lock the door and he gulps before pulling his shirt over his head. he’s been naked before you many times, but this feels different. he feels like he’s being scrutinized to a degree where he can feel your eyes boring into him. you tilt your chin up and raise your eyebrows expectantly. with shaky hands, he undoes his pants and lets them fall to the floor. he’s embarrassingly hard already, if the tent in his boxers is of any indication, which only makes you smile meanly.

“i don’t remember telling you to stop,” you say arrogantly. he gulps and finishes undressing, cock slapping comically into his stomach. he stands fully naked and feels smaller than he ever has. you push him onto the bed and he wonders what you have in store for him. 

you straddle him, still fully clothed, but hiking your dress up just a bit so he can see how soaked you are through your panties. he whines when you take one of his hardened nipples between your fingers and experimentally tweak it. 

“do you like that, beomie?”

he nods feverishly and says “like it, like it so much!” you smirk in satisfaction as you plant a searing kiss on his chest and he can’t bite back his moans. between you sucking a blooming hickey and toying with his chest, his mind is fuzzy and all he can feel is pure ecstasy.

this isn’t about him, though. and you make that clear when you move and situate your clothed pussy over his face.

“sit on my face, please, please, please. wanna taste you,” he cries. well, you won’t say no this time. 

you hold onto the headboard as he moves your ruined panties to the side and he gasps when he sees how wet you are. he whines again, showing you just how badly he wants to be in it, but all you do is lower yourself onto him. his tongue is skilled, just like it’s always been, but there’s a sense of desperation that wasn’t there before. he switches between fucking your hole with his warm tongue and sucking on your clit like a man starved. you feel your legs buckling as you reach your end, but his hands grip your soft thighs even after you finish, lapping at your pussy like a damn dog. 

“ah, too much! b-bad boy!” you exclaim. that doesn’t stop him though, and now you’re sober enough to notice how desperately he’s fucking into nothing at all. his cock, usually so pretty and pink, is now a deep red color from the lack of reprieve.

you thread one hand in his hair, just to have something to hold onto, and he groans into your pussy when you lightly tug his hair. before you can do anything more, you’re falling apart on his tongue and crying out his name. a sound he never thought in a million years he’d hear again, but what a lovely sound it is.

“sit on my cock, p-please?” he begs when you finally raise from his face. 

“you’re not in a position to be asking me for anything, beomgyu,” you say.

“please? baby, it’s aching.” you throw a look back and see he’s right. it’s beet red and leaking an ungodly amount of precum. your pussy clenches around nothing when you see how desperate he is for you.

“please? need you,” he says with tears in his eyes. 

after all this time, you’re still so fucking weak for him. you sigh as you take off your dress and his eyes widen when he watches your breasts bounce as you toss the tiny little thing somewhere behind you. 

he goes to grab them, but you slap his hands away and it’s all he can do to keep himself from kicking his feet like a toddler throwing a tantrum.

“but why?!” he asks frustratedly. 

“bad boys don’t get to touch,” you shrug, and he’s a split second away from whining when you harshly grab the base of his cock, shutting him up once and for all. before you can lower yourself onto him, he’s cutting into your desire with his next words.

“a-are you fucking him?” he asks meekly. it doesn’t take a genius to figure out he’s talking about kai. 

“why do you care? aren’t you the one who’s always going on and on about ‘no strings attached’?” you spit and he looks sorrier than you’ve ever seen him. to be honest, you’re not fucking kai. you’ve never seen each other that way, actually. he’s been nothing short of amazing to you, to be sure, but his lingering feelings for his ex and yours for beomgyu didn’t make for the best foundation for love. at this point, you were the best of friends. nothing more, nothing less. but beomgyu doesn’t need to know that. 

any words of complaint on his part are cut short by you sinking down on him. 

“mmh… o-oh my god,” he says hoarsely as the tip of his cock pushes through your entrance. it’s always been a tight fit, but you’ve been celibate for nearly a whole year. your muscles aren’t used to the intrusion and he can feel it. still, you continue sinking down onto him until every inch is sheathed in you and he’s touching your cervix. you can swear you feel him in your womb. his tears are falling freely now as he can feel you adjust around him, pussy clenching against your will as you try to accommodate his length and girth. 

“s-so pretty,” he says as his bleary eyes try to focus on you. you let out an airy laugh, but truthfully, you aren’t faring much better. he looks so perfect like this, sobs coming from his pretty mouth and tears spilling over his reddened cheeks. that’s all the permission you need to really start. slowly, you pull yourself up with no little effort on your part. your pussy nearly turns inside out trying to get yourself off of his length. the lewd image engraves itself in his eyes and he cries even harder. 

“l-love you, love you, love you so much,” he whines, eyes rolling back from the pleasure. his mouth is open and you think you might even see a bit of drool pooling at the corners of his lips. you don’t respond, but instead you mercilessly sink back down in one fluid motion. 

“ah!” you both cry out at the feeling. you’re so full, you can barely stand it, so you don’t. up and down, you begin bobbing on his cock with little regard for his sorry state. he grabs your hips, pulling you down and fucking up into you, not once letting you falter in your pace. his grip will leave bruises, but you’re not interested in the repercussions of your actions now as beomgyu grits his teeth and rams harder and harder into you. he’s so lost in the feeling, he no longer cares about your so-called rules as he grabs your bare tits and pops one in his mouth. he begins sucking and rubbing his tongue on it and his big, veiny hand is busy teasing the other one. 

“i- i thought i said you don’t get to touch,” you manage to choke out between gasps.

“c-can’t help it! your tits are so pretty!” he says as if it’s completely out of his control. and it really might be. beomgyu doesn’t look like he’s in control of anything at this very moment. he just didn’t realize how much he’d love the feeling. with his words of praise and the suckling of your chest, you feel yourself coming closer and closer to the edge. 

“gyu, i’m coming!” you exclaim as spasm around him. a few seconds later, and you feel his hot seed overflowing from your insides. after a couple of more sloppy thrusts, you’re collapsing on top of him and panting heavily.

“so good, so perfect,” he whispers before pulling out. what you don’t expect is how he flips you over onto the bed and slides himself in your aching cunt again. 

“g-gyu?!” you stutter.

“j-jus’ wanna show you how much i missed you,” he slurs, mouth agape and eyes totally glazed over. he hikes your legs up over his shoulders and pistons in and out of you at an ungodly pace. he’s so deep, you can feel hot tears spring in your eyes as you struggle to take all of him in. he leans over and shoves his tongue in your accepting mouth. 

“good pussy,” he says in a daze when he parts from you. “so fucking tight. j-jus’ for me, right?” he asks, and you can hear the insecurity in his voice. you’re silent for a moment before you answer quietly.

“just for you.” he smiles as if he’s relieved and continues to fuck you into the mattress until he’s painting your insides again. he pulls out and the sinful sight of cum leaking out of your puffy hole sears his eyes. you look so beautiful like this, when you’re full of nothing but him. the thought of doing this forever, just you and him and no one else, is enough to make him feel happiness he’s never felt before.

he collapses next to you and pulls you into his warm embrace. he’s never done this before. not after sex, anyway, but he’s shown you the most vulnerable sides of him tonight. the sides you used to cry about not being able to see.

“you didn’t answer my question before,” beomgyu whispers.

“what?” you ask, still in a daze.

“are you fucking him?” you want to sit up and smack him, but he cages you in his arms. leave it to beomgyu to ruin the mood

“... no, but i just don’t see why you would care. weren’t you getting your dick wet until you couldn’t find anyone else?” 

“i wasn’t! i… i couldn’t get hard for them…” he trails off, almost hoping you didn’t hear. but you did. you don’t know whether to laugh or cry. is he serious? 

“and the only reason why i’m asking is because i just can’t stand to see you with anyone else.” for some reason, your temper flares at this. 

“yeah? well imagine how i felt for years.” he’s silent at this. how can he make up for years of making you feel like garbage? and how could you bear feeling like this for years on end? it hasn’t quite been a year for him yet, but he feels absolutely gutted. every day without you is miserable, to say the very least. and seeing you with someone else? heartbreaking.

“being together is a bad idea,” you sigh after putting some thought into it. “we’ll just fight and —” 

“we won’t fight!” he exclaims. “why would we fight? i’ll just listen to anything you say!” 

oh. you could really, really get used to this.

notes pt. 2: is it normal to never be satisfied w what u write? bc that's how i feel ;_; but whatever! it is what it is i fear. anyway, i hope u still enjoyed it!

taglist: @my313 @superbbananananana @lonelybutterflytae @cherrycolaberry @everythingvirgoes @beomnoullitheorem @sunny4cast

series taglist*: @gothraccoons @jaxyy219 @idontwantoeatspicy @soobsfairy444 @denleave1088 @notevenheretbh1 @fairfootedflekk @hihello-pinky @ilovesimjaeyun143 @sweetttkissess @seolis-world @midwinterblizzard @slutty-cherry @run2min

*not everyone's tag options were open, but i still put ur user in so u can see that i tried!! also, if you're an ageless blog, i'd prefer if you didn't read my works even if you're not a minor because it makes me uncomfortable. for that reason, you were not tagged. thank u friends <3

[porcelainseashore]

Darkroom

Pairing: RE4R! Leon Kennedy x GN! Reader

Summary: You're a Sunday regular at the darkroom of your local nightclub, finding liberation through sex with random strangers and spontaneous encounters. One night, you meet someone whose touch feels different, and you connect in ways you never expected.

Content & Warnings: 18+ Smut, porn with plot, implied consent, anonymous sex, group sex, public sex (nightclub), voyeurism, anal, fingering, oral (m receiving), creampie, strangers to lovers, romance, mutual pining, hurt/comfort, drug references, swearing.

Author's Note: This is my first time writing gn! reader as I would like to be more inclusive in my work. I’ve also tried to educate myself on the discourse surrounding darkrooms and hope I’ve portrayed them respectfully, as safe spaces created by the gay community.

Special thanks to @alibellerosetta and @sofmoth for beta’ing this piece—you’re simply the best!

AO3 Link | Playlist

Fingertips trailing across the concrete walls of an old wartime bunker, its labyrinthine structure causing you to navigate by adventure and curiosity when you were new, but now, you had the entire layout committed to memory. You drifted through the haze of smoke and rooms—oh so many rooms—littered with nooks and crannies to engage in the kinds of deeds one would get up to in a nightclub like this. 

Brutal, fast-paced techno assaulted your ears, but you welcomed it as you did with the throngs of party-goers passing you by, like swimming through jellyfish and seaweed, in this maddeningly beautiful underwater world. All you could hear was a wall of sound and your own breathing, teeth chattering and chest throbbing as heavy bass reverberated through your body. If you stayed any longer, you would vaporize into thin air. And so, you plunged into the lower depths, down further passageways and corridors to your final destination.

People wouldn’t understand why you do what you do. Why you treated this club like a church—the only one you’d go to religiously every Sunday to get fucked within an inch of your life by complete strangers. Strangers you never saw, and would never meet again. 

You didn’t owe them an explanation, but truth be told, you felt far safer here than in most other places you’d been to. Too many close calls and red flags left you running away from that mess. Here, you were spoiled for choice. You could be whoever you wanted to be, without labels or judgment. Fucking was freedom and creativity. Fucking was an expression of yourself. Fucking was a big fuck you to society that tried to break you, moulding you into preconceived roles, telling you what you should or shouldn’t do.

Despite that, you knew what you were getting yourself into. Your PrEP shot was up to date and you tested frequently. Nothing was a hundred percent foolproof, but it was a risk you were willing to take. You were nearly there, following the invisible wisp of a white rabbit to its lair as the sweet, musky scent of lust and arousal grew stronger.

At the entrance of the darkroom, you paused, lifting your hand as a breeze sifted through your fingers. Funny how cold it could get down in the basement. You wondered if the ghosts of soldiers past could see you now—heart racing in your chest, adrenaline flooding your veins, and butterflies in your stomach—every single time without fail as you stood in front of the innocuous opening in the wall, like a gateway or barrier to another plane. What they would think as you stepped inside, agreeing to the unspoken code of conduct, where it was hunting season, and just like everyone else, you were game.

Inside, it was pitch black, so dark that you could not see, but you could make out the distinct sounds of sheets rustling, the shifting of bodies, light moans, and squelching wet kisses as you felt around the room, slowly putting one foot forward, and then the other, like the blind leading the blind. As your eyes adjusted to the surroundings, movements blurred at the corners, amorphous shapes materializing before you like a séance you had conducted. 

Sometimes you would catch a look, a nod, a gesture—silent, yet reminding you that what you were seeing was real. Hands passed along your body, and you imagined this must be what it feels like to traverse through clouds—touching, groping, feeling every part of you that you had bared to offer. Shedding clothes like this was so easy, like peeling away the layers of skin you had adorned to protect yourself. 

Someone else’s skin. 

Someone else’s face. 

A thousand masks you reaped and sowed.

Gone, all gone—until you were stripped to the core. 

The immense desire to be naked forever and never dressed again bubbled to the surface, burning a hole in your chest and getting caught in your throat.

A sudden smack against the cheek of your ass sent you reeling forward. The beds were damp as you sank upon them on your knees, gasping in sheer delight. The sting of it was buzzing, your ears filled with white noise as your hair was yanked backwards, mouths latching onto flesh, sensitive and bruising like ripened plum under teeth.

The room was warm and humid, sweltering even, but you couldn’t complain. Heat like that never looked bad on anyone. Sweat dripped from the pores of your skin, creating a thin layer of moonlit sheen. Tongues lapped at the moisture, prickly and salty, running over areas you never knew existed until the heady rushes you felt stated otherwise.

You grasped at the silhouette lying under you. It squirmed—wet, whining, and wanting. Breasts quivering, breathing in deep. Almost instantly, the grip on your hair loosened as you lunged forward, suctioning your lips over a peak, your fingers sliding through her folds, curling against her walls. 

Eventually, you were pushed on top of her, a heavy palm on the arch of your back, ribs crushing, tongues intertwining, and teeth clashing as other hands gripped her wrists firmly over her head. Your pelvises ground together as someone pounded into you from behind; her breasts bouncing violently against your chest with each thrust. The mattress sagged under your weight as it consumed you—suffocating, drowning—and you surrendered to it all in the darkness until you were nothing. A blank canvas, equal to the rest, finally seen as simply human.

You did the devil’s dance, flitting between partners, just as your parents did before you, and their parents—your grandparents—and their ancestors before them. Though instead of fucking raw, they had their own versions of the dance that they were too embarrassed to admit, leaving them forgotten behind closed doors and repressed memories.

Then, another pair of hands descended on your back, their knuckles caressing your shoulders with a bittersweet tenderness, taking you by surprise. Brushing your hair aside, you felt stubble scrape the nape of your neck, his kiss lingering a little longer than a second or two, as if afraid that by confronting you, you might dissolve between his fingers. 

Hot, shaky breath fanned across your ear, “May I?”

A baritone—rich, deep, and weary—with an edge to it like he had been through a never ending war. You wondered why.

In silence, you tilted your head, granting him easier access to your neck. You were his prey; he could bite in hard if he wanted to, but he only nipped—teasingly, playfully, savoring your taste, his large, coarse hands raking your body, gentle and unsure.

This wasn’t his first time; he was too composed for that. You searched for an answer as the tips of his fingers pressed dimples into your skin—temporary marks that spoke of his desire to make you his for the night. His touch ached so badly with longing, you could feel it seep into your bones. It hurt, everything hurt, as he buried his face into your neck, smothering the rest of his emotions along with it.

Someone once said, “The biggest lie we tell ourselves is that we should be ashamed of our feelings.”

But imagine if we weren’t? Your hand cupped over his. His breath hitched.

You knew shame like the back of your hand. A sickness and disease, taking root from within, its poisonous tendrils spreading out through every orifice until you couldn’t even scream.

Imagine if we weren’t. Your fingers laced through his. You squeezed. He squeezed back.

A secret morse code between the two of you as others started to gather around. Lying on your sides, he tugged you in closer, so that your back was flush against his chest. You stroked his arm, repeating the motion in cycles like a form of meditation.

He had you. You were his. He didn’t have to worry about that, even when you were being shared.

In return, he planted soft kisses along your spine as a ‘thank you’, causing you to shiver while he palmed your crotch. You felt his dick harden against the crevasse of your ass and you bucked your hips back into his. He let out a hiss, rubbing his erection in sync with your rocking, and you heard the sound of a lid cracking open.

At the same time, another person tweaked your nipples, licking, and sucking on them as you bit your lip and moaned. Lukewarm oil spilled onto your ass in a slow, deliberate stream, spreading like liquid silk. Even though you were ready—so ready—for this, with your hole wide and gaping from the butt plug you had worn in the day, and still leaking from previous use, he felt the need to prepare you. Circling your rim, he slipped one, then two fingers in, allowing the tight ring of muscle to clench around them as he stretched you out. When he pressed the tip of his cock against your entrance, you nearly sighed in relief, relaxing as he filled you up fully, slowly, and sensually, as if you were making love for the first time.

You melted like sweet, flowing honey in his arms, linked around your waist, hugging you tightly as his ragged breath grazed your cheek. Once you had settled in, it didn’t take long for him to pick up the pace. Your hands gripped his the entire time as he pumped his cock harder into you, friction firing up the bundle of nerves, causing you to cry out in wanton pleasure. 

It was only a matter of time before you caught a glimpse of another shadow joining from behind him, and felt the head of someone else’s member smear precum along your lips. You opened, submitting completely to the moment, its shaft dipping in and out of your mouth, your tongue swirling over its slit and ridge. Saliva dribbled down your chin as fingers tangled in your hair, grabbing it roughly to shove his cock in further, letting it hit the back of your throat as you choked and gagged. Tears ran down your face, ruining the black liner and glitter you’d decorated it with.

The hands that had been wrapped around yours gave them a long, hard squeeze, as if to ask, “Are you okay?” His worry and concern was your very own personal S.O.S., if you needed it. You brushed your thumb against his knuckles reassuringly, and he did the same, giving you two light squeezes in response, trusting in your decision.

At this, his hips snapped against your ass harshly, balls slapping skin as his thrusts grew more desperate, matching the intensity with which you were being fucked in the mouth, like a wordless competition—one vying for your affection. He slammed into your sensitive spot repeatedly, the sensations overwhelming like never before as your eyes rolled back—demonic and possessed—and euphoric waves rippled through your body.

He continued railing you until he couldn’t hold it in anymore. You felt his eyes shut, his mouth twist into a frown as he muffled his groans into your neck. He tensed and staggered, emptying a thick, hot load into your spent hole, just as the person in front of you pulled out, finishing himself off onto your face.

You coughed, sputtering as you wiped your mouth with the back of your hand. His dick was still in you, twitching as he rode out his climax, stroking your thighs, your hips, your ribs, before settling back on the curve of your ass. He kneaded it gently as you felt him pull out; his hands coming to rest around your waist. Raising your arms behind you, you circled them around the back of his head, pushing his face into your hair as both of you lay there—still and quiet—panting heavily and covered in fluids, his cum trickling out of your heat. You felt the uneven, taut patches that littered his skin, along with the rise and fall of each other’s chests—an empty space in the cavity growing more deafening with each passing second in the sparse room.

The clock continued ticking until you finally decided to turn around, facing the man who had fucked you so hard you thought you might break. All at once, he drew closer, lips on lips, kissing you like he meant it. You kissed back sloppily, running your fingers through his sweat-drenched hair as he cupped your cheek—grasping, craving, needing more. 

You didn’t know what to make of this connection he and you felt. The way his heart beat with loneliness, and yours responding in kind, whispering in a similar rhythm, “I’m here. I see you.” It was far more intimate than any experience you’d ever had in a darkroom. And you panicked.

Breaking away, you spotted a tuft of his matted blonde tresses, his sharp, brilliant blues, and your eyes darted towards the way out. Before he could speak, you got up, his hand catching your wrist, tugging, pulling—please, I want you, don’t go, please—until you snatched it back, and he let you.

You touched his face, thumb brushing across his bottom lip—swollen and weeping, a final ‘thank you’ for something special the two of you had shared. One where you lied to yourself, treating it as a mere passing moment in your life, fearing that anything more would ruin the illusion held together by anonymity. Picking your clothes up from the floor, you slipped off into the light and safety of crowds, ignoring the pang in your chest as the distance between you and him grew.

━━━━━━━━━━━

What if things had gone differently? 

What if you had let him talk? 

Say the words he wanted to say. Rip his chest open. Pour his heart out into your awaiting cup.

What if it was meant to be more?

What if, what if, all the what ifs.

You sat on your chair, legs crossed and pulled into your chest, thinking back to that encounter over and over again. A cheap desk fan blew hot, desert wind in your direction, its plastic blades rotating sluggishly, hardly helping in the current heatwave. Clumps of hair stuck to your forehead and the sides of your face as you closed your eyes, reminiscing his ghostly touch along your body, sore and aching, fighting fire with fire.

Five nights had passed, and you couldn’t get him out of your mind. It was three in the morning, you had work in a few hours, but he was all you could think about. During the day, you walked around in a vacant daze, and now, you were stoned, staring up at the ceiling, wondering what the hell happened.

You fucked yourself with your fingers, imagining it was him fucking you. 

And then, Sunday came.

━━━━━━━━━━━

You saw him everywhere that night—through the tide of music, in the mirrored reflections, blonde locks catching the light, only to be let down. You didn’t know what he looked like, the only memory being a static cloud of darkness before your eyes, but somehow, you knew that you would be able to tell if it was him.

Like a moth to a flame, you made your way towards the darkroom, all the while hopelessly wondering if he would be there where you had found him last, waiting patiently, like a dog to its owner for their return. When you entered, a swarm of hands skimmed along your private parts—foreign and alien as you swallowed your disappointment, losing yourself in others’ company, though you had never felt more alone.

One more.

Another.

The next—

You’d recognize that touch anywhere. His calloused hands across your jaw—tentative, tracing your skin like scorched earth, his yearning fulfilled when you took his fingers into your mouth, coating them with your taste.

“It’s you…” he murmured, his velvety voice, laden with emotion, slipping into your ear, causing you to shudder.

His fingers slid out over the dip of your tongue as he replaced them with his lips, devouring yours fervently as if he couldn’t get enough of you. Knowing him was like a crime, but you gave yourself the permission to want him this way.

A jarring flash of light blinded you, followed by a burst of giggles, rudely interrupting your chance meeting. You whipped your head in its direction, shielding your eyes as you squinted at white powder vibrating on illuminated phone screens.

“Take your fucking drugs somewhere else!” someone yelled.

By the time you turned back, the light went out again, plunging you into utter darkness. 

Did you lose your power of anonymity?

Had he seen you for who you were now?

Would he judge you like the rest?

You felt his hand in yours, light brushes against your inner palm in the secret language you shared. No, this wasn’t the right place for what you wanted, and you had to respect that—both of that.

Fuck feeling ashamed of your feelings. 

You threw out your inhibitions, dragging him through the opening as he followed you into the light. You saw him clearly now, just as he saw you. Scars of all shapes and sizes across his body, matching the bumps you had felt in the dark—now laid bare and vulnerable in full public view.

You didn’t care, and he didn’t seem to either, clasping your face between his hands as he pushed you back, mouth squarely on yours, teasing it open. He hoisted your legs, hooking them around his waist as he buried his cock into you. Fucking you relentlessly against the wall, rugged concrete chafing skin as you jerked upwards, meeting his thrusts. 

It was rushed, frantic, and hungry, like you would vanish before his very eyes at any minute. A new DJ set had started, drowning out your screams as you dug your nails into his shoulders, clawing angry, red marks into his skin. Trembling, feverish lips wet on your chest, sucking and leaving bites in flesh as others watched, or masturbated while they watched—voyeurs to your private scene.

You clung to each other, his grip bruising on the back of your thighs, not wanting to let go—not this time, not now, not ever. Funny how you found it comforting—the way he held your gaze, unflinching and calm, as you reached your high, like he was seeing right through you—melting flesh from bone, prying the cavern open to find a scared little rabbit, and the rage frothing at your teeth.

And you knew that he understood that feeling too.

He came in you soon after, muscles clenching as he pinned you to the wall, ropes of his release filling you deep. His breath escaped in loud rasps, stray strands of his bangs fluttering in the breeze.

“God… fuck…” he gasped, before his eyes found yours again, the corners of his mouth curling into a smile as he laughed.

You laughed back.

He set you down on the floor—your legs wobbly, gaze shy—exchanging soft caresses, oblivious to the rest of the world around you. You leaned in, kissing him spontaneously as you felt his smile against your lips.

“So, you got a name?”

“Mm-hmm.” He kissed you once more, exhaling it like a sigh—“Leon.”

And you didn’t feel like the magic was lost in any way.

━━━━━━━━━━━

Endnotes

Fyi, I created a playlist for Darkroom in case you want to check it out. All songs are from The xx and their music contributed a lot to the mood of this piece!

I also saw Timimie Märak, a poet, feminist, and Sámi queer activist, at a literary festival recently, and I really liked what they said: “The biggest lie we tell ourselves is that we should be ashamed of our feelings,” which has appeared in my fic above.

[totalswag]

dinner and sunsets — DREW STARKEY

authors note first off, thank you all so much for the love on my last two fics. writing this took me a few days and i wrote over 2k words too. i hope y’all enjoy reading. feedback is always appreciated <3

summary drew has been gone filming his upcoming movie in Italy for a few months. you make the decision to fly out to surprise him with your three month old daughter.

warnings none just a bunch of cuteness of dad!drew with baby his baby girl.

Drew has been filming in Europe for quite some time now. When he first left it was extremely hard because you guys are usually together. Tears were falling from your faces dropping him off at the airport. In all seriousness, you couldn’t be more proud of him and all his accomplishments he’s done to get where he’s at now in career.

Leaving was hard for Drew because he was leaving you and your four month old daughter, Tatum, home while he’s thousands of miles away. You knew you would come visit him and see what Europe is like. So, that’s what you did. The plane ride was long but it was worth it the moment you made it to Italy. 

For the most part Tatum did a good job before and during the flight. There were moments where she would fuss and cry but settled down once you calmed her down. In other words, flying with a baby isn’t easy. 

Drew’s manager and you have been texting back and forth about the whole thing. When you got to Drew’s apartment he’s been living in, you were in complete awe when you walked into his bedroom where a picture of Tatum and you were placed on his night stand. His manager said that he would be coming back in an hour once they are done filming for the day.

Tatum laid on her back kicking her feet like all over the place and making a bunch of noise while you unpacked your clothes. Tatum was a spitting image of Drew especially in the eyes and especially the facial expressions she makes. She continues to grow by the day, you wish time didn’t fly by so fast.

“Are you excited to see daddy?” grabbing both her tiny feet, moving them up and down, making her giggle at your gesture. 

An hour passes, Tatum’s sleeping, and you are on your computer looking up stuff. You look up from your computer to your phone, Drew should be here any minute, you thought. Taking your phone, placing it towards the door to get Drew’s reaction, and hitting record when you heard the front door open. Surprisingly Tatum didn’t wake up from his walking inside.

Footsteps slowly made their way towards the bedroom. Your heart is beating at a rapid pace as he gets closer to his room. Taking a seat by the edge of the bed, placing both hands on your lap. Drew’s on his phone typing when he enters the room, you playfully roll your eyes, clearing your throat to grab his attention.

He looks up from his phone quickly.

“Oh you’ve got to be kidding me” his face lit up once he saw his two beautiful girls on his bed waiting for him. He puts his phone in his pocket, opening his arms. 

“Hi baby” you run into his arms, “i missed you so fucking much” you whispered softly.

“I miss you guys so much, you have no idea” he explains, placing both hands on your cheeks, and kissing you on the lips. Fireworks exploding in your stomach as your lips touch.

You let Drew pull away first. You guys just stare at each other, not saying a word. He wipes the tears from your cheeks with his thumb. You don’t know what you would do without him in your life. 

Drew goes to open his mouth but is interrupted by Tatum yawning; you let out a chuckle when he shuts his mouth then grins, looking at Tatum who’s opening her eyes.

“My little angel is up from her nap, huh?” he coo’s with the biggest smile. You see a smile creep up Tatum's mouth from her dad’s words. She gets a little too excited and starts moving her body – she usually gets like this with Drew.

He picks her up, placing her on his hip, and kissing the top of her head. The bond they share is unbelievable. From the moment Drew held Tatum in his arms you knew they were meant for each other. Before you got pregnant all Drew would talk about was he wanted a girl for his first child and when he found out, he couldn’t stop crying. 

He was so relieved to see you both. Every text, facetime, and phone call, he always mentioned how much he misses his girls and wishes you were here. Now he has you both, he feels complete and so do you.

“When did you guys get in?” he asks.

“About two hours ago. She slept for most of the time and I took a little nap too” you explain, taking the last set of clothing from your suitcase.

“How long are you staying?” He says without hesitation.

“A month” you said dragging the th at the end.

His jaw drops.

“This is the happiest day of my life.”

“I’m glad you got here safe though. I think we should stay in for the rest of the day and relax since my two beautiful girls had a very long flight to see daddy” Drew exclaims while making eye contact with Tatum, lightly tickling her with his right pointer finger. Little giggles left her mouth.

“Sounds like a good idea to me” you smile, admiring the two. 

Two days go by, Italy is so beautiful. You don’t want to leave this place. Drew brought you and Tatum on set to watch him film a few scenes and meet the cast. Going to the museum was one of your favorite things to do as a family and especially looking around the markets with all the fresh fruits and vegetables then buying them afterwards.

Spending time as a family makes your heart full.

Drew wanted to take you out to this amazing restaurant he went to with a few cast members one of the first weeks he arrived. He wasn’t kidding when he said the pasta was to die for. The service was great, pasta tasted delicious, and the wine was unbelievable. 

The sunset looked absolutely stunning from your perspective. With the music playing in the background and lights made the experience feel magical. You grabbed your phone from your purse, taking a couple pictures.

You told him what life’s been like back home – you’ve been busy with work, hanging out with friends, planting flowers in front of the house, and taking care of Tatum obviously. 

Drew talked about filming and how it’s been going for the last few months. One of the things he said that stood out the most is how proud he is of himself for coming this far and never giving up. Actually tears started to build in your eyes. 

“Baby, you saying that makes me so happy because you’ve gone through so much in your career. This job you have right now is huge for you and the fact you got the role is even a bigger accomplishment” you say with joy.

“Thank you baby, that means a lot to me”, taking a hold of your hand, gently squeezing it.

After Drew paid for dinner, he insisted you guys take a walk around for a bit and you agreed. The weather felt nice with the breeze.

Drew pushed the stroller with Tatum in her car seat playing with her toys— she started putting one of them in her mouth and talking to herself in her own baby language. It caught Drew and you off guard.

After dinner you guys decided to walk around the area and try to get Tatum to close her eyes. Since you are staying for a month, you want her to get used to the time change. You guys walked into a shop with a bunch of snacks; you couldn’t take your eyes off the varieties of different snacks which aren’t like the snacks in the states.

Picking out a few snacks that caught your eye and bringing it to the cashier. Drew recommended these chips he really likes.

“Should we walk around more or start making our way to the apartment” you suggested, putting the bag with the snacks under the stroller. 

He thinks for a second, scrunching his eyebrows together, “let’s walk around.”

“I can’t believe you are staying for a month with me” Drew beamed, placing a kiss on your head then softly patting your lower back.

“I can’t believe it either. Flying with a three month old definitely is not easy but this will be an amazing month with my husband and our baby girl where we’ll make memories that will last for a lifetime” you say with honesty in your voice. You meant every word you said too.

Drew called his manager that you guys were ready to be picked up and where you guys were waiting. Tatum started to get fussy in her carseat– she was uncomfortable in the position she’s been in for thirty minutes. 

When she sees Drew reaching in to unbuckle her she calms down instantly. She lets out a dramatic sigh making Drew and you laugh.

You bring your hand up to Tatum’s face, gently brushing your thumb across her cheek like you always do when admiring her cute face. As your thumb touches her cheek, she shyly turns her head into Drew’s chest.

You were about to say something about how cute they look but were interrupted by Drew's name being called from a group of girls across the street catching your guys attention right away. Since you arrived in Italy a few fans have asked for a picture with Drew or you.

Drew waves the girls over, they squeal when he acknowledges them. They introduced themselves the second they stood in front of you three. Tatum’s face went from happy to why is there a group of girls in front of me. 

When the girls saw Tatum they all said aww and complimented her outfit you picked out for her tonight. Fans don’t always get to see Tatum out like this but when they do, you guys kindly ask them to not take video or pictures of her.

“Can we please get a picture please?” one of the young girls asked nervously. 

“Of course we can, Y/N can you take her” you nod, taking her in your arms.

You held Tatum in your arms while Drew talked with his fans. They were so sweet and respectful the whole time. They started asking you questions about how the trips have been and what it’s like being a mom. 

Ten minutes later, Drew’s manager pulls up behind the girls. He gives them one last hug before parting ways with them. You could tell by the look on their faces that they didn’t want to say goodbye, that made your heart break. Tatum was already strapped in her carseat when he walked over to put her in the middle seat.

The drive back to the apartment wasn’t bad. When you walked into the apartment you guys made your way towards the bedroom. Only thing on your mind was taking a shower. Drew stayed with Tatum while you freshened up then showered after you. Tatum was able to get her bath in like she usually does. 

Drew gave her a bath while you did your skin care, brushed your teeth, and put lotion on. Giggles from Tatum filled the bathroom while you were in the middle of washing your face. You walked out of the bedroom to the washer to wash your towels then back to the party in the bathroom

You could hear Drew talking to Tatum as you got closer to the room. You stop your tracks when you enter the room, leaning against the wall, listening to Drew talking.

“You are the cutest baby on this earth” you can imagine the smile on his face as said those words. “You even have your moms beautiful smile too. You are lucky to call her your mommy. I’m so lucky to have you both in my life.”

Your hand lands on your mouth. Why does he have to be so sweet all the time? 

His head turns when he hears you walk in. He smiles at you as you lean down, giving him a kiss on the lips. He pulls away but you grab his face kissing him again. 

“I love you, you know that” whispering in his ear. “I know and I hope you know I love you more.” 

When you put your attention on Tatum, she had the biggest smile on her face when she splashed everywhere; her little legs and arms moving fast. Drew couldn't help but laugh at his daughter enjoying her bath. She loves getting her hair washed, she does this face where she closes her eyes and puts both hands in a fist and does this look like she’s in heaven. She has a lot of hair too.

“Are you enjoying your bath? It looks like you are having a grand old time” Drew says in his baby voice, gently washing Tatums hair. She replies in her baby gibberish then brings her right hand to his wrist, gripping on it. She’s never done this before.

You both gasps, turning your heads making eye contact. The look on his face says it all. You scoot closer, laying your head on his shoulder. 

Once you were all settled for bed, Drew and you made your way to the bed. You breastfed Tatum till she fell asleep then handed her to Drew and had her on his chest while burping her with you laying by his side. 

Inside Drew felt complete with you here with him after being away for a few months. Having his baby girl on his chest and the love of his life lying next to him makes him smile in the moment.

Spending a month in Italy seems like it’s going to be filled with love and memories.

my taglist <3

@runningfrom2am @winterrrnight

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[sundrop-writes]

Loverboy

Bratty!Virgin!Spencer Reid x (Dom)Fem!Reader

Summary:

You try your best to make Spencer’s first time a good one. Spencer can’t hold himself back, and makes it an incredibly memorable night for the both of you.

Bratty!Virgin!Spencer Reid x (Dom)Fem!Reader. Co-Workers with Benefits. Smut/PWP.

Word Count: 3,100

Criminal Minds Masterlist | AO3 Link

THIS IS A RE-POST. This is a fic from my old blog (a blog that was shadowbanned, forcing me to move). This fic is not stolen, it is completely mine, and I am just re-posting it to help people find my new blog, and to make my masterlist complete when I post new fics for this fandom.

Detailed warnings and author’s notes below the cut.

Warnings: mainly smut/pwp;generally under-negotiated kink; mentions of the social constructs around virginity and the social pressures that men feel based around sex; this is Spencer’s first time having sex and the reader is a lot more experienced; this is not an explicit or pre-planed dom/sub relationship, but there is dom/sub undertones to their interactions; Spencer is more submissive (and bratty/defiant - before becoming compliant) and the reader is more dominant/leading; the reader calls Spencer ‘baby’ and 'brat’; she reader uses she/her pronouns and has a vagina; penetrative sex/penis in vagina sex; mentions of fingering (does not take place during the fic); “just the tip”; unprotected sex - the reader and Spencer agreed to use a condom beforehand but Spencer pushes in without one (the reader secretly loves it, but doesn’t want to tell Spencer because she doesn’t want to feed into his entitled brat attitude and this could be considered dubious consent because he broke her consent regarding using contraception); spanking - the reader spanks Spencer (very mild pain kink); something that could be considered 'premature ejaculation’ (but imo it’s never premature, it’s right on time); creampie kink - they both enjoy Spencer cumming inside of her; mentions of Spencer crying (from overwhelming sensations, not sadness or humiliation); overstimulation (toward Spencer); Spencer fucking into his own cum; I believe that is everything.

A/N: Originally, I had this idea when I was thinking about Lessons For A Genius, but I realized that it didn’t quite fit the tone of that fic, so I decided to write it separately. I hope all you Subby Spencer lovers enjoy it! (Also can you tell that 'just the tip’ is my new fav trope? lmao)

...

“You ready, baby?” You cooed, gently running your hands through Spencer’s hair.

You tried to keep that same soothing, sweet voice that you had been using with him all night, trying your best to keep his nerves at bay. You knew that this was an uneasy time for him - between the social pressure of being a man who had never had sex with a woman before and wanting to ‘impress’ you and his general shyness around other people. You just wanted him to be comfortable and at ease so that he could enjoy himself. Which, of course, was generally the point of having sex. 

When Spencer had asked you to take his virginity, you felt incredibly honored. He was handsome, and despite him being ‘socially awkward’, he was charming. He had his own unique way of flirting, and he did have his choice of beautiful women that he could have fucked instead of you. There had been plenty of gorgeous women from his past, so you were surprised that he was even still a virgin in the first place. 

But when he had been explaining it to you, he had mentioned that the ‘social awkwardness’ had played a big role. The nerves. He had expected that one night, he would simply kiss a woman that he was on a date with, and things would just naturally ‘go from there’. But it never happened like that. He never had that movie romance moment where it fell into place. So instead, he had asked you. 

He told you that he found you intensely attractive, and - the part he hadn’t told you - he had been fantasizing about this for a while. He found everything about you utterly perfect. From the way your clothes hugged your curves to the way you looked dangerous suspects in the eyes and screamed at them without flinching. 

(And stowed away as a deep, dark secret, he had imagined himself in that position many times - handcuffed to an interrogation table, screamed at by you until he was begging for mercy.) (But again, that wasn’t information he was going to just volunteer to give up willingly.) 

So when Spencer laid it all out for you, fidgeting nervously and explaining that he finally wanted to know what sex felt like - you couldn’t deny him. He was too sweet, and too pretty, of course you couldn’t deny him. 

Even though it was something the two of you planned, and you would have simply invited him over to your place for the night, he insisted upon a date night out - taking you to a lavish restaurant first. He said that he wanted to act like a gentleman before taking you to bed. And it was a lovely evening, so there were no complaints on your part. 

You had taken him back to your place, and you had done your best to make him comfortable through the kissing, the groping, and showing him how to ‘satisfy’ you (again, upon his gentlemanly insistence). You were plenty turned on just by being with him, but you quickly found out that he was a swift learner with more than just books and very good with his fingers. 

Now, it was time for the ‘main event’ - at least, the part that would make him feel less much like a virgin, marking that big milestone for him. 

To give him control and make him feel more comfortable, you were on your back with your head on the pillows and he was sitting on his knees between your spread thighs. He had his body pressed pretty much flush against your naked one, savoring the feeling of your warmth. He was almost completely naked himself - save for his very Reid white briefs, barely containing his seemingly very long, hard cock. You hadn’t gotten a good look at it yet - just the outline of it through his underwear, and even tented, it seemed very impressive. 

You really wondered how no one else had snatched him up as a partner yet. 

He was hiding his face in your neck out of shyness. His nervous streak was oddly sweet, but it was something you had been trying to coax out of him all night. Even if you found it entirely adorable and endearing. 

“‘m ready.” He hummed into the skin of your neck. 

This sent pleasant vibrations through you, making you moan lightly as well. You rubbed your hands across the broad of his back, continuing to soothe him, trying to get his stiff muscles to relax. 

“Okay, baby.” You told him. “I’m gonna take these off now, is that okay?” You posed, reaching down to the waistband of his underwear. 

He nodded into your neck, but you weren’t entirely satisfied with that. 

“Please use your words.” You told him. 

It was only after the sentence left your mouth that you realized how ‘scolding’ it sounded. How condescending. 

Oddly enough, it was that tone of voice that made Spencer’s cock jolt, and made him so buttery and compliant in seconds. 

“You - you can take them off.” He muttered quietly. 

“Good.” You praised him, your voice short and firm. 

You felt yourself very specifically holding back from saying ‘good boy’ in response. 

You hooked your fingers into the waistband of his underwear and got them down over his ass. The material did get slightly hooked up in the length of his cock, and you tried to take a peek between your two bodies to get a good look at his now exposed dick. But you couldn’t see around him with the way he had his face tucked into your neck. Spencer untangled himself and clumsily got the underwear down over his knees and eventually kicked them off. 

He moaned when he jostled slightly and felt his cock nudge up against the wet heat of your pussy. You let out a hot breath at the feeling, tightly locking your hips in order to keep yourself from bucking forward and rubbing yourself across his cock. You didn’t want to overwhelm him with new sensations. And you didn’t need to tempt yourself with the idea of pushing him over onto his back, shoving his cock inside of you and riding him raw like he was nothing more than a toy for your pleasure. 

This was supposed to be about making his first time good - not about chasing your own selfish desires. 

Feeling curiosity flood him, Spencer finally pulled away from his safe haven tucked beside your head to prop himself up and get a better look. He put a hand on each side of your shoulders, looking down the length of your body to stare at the impressive heat nuzzling up against his cock between your thighs. 

He had become well acquainted with your pussy when he had fingered you, and he already knew what a gorgeous, warm, wet thing it was. But seeing your throbbing wetness right up against his cock, getting to see that natural gloss so carelessly slicking him up - it made him truly realize the wicked reality that he was going to slide his cock into that wet heat. 

He was going to fuck you. 

It was a thought that made his head spin, quite literally made him dizzy with pleasure. He felt temptation so ripe in his veins as he got up on his knees a bit more and the bright pink head of his cock naturally found your entrance, naturally kissing right up against it. He let out a moan as that heat fanned out over his cock, begging to swallow him up. He wanted to be swallowed up by you, wanted to be consumed whole. He bit his lip, knowing it would be wrong to do it without- 

“Hold on, baby, we need a condom.” You told him, trying your best to keep a firm, steady voice as you were overwhelmed with sharp jolts of pleasure.

Feeling the thickness of his cock against you - feeling him right there - it was almost too much for you. You were so tempted to roll your hips up and simply take him inside of you. You were so tempted to have him fuck you raw. 

But it was not what the two of you had agreed upon beforehand. You had to be the logical one - you had to enforce the rules. 

While you reached off to the side, to the box of condoms you had waiting on the nightstand, Spencer continued to stare at your glistening cunt with pure concentration knit over his features. 

He was biting his lip with a near bruising hard quality, his brows knit so tight that he likely could have held a quarter between them. All of it was just so tempting. Feeling the heat coming off you; so different from his hand, so different from humping into his bed desperately at night, so lively, so perfect. The feeling of your perfect wetness coating the tip of his cock. 

Something in his mind was screaming at him:

Just the tip. Just the tip. 

He could press the tip of his cock into you without a condom, just for a moment, and it would be fine. He would know what your pussy felt like on his cock without a condom. And then he would pull it out again and put the condom on and everything would be fine. 

Technically, he wasn’t breaking any rules. 

He heard the foil wrapper crinkling as you tore it apart with your teeth and his need grew even more urgent under his skin. 

Before he even fully made the decision, his hips were surging forward, and he was pushing his cock into you. He let out a throaty whimper as he felt more of that perfect heat and wetness enveloping his cock. He couldn’t have stopped at the tip if he wanted to - he likely couldn’t have stopped the movement of his hips even if someone had a gun to his head. 

He kept pushing more and more of his length inside of you with a heaving, broken groan as he fully sheathed his cock inside of you for the first time. Tears pricked the corners of his eyes as he felt your raw, wet cunt around him - no barriers, no asides. Just the perfect, unadulterated you. 

“Oh god.” Spencer moaned, bowing his head to rest in your neck again as he began to pant furiously. He was trying to keep himself from fucking into you like an animal mindlessly, just chasing his release. He was trying to simply enjoy the hot, wet, tight vice as it pulsed around his hard cock. 

“Spencer!” You scolded him harshly once again. “What the fuck?!” 

Your pussy throbbed with the fullness, only now truly feeling how big he was, and fuck - he was big. He was stretching your pussy out so good, making you clench around him desperately, unconsciously trying to memorize every single ridge and vein that you could feel. Because of course, without a condom, you could feel every single detail of him, including the underside of his cockhead bumping up against one of those incredible spots inside of you that was almost never touched by any other man. 

As much as you love it, this was bad. You had agreed to use a condom. 

You dropped the condom beside your head out of shock. This had been the last thing you had ever expected him to do. Spencer: someone who had been so timid all night. Someone who had asked permission to touch your breasts just a few hours ago. That very same someone had just pushed into you without a condom, without even asking permission. 

He had somehow morphed into a greedy brat in the span of a few minutes. And as much as that turned you on, you couldn’t encourage that kind of behavior in him, because it would turn him into an entitled monster. Every single instinct inside of you told you that you had to punish him for this, rather than spoiling him. 

He had to learn how to behave. 

“Spencer, you-!” You continued to use that sharp scolding voice, and unconsciously, it only turned him on more. 

His hips flexed forward, trying to push impossibly deeper into you, and you bit your lip, forcibly holding in a moan. 

“I’m sorry.” He whimpered into your neck, his voice entirely pathetic. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, oh-” 

He felt your cunt clench around him, you becoming so turned on by his whimpers of ‘I’m sorry’. You couldn’t help but to love his pathetic sweet compliance. But then, feeling that wet heat tighten around him even more, he couldn’t hold back anymore. 

He pulled his hips back and fucked forward once, and then - that animal thing inside of him took over. And he began fucking you at an even pace, chasing his orgasm inside of you as though you were nothing more than a hot, wet hole for him to fuck. 

“Spencer!” You scolded in a sharp gasp, trying your hardest not to show a pleasurably reaction toward his bratty entitlement and ruthless possession of your body - something he had not yet earned. Not by far. 

“Oh, I’m not sorry!” He moaned louder, lifting his head from your shoulder to give you an utterly filthy grin.

He couldn’t bring himself to be sorry anymore. Not when it felt this good. 

It was one of the most wicked things he had ever done in your presence, and it made you very tempted to reach up and slap him across the face - wanting to slap that grin right off him. You just barely held yourself back from doing so. 

He felt like he had won. At this point, he didn’t even care if it was at your expense. Right now, he was being so truly selfish. 

He was entirely unapologetic in his movements, pounding away at your pussy like it was his own personal toy. He fucked like an entitled boy, like someone with absolutely no regard for his partner’s pleasure - and oddly enough, that only turned you on more. 

It was a dizzying feeling that was only increased by how natural he seemed to be, especially for a first-timer. He was easily keeping up the hard pace, driven only by his pure, selfish need and chasing the heat of your pussy around him, never wanting it to end. 

He hammered his hips into you evenly, becoming sloppy at points, clearly only chasing his own pleasure in a way that drove all of your instincts insane. He absolutely wasn’t performing - he wasn’t fucking you with purpose. He wasn’t trying to make you cum. He was using your body for his own selfish pleasure. He just wanted to get his dick wet like the selfish boy he was. 

There was only one thought on your mind. 

“Filthy brat!” You spat out. 

Spencer couldn’t care less if that was good or bad, even though you hurled it out beside his ear like a cruel insult. He didn’t care if it was an insult - he was still getting to fuck your perfect pussy, he was still feeling you clenching around him as you huffed in his ear. 

All he knew for certain was that you were dripping wetness around him, leaking down over his balls. You were a clenching heat that made him feel like his cock was finally home and he never wanted to leave it. He let out a victorious giggle in between moans as he continued to fuck you. Although you felt an orgasm building in your belly, you felt the overwhelming need to put him in his place. 

You weren’t going to let him get away with this behavior, even if he did have a magnificent cock.

“Dammit, Spencer!” You cursed, bitter annoyance still ripe on your lips. 

Before you could even think too much about it, you reached around his body and sharply spanked the broad of his bare ass cheek. You were desperate to find something that would get him back under your control. It wasn’t even your most powerful swat, seeing as you couldn’t get much heft from the angle of being below him. 

But the hit left a mild sting on your fingers, and caused a nice smack of skin on skin in the room. 

In a second, the sting of the hit across his ass had his hips stuttering in inconsistent waves as he flooded your insides with hot cum. 

You felt a slight wave of disappointment as your orgasm dulled inside your belly, his cock stuttering to a stop and unable to keep up the pace that was driving you there. But then you were boiling with heat once again as you felt his cum leaking out of you around the base of his cock where the two of you were joined - you couldn’t help but to enjoy the feeling. And you loved soaking in the filthy knowledge that he had cum so quickly simply from being spanked. 

He was definitely a brat who liked to be punished. Someone who needed to be put in his place by you. 

You should have been angry with him for foregoing the condom, and cumming inside of you so abruptly. But you couldn’t find much anger there as he bit your shoulder and moaned hoarsely as his orgasm pumped through him. It only lit a bitter fire in your belly, telling you that you were going to keep him, because this turned you on too damn much. 

Spencer moved to pull away as the clenching of your pussy around him became too much. But you weren’t going to let him get away that easily. 

You moved both your hands to his ass cheeks, digging your nails into the flesh there. You clung onto him hard and made a rough movement, shoving him forward until his cock fucked all the way back into you. You moaned under your breath at this and he let out a tattered gasp at the pure overstimulation. 

“You’re not done yet.” You told him, entirely demanding. “You wanted it so damn bad, brat. So go on. Keep going.” 

Spencer moaned at this. He almost wanted to argue - he was tired, that had been so much for him. 

But as he became dizzy with the feeling of hot pin pricks all over his almost numb, still somehow rock hard cock, he could find no flaws in your logic. He only wanted to say yes. He wanted to live inside your pussy forever. He realized that he never wanted to pull out if you weren’t going to make him. 

He tucked his forehead back into the crook of your neck and began fucking into you roughly once again, battering his hips between the sharp prick of your nails in his ass and the hot pool of his own cum that he had left inside of you. 

“Thank you!” He moaned out. “Thank you, thank you, oh thank you!” 

“You better fucking thank me.”

...

A/N: This is a standalone oneshot, and there will not be a sequel or a continuation to it. If you enjoyed it, please comment about the body of work that has been written. If you like my writing style and want to read more about Spencer, definitely check out my Criminal Minds Masterlist, or you can check out my other Masterlists to see if something else catches your eye.

[issdisgrace]

Hi hello, would you mind writing sa male resder x Oscar piastri fluff? Like just something really tame, like cuddling in bed, or comforting him after a bad race, or taking care of him when sick, or maybe some angst? He gets jealous cause some guy is flirting with reader, but fluff would be really nice, hope this isn't too long 😭😭 thx

MY SICK BABY

WARNINGS: None

A/N: Sorry this took so long, have been neglecting my writing and basically all other aspects in my life. But I hope you like this none the less.

Oscar didn't get sick often. In fact, the last time he was sick was almost a year. But when he did get sick he wasn't just sick, he was sick.

So when Oscar started feeling ill Friday night, dread sunk its way into his stomach. He knew that this weekend would be hell for him and god was he right.

He woke up Saturday morning with a pounding headache and a stuffy nose. He took some meds to help with it before he went out to the track, which helped some. However, he still felt quite miserable and others could see it, but despite this he had managed to qualify pretty good. Anyway, it was later that night everything just got worse, and the coughing started. He felt like he was suffocating, his chest hurt, he couldn't sleep, so he ended up calling you.

You were really concerned when you got a call from Oscar at 1 in the morning. But as soon as he started talking it was clear why he was calling you. He was sick. You felt bad as you listened to him explain everything. You suggested a couple of things that would hopefully help, which he appreciated, and you ended up staying on the phone till he fell asleep.

Then Sunday came, and despite your suggestions and some meds he still felt and now looked like hell. But he pushed himself, ignoring everything his body and others were telling him. He was going to race today even if it killed him. When he got out on the track, he felt surprisingly good and raced his ass off getting p3. Then he came in and his adrenaline came down and he felt worse than he did before. He had just made it through podium before he yacked up the contents of his stomach. He was grateful that the team didn't force him to do media after and just sent back to his hotel.

He managed to get some rest, which did him some good but before he knew it he 8pm and he needed to head to the airport for his flight home. Oscar was happy to be going home, and that flight was only 2 hours, but god those 2 hours were the absolute worse in his life. The turbulence was god awful, everyone and everything was just to loud, he had a hard time keeping whatever was left in his stomach down, and his nose just kept running.

By the time the plane landed around 11pm, he was ready to just cuddle up in bed with you and sleep for the next 24 hours. Picking Oscar up from the airport, you asked questions about how he was feeling wanting to gauge what you needed to do to help him feel better. Oscar told you and you made a mental note of everything as you headed home.

Once you guys were home, you got Oscar into pajamas and then got him some cold medicine and some soup that you had made earlier. He happily had to the soup as it was his favorite chicken noodle. But he reluctantly took the cold medicine because it tasted god awful. But he took it like the good boy he is.

You then got him all tucked into bed with the tv playing some old detective show that Oscar liked to watch. Kissed him goodnight and told him if he needed you, you would be asleep in the guest bedroom. Oscar wished you stayed with him, but he knew you didn't want to get sick as well.

Anyway, it was around 6 am when Oscar woke up. He felt hot and ill and quickly got out of bed to throw up the contents of his stomach into the toilet. Having woken up early and hearing the shuffling, then the throwing up, you quickly rushed to Oscar. Siting on the floor beside him, rubbing his back trying to soothe him.

You sit with him rubbing his back until he done throwing up. After he’s done you carefully get him back into bed. Then go and get the thermometer to take his temperature. You take his temperature and it reads 101 degrees Fahrenheit. It’s not good but it’s not as bad as it could be.

You get him some more cold medicine and water. You make sure he drinks all the water and then get a cool damp wash cloth on his forehead. You turn then turn the tv which shut off probably sometime in night. You put on some cartoons. They’re easy and you don’t got to think or follow much. Perfect for someone that is sick.

You then get everything set up for Oscar so he can take care of himself while your gone at work for the day. You’re a little reluctant to leave Oscar but you knew you had to work. You told Oscar to keep you updated in how he was doing.

When you got home from work, you immediately went and checked Oscar and found him asleep, cartoons still playing on the tv. You smile to yourself as you leave and go make dinner. When you’re almost done with dinner you hear the soft footsteps of Oscar coming down the hallway, you look up and greet him. He definitely looks better than he did this morning. You ask him how he’s feeling and he was better like you expected.

This routine of getting him set up in the morning and going to work and coming home and checking on him and then making dinner goes on for a 9 days, until Oscar feels completely better.

Oscar is really appreciative of you taking care of him while he was sick and took you out to dinner at a nice place as a thank you. Despite your insistence that he didn’t need to, that you were his partner and that taking care of him when he was sick came with that. While you were out for dinner you started sneezing a lot.

And by the next morning you were sick and it was Oscar’s turn to take care of you while you were sick.

[samuelsdean]

If you won't do it, I will.

pairing: spencer reid x reader

summary: you were so engrossed with images of you kissing Reid and him kissing you back that you forgot one detail—the man could wake up at any moment without you noticing. and he did wake up. You just failed to notice, too busy ogling his pink lips.

genre: fluff & angst

word count: 3.7k

author's notes: another tooth-rotting spencer reid fluff because i said so! you can listen to watch you sleep by girl in red & out of my league by fitz and the tantrums while reading this because those were the songs i listened to while writing this and i think they fit really well with this fic.

THAT DARN SUNLIGHT, YOU SHOULD GET YOUR BLINDS FIXED WHEN YOU’RE FREE—THEN IT HITS YOU. You just got it fixed about two weeks ago. You are definitely not in your room.

Scrambling to get up, you were about to jump off whichever bed you ended up in last night when you felt a warm, lithe arm tucked underneath yours, clasping you in a soft embrace like a lover. Now that you think about it, you could feel this person’s hair tickling your chin and their warm breath against your neck.

This is seriously freaking you out. You have no idea who you are cuddling with. Jesus Christ, how many shots did you drink last night? Why would the team let you go home drunk with some guy? 

Gently, you removed the arm wrapped around your waist and slowly pushed away the brunette positioned snugly between your head and shoulder. No way.

The person you are cuddling with is none other than your genius coworker.

Dr. Spencer Reid.

Like any other normal person would do—no person in their right mind would sleep with their coworkers, literally and figuratively—you checked yourself for any presence of clothing. Thank God, you did not completely lose your mind last night and slept with Reid. But it still doesn’t explain why you were wearing his faded Star Trek shirt and one of his pajama pants.

Fucking hell, did he change your clothes for you? You were ready to catch the next plane and disappear at this point.

You were about to start berating yourself for getting into this mess when you noticed how the sunlight made the man beside you look more angelic than usual.

The sun seemed to caress every freckle on his face, the slight pink tinge from the cold morning air, and his hair—although unruly from the tossing and turning during the night—could pass for that of a shampoo model. Pretty.

And his lips.

They looked even more inviting right now, pink and full and parted slightly, as he breathed in and out small puffs of air, finally sleeping soundly following a week of sleepless nights tracking down an unsub. You roamed your eyes once more on his face, starting from his hair and down to where his upper body was covered by an old shirt and the blanket you shared—forgetting your initial dilemma as to how you ended up in bed with your coworker (whom you have a big crush on).

Thank goodness you did not have sex with the one guy you were practically in love with for years. It would be nice to remember every detail of that rendezvous—if that ever happens. You groaned inwardly. This is not the time to fantasize about your coworker, Y/N! You need to get out of bed and out of his house.

But a part of you longs to keep pretending that this is real. That sleeping next to—cuddling, let us be honest—Reid is a usual occurrence. Pursing your lips, you closed your eyes and willed yourself to go back to sleep. Let the future version of you worry about how you will handle waking next to your coworker. Except you could not.

You wished you could tattoo what Reid looked like in the early morning light when he was asleep and without that crease between his brows that seemed to be etched permanently from all the stress of chasing unsubs around the country.

You gotta admit, some days, you yearned for Reid’s eidetic memory. You wished you could have memories of him engraved in your brain that no matter what you do, you could not help it. He would be there. A persistent thought. But then again, you were in too deep with your feelings for the man that you think, even without an eidetic memory, you could definitely recount all your favorite memories with him in a heartbeat.

So, you chose to stay awake.

This is not looking good for you. How else would you explain to someone—your coworker, of all people—who just woke up why you were staring at them while they slept. God, you are down horrendously.

He looked so peaceful like this. Pink cheeks, freckles, and messy hair. He looked so adorable you wished you could pepper his face with kisses and bury your face in his chest. And he is snoring lightly. He is endearing.

You are never getting another chance like this. This will not hurt anyone, right?

Hence, you took in every tiny detail, every freckle, every mole, and every scar you could see. You committed to memory every inch of skin your eyes could reach before the man beside you woke up. You tried to learn by heart what this man looks like when he is untroubled and at peace—what he looks like in the eyes of his future lover when they wake up next to him because that would never be you.

It would never be you.

And that could happen any day now. Reid was bound to find someone who would love him. He was the easiest person to love. He was not a prince charming nor the male lead of a romance novel kind of guy, But he has this boyish charm.

Let us be real. Reid was probably the most uncoordinated guy alive and the most socially awkward person ever. But you were taken by him. The moment he started spewing facts and statistics about anything and everything under the sun, you were done for.

He could talk to you about why worms were called worms and the probability of people dying on their birthdays. And you would listen to him willingly. You were that taken by him. Not to mention, it does not help your case that Reid was probably the prettiest person alive. Well, not literally, but he was that close to being the prettiest person—in your opinion of course.

He had messy, brown curls that looked like they barely experienced the touch of a comb, but you knew they were soft. You knew because every time Reid did something endearing—everything he did was endearing, for you—you always ruffled his hair. This would make him grumble about how he had to fix it again and to which you would reply with a cheeky, You know what a comb is? And Reid would roll his eyes at you.

He had hazel eyes that reminded you of a puppy dog. They were mostly brown with a tinge of green. Most days, it reminded you of being cozy, drinking hot chocolate by the fire. They looked like you were coming home. They always looked like they were pleading for you to stare at them. And you admit you have lost count of the many times Reid had to flick his fingers in front of you with a matching Earth to Y/N and a mini history lesson starting with a Did you know that the history behind that phrase comes from science fiction movies showing people on earth sending messages to people in space?

And Reid always wore the fluffiest cardigans and sweater vests, reminding you of your teddy bear collection at your childhood home. It was crazy how if you saw anyone else in the law enforcement track having the same fashion sense as Reid, you would probably think of them as ridiculous. He wore a pair of black converse sneakers, among other things. For heaven’s sake! Come on! You have to go after seasoned criminals—you at least have to look the part. Right? You have to look imposing and menacing to intimidate them in interrogation rooms. However, the teddy bear look—as you’d like to call it—works so well for Reid. 

What is more, is that Reid fits your ideal type. He is probably the poster boy for it. Ever since you were never into the macho guys and their big muscles. No offense to them because those are their bodies. They look good, but you like your men a little scrawny. You liked lean and really tall men. And Reid is definitely that. He may have failed his fitness test a gazillion times, but the man was in no way, shape, or form, unhealthy. He had the right muscles at the right places and besides, he literally goes after serial killers. He is fit alright.

Lost in your thoughts, you were damn near ogling the man beside you and ended up looking fixedly at his lips. You always thought he had kissable lips, minus the fact that it is probably because you were practically in love with the guy.

You wanted to kiss him so bad it is killing you right now. But in your good conscience, you couldn’t and you wouldn’t. You were completely aware of Reid being a germaphobe, and he has mentioned countless times, kissing is more hygienic than shaking another person’s hand, kissing a sleeping person was out of the books for you. One, the person couldn’t consent because they were unconscious. Two, you were not his lover. Kissing him while he was asleep would be a violation to him. Not to mention, unwelcomed and creepy as hell. Imagine waking up and someone has their lips slobbering your face. Icky!

You were so engrossed with images of you kissing Reid and him kissing you back that you forgot one detail—the man could wake up at any moment without you noticing.

And he did wake up. You just failed to notice, too busy ogling his pink lips.

“If you won’t do it, I will.”

You froze in place.

Like a deer caught in the headlights, you rushed to leap out of Reid’s bed—almost toppling over on the floor in an unladylike fashion. You probably would look worse than Reid when he was huffing and puffing during his last fitness test mandated by the bureau.

But before you could jump out and run away from the man beside you, Reid had all but effortlessly pulled you towards him. You ended up burying yourself into his chest face first as you clutched his shirt to break the fall. It is not even 8 am in the morning yet, and you have managed to embarrass yourself enough for your parents to cut off all ties with you. You would rather dig yourself a hole to die in than be here.

Knowing you have nowhere else to escape, you believe it was time to lie on the bed you made. Sluggishly, you pulled your face away from the lean chest you descended on and peeped up at the angelic face you’d been staring at for the past hour with a sheepish smile.

“H-hi, Reid!”

This is just pure torture. Reid probably knew why you looked like an actual tomato with how red you are, at this moment. He is smiling at you like a cat who ate the canary as he suppressed a laugh.

“I didn’t know you had a clumsy side to you, Y/L/N,” Reid snickered.

What?

“What?” You frowned, which made Reid chuckle some more, shaking his head.

“Nothing,” you scrunch your brows as you tilt your head in confusion, “You just seem so formidable on the field and interrogation room. I’d hate to be the one you’re tracking down,” Reid responded.

“Oh, um,” you grinned as you thought of the perfect rib for the man in front of you, “Just because I’m an FBI agent doesn’t mean I can’t be uncoordinated every now and then. I mean, I know plenty of agents who are quite the klutz on the daily,” you peered at him while he gawps in protest.

“Hey!” He argued, scowling at you.

God, he’s endearing.

“I didn’t mention any names,” you chortled, raising your hand in defense, which made him roll his eyes.

You cracked up at his juvenile actions. In turn, Reid smiled in amusement.

God, you can’t believe that you’re laying on a bed beside Reid. With Reid—like it’s an everyday thing. The smiles. The banter. The laughter. This is crazy. You could get used to this. Sleeping next to him and not just next to him—like the ones you have during your cases where you get to be roommates. No, sleeping on one bed, next to each other. Waking up next to each other. Hearing his gruff morning voice.

You could get used to this.

You can’t.

You shouldn’t.

Reid is your friend. A coworker. You shouldn’t be fantasizing about sleeping and waking up next to him, that is unprofessional. Not to mention, you would be breaking one of the golden rules of the bureau. Never fraternize with a fellow agent on the same unit. 

Seemingly lost in thought, you retreated from the man beside you, as you grimaced.

“Y/N? What’s wrong?”

“It’s nothing, Reid,” you smiled glumly, “Don’t worry your pretty little head about it,” you patted his cheek gently.

“Is this about you waking up in my bed? I swear no—”

“I know, Reid,” you sighed, “You would never hurt me. I was drunk last night. I’m sure you brought me here because you were too tired to take me home. We just got back from a case and I shouldn’t have drank a lot of shots after all the sleepless nights,” you were slowly sitting up now, “But thank you, Reid. Thank you for taking care of me.”

“Always, Y/N.”

This made you smile.

Trust Reid to always make your heart flutter at the tiniest gestures. He’s probably the most genuine and compassionate person you know. It breaks your heart every time you remember that his actions might make you feel butterflies in your stomach, but he does them not because he sees you romantically—he just does them because that is just how he is—caring.

“I’m gonna get up now,” you muttered.

“So, that’s it?”

This made you pause.

“What do you mean?” You looked at him, to which he scoffed.

“You know what I mean, Y/N.”

“No, I really don’t, Reid,” you scowled, growing irritated at this whole situation, his riddles, and him, for being so perfect, “So, you better tell me because you scoffing at me is slowly infuriating me.”

“You spent an hour, eighteen minutes, and thirty-eight seconds watching me sleep,” Reid shared as matter-of-factly, as if to say "You aren’t slick, Y/N, " which made you sputter in indignation. At this rate, you wouldn’t be surprised if Reid would be considered by the Guinness World Records as the first omniscient person on earth with his brilliant mind. The man has an IQ of 187 for Pete’s sake!

“If that doesn’t tell you anything, then I don’t know what will,” he finished.

“First of all,” you started, “I did not watch you sleep.”

This made the man raise one brow at you. Liar.

“Second of all, if I did watch you sleep and you felt it,” you continued pointedly as if to tell Reid you weren’t watching him sleep. “Shouldn’t you have called me out on it? Why did you let me be then?” 

“I don’t know. Okay?”

“What do you mean you don’t know?” You pushed, crossing your arms.

“I woke up just a few minutes after I felt your stare,” Reid began rambling, “Did you know the reason why we feel someone is looking directly at us is that we have this system called the gaze detection system? I woke up a few minutes after I felt you staring.”

You smiled fondly at the man prattling facts from the back of his brain. This was your favorite version of Reid. The one who knows anything and everything under the sun and can probably talk about them if you asked him to. But right now, you have had enough of that. You won’t allow him to distract his adorable babbling from knowing why he let you stare at him.

Maybe he shares the same feelings with you.

“Reid,” you exhaled, “that still doesn’t explain why you let me watch you sleep.”

This made the man’s cheeks start dusting with pink. You were aware of the fact that it should have been the questioning done the other way around. You literally breached his privacy in his own home but you couldn’t help it. You wanted to know if he feels the same way as you. You wanted to know everything now rather than later. You know you’d probably get rejected but you wanted to get it over with.

“I wanted you to kiss me.”

This made you gasp, eyes widening—you think they were about to come out of their sockets. Reid blushed some more with your shocked expression. 

“I didn’t know what to do,” he continued explaining, “so I pretended to be asleep but I wanted you to kiss me. I thought that you would kiss me but you didn’t. So, I waited.” He looked down at his lap and bit his lip.

With your initial shock wearing off, you practically looked like a wild animal pouncing on the bed. Reid yelped at how quick you moved from where you originally stayed put. Without further ado, you reached for him. Thumbs caressing his rosy cheeks, you stared at his hazel irises.

“Are you sure about this?” You asked gently, wanting to be sure that he wants this just as much as you do. Before you could say anything else, Reid pressed his lips against yours.

As soon as you felt his lips against yours, your eyes closed. His lips were warm and soft—a little chapped but you didn’t mind. It feels perfect against yours. You didn’t want this to end but you want to see him—feel more of him. So, you did. You buried one of your hands in his curls as you caressed his chiseled jaw. Warmth blossomed in your chest as you realized you were kissing the guy you’d been pining for years and he is kissing you back.

You could taste your shared breath and feel the flutter of his long lashes against your cheeks. He tilted his head slightly in the opposite direction and nudged his nose against yours as your lips parted slightly, allowing him to slip his tongue inside.

You wanted to open your eyes. You wanted to see the faint constellations on his face, admire the slight scrunch of his brows when he’s focused—you had a feeling after this kiss is over, being with him won’t be as easy as it was before. You would be ruined knowing what it was like to kiss him. But you were so tired of longing for him. And his mouth was the softest mouth you have ever kissed. And nobody has ever kissed you like this before—loving and warm.

You didn’t stop kissing Reid until you felt like you were running out of air from running. So, you held his shoulders and distanced your face from his. He tried chasing your lips but you dodged him. Instead, you looked down at your lap. You felt your tears and willed them to not fall. Not here, not now, not in front of him. You wouldn’t want him to pity you.

“Hey, Y/N,” Reid placed his warm hand against yours, “What’s wrong? Did I do something wrong?” His thumb caressed your hand soothingly.

“That’s the thing, Reid,” you explained, looking up at him right now as he flinched, noting the tears glistening in your eyes, “Nothing’s wrong. The kiss was perfect. You’re perfect.” You could see his shoulders sagging in relief after what you said. “And because of that, I can’t just pretend that what happened was normal because it isn’t. I know it won’t happen again so I can’t get used to it. And you know I’m not the type to kiss someone unless they mean that much to me.”

You were about to explain some more when you felt Reid pull you. You gulped when you felt the tickle of his breath in the junction of your neck and shoulder. “I really like you, Y/N. If it isn’t obvious,” Reid muttered shyly, “I’ve liked you for quite some time now.”

“Oh.”

If this was difficult for you, it was difficult for Reid as well—if not more—to be vulnerable about his feelings. You knew about how difficult it was for him growing up, being the only twelve-year-old prodigy in a public high school. He’s been through so much with his dad leaving and having to take care of his mom. He’s never had a proper experience with just about everything from making friends, being a normal kid, and in this case, harboring romantic feelings for someone—you.

So, you did what you thought could convey that the feeling was mutual. You gently wrapped your arms around him and nuzzled your face into his brown locks. He smelled of crisp pages of a book with a hint of pine. If you thought your favorite version of Reid was him rambling about facts and statistics, you’re probably going to give that version a run for his money. Because this version of Spencer Reid right here—the one who chose to be vulnerable, the one who chose to open up to you not knowing if the feeling was mutual—is probably your new favorite version of him.

“If it isn’t obvious to you, Dr. Reid,” you began, “I’ve liked you for quite some time now too.”

With that, you pulled him away from being tucked into your neck and kissed him again. You felt him grin widely, as you showered his pretty face with pecks, and you could not be happier. Before you could shower him with more kisses, Reid started spouting statistics about office romances.

“One in ten heterosexual couples in the United States meet at work.”

“Lucky for us,” you said as you tried to bury your nose in Reid’s neck, which made him giggle. "We are that one couple in the BAU. Now, shut up, so I can kiss you some more.”

This made Reid guffaw.

You couldn’t be happier waking up next to your coworker.

[slasherx]

Can you write a thing where the reader is meeting Thomas Hewitt's family for the first time(can be like a victim he liked and decided not to kill or like the reader was met somewhere else), please?

Gender neutral reader, please!

This might be repetitive to other fanficitions, but okay!

Content: Thomas Hewitt x gn!Reader

Warnings: None

Notes: 98% intro, 2% Thomas LMAO also I wanted the reader to actually like her friends rather than just "I hate these people why did I come here ugh"

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Cramped in a van with four other people was not how you wanted to spend your summer. Your group had driven all the way from home and planned to go to Mexico for a vacation. As poor college students, none of you could really afford plane tickets, so this was the only other option. You just couldn't wait to get out of this van and start enjoying your summer break.

You were currently driving on a long stretch of road in bumfuck nowhere, Texas. The rest of your group was asleep behind you, draped over each other. Keeping an eye on the gas gauge, you realized you were low on gas. Internally panicking, you start searching for signs about gas stations, but you quickly realize that that probably wont happen.

But, as if something answered your prayers, an establishment began to make itself known in the distance. The closer you got the more you realized it was a gas station. A really old one, but a gas station nonetheless. Pulling into it and parking next to a pump, the sudden stop of the van made your friends wake up.

One of the girls, Laura, looked around and began to speak. "Where are we, (Y/n)?"

"Somewhere in Texas. I'm just going to get us some gas and then we'll be off." You answered, moving to get out of the car.

One of the guys, Todd, moved Laura's arm off of him. "I'll go with you, this seems like a shady place."

Appreciating your friends' precaution, you waited for him to get out first before heading inside the gas station with him. It was run down, and clearly had a lot of outdated knick knacks like newspapers. It smelled entirely of cigarette smoke and old wood.

"How many snacks are left in the bag?" Todd asked you quietly.

"Enough." You answered back, just as quiet.

"Go find some candy, I'll pay for the gas." Todd offered.

"You sure?"

"Positive. Let's just get out of here asap. I have a bad feeling." Todd moved towards the counter, where you noticed an old woman smoking a cigarette behind the register.

You moved through the different shelves, deciding what Laura, Todd, Evan and Terry would want. You weren't paying attention though and bumped into something massive. It felt like a brick wall and you moved back some before looking at what - or who - you bumped into.

It was a behemoth of a man, with dark wavy hair, dark eyes, and a dark mask over the lower half of his face. His shoulders broad - no, everything about him was broad. Everything sure was bigger in Texas.

"I'm so sorry, I wasn't watching where I was going." You spoke to the man. "I won't bump into you again, my bad."

The man, Thomas, was not used to this behavior. If it were anyone else, they would have told him to watch where he was going. As he watched you survey the shelves past him, he decided to be nice back to you. He tapped your shoulder and expected you to slap him, but you just turned and looked at him.

Even your gaze was kind, albeit a bit wary. He held out his hand, in which was a couple candy bars. They were the last ones that hadn't gone bad, but you didn't need to know that.

"Oh! Thank you." You smiled and took them from his hand. "I don't think I caught your name, kind stranger."

Thomas tapped his throat and shook his head. You were confused for a second but got the hint. "Oh...you can't speak?"

Thomas nodded, but then remembered he had a notepad in his pocket. Pulling that out, he scribbled his name and shoved it in your face. You read it, and smiled. "My name is (Y/n)."

"(Y/n), c'mon, we're leaving." Todd yelled from the register, peeking around one of the shelves. "Who is that?"

"This is Thomas, I just met him." You smiled, walking over to Todd.

"Hi Thomas." Todd waved halfheartedly. "Well, c'mon, gas is paid for. We gotta go."

"Alright." You nodded, then turned to the behemoth of a man, knowing you'd likely never see him again. "It was nice meeting you, Thomas."

The old lady behind the register, Luda Mae, was going to be damned if you weren't part of Thomas' life. She would make sure you and Thomas meet again, even if by nefarious means.

• ───────────────── •

Here's my masterlist, in case you like what you see and want to request more!

[pookie-mulder]

June 2024 fic roundup

Here are my favorite June reads:

👶📝 Of Our Own Making by @television-overload

I totally forgot to put this on last month’s list! I absolutely loved reading each new chapter every morning at work. I can’t not read a marriage of convenience fic, especially when there’s a baby involved.

💌🦃 Small Lives Awake by Jesemie’s Evil Twin

You know when you read something so sweet, so pure, that you feel like it breaks your heart in the best way? That’s this fic. It’s incredibly fluffy without being cheesy, and the writing style is so elegant.

🏝️👨‍👩‍👦 The Eden Series by Jacque LaVa

Was this the best fic I’ve ever read? No. Was everyone OOC? Definitely. Did I still enjoy it? You bet. I cannot resist the siren call of a survival fic, an amnesia fic, or a kidfic, and this had all three.

👰‍♀️🤵‍♂️ The Marriage Spectacular by @cecilysass

I’ve never met a cecilysass fic I didn’t like, and this was no exception. Fake relationship my beloved! Only one bed my beloved! Mulder and Scully being idiots in love my beloved! Absolutely delightful. 10/10, no notes.

🌀☔️ Hurricane Season by beduini & rah

This fic perfectly captures M&S’s “we’re completely and utterly devoted to each other and literal soulmates yet we still doubt our place in each other’s lives and we never actually talk about it” dynamic that we know and love. It takes place when William is a few months old and they’re still trying to define their relationship. I loved it SO MUCH!

(hmu for an epub — the chapters are long, which makes it easy to lose your place if you don’t finish the chapter in one sitting)

❄️✈️ WHITEOUT by EvanBlack

A classic “Mulder and Scully get in a plane crash and have to survive until help arrives” story. (You all know by now how much I love a survival fic!)

I absolutely adored the dynamic between them in this one. They’re down SO bad for each other, and it shows. I especially loved the beginning when they’re both wishing they were sitting next to each other so they could hold hands. That’s the good stuff right there!

🛁🧪 Antidote by Rachel Howard and Karen Rasch

Mulder and Scully investigate an unknown contagion in a remote town. You can probably guess what happens from there.

This was the perfect road trip read! Engaging and exciting without being too plot-heavy.

🤰👶 40 Weeks by @malibusunset-xf-blog

What if the IVF worked?

The most delectable pregnancy fluff with a dash of smut and a healthy serving of Mulder and Scully figuring out their relationship.

🪶🐎 Omens by @lepusarticus

I cannot say enough good things about this fic. It’s definitely a new addition to the Holy Grail list.

It’s a casefic, but it doesn’t feel like a casefic…more like an exploration of magic and family and love. With its spooky small-town gothic vibe and emphasis on powerful women and strange houses and ancient magic, it reminds me a lot of my favorite book series, The Raven Cycle. (If you liked this fic, you should go read TRC!)

This fic has layers and nuance and themes and motifs and gorgeous metaphors and one incredibly hot scene that ticked all my boxes. Even the OCs are rich and compelling. I would read a whole series set in this universe!

💥🚗 Goshen by Bonetree

Emily angst plus survival plus tending to each other’s injuries plus hurt/comfort? Yes please! I love it when I find a fic that seems to be created in a lab just for me.

(After reading the summaries of the following installments, I’m not quite sure if they’re really my thing. Has anyone read the rest of the series? Did you like it?)

👦🏻🦊 A Boy and His Fox by 6hoursgirl

Mulder and Scully “platonically” coparent their son. Mulder learns what it means to be a dad. Pure, unadulterated fluff! If you like kidfics, this one is a must-read.

📚👩‍⚕️ Heuvelmans’ On the Track by The_Mythopeodic

This fic is a fandom classic, and I can definitely see why. The author uses language in unexpected and interesting ways, which is not something you see very often in fic.

I tend to go for “popcorn” fics that are addictive and easy to binge. This one is more like a hearty slab of meat. Both types are good in their own way, but this fic made me work for it.

Anyway, I got a bit frustrated with myself around the halfway mark and kept having to reread passages a few times to truly understand what’s going on. I lamented that I needed a reading guide like they used to give you in English class.

After putting it aside for a few days, I came back and DEVOURED the second half. I don’t want to spoil anything, but if you’ve read it, you know what I’m talking about. I loooooved seeing Scully be resourceful and scrappy and capable, and the epilogue is incredible. I’m glad I pushed through!

🪡🌨️ Skamania County by Sarie_Fairy

This is actually the second time I’ve read this one, which I didn’t realize until near the end when I tried to leave kudos, haha. Anyway, I loved it both times! It has everything that makes survival fics so enticing: a nice trip to the woods that quickly goes wrong, one person hiding their life-threatening injury from the other, the intimacy of tending to their wounds, cuddling (naked) for warmth, and finally resolving that UST. Chef’s kiss!

🧙‍♀️🔭 The Mars Differential by @asteraceae-blue

This one is a WIP, and I cannot wait for the rest! It’s an intriguing casefile with plenty of msr.

I also read a bunch of @o6666666’s fics thanks to this masterlist that made its way around recently!

They are the master of writing fic that hurts so good. This IVF arc one might be my favorite, along with this season 9 one that squeezed my heart like a stress ball.

[cherubispunk]

NEPHILIM - Jackson-era!Joel Miller x AFAB!Reader

summary: the disturbing comforts the disturbed.

a note from Lucy: I swear there is fluff! I swear, I swear, I swear! You just have to squint *reeeeaaaalllly* hard. Yes, I read the book of genesis and the book numbers along with some extensive Wikipedia deep diving for like…a paragraph of lore. But is it really ever enough?

playlist | moodboard

wc: 2498

Warnings: 18+ MDNI DARK CONTENT! no use of y/n, I tried to keep her body type as generic as possible but he might be slightly skinny coded so please let me know and I’ll change it in edits, reader is referred to as ‘Bambi’, verbally constipated Joel Miller, brief gore descriptions, heavy religious imagery and references to the bible, biblical lore, bombastic age gap!!! yahhhhh! (reader is in her 20’s/ Joel is in his late 50’s), smut, p in v sex, creampie, fingering, rough sex, possessive!joel, dom!joel/sub!reader dynamic, you know the drill with my writing, there’s probably some form of cannibalism as a metaphor, or brutal violence as a metaphor, religious imagery as a metaphor, etc. (aka, fancy word vomit)

series masterlist | m.list

Genesis 6:4 The Nephilim were in the earth in those days, and also after that, when the sons of God came in unto the daughters of men, and they bore children to them; the same were the mighty men that were of old, the men of renown.

The reality of it was, you and Joel were two people who lived in the same small town. Who’s paths crossed once to save your life, and the others when coincidence would grant you that small pleasure. He carried you to the care of an old man with blue eyes now milky in cataracts. Jude. Who nursed you to health in a metal framed bed of an old family home— now the town clinic. The knife that sliced open your side had been dirty, and sepsis soon spread in the bloody gash. Only with Joel finding you in the snow, and Jude delivering you antibiotics, did you recover back to health.

He wouldn’t visit you directly. He would visit Jude and glance at you through the doorway as he passed the hall to the elderly Man’s office. To distract from the man you read stories when bedridden. Parts of biblical scripture; Read the book of Genesis; Read the book of Numbers. Jude being a religious man who had the fortune of holding God in his heart, kept them among his medical journals and books. And the former was far more interesting than the later in your opinion. For in them were mentions of anthropomorphic creatures born of flesh, blood and divinity. Towering tall over common trees and temples built in the name of Lord God. You were no religious woman, but you found comfort in the fables of the Old Testament. And likened Joel to the Nephilim in all ways.

Joel Miller was something of a biblical figure to you. A small glimpse into the past of something archaic, untold, and harbouring on the dangerous. You liked to imagine him as one of the Nephilim. A son of god, offspring borne of a fallen angel and man. A giant of misunderstood nature. Who’s soul had been cast down on earth in punishment. His large hands had bloodshed on them, or so people had said. They whispered it quietly in the spaces between. The places he didn’t occupy often. But he was always on your mind…so there was no place for those whispers there. If he was all that bad…why did he save you? You saw his need to care, protect, understand. Not be understood. But just understand. You would let yourself dream of taking his rough edges to the smooth plane of a whetstone. People claimed you cannot buff brass into gold. That it will only be as such in your head. That it was a fools game, but the fool is rich in content, and poor in sorrow. For the fool has little to worry about while they live in ignorant bliss.

What wasn’t written in any of the books of the holy scripture was this; ‘The disturbing comforts the disturbed.’ But it might as well have been. It was practically the way god intended life to be. You are shaken, and you are weaned on being shaken, until stillness is a discomfort and your body begs to be rattled again. But harder.

—

You took a while to find your feet. Joel took it upon himself to wordlessly help you with any medial or manual task. You were given a house on the edge of town, up a hill in some remote street that was always quiet. It seemed the less social souls resided there. Not that you minded. It was jarring to say the least. Being cast out into the hostile wild. And then brought back into the warmth. Here you had clothes, food, a roof over your head, and community. It stung in the same way it does to run your hands under a scalding tap after labouring out in the cold. It made your fingers numb before they regained feeling. Stiff. And a trouble to flex them back and forth, closed fist, open palm; Closed fist, open palm.

It’s how you earned ‘Bambi’. A name only Joel would ever call you. Dear doe on her wobbly, spindly legs. He’d keep you upright. Despite being a good thirty year sicker than you. Dirty old man. Ditsy little girl.

Your time together was silent. And while he never said he cared, he showed it. By waiting for you each time you were in the stables. And he would walk through town with you a safe distance from his side, up to the top of the hill your house was on. The snow would crunch under his heavy boots and he wished he was lighter on his feet like you. Not a large bulk of a man with heavy feet and even heavier hand. Maybe Joel wasn't large by the world's standards, but he was still a giant to you- muscular, and broad shoulders. With hands that could engulf yours, or cradle the entire crown of your head with a single palm. His arms were strong, and large from manual labour, and tightly knotted with tendons and grizzly muscle like thick twisted ropes that held up sails. What you liked most, however, was his softer belly. Perhaps the only soft thing about him from what little you had seen, or heard, or assumed. You felt an intrinsic satisfaction in knowing he was well fed. And Joel didn't mind it either. It was a reminder to himself what he was in fact as safe as he could be. Anything to not go hungry again. He still kept his brawns either way. Kept his hands and mind busy with patrols and the odd job around town. Fixing roofs, garden sheds, building tables with spare lumber from the woodhouse, and chopping firewood for the colder months. At the beginning of winter he would spend most of his free time ensuring you had enough. He spent hours out in his backyard, swinging that axe down on log, after log of wood. Then carry it up the hill in a wheelbarrow to your front door. He did it for nothing. Nothing but the peace of mind that grew from the seed of knowing you were warm. But he was greeted with something you had baked, or sewn, or knitted, or grown in your empty hours alone. Apple and rhubarb pie, thick woollen gloves, sourdough bread with crunchy, thick crusts that crunched when he broke his bread.

“It’s nothin’.” He would say, and shrug, hands on his hips while he looked back at the finished product of whatever work he’d slaved over that entire afternoon. Be it a pile of firewood, raised garden beds, or a fixed gutter. “Just…do me a favour?” He asked.

“Yeah?”

“Keep that smile on y’face, Bambi. Don’t let anyone take it away from ya.” His face was stern. As if he was telling you, not asking you. But if you were to ever stop smiling he thought he’d keel over and die a little bit inside. Or part of him would anyway. The part of him you now had in your chest unwittingly.

You watched the mountain of a man, Big Bad Joel Miller, warm up. Day by slow day. He was on the threshold of it. Right there. But the toe of his thick winter boots never ventured onto floorboards. He stayed out in the cold. After a while you dared Joel to touch you. Tired of him only meeting halfway. He was a man of few words, but a man of so much action. And when you challenged him with your tongue, he countered with his touch. That night was hell under the guise of heaven for his restraint.

“Y’so bad for me, Bambi.” Joel grunted, his entire weight smothering you against the mattress of his bed. His cock dragging in and out of you slowly. “Old sinner like me ain’t made for you.” So slowly the anticipation ached in the joints of your toes that curled. His grip on your hips casting his handprint in a watercolour bloom. “That’s it, fuck– takin’ me so well.”

You whimpered, eyes fluttering shut, back arching in a deep curve off the bed while his hips altered their pace. Just a tad quicker as you bucked up into him. The two of you climbing in tandem to the high. “That's it,” He repeated in a hiss, followed by a growl into your neck, “Keep archin’ that back for me.” You did just that, holding onto his forearms for leverage as you curled your spine a little deeper. A word came to mind. One you’d heard once before. Only once. But I held such a comfort to be able to label it. Hiraeth. He was that. And what you felt was that. A longing for a home. He treated you like you wouldn't break. But spoke as if words would lacerate you. One punctuated thrust, aided by your own slick was all it took, a moan for him deeper. A tear slipped from your eye and you let gravity do its work, pulling it from you. It slipped from the corner of your eye, and down your temple. “Good girl, Bambi.” He crooned, splaying both of his palms over your hairline and sweeping the hair that stuck to your forehead in the sheen of sweat atop your skin. His large hands dragged over the top of your skull to the crown of your head, down the back of your neck, and gripped. That soft fleshy part at the base of your skull and the top of your still curved spine.

It hurt. It deeply hurt. His calloused fingers, textured by the trigger of a gun, or the handle of an axe, pressing into your malleable skin. But you’d let Joel drag you to hell if it meant he would hold your hand. You didn't care how he touched you– how he was inside you. He could be buried to hilt in your cunt, or knuckle deep in an open wound. As long as he was there. You'd give the heavens, and the earth, and rot in hell if it meant he stayed. Joel swore you had the space for his heart next to yours. But you didn't have the stomach.

You gripped the skin of Joel’s back. Searching for a part of him to hold that would turn off the cynic in him. Or at least try. You gave up on that idea. Because the man that fucked you— the man that loved you in action and not words— was not kind. He was not gentle. He was bold, and sharp as broken glass, and blunt all in the same being. You knew the crease of his brow. You had it memorised.

He hooked a leg over his shoulder, opened you up to his greedy eyes. They misted into dark hickory at the sight of you taking him so well inside of you. Messy little cunt for him to play with whenever he pleased. His nostrils flared as he pressed deeper. And your reaction was as he planned. A cry of his name. Your sex drenched and accommodating every inch. “A cunt made for me.” He gritted through his teeth, leaning forward to sink his teeth into your bottom lip and lick into the wet cavern of your mouth; Take the taste of you back with him when he retreated again; Righting his hips and the angle he fucked you in.

“Made for you.” You agreed in a garble and a slur. As if drunk off the last dregs of his kindness that lay at the bottom of the bottle. Licking it dry for all it was still worth.

“Say it again.” Joel grunted, demanded.

“Made for you.” You repeated.

“Good little Bambi.”

From there it was the crescendo. And it came broken in two halves of two separate waves. The first wave was one of numbing pleasure. The one that fizzled through your legs until you were nothing but a mere speck for a second. And the second was the one that broke you. Had you shattering. It tightened in your womb, behind the mouth of your cervix, and then released in slow flutter; Your walls relaxing and then contracting. And he came after with a groan and spilled inside of you.

He was no gentle lover. In fact, he wasn’t a lover at all. When he fucked you that night…it felt like he was trying to love you— but couldn’t. He was too conditioned to violence. It showed the ache he left behind. Nevertheless, you would take more than he was willing to offer. But what he dropped in your palm you stored away and hoarded like a greedy magpie with shiny little trinkets. He was warm. But not warm like a campfire. He was warm like hellflame. And you were okay with that. You would take your time with him, and slowly pry open a gap in his ribs to slip past. To love him to the marrow. Even the mangled parts. Find him at his very worst — The part humanity suffocated in. And love him there. Silently.

Joel ran a hand over the flank of your ribs and then curled around your navel to pull your back to his chest. Then kissed the crook of your neck in a silent apology to your skin for each mark or tender bruise he may have left. One that wasn't really needed, but you accepted it by reaching behind you and running your fingers through his thick greying curls. In times like these after it all, in the clot and space in between, you came to realise loving him was like loving being hungry. It felt good to want things. To feed yourself you swallowed your fear instead. You lay there, exhaustion heavy in your bones, a hand of his slipping between your legs to feel the evidence of him being there inside you. His spend sticky and thick and warm between your legs. You couldn't fight the impulsive twitch that jolted your spine when he pressed on your swollen, slick clit and drew lazy circles. “Mine now, Bambi.” He murmured into the skin of your shoulder. He didn't kiss the skin there, but rather trailed his chapped lips over your flesh in such a light touch it felt like it was hardly there. More a trick of the sex hazed, lust crazed mind. “Understand that?” And you nodded in silence with a small smile, watching out the frosted up window pane as the dawn stained the sky a burnt orange and angry red. It refracted and smeared in the crystallised ice. A thin sheet that obscured the image of the sycamore tree outside his bedroom window. The bare branches looked far more like the bones of skeletal fingers than a tree bare of leaves. Its bleach white bark only emphasised your image of it. Your vision. Nevertheless; The blackbird would sing, once again on its branch, a morning song you knew by heart.

[ivestas]

Thank you for writing my request, I loved it!! I have another idea but it's a deeper subject so I understand not everyone is comfortable with writing about it. Could you write about a younger reader and the team see self harm wounds and scars while they were injured or while they were changing? (Something along those lines) and what they would do/ react? Xx

what is most precious to you?

Summary: The 141 discover a part of you that you’d wanted to bury.

Tags: TW s/elf harm scars + sui/cide and talk of it, please read carefully/don't read if this topic triggers you, platonic!141 x medic!fem!reader, reader implied to be mentally ill, younger!reader, descriptions of blood and injury, canon typical violence, soap + ghost focused, unedited

Word count: 1.5k

Notes: im glad u enjoyed the previous req anon! i hope I'm able to do this req justice too 🫡

You’d been a part of the 141 long enough for the others to know and trust you.

An esteemed medic that knew medicine and all things fixing like the back of her hand, despite your age—it was a natural skill, it seemed. Your hands were always so damn fast with a gauze—hell, even a dirty rag you’d make use of in an instant. 

You were just good. Reliable. Consistent. Seemingly just a normal young lady whose only eccentricity was the job she chose to be: a medic for a merc group. 

Soap often liked to joke about that normalcy that clung onto you. 

“Bet when you’re on leave you work a 9 to 5 and sleep right at 8. I’m right, aren’t I?”

You snorted. “No, I’d sleep at 9.” 

“Ohhhhh, daring! Don’t be too crazy! Ya might just lose a leg!” 

Even Ghost would sometimes jump in, adding his own joke occasionally. 

“Should I get you a planner for your birthday? A nice, minimalist one with neutral stickers to match.”

You’d scoff and jab back, whether it be at Ghost’s mask or Soap’s current and past hair-styles.

But they never gave you a tough time about it—they were glad that one of them was able to blend back to civvy life with ease. 

Price even said it was his favorite trait—”sometimes, you need the practicality and mindset of a normal lady to get shit done.”

“Thanks?” 

The guys all had a similar image of what your childhood was like: middle-class, parents all stiff-like and old-timey, your favorite hobbies probably were things like football or reading, things like that. 

However, that image shattered during a post-mission intermission. 

Things went wrong, completely askew—the enemies were clearly prepared for the attack, because landmines were everywhere and the area was crawling with hostiles.

It was a resounding loss—many casualties, wounded, etc. 

You could hardly keep up, trying to patch up as many as possible, even when the sky rained of bullets and the air tasted thickly of gunpowder and death. It was like a place between purgatory and hell, a constant flow of shouts, screams, explosions.

It was too late for you to noticed a bullet grazed your arm; it was deep enough to be visible, but luckily it wasn’t aimed low enough for it to shoot into your arm. 

You had ignored the wound—in your mind, it only made sense to focus on the soldiers who were fighting for their lives and riddled with bullet wounds. 

So you just did that: focus on them. 

But, due to the constant movement and strain, the graze only worsened, almost tearing. The adrenaline numbed the pain, but you knew it was gonna hurt like a bitch soon enough. 

Luckily though, Ghost shouted in your ear through the comms. 

“Bravo-1, retreat!—fuckin’ hell—everyone, retreat!”  

You did just that—retreat. 

Huffing and puffing, you were quick to run to the distant chopper you recognized as the 141′s. A haze of sand was the only saving grace as it covered you from the enemies direct line of sight.

Soap pulled you into the helicopter with a quick grab of your wrist, completely unaware of the graze that arm sustained. You let out a sharp hiss of pain, feeling the skin tear just a little more. 

The entrance of the helicopter shut, and with both of you heaving, the plane finally shot back into the air, rocking back and forth the slightest bit. The sound of bullets slowly melted away into harsh whirring and mechanical buzz. 

You took a moment to collect yourself, inhaling sharply before you got up, arm still bleeding. 

But, strangely, you felt it drip along your arm and into your hand, running along your finger—ah, it should’ve been obvious, the sleeve of your wounded arm had completely torn. 

You lifted the arm, examining the wound. 

Scars of varying sizes, textures, and freshness—some having strange bubbly dots, others consisting of messy lines. Some of the fresher scars had torn a little, causing thin lines or red to rise. 

Your blood ran cold. You glance up, hoping—praying—that Soap didn’t see, or even understand the implications. 

But you could see he was staring, the cogs in his mind slowly snapping together. 

You put your arm away to your side, hiding it from his view. 

“Lass—“

“I need a medkit. We have one on the plane?” 

You loathed the look of sadness, of pity that shone in his eyes, pulled at the muscles of his face. 

Don’t. Stop.

I’m not weak. Don’t—I’m not weak! 

A chorus of words, feelings, of palpable dark was what filled your mind now. Insecurity, self-hatred, all of it—you’d been working on it, trying to regulate, to reason with the miasma that had taken ahold of your consciousness.

But, fuck, you’ve revealed it to Soap of all people—he felt bad, didn’t he? Disgusted? Worried? He was gonna tell Price, wasn’t he? That your unfit for the 141, that—

A hand rested on the top of your shoulder.

“Can I patch you up?” Soap asked softly. 

You grit your teeth. Moving away from his hand, you shook your head, glaring at the floor. A small splatter of blood was there. “I can fix it myself.” 

You expected—wanted—him to berate you. 

But he didn’t. He was kind. 

“Sure, kid. I’ll just get ya the med kit—stay put.” 

Another wave of shame rocked you. You sat on one of the small seats connected to the walls of the heli, rubbing away the small bits of dried blood. 

Consumed by your thoughts, you didn’t hear Soap murmuring to Ghost. 

“The kid—she, ah...” He ran a finger along his wrist. “Catch my drift?” 

“Cutting herself?” Ghost said bluntly. 

“Sometimes I wish you had a little more tact, L.T.” 

Ghost ignored him. “They fresh or old?”

“Both,” he sighed, grabbing a med kit from one of the plane’s various compartments. “What’re we supposed to do? Don’t wanna scare off the kid, but don’t wanna leave her on her own devices hacking away at ‘erself!” 

Ghost grabbed the kit from his hands. “I’ll handle this. You sit down—go near the Captain. Try to leave us some privacy.” 

Hesitantly, Soap nodded. “Work your magic, sir.” 

Ghost made his way to the other end of the helicopter where you were. You were hunched over your wound, a deep frown on your face. It’s uncharacteristic, but he knew it was a part of yourself you’d prefer to be shrouded in dark. Suffering wasn’t a nice look, was it?

But it was human. Denying your own right to feel it—it made Ghost frown too.

He sat beside you, kit in his hand. You had finally looked up then, alarmed. 

“Gimme your arm, kid.” 

You opened your mouth.

“Not leavin’ till I patch your arm up, so don’t even try.” 

Shamefully, you lifted your arm slowly. 

He took it with gentle but firm hands, a thumb running along a faint scar. 

Ghost opened the kit haphazardly with another hand. 

“When I was your age—maybe a little younger—couldn’t find much meaning in everything.”

He lifted his hand from your arm and grabbed alcohol and a small cotton rag. Dampening the rag with alcohol, he drew it to your arm, rubbing away the excess blood and cleaning the wounds. You didn’t make any noise, only breathing raggedly. 

“The suffering was pointless, in my eyes; thought, ‘this isn’t bloody fair’. Born in a shitty house with a shitter father, food hardly ever on the table, my mind deteriorating, and the world cast in deep gray.”

You nodded. 

Ghost grabbed a bandage gauze, unravelling it and wrapping it gently around the graze and the scars. It was calming, watching him work away, even if the wrapping was a little clumsy. 

“The harsh reality came a little while later, and it’s that people like me—us—we gotta work hard for shit to change. That this weight forced upon us, it’s only we that can shed it off. It’s still not fair—frankly, suicide is easier. Thought of doing it for the longest time... But...” 

He shook his head. “In my eyes, it’s a coward’s way out. We should never die by our own hands—there’s always something to live for.”

“What are you living for?” 

“Mmmm.... For tomorrow’s pint.” 

You laughed. 

He grabbed a safety pin and pinned the end of the gauze. “...now, I know it’s ‘silly’ to say, but you know we’re here for you?—the 141′s got your back, kid—how about this, let’s make a deal.”

“Yeah?” 

“You ever have the urge to cut yer arm, you come straight to me, or the others. They’ll listen. They care.”

They care.  

It’s weird, but hearing the words said out loud, it hit you. 

They really care. 

You took in a shaky breath. “Thank... you.” 

“It’s no problem at all, kid. Stay strong.”

AO3

Masterlist

Requests are open

[girlwtdragontattoo]

Yandere Bard x Reader - Ritual of the Night

I ATTEMPTED TO DRAW ELPHAEL OMG I AM SO OUT OF PRACTICE 😭😭😭😭

Universe: Baldur's Gate 3 or DnD

Follow up to the introduction of Elphael, my yandere OC.

Summary: your childhood, musical friend is madly in love with you, fantasizing about you in secret and planning to make you his. He is writing out his love into a song for you and can‘t resist an urge.

Warning: 18+ content, non-con, general nsfw, toxic, obsessive behavior

-----

Elphael had been writing frantically in his dimly lit room. Suppressing the aching urge and vile thoughts took everything he had in your presence. Your face plastered his mind. The way your hands drifted over the strings in that rhythmic stride made him picture you stroking him to a beat you were concocting. It was endless – the need to please and have you.

He imagined your delicate fingers tracing the constellations inked across his skin, mapping out new worlds as you explored every curve and plane of his body. He saw you gazing up at him with adoration, your lips parted in a silent gasp as he pushed into you, claiming you as his own. He pictured cradling your face tenderly even as he ravaged your mouth, whispering words of devotion and possession against your flushed skin.

Elphael shook his head violently, willing the images away. These fantasies were a torment, always hovering at the edges of his mind, threatening to consume him. He gripped his quill tighter, focusing on the parchment before him. The music and words flowed from his pen, notes dancing across the page in intricate patterns. If he couldn't have you in reality, at least he could pour his longing into his gift.

He knew it was wrong.

You two went way back.

You called him your brother, whenever you introduced him. You thought of him as just that. Never did it cross your mind what his skin would taste like. Or how his learned, melodic tongue could be of use in other ways.

The scratching of his quill on the parchment created a soft buzz in the silent room. The sudden cracking of the wooden chair he was sitting on interrupted the quietude further. This seat was old anyway. Everything in this room was. Someone had thrown it away. Elphael had found it and made it his. They deserved a home, too.

Finishing the lyric with a swift jolt of the ink, the drow sat back and read what he had created.

You wouldn’t know it was about you, would you?

No, there were no obvious references. He had resisted the urge to describe you in detail, in fear of scaring you.

If he wanted to, he could create symphonies detailing every avenue, crevice and fauna of you.

The parchment crinkled as Elphael rolled it up carefully, securing it with frayed string. He tucked the scroll into his worn leather satchel, his fingers lingering on the rough texture. The bag held other treasures - scraps of your discarded lyrics, a guitar pick you'd forgotten, a piece of an old shirt you used to wear, even a strand of your hair he'd covertly collected. Little pieces of you he could keep close when you weren't with him.

Elphael's grey eyes flicked to the window. Twilight was falling, painting the sky in hues of lavender and indigo that mirrored his own skin. He thought about the way you looked at him today, when you had perfected that one section that was giving you trouble. Gods, the way your smile crinkled your eyes. He liked to believe you only smiled like that for him. When he caught that same grin on you talking to others… he wanted to rip their necks out. It belonged to him alone.

The drow sat down on his bed and held his head in his hands, the grey tresses cascading down his sides.

You would be kneeling in front of him, here. Your luscious lips open, longing for his length.

Elphael couldn’t resist. The burning in his body needed to be released, before he broke down your door in the neighboring room and took you right there. That couldn’t happen. Right?

He opened his trousers and released the throbbing cock from its constraints. It jerked impatiently out from his pants and stared at him in anticipation. It knew the nightly ritual.

Elphael closed his eyes, picturing you there with him. He grasped himself, sighing out brief relief at the sensation, and started moving up and down. In his mind, you straddled his lap, your skin flushed and glistening with a sheen of sweat. He imagined the weight of your body pressing against him, your fingers tracing the constellations inked across his chest.

His hand moved faster as he envisioned lowering you onto his aching length, feeling your warmth envelop him completely. He pictured your head thrown back in ecstasy, exposing the delicate curve of your throat. In his fantasy, he latched his mouth there, sucking and biting as he thrust up into you. The delicacy of you; he could tell you would be a feast for him, just by that addictive scent of yours.

Elphael's breathing grew ragged as the dream intensified. He imagined your nails raking down his back, leaving trails of fire in their wake. Your bodies moved together in perfect harmony, like the melodies you created. He could almost feel you there, the tight walls he had eagerly wanted to break into, for as long as he could remember. He wanted to hear your moans in his ear, begging for him to go harder, faster. The thought of you clenching around him, as he stood up and bounced you on top of him, desperate and eager to go deeper. Gravity would pull you down on him and he would thrust up hard, hitting the spot that made you scream.

Elphael gripped your hips tighter, fingers digging into soft flesh as he controlled your movements. He would press you against the nearby wall and crash up into you more, every pierce making your skin slap together loudly. He imagined wrapping one hand around your throat, pinning you further into the wall, applying just enough pressure to make your breath hitch. Your eyes would widen, pupils blown with a heady mixture of arousal and fear.

"Mine," he'd growl, his normally gentle voice towards you rough with passion. "Say it. Tell me you're mine."

He whispered the words to himself as his mind raced.

In his fantasy, you'd gasp out your submission, voice breathy and wretched. "Yours, Elph. Only yours."

The possessive thrill that coursed through him at those imagined words pushed Elphael closer to the edge. His hand moved frantically now, chasing release. In his mind, he flipped your positions, throwing you beneath him on the threadbare mattress. He pictured hooking your legs over his shoulders, driving into you madly and staring at your face as you scream into your orgasm. He would feel you clasp around him and your intoxicating water spill out onto hips. His one hand holding your throat and pushing you into the mattress, his other clutching your hip. The sound of your wetness squealing out with every pound, you were his. His. His!

With a strangled cry, Elphael reached his peak. His body shuddered as waves of pleasure waved over him, spilling hot and thick over his trembling hand. For a blissful moment, he was lost in the imagined ecstasy of being one with you.

But as the haze of arousal faded, reality came crashing back. Elphael's eyes snapped open, taking in the dingy room around him. The fantasy dissolved, leaving him alone with the sticky evidence of his shame coating his fingers.

Disgust and self-loathing washed over him. You, who had shown him nothing but kindness and friendship. You, who saw him as family when no one else would. And here he was, twisting that pure connection into something sordid and selfish.

Elphael's stomach churned as he remembered you were sleeping behind the wall next to his bed. You had no idea what sickness coursed through him. How it took every inch of his soul to stay in his room and how filthy his imagination of you was.

Your idea of him was false. Debased, the drow took a worn cloth that lay on his bedside table and cleaned himself up.

He fell onto his scratchy pillow; he deserved nothing else.

Discomfort was what he was used to. Even within himself.

[siempre-bucky]

take the day

Jake 'Hangman' Seresin x Reader

Summary: After his training flight gets canceled, Cyclone gives Jake the rest of the day off, allowing him to play hooky with his son. Or Jake Seresin has bad parents and will do anything for his kid's happiness.

wc: 2k

A/n: I saw this tiktok once and it was of a boy asking his mom if she was having a good day with him and ahhhhh I knew I needed to write a dad!Jake fic.

Jake had been waiting for this day all month, a beautiful shiny new plane was ready to be tested. He set many reminders on his phone, the test’s title written in red ink on every calendar.  It was a mistake on Cyclone’s part for the boost Hangman’s ego had when he got the phone call. He smiled at the sun peeking in through the blinds, this was going to be his best ride all year. The blond gathered the thick manual off his desk and started to make his way to the door, only to be stopped by his superior. “The test’s been canceled for today,” Cyclone told him evenly. 

It felt like a punch to the gut; hopes and dreams were crushed in a little temporary office. Jake’s face only slightly fell, his nose twitched and his lips dipped into the smallest of frowns. “Understood, sir,” he responded formally. 

“Take the rest of the day. You deserve it, Hangman.” 

The door shut with a soft click of the lock and Jake slumped back in his chair in unison. Taking the rest of the day off seemed like such a foreign concept, did Cyclone of all people smile as he said it? He furrowed his eyebrows and let his eyes fall to the framed pictures on the old oak desk. He could call up Javy, grab a drink after the other man finished—his eyes continued to scan—he could find you and haul you into the supply closet like all the times before. He passed the wedding photo and let a smile grow on his lips as he looked at the photo of his son on his best friend's shoulders. 

“You’re sulking,” you giggled as you opened the door, closing the blinds before making your way to him. “It’s a good look.” 

Jake rolled his eyes and shifted in his seat, his arms finding their way to the sides of your waist, pulling you into his lap. You touched the medals on his khakis and smiled fondly at his wings. "He wants me to go home," he said, still astonished. 

An amused snort came from you, your lips tugging upward into a smile "Whatever will you do?" You sighed dramatically, emphasizing your teasing with a playful roll of your eyes. 

Jake smirked and flashed his eyes towards the door before kissing the side of your neck. "We could find a closet," he hummed, "just like old times." 

"No way! Not with Cyclone and Warlock running around."

Fine, he thought, pressing his back against the chair. "Well, I was thinking…" Jake suddenly paused, hesitation creeping up the back of his neck. 

Sick? The boy's not sick, he can stay at school. Jake was twelve and had appendicitis. 

Back in my day, we powered through. Are you cryin'? Pathetic, Jacob. Get out of my damn truck and get to class. Jake was fifteen and just lost his beloved grandmother. 

"...nevermind, darlin', I'll just go home. Sleep a bit." 

You carefully stroked his well put together hair, being mindful of the gel that kept it together. "Jake," you scolded, "talk."

He swallowed the lump of displeasure and forced his green eyes to look at your reassuring face. "I was thinking about takin' Luke out of school early. Do some errands, spend some time together before you get off." 

There was a small pause that Jake took note of immediately. He watched your face for every slim movement, any indication that it was a terrible idea. Then you smiled. 

"Oh, Jake," you chuckled, "he'd love that, baby." 

Jake's nerves subsided and the unknowing tight grip he had on your waist softened. "Yeah?" 

"Yeah."

—

Luke's eyelids drooped, green eyes barely focused on the board in front of the class. His science teacher droned on—he wouldn't be able to tell you anything he learned from that class. His head started to slowly slip off the hand that was holding him up. 

"Luke Seresin.” The door opened, and a frail older woman scanned the seventh-grade science class. The boy in question looked up, shyly raising his hand. The woman sighed, “Pack your things,” she instructed, “you’re leaving early.”

 Suddenly, he was much more awake. He slid off his chair and grabbed his books, ignoring the various faces of his classmates. Placing his backpack around his shoulders he hurried over to his teacher to get his homework before following the woman. 

The gears of his mind started to turn. He rarely got to leave early, most of the time it was you coming to pick him up for a doctor's appointment. Luke grimaced at the thought of the upcoming dentist appointment. Was that today? He hoped it was his Uncle Javy. Luke loved when his uncle came to pick him up and play hooky when he was on leave. 

Luke took a deep breath as he walked up to the large wood doors separating him from the front office. His jaw was slightly clenched, praying that it wasn’t the dreaded cleaning. The door clicked as the middle schooler pressed the bar, opening it. 

His eyes looked upward to the figure standing at the front desk, politely making small talk with the receptionists. His eyes widened as the frame and accented voice clicked in his mind, “Dad!” Luke gasped. The familiar tall muscular frame with tanned skin and a sweet smile turned to him. 

Jake chuckled at his excitement and outstretched his arms for him, playfully grunting as his son ran into his stomach. “Hey,” he laughed, cradling the back of his head. 

"What are you doing here?" 

Jake let his happy face falter, "Your ma said you have a dentist appointment," he lied. 

Luke's face fell instantly, the sound of a drill echoing in the back of his mind and making his teeth hurt. He grumbled and threw his head back but allowed Jake to usher him outside the school. "Do I have to go?" He whined. 

"There's no appointment, son. Don't need those ladies giving me funny looks," Jake explained, checking behind him to make sure no one could still hear him. 

"Then wh-"

"Thought we could go to the hardware store and then the auto part store," Jake hummed, tilting his head side to side. 

Excitement bubbled in Luke's stomach, a bright smile spreading on his face. "Then burgers after—from the diner on the beach?" He asked with a light tilt in his tone. 

Can we get lunch on the way home, dad? 

We have lunch at home. Money doesn't grow on trees, Jacob. How dare you ask me that. Jake knew his family was loaded, there was even an expensive bottle of scotch in the backseat. 

Jake lovingly stroked his son's hair, forcing the memories away, and made sure he would forge new ones in his son. He playfully scoffed and kept moving him along towards the truck, “Well I guess we have to,” he said happily. 

— 

Jake looked through the streaks in the glass, silently judging the two men playing football in the sands technique. He shook his head and took another bite, witnessing an easy throw being missed. It wasn’t even three o’clock yet and he was exhausted from the boy with enough energy to power the city. He smiled fondly at how Luke would walk up and down every aisle of the part store and ask questions, even sharing the bits of knowledge he picked up about his dad's truck. The toothy grin and bright eyes made the exhaustion all worth it. 

Luke peered up at his dad as he ate his burger. "Dad," he started in between bites. He swallowed and spoke again, a sliver of caution in his tone, "Are you having a good day with me so far?" 

A jolt went through the aviator's heart, and then another when he caught the sight of Luke's green eyes looking at him with all the hope in the world. 

Validation. 

A part of him hated how much this day was turning out to be a bitter trip down memory lane. Jake gave up asking his dad about things when he was fourteen, the grumpy one-worded answers, tightened grip on the steering wheels and deep frowns were enough. Disappointment chipped away at Jake until he was able to build armor strong enough to deflect the demeanor. He wouldn't let that be Luke, he wouldn't let his eyes grow dim and shoulders slump like his own. 

Jake leaned forward and smiled, "I'm having the best day with you, son." 

The boy shifted happily in the red faux leather seat, his smile growing miles wider. "Cool," he laughed lightly before starting on his small pile of thin fries. 

They ate in silence until Luke saw the jukebox sitting in the corner and begged his dad for a couple of quarters. The boy gleefully ran to the large red box with a clenched fist full of coins and scanned through the old songs, his tongue poking out in concentration. A smile broke out onto his face as he finally found the song he was looking for and pressed the cream colored numbers.

"Slow ride?" Jake whispered to himself, looking around at the speakers attached to the wall. 

"I know you liked this song," Luke reminded him cheerfully as he returned to the booth. 

"Your mom hates it," Jake chuckled in return. 

"But why? You play it all the time." 

"I had our DJ switch our first dance song halfway through at our wedding," he reminisced, "she never fails to remind me." 

Luke loved hearing stories about you and Jake before you had him. They weren't the rehearsed stories his pops and grandma told to keep their image in pristine condition. Jake told him everything that was age-appropriate, you two were mostly an open book with him. 

"Kinda like how she tells everyone she's the better pilot." 

Jake's eyes narrowed and his lips became pressed in a tight line. "Now that's what we call a lie, son. No one is better than your old man." 

Luke smiled and gulped down the last of his meal, "I believe you—just don't tell mom." 

"Scouts honor," Jake mock saluted and laughed. "Why don't we head down the beach?" 

Luke gasped and hurried out of the booth, "Can I play in the water? I have my gym clothes in my backpack!" 

The blond nodded, and followed him out of the booth calmly, throwing a few bills on the table. Luke grabbed his hand and pulled him towards the door, even refusing to let go as they walked to the truck. 

—

The sun had just begun to go down when Luke finally emerged from the water and Jake put on his sunglasses to block the sun’s glare. “You still not tired?” Jake questioned as he balled up a towel and threw it at the kid's face. Luke yelped and ripped it off and began to wipe the water off his face. 

He dropped to his knees and continued his work on the sand castle he abandoned. “Nope!” he laughed, reaching for his plastic bucket. Jake slumped further in his beach chair, allowing his eyes to slowly close, listening to Luke’s commentary and the smell of the ocean lull him to sleep. 

Jake figured only five minutes had passed when the roar of planes woke him up. It was nice while it lasted, maybe Cyclone was right… he needed to take the day. He opened his left eye and watched Luke look up to the sky, looking up at the Navy planes in the air. When he was younger he’d wave at them, asking if the pilot was you or his dad, but now as he grows older he just stops and looks up at them fondly. 

“Do you think mom’s having a good day?” He asked, his gaze focused on the plane zooming above the clouds 

“Why don’t you ask her yourself!” A new voice entered the space that made both the Seresin men perk up. Luke was the first one to jump up from off the ground, racing right into your embrace. “You have salt all over you,” you giggled, bending over to kiss his forehead. 

“Dad let me play in the water! Oh, oh and we got food at the diner,” Luke started to ramble until he saw the other person step onto the sand. “Uncle Javy!” You were finally able to breathe as your son let go and ran up to his favorite person. 

Jake walked over and wrapped you up in his arms, letting you nuzzle into his strong chest. “Good day?” you asked, humming in contentment. 

You felt Jake put his chin on the top of your head, nodding. “The best,” he answered, watching Javy hoist his son over his shoulders and walk him to the water and throw him into the wave. “Remind me to thank Cyclone.” 

“Look how happy he is,” you sighed happily, Luke’s infectious laugh making its way to your ears. Jake held you a little tighter. “You make him happy.”

Jake wanted to scoff and tell you that you didn’t have to lie, that he was a subpar father, and that Luke would run as soon as he turned eighteen as he did. He didn’t remember smiling like that, having a family love a kid as much as they all did the boy with matching green eyes being thrown into the ocean. “Yeah, I guess I do.” 

[raapija]

I'm curious (read invested) do you have a time line in mind for the strollonso au? Like when they met, got engaged, got married

In my pookie au, which I set most of my edits into, it goes something like this.... THIS IS GONNA BE LONG OH LORD, I have a whole thing formulated in my brain and writing is down is gonna be a struggle

2014-2015 They met for the first time very briefly as Fernando was visiting the Ferrari Academy drivers at Prema. Note that Lance is a massive Fernando fan since he was a kid, so this was like meeting his hero. Nando immediately forgot about this meeting as it was just a promotional thing, very sad :(

2017 Lance debuts in F1 at Williams, he's about 19yo and still a massive Nando fan but they rarely interact with each other (see, 'shy canadian rookie'). Sure, they talk every now and then, but no sparks yet...

2018 This is where it starts to get interesting. Nando is struggling (and when I say struggling I mean STRUGGLING) at McLaren and his interest starts to waver which leads to his little fixation on Lance. It started out pretty tame and harmless with Nando writing little notes/letters to him and hiding them around the Williams garage (no one knows how he did it without getting caught) and Lance's belongings. He gets more invested in this than driving the McLaren GP2 engine shitbox.

Eventually Nando gathers up enough courage to ask the 20 year old man out. To his absolute horror and shock, the kid says "yeah, sure" and that's how they began dating. For the remainder of 2018, they keep it strictly to themselves, not telling anyone in case their relationship gets leaked. Lots of hotel room slumber parties, discreet dinner dates and traveling in the same planes between races.

Fun little side story I got is that in 2018, Lance, Fernando and Lando took part as team LANCELANDONANDO (hilarious, I know) in the 24h of Daytona ✨ They finished like... 50th, but it was a big deal since Lando was a tiny little baby boy and Nando was a bit of a mentor to him. (see, 'nando never got kids of his own but really wants to be a father figure)

2019-2020 Nando decides to "retire" from F1 after losing all his ambition to drive because of McLaren draining the life force out of him. Now that Nando isn't in F1, they can make their relationship public since the conflict of interest is no longer an issue.

2019 is a rather dark time for Lance, as the media rips him to shreds for 1) dating a man, 2) being almost 20 years younger AND 3) the person he's dating just happens to be Fernando Alonso. He's called every name under the sun, constantly ridiculed and the fans pretty much turn against him. He tries to avoid all the drama by becoming more closed in and even more shy around people.

Fernando, on the other hand, is off doing indy and endurance racing. He's pretty outspoken about their relationship and does his best to gain respect for Lance, always praising him and telling nice things about him. This starts to work after a while as the media starts to forget about the whole thing.

Nando would visit the F1 grid from time to time and Lance would be at his indy races. Eventually it became normal to see them together and act like a couple and the fans started to support them, so the media did a complete 180°. Now it was a race to get the best Strollonso story in the papers...

During this time also, Lance starts to visit Fernando's karting school a lot more and after a while becomes a key part in its operation. He would volunteer as a race director for the kids' tournaments, pop in as a guest coach or just help around with whatever they were doing. He would become a bit of a celebrity in that community of young drivers and really like spending time there.

2021 Surprise! Fernando gets bored of the other stuff and unretires himself to come back into F1 with Alpine! Before this Lance, Nando, Alpine and Aston Martin have a proper sit-down with FIA to figure out how they can allow Nando back in without the risk of sharing team secrets. A couple rule changes, some NDA's and contracts later, it's settled and F1 gets its most popular Spaniard (sorry Carlos) back on track. Everyone celebrates!

Turns out Nando is on a revenge mission this time. All that pent up McLaren resentment is poured right into Alpine and he becomes the villain of F1, which the fans kinda like. Outside the track, he and Lance live their best comfy life, getting a couple houses together, traveling and expanding their family with a doggy, Nyla! 🥰

2022 Alpine is in shambles. Estie Bestie is threatening to strangle his best friend's boyfriend on a daily basis. Lance suggests, just as a joke, that Fernando should come to Aston as he knew Sebastian was about to retire and they hadn't found a replacement for next season. Fernando doesn't take it as a joke. So, Nando calls up Lance's dad and he agrees immediately to take the Spaniard in.

Fast forward to the end of the season, Alpine gets a couple more big L's, and finally Nando can leave that sinking ship to walk right into Aston Martin's motorhome as soon as he drops out the last race. Fans rejoice, as Strollonso is now in the same team, media is fired up from the potential content and FIA can have a breather now that company secrets are no longer at risk.

2023 Working in the same team turns out to be the best choice they ever made. The team spirit is at an all time high, everyone is enjoying working together and the fans absolutely love them. Nando's tiktok influencer career also helps tremendously and people follow their social medias like it's Friends in 1996.

Nando decides before the summer break that it's now or never and proposes to Lance. To his absolute horror and shock, the 25 year old says "yeah, sure" and they get engaged. Everyone expects a big and glamorous wedding, but turns out they have a small civil ceremony during the break with just family and close friends, away from the limelight. It's a cute and intimate wedding party in Tuscany that only gets out as Lance posts a few pictures from it. Fans rejoice once again! Future's looking all bright and rosy for them <3 And speaking of rosy... They got another fur child! Rósa was Lance's 25th birthday present 🥰

2024.... We'll see ✨