#i need to go back and copy and paste it somewhere

[fingertipsmp3]

Girl help I don't understand my homework

[scarlethexelove]

Growing A Family

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x Milf!Reader

Word Count: 1451

Warnings: Smut, Intersex!Natasha, P in V, Nat really wants a baby, a bit of a breeding kink, Belly bulge, kitchen sex, Unprotected sex obviously, maybe other things.

Pt 2, Pt 3, Pt 4

A/n: Been sitting on this idea for a while. Just Nat being cute and deserving a family. This is just nice and cute and soft. Did I mention Nat is adorable.

NO ONE IS PERMITTED TO STEAL, COPY, OR REBLOG MY WORK AS THEIR OWN

Your soft hums fill Natasha’s ears as she enters the kitchen. She leans against the door frame admiring your form as you clean up. Your jeans hugging your hips perfectly, your plush thighs, and how they accentuating your ass deliciously. You haven’t even noticed her return as your mind stays focused on the task in front of you. Nat pushes herself off the frame and makes her way over to you. She tightly grips your hips as she presses her front against your back. You gasp in surprise but relax in her hold. “Mmm your ass looks delicious in these jeans.” Nat kisses your shoulder as she pulls you impossibly close. “Thank you baby.” You giggle as a blush spreads across your cheeks. 

Nat has just returned from dropping off your daughter at Yelena’s place wanting to give you a break and spend some quality time together. Setting her plan in motion. Her lips trail to your neck nipping at the skin as her hands slide up under shirt cupping your clothed breast. “Natty.” You try to swat her away but the moan you let out as she sucks harshly on your pulse point has you faltering. “Have a baby with me.” She whispers in your ear as she pulls your bra down causing your breast to spill out giving her access to squeeze them. 

A whimper falls from your lips but you try to compose yourself. “N-Natty. We talked about t-this.” You stutter slightly. You two have had this conversation before, no kids until she retires. You’ve been a single parent before and said you wouldn’t add another child to your family if you had to do it again. Nat understood this and accepted your conditions. She wasn’t ready to give up that life before but now she was ready. She wanted to settle down with you and raise a family together. She loves your daughter as if she was her own and wanted nothing more than to give her a sibling. 

“I had a meeting with Fury this morning.” Nat mumbles against the skin of your shoulder. You give her a hum, encouraging her to continue knowing she is leading this somewhere. “I’m done detka. No more missions, no more being gone for weeks on end. I want to be here with you, with Elizabeth, to grow our family. He offered for me to train recruits as needed, so I’ll only have to be there a couple days a week.” She kisses your shoulder softly as she speaks and softly massages your breast. You try to turn around in her hold, but she holds you tighter, pushing you further, pinning you between her body and the counter. 

“I’m going to put a baby in you.” Nat bites down on your neck. You can’t help the moan that slips past your lips wanting nothing more than to feel your wife filling you up. You can feel her already hardened cock pressing against your ass. “Please.” You whimper. One of Nat’s arms wraps around you tightly as the other moves down. Her fingers find the button to your pants and undo them, the zipper following soon after. Her fingers hook into the waistband of both your jeans and panties as she pulls them down. You help shimmy them down until they are around your knees. 

Nat then moves that hand between your bodies, pushing her sweatpants and boxers down to her thighs. She nips and sucks at the skin of your neck and shoulders. Her cock slaps against your ass before she humps you slightly. Her cock already getting coated in your arousal as she does so. “Fuck printsessa you're so wet for me already.” You nod. “Please Natty want you to fill me.” Nat groans. “Oh detka I’m going to keep filling you until you're pregnant with my baby.” She lines her member up with your entrance slowly pushing into you. 

When the head of her cock fully presses in, Nat moves her hands back cupping your breast in each hand. She tweaks your nipples the further she presses into you. Both of you moan at the feeling of her filling you up. “Always so tight for me printsessa no matter how many times I fuck you.” Your walls deliciously squeezing her the further she pushes in until she is fully sheathed inside of you. You let out a gasp at the feeling of being so full. 

Nat lets you get used to her size as she continues to massage your breast. “Fuck I can’t wait to see these grow. Your belly swollen with my baby. You will look so fucking hot.” Nat mumbles against your skin. You nod along with her words. “F-fuck, please Natty want it so bad.” You start pressing back into her letting her know that she can move. She starts to slowly pull out before pushing back in. Her thrust starts off at a slower pace as she builds up speed. You let out small gasps and whines as her pace builds. 

You let your head fall to the side giving Nat more access. One of your hands moves up and behind you as you lace your fingers through Nat’s hair as she litters marks on your skin. Her thrust finds a steady pace as her cock plunges into your hole. Your walls are sucking her in with every thrust of her hips. Your moans grow louder as they bounce off the walls of the kitchen. Your body is still pressed against the counter as Nat holds you up. “So good.” You slur your words as the pleasure courses through you. Your grip on Nat’s hair tightens, causing the woman to moan and bite down harder on your skin. 

As Nat thrusts into you, you press your body back into hers, matching her pace. Her cock reached depths that you didn’t know where possible. One of Nat’s hands slides down your stomach until she feels how her cock fills you up. With every thrust pressing lightly into her hand has her moaning loudly in your ear. She presses down on the spot causing a gush of arousal and your mouth to hang open in a silent scream. “Feel how deep I’m inside you. My big cock filling your tiny little hole to the brim.” You nod and moan. “Y-Yes, fuck.” She smirks. 

The closer you grow to your release, your walls squeeze and suck Nat in. Her thrust are starting to become more erratic as she chases her high. She presses down harder on your abdomen, causing your grip on her hair to tighten her scalp, burning with a mix of pleasure and pain. You don’t know how it is possible as her thrust speeds up. Your orgasm is quickly approaching, and so is Nats. “Mmm wanna cum.” You whine already teetering on the edge. Nat’s thrust are sloppy and you can feel her cock twitching inside of you. “Hold it printsessa.” She murmurs in your ear. 

It takes everything in you to comply with her words. You're so close to letting go that you don’t know how it hasn’t washed over you yet. Nat keeps thrusting as your walls clamp around her, desperate for release. It doesn’t take long before Nat is also on the edge. “Cum detka.” She presses down again on where her cock fills you causing you to let out a scream of pleasure. The pressure causes you to release all over her cock. Your whole body trembling in her hold as the powerful orgasm washes over you. Her hips stutter at the same time as she releases inside of you. She paints your walls white with her cum, filling you even fuller than you already were. She groans as your walls milk her dry. Nat ruts into you to prolong both of your orgasms. She slowly comes to a stop when you whimper a bit from how sensitive you are. She doesn’t pull out wanting to keep her cum inside of you for as long as possible. 

“Are you okay detka?” Nat asks as she holds you gently in her arms, keeping you upright as your legs shake. You hum as your head falls back on her shoulder and you relax back into her. She peppers you with soft kisses as you both calm down. “I love you.” You mumble tiredly. Nat smiles. “I love you to printsessa.” 

A peaceful bliss washes over you as your mind wanders to the future. Growing your family with the woman that you love seems to come at the perfect time. A new journey for you to take together, but you're both excited for it. To finally have all that you could have ever wanted with the perfect woman.

[obsessedwithceleste]

You’re Not Everyone Else

Lorenzo Berkshire x reader

Based on this request🫶🏽

Summary: Enz thought he knew everything there was to know when it came to wooing pretty witches, but it will take a lot more than the botanical gardens to win you over.

word count: 4.4k

©️ obsessedwithceleste. all works posted here belong to me and should not be reposted or copied in any way or form.

You glare menacingly at the offending bundle of flowers propped up perfectly against your pillow, practically glowing as the sunlight streams onto them through the window. As if it were a sign that the flowers were bloody heaven sent.

Daphne’s mouth is practically on the floor as she watches you dump the fresh bouquet of expensive looking tulips directly into the trash can.

The flowers had been waiting for you on your bed when you came back from class, and you didn’t need to read the note attached to guess who they were from.

You can tell that she wants to protest, but you cut her off before she’s able to even get a word in.

“Don’t. You know how I feel about Berkshire. It’s not going to happen.” You sigh, rolling your eyes at the mere thought of Lorenzo Berkshire actually managing to weasel his way into your heart.

That boy was no good. He had a pretty face and the charisma to go along with it. He was nothing but a womanizer and you had heard all the stories to prove it. In fact, there was probably an alphabetized list of all the girls that had fallen victim to Lorenzo Berkshire floating around somewhere. He practically had his pick of the litter when it came to the Hogwarts dating pool, and yet for some reason he had landed his sights on you.

You could remember the first time Daphne had brought you to the Parkinson estate, introducing you to all of her friends. He had been their. Young, but charming as ever. He had been kind then. And sweet. But that was just to lure you in. By Christmas that same year you had heard all about his escapades and wanted nothing to do with it.

Daphne, to her credit, had tried to dissuade you, vouching for her friend, but you could never quite see past the swirling whispers that seemed to damper the boy's shine. He was her friend. Fine. He had been her friend first after all, but that was all he'd ever be. A friend of a friend.

But it had been years at this point, of flowers being left in your dorm room, chocolates, even soppy love poems declaring his affection for you, but you were having none of it. And it seemed the more you pushed the boy away, the more determined he was to make you his.

“It’s so romantic though,” Daphne protests, looking like she’s debating fishing the flowers out of the trash can. It was the third bouquet this week. And it was only Tuesday.

“Pft. Manipulative is more like it. He only wants one thing Daph, and you know it,” you reply, collapsing onto your bed with an annoyed huff.

Your friend is silent for a moment, mulling over her words.

"You liked him at one point. You told me so," she says finally.

"Sure, when I was thirteen. He's only after me now cause he likes the chase. He'll get bored," you reply, rolling your eyes slightly and brushing off the girl's comment.

Your roommate lets out a sigh, wringing her hands as she takes a seat on her own bed across the room.

“Oh I don’t think Enz would do that to you. I’ve known him since we were kids. He seems so serious about this.” Daphne replies.

You’d heard Daph say that same thing what felt like a million times over since this whole thing started.

“Yeah, well. It’s going to take a lot more than the botanical gardens to win me over.”

Lorenzo Berkshire was infamously known around the halls of Hogwarts for his flirtatious tendencies. It didn’t bother him much, even though half the things being said about him weren’t true in the slightest. But really what was denying any of it going to do?

Let people think what they want was what he always thought. Only one person’s opinion really mattered anyway. Yours.

Lorenzo had always been the romantic of the group, not that there was really any competition for the title, but still. From the day he met you, he knew that you were the one. You were perfect. Funny, and smart, and kind, always playfully bantering with your friends.

He remembered the summer after third year when Daphne had introduced you to the group. All of you gathered at the Parkinson estate. You had swept Theo in chess and Lorenzo had just sat there staring at you. Completely mesmerized. After that everyone seemed to love you, and you seemed to get along with everyone too. Even him. At first.

The first few months were bliss. Lorenzo loved making you laugh, seeing you smile. He knew then that he was down bad. But then, halfway through your fourth year, it was like a switch had flipped. He didn’t have the faintest clue as to why you suddenly seemed to have a certain level of hostility towards him. But he knew that he missed you.

“What in Salazar’s name could I have possibly done wrong?” Lorenzo groans, head falling back, face in hands as he leans back on the common room sofa. “I thought I was doing everything girls want. I send flowers. I send sweets. I even wrote her heart felt poems about how I feel about her!”

“That is disgusting. Have some dignity,” Draco snorts from his spot across from Lorenzo who just sticks his tongue out at the blonde boy in response.

“Oh hush Draco. I think it all sounds perfectly reasonable,” Pansy remarks, giving Enzo a nod of approval.

“Well it would be perfectly reasonable if it worked! She won’t even give me a second glance. She’s so nice to everyone. Bubbly and sweet and talkative. But as soon as I’m around she clams up! Did you know she’s helping Mattheo with charms right as we speak? Bloody traitor he is.” Lorenzo laments.

To be fair, you had had an upstanding tutoring session with Mattheo for weeks now, instituted my Professor Flitwick, but minor details.

“Well she is pretty talented when it comes to charms,” Daphne says awkwardly, lips pursed as she shifts uncomfortably in her seat, trying not to be noticed.

Pansy squints at her friend, squirming and fidgeting. It was entirely unlike her. She was usually the one with her head screwed on correctly.

“Hold on Daph. You know something. What is it?” She demands.

Daphne looks at the raven haired girl in alarm, shaking her head and shrugging her shoulders not daring to utter a word.

“Daph, come on, look at this man. He’s utterly pathetic,” Draco adds, gesturing towards the distressed brunette. Enzo glares at his friend.

“Just spit it out,” Pansy orders.

“She thinks you’re just trying to use her for sex!” Daphne blurts out, crumbling under the pressure.

Lorenzo blinks once. Then again.

“What?”

Daphne just shrugs once more rather helplessly as the group just stares at her as if she would solve all of Enzo’s problems.

“To be perfectly fair, there are a lot of rumors about you that have been circulating for years. I think, you just might be coming off a bit- ah, disingenuous perhaps?” Daphne says finally.

She could practically see the gears working in Lorenzo’s head as he takes in her words. She’s a bit worried she’d broken him when he remains silent for what seems like forever.

���I have so much work to do,” he announces finally, standing up and marching off to his dormitory, a look of fierce determination sketched onto his face.

“Oh now look what you’ve done Daph,” Draco groans, looking at the retreating back of his friend.

“She’s the one who made me say something,” Daphne protests, pointing an accusatory finger at Pansy.

“Shush Draco. None of us wanted to hear him monologue about his undying love again anyway,” Pansy retorts.

To be quite honest, you were feeling a bit ambushed as none other than Lorenzo Berkshire plopped down beside you on the sofa that you had claimed in one of the rather abandoned corners of the library.

“Afternoon love,” he chirps happily, shooting you one of his famous smiles. The kind that normally made girls melt at the mere sight.

“Hello Lorenzo.”

“You never responded to my note,” the boy chatters on, ignoring your clear disinterest in his presence. You really weren’t sure if the boy didn’t notice, or didn’t care.

“What note?”

The boy blinks at you. “The note I sent with the tulips the other day?” He replies, as if it should have been obvious.

“Oh. I threw those away.”

“Oh, you threw them aw- what?” He asks, apparently caught off guard by your nonchalant answer.

“I threw them away, placed them in the trash can, sentenced them to eternal damnation. Do try to keep up Enz.”

“Wha- why?” He splutters, genuinely looking a bit hurt.

You look at the boy raising an eyebrow. "I throw away all of your flowers."

"All of them?"

"Are you daft?"

Lorenzo's jaw is practically on the floor, his ego clearly being knocked down a peg or ten.

"Yes- I mean no- I mean- why are you throwing away my flowers?" He splutters.

Growing increasingly more frustrated, you glare at the boy.

"Can you quite down? And if I can be quite honest Lorenzo, I'm not exactly your biggest fan. It's nothing personal of course, you understand," you sigh, trying to get back to your reading.

Enzo is having none of it however as he tries to replay every interaction he could think of between the two of you. He simply doesn't understand. He thought he'd never been anything but a gentleman to you.

"You don't like me? Me specifically? But- you like everyone!"

It was true. Lorenzo had never heard a bad thing about you from anyone. Not even Draco had a bad word to say since you seemed to go out of your way to show kindness to everyone around you.

"Yes well, you're not everyone else Lorenzo."

Lorenzo's mind races as he stares at you in shock. You looked awfully lovely today. Damn it, stay focused. He just wanted you to see him. Was that too much to ask?

"I'm not just trying to use you for sex!" he blurts out, immediately slapping a hand over his mouth, staring at you wide eyed. Real smooth Berkshire.

With a groan, you snap your book shut, closing your eyes in frustration as you realize that you're not going to be getting any reading done with Lorenzo sitting next to you.

Taking a slow inhale, you turn to get a good look at the boy beside you. Fluffy brown hair, warm, earnest eyes, only marred by the subtle pout adorning his lips.

“Let’s just say I were to give you a chance-“ you start.

“You won’t regret it. Pick you up at 8 tomorrow!” He replies, jumping in, the widest smile gracing his face.

Looking at the boy was like looking at a golden retriever puppy. You knew he was anything but, but how could you say no to that face?

“Alright Berkshire. One chance. Then, I never want to hear about this again.”

He was not going to blow this. He simply wouldn’t allow himself to. Everything that he had been working for these past months was leading up to this, he just couldn’t let it slip through his fingers. Enzo was giddy with anticipation as he lead you carefully down the cobblestone path.

“You better not be leading me out to the forest to murder me,” you call out to the boy behind you, his hands firmly in place over your eyes.

You were only half joking.

Before he even needs to respond, Enzo drops his hands and you’re immediately hit with bright sunlight.

“Where are we?” You ask in shocked amazement, staring around at the garden before you. It was straight out of a fairytale really. Bright, glowing green leaves, flowers of every color. There were even little, glittering sprites dancing about the flora.

“Hogwarts gardens. You never been?” Enzo asks, walking over to a spread on the lawn that you hadn’t even registered yet.

It was clear that he had put in some effort. The soft blanket laid out on the grass was littered with fruits and pastries, even a variety of little sandwiches.

“Didn’t even know this place existed,” you mutter, allowing the boy to guide you to a nice, sunny spot on the lawn.

“I’ve been working out here with Sprout for years. My favorite place,” Enzo tells you offhandedly, popping a strawberry into his mouth.

Under the warm sunlight, he looked unreal. Like an ethereal creature who took a wrong turn and somehow ended up sitting in front of you. You really could see what all the fuss was about when he was staring intently at you, a soft smile gracing his lips.

Wait.

Snapping out of your thoughts, you realize you’d been staring as well, but Enzo doesn’t seem to mind.

“I think Daph mentioned that you were some herbology buff,” you say in an attempt to recover a bit of your dignity.

Enzo smirks. “I suppose that’s one way to put it. I am top of the class.”

“I thought that honor went to Longbottom,” you reply, picking at the food in front of you.

Lorenzo's face turns to a grimace.

"He could be real competition if he weren't a such pyromaniac. Sprout is still giving him the cold shoulder after he almost burned her prized Cobra Lily. Thing deserved it though. Always hissing at me."

You don't know why, but you can't help but let out a laugh at the thought of the Lorenzo Berkshire having an ongoing feud with a plant.

"Haha, yeah. You laugh now, but that bloody plant has been antagonizing me for weeks. I'm one hiss away from dropping the damn thing off of the astronomy tower." He responds sarcastically to your laughter, only causing you to fall into a further fit of giggles. The brunette boy just sticks his tongue out at you in defeat.

"Oh come on now, that's no way charm a witch," you tease, pulling yourself together as you grin at the boy in front of you.

"Yeah, well I've tried every other way I can think of, so it was worth a shot," Enz replies, his joking smile not quite reaching his eyes.

Your grin falters as Enzo's eyes drop to the grass surrounding the both of you and you take in the sudden silence of the gardens.

"It's hard to believe someone actually likes you when you're just another face in the crowd," you say finally, not willing to meet the boy's eyes.

"You don't have to believe me now. I'll wait."

It was a moment of sincerity that you weren't expecting out of the boy. Usually he was all jokiness and smiles. Not a bad quality by any means, but you were never sure when you could trust the boy's words. You felt like you could trust him now though, in that moment.

After that, you find yourself quite enjoying your afternoon. You had forgotten how easily the two of you actually got on when you weren't avoiding the boy like the plague. He had so many stories about the gardens, and it quickly became apparent that the particular spot he had brought you to was his sanctuary. It was nice getting to hear him talk, without all the extra noise and whispers, and off-putting looks from your classmates. You had missed him.

In the days following your garden excursion, Enzo keeps his word- backing off a bit from his pursuit for your affection. He was still around of course as you shared a friend group, but the excessive love poems had stopped and the next bouquet of tulips that appeared in your dorm was addressed to both you and Daph which she was thrilled about.

Over the next few weeks, it did not go unnoticed by you that your eyes had seemingly become magnetized to a certain brunette boy, quietly observing. He'd caught you watching a few times, tossing you one of his famous, dazzling smiles.

Slowly, you find yourself seeking the boy out on purpose as you found that you rather liked the way he had been able to make you laugh so easily that day in the garden. You had forgotten how much fun he was to be around. How warm and happy you felt when he looked at you. And he was rather sweet when he wanted to be. You had known the boy for years at this point. You thought you could read him like a book, but he still managed to surprise you.

In fact, you were as surprised as anyone to find yourself seated next to the boy in your astronomy class. It was a relatively new seating arrangement, but you found that he made the late night class significantly more tolerable. You didn't know what time it was now, but it was late, and you were tired.

"If you fall asleep, I'm not going to catch you if you fall out of the tower," Enz whispers in your ear as you fight to keep your eyes open and trained on the night sky.

"Yes you would, you’re too obsessed with me to let me fall," you respond, still able to feel his breath on the back of your neck.

You couldn't remember when the two of you got so comfortable with one another, but it had happened so quickly you almost didn't realize. Almost.

He hums in response, backing away and scribbling down the name of some constellation before gazing out at the sky once more.

“Whose idea even was it to let sleep deprived teenagers take a class at midnight in a tower without railings. They’re practically asking for a student to fall,” you grumble, slumping against Enz dramatically.

He lets out a soft snort of laughter this time as he continues to chart different constellations onto his parchment. You had finished the night's assignment ages ago and now had nothing to do but watch him quietly, resting your chin on his shoulder as he draws perfect little stars.

“What’s that?” You ask, reaching over the boys shoulder to pull something out of the notebook.

The soft pink color had caught your eye, peeking out of the pages, and a gentle tug reveals the petals of a tulip, followed by a green step. The flower isn’t as vibrant as it should be, and is flattened like a book page.

Enzo pauses, looking at the flower carefully.

“That’s from the first time we met.” He says, trying hard to sound casual. He continues to stare down at his notebook, but the stiffness in his arm makes it clear that he isn’t focused on stars anymore.

You scrunch your eyebrows in confusion.

“Pansy doesn’t have tulips at the estate,” you reply, suddenly feeling more awake.

“No. But the greenhouse here does.”

Feeling even more confused, you tilt your head, waiting for Enzo to go on.

He carefully plucks the flower out of your hand, tucking it safely back into his notebook.

“The first time we met was in second year. We were learning the Herbivicus charm and I just couldn’t get it. But you got it so quick. You helped me, and that’s the flower we grew.”

You don’t know what to say. You don’t even remember that day. It seemed so insignificant to you at the time.

“And you kept it?” You ask, your confusion amplified by your sleepy haze.

“I liked you,” is all you get in response.

You’re quiet after that, watching silently as Enzo scratches away at his parchment. His eyes flickering over to you nervously every so often. It was strange seeing him without his usual confident smirk.

As class eventually wraps up, the two of you slowly make your way down the winding staircase, quickly falling behind the other students who were racing off to get some much needed rest.

Your feet reach the final step with a muffled thud as you come to a hesitant stop. Normally this is where you and Enzo would split off for the night, but looking up at the boy, rays of moonlight glowing across his face, you can’t find it in yourself to move away.

With a sudden wave a confidence, impulsiveness, and probably a fair bit of deliriousness, you find yourself grabbing onto the collar of Enzo’s shirt, pulling down, and crashing his lips onto yours.

It takes a moment for realization to fully hit Enz, but you quickly find yourself back against the cold stone wall, Enzo’s lips still firmly on yours, deepening the kiss as he boxes you in. He moves against you with sheer lust, years of pining pouring out.

You vaguely feel his hand moving up your thigh, gripping tightly at your waist before moving up to cup your face, thumb brushing against your cheek softly tilting your head up further as his lips move against yours.

It’s hot, and dizzying, and just, right. You’re not quite sure how to describe it.

When Enz finally pulls away, you can feel his breath against your lips from his soft pants as he looms over you.

“I think a like you too,” you murmur, lips just barely brushing his with every word.

That’s apparently all Enzo needed to hear before he’s practically carrying you back to his dorm.

It’s a blurry haze as you find yourself pulling him onto the bed, lips connecting once more as your bodies move methodically against each other. It’s as if you’d simply turned off your brain, any worries or doubts scattering to the winds as Enzo’s warmth overtakes you.

The next morning a wave of icey cold fear washes over you as you realize what you’d done. What had you been thinking? All these years of avoiding him and for what? Rolling over in the tangle of sheets, Enz is still fast asleep, bathed in streams of sunlight peaking through the curtains. He really was gorgeous.

“Mornin love,” his voice shaking you from your thoughts.

“Hi,” you reply cautiously, turning to meet the boy’s eyes.

His eyes shine as he grins contentedly at you, pulling you closer so your noses are practically touching.

“I can tell what you’re thinking. Stop it. You’re stuck with me now,” he says, pressing a quick peck onto your lips.

Your face grows warm as he continues to pepper your face with kisses.

“I don’t ever want to leave this moment,” you sigh.

You can feel Enzo’s smile.

“I’m that good am I?” He asks cockily.

You snort. “Don’t want to have to admit to Daph that I can actually tolerate you for extended periods of time.”

“Aw, c’mon now love, don’t be like that,” Enz chuckles, tapping your nose lightly with his finger.

You can’t help but let out a small laugh as you feign annoyance, batting his hand away.

“I’m going back to sleep. I don’t want to deal with you anymore,” you tease, rolling over.

Enz just laughs, snaking his arm around you and pulling you close, pressing a kiss on the back of your head.

“Now that I have you, I’m not letting you go,” he murmurs as you allow your eyes to flutter shut once more.

“Wouldn’t want to be with anyone else.”

Did I start writing this way back in April? Yes. Do I remember what the original plot was going to be? No. Is this edited? Also no.

Anyway, Live Laugh Love Lorenzo Berkshire🤪

[writersblockedx]

Hi there!

I really love your fanfics!

I couldn’t use the link to submit a request so I’m sending it here !

What about a fanfic where Ried has a family but he’s kept it secret for so many years so they wouldn’t get hurt. He has a small daughter and a young son. One day at the office, he gets pictures of someone taking pictures of them with a threat so he has to come clean to the team and bring his family to the office to keep them safe and they are all shocked

Please no pressure for this fic! Love your work!!!

Securing Secrets / S.R.

Pairing - Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader Summary - Spencer has always attempted to keep his family safe. So much so, they had become a secret. But when their lives are threatened, he has no choice but to come clean and ask for the help of his team. Warnings - Stalking, mentions of violence and death Words - 3.8K 

A/n - I hope this is okay for you - I wrote a little more than I intended to but I still hope you enjoy!

Masterlist

It was no wonder why Spencer had kept his family to himself. When he had faced killers like Cat Adams and Tobias Hankle, he knew what humans were capable of - if he dared to even compare them to anything humane. So, he made the decision when he met Y/n to forever keep her a secret from his work. And when they started growing a little family with two children, he kept them a secret too.

Sometimes it killed him inside. As much as he loved his team, risking the lives of his family just wasn't enough for him. He had lost his first love, had his mother held captive, he wasn't about to risk his family too. He had learnt from his past - at least he thought he had done.

"Morgan, hey, no, you can't-" Y/n called towards their seven year old daughter whose sticky fingers had grasped a hold of a copy of fifty shades of grade. When she thought taking the kids on a day trip out to the book store would be easy, she hadn't imagined her seven year old reading smut. "You can't read that." She scolded before placing the book back on its shelf.

The bushy-haired girl gazed up at her mother, "Why not?" She huffed.

Her arm wrapped around Jay, their more reserved, four (and a half) year old. "Because it's an adult book. When you're old enough, you can read it."

"I am old enough, Daddy said I've got an advanced reading age!" Of course, she did - she was the daughter of the guy who could read 20,000 words a minute. Not to mention, she was going through the 'I'm old enough to do what I want' phase.

"Ask me again when you're 18, how about that?" She suggested before the child wrapped at her torso and stared up at her.

"Will Dada be home?" He asked.

Jay always liked coming home from their day trips to find Spencer already there, his head deep in another book or a case file. But days like that were rare - as much as both the parents hated such. "Erm-" Before she could give her son an answer, her phone started to ring. "That should be him." She gave the boy a smile before pulling out her mobile and seeing Spencer's contact staring back at her.

The man, from the moment they made it official, had always made sure to call her at the end of his working day. Whether he was in a hotel somewhere in the country, on the jet or if he was simply in his car, travelling home. "Hey, Spence, you should hear what Morgan wants to read-"

She could barely finish her breath, "Where are you?" He asked, his tone ever so stern that it was already making her nervous.

"The bookstore down town." She answered, already glancing around like she suddenly felt as if she was being watched. "Why?"

The girl could hear his uneven breaths on the other side of the phone, "I- Shit-" That's when Y/n knew something was wrong - her husband never swore...ever. "Can you come to the office? With the kids, we need you here."

"The office? Spencer, what are you talking about? I thought they didn't know."

"Yeah, well something's changed." Her heart started beating so fast that she wondered if Jay would be able to feel it. "Please, I need to know you're all safe."

She nodded and gazed over at her two children whom were waiting to hear about what Daddy had told her. "We'll be right over," She assured.

"And Y/n," He spoke, "In your car, in the glove compartment, there's a pistol, please, take it." What the hell had happened? Spencer could barely use a gun himself, never mind her. "I put it in there just in case and, just keep it on you until you get here."

"Okay, yeah." She didn't like the idea but, if someone was threatening them, if someone was putting her and her children at risk, she would do whatever was needed.

"I'll see you soon." Spencer huffed, "I love you."

"I love you too."

And with that, she ended the call. Only a single exhale dared to leave her lips before she stood. "Is Dada home?" Jay nagged.

She scooped the boy up into her arms, "No, but we're gonna visit him at work, okay?" Jay didn't seem happy about the idea but she'd rather the boy be safe than happy. "Come on," With her free hand, she grasped Morgan's finger tips tightly. "We need to go."

She rushed her and the kids into her parked car outside, making sure to look over her shoulder. Once she was seated in the driver's seat with the engine running, her gaze glanced to the glove compartment. Y/n needed to. Her hand leaned over, pushing it open and finding the gun stuffed behind a thick car manual. She grasped it for a moment before placing it on the passangers seat for easy access.

From there, she didn't take her foot off the gas. She was usually an ulta-safe driver. But, tonight, everything was different.

When they arrived to the BAU, Y/n pressed the button for the sixth floor and waited for the doors to glide open. With two children at either side of her, she wandered into the office. Her eyes instantly searched for Spencer. Instead, a blonde, colourful girl came running over to them. Well, walking as fast as she could in her thick heels. Garcia, Y/n assumed.

"Oh, you must be the lovely Mrs Reid," She sighed in relief when she came face to face with Y/n.

She glanced her up and down; there was no way this was JJ or Emily. "Penelope, right?"

The girl almost seemed surprised, "You- you know me?"

Y/n's face softened ever so slightly, "Of course."

"Y/n!" Her head turned from Garcia to see Spencer jogging over to her. Once he was close enough, he instantly engulfed the girl into a tight hug. "You okay?" He asked before pulling away and hugging his two children.

She nodded, "Yeah, we're okay, don't worry." When Spencer stood from hugging his kids, he gazed back over at his wife. She had grasped her hand from the back hem of her jeans, pulling out the pistol he had made sure she take. "Here, I've no idea what I'm doing with it anyway." Spencer took the weapon from her before her expression turned stern, "Now, what the hell is going on?"

Spencer's eyes instantly glanced down at their children; they didn't need to hear this. "Morgan, Jay," He spoke ever so softly to them as he leaned down, "Why don't you go with Garcia, she'll show you all her funky toys?" He glanced back at Penelope who was gleaming with a smile as she offer a hand for each child.

"Oh, yeah! I've got unicorns, fairies, fluffy pens, everything." She gleamed, trying to hide her fear for the true reason Spencer's family had been bought into the BAU. Once the kids took the woman's hand she gave one last look at the couple, "Let me know if you need anything."

The boy nodded before Garcia began leading the children towards her cave, "Someone- someone found you." He started to explain as he interlocked his hand with her, guiding the two over towards the conference room where the rest of the team were waiting. "I don't know how and I don't know who but- but around 30 minutes ago I had email to my work address. There's photos, almost a months worth."

Her brows narrowed at him, "Of what?"

"Of you."

Oh god. Despite all the effort the two had put in to keep their family personal, someone had still connected her and the kids to Spencer. And for whatever reason, they had become a target.

Spencer opened the door to the conference room, where the team were waiting. Most of them sat at the round table where they had several files and papers scattered in front of them. But at the entrance of Reid and his secret wife, they each turned. She offered them a weak smile before the man, whom she assumed was Hotch, spoke up, "Sadly we don't have much time for small talk, but we all want to help." He stood over towards Y/n and offered her his hand, "Aaron Hotchner."

She shook his hand, "Hotch, I should have known." And then she glanced around the table at the rest of the agents. Without hesitation, she named them all, "JJ, Emily, Rossi and Morgan." She smiled at each of them. "Spencer talks about you all a lot."

The boy next to her grinned every so slightly. "I wish we could have met differently." Morgan offered as he stood up, "Take a seat, we'll run you through what we know."

Y/n followed Spencer as the two sat at the round table and the tv screen in front of them started filling with papazzi-style photographs of the woman. Her grocery shopping, her at a bar with some friends, and even one from this morning: hand in hand with Jay as she led the two children into the bookstore they adored.

"You said this has been going on for a month?" How could that have been the case and she had no idea?

Hotch nodded, "We believe so yes."

"Who would want to do this?" She questioned; she wasn't exactly an interesting person. She had a normal life - as the pictures had proven.

Spencer took her hand, "We erm, we're not sure yet. We have one theory."

The tv screen clicked onto another slide. A woman's face filled the screen. A woman whom Y/n had heard far too much about: Cat Adams. "We know Adams has an obsession with Reid, and well, we know she likes to target his personal life," JJ informed as Y/n recalled the days in which Diana had been held captive. "If she somehow found out about you, it would have set her off."

"But she's in prison." Y/n pointed out.

Emily shrugged, "She was in prison when she found Reid's mother. She's- She's a master manipulator and ever since Reid first encountered her, he was the first man to challenge her." All of which Y/n already knew.

"If you really think it's her then-" Her eyes gazed over at Spencer, filled with worry, "You're going to have to talk to her aren't you?" It wasn't a question; she knew it.

Spencer sucked in a breath before he dared to nod.

It didn't take them long. Before Y/n realised it, she was watching out the window of the conference room as two prison guards held Cat by either one of her arms. She was smiling- no, she was smirking. She knew exactly what she was doing. Her eyes gazed around the office until she was forced into an interrogation room.

All they needed to know was who her contact was. Once they had a name, they could find them and put whoever that was in prison too.

Y/n stood next to Spencer as they stared at the woman through the double-sided mirror. "If she's done all this to get to you, why are we letting her talk to you?" The girl questioned.

"She always slips up in front of Reid." Emily answered - despite how much they all hated the idea.

Rossi was the first to pose another opinion, "What if we give her something she isn't expecting?" He suggested, "What if we don't give her Reid?" Surely, if the team sent in someone Cat Adams didn't expect, then maybe she would slip up just as easily - if not more so.

The older man shared a glance with Emily. A glance of which allowed them to silently suggest something; the two had an idea that wasn't yet shared with the rest of the group. It wasn't until Emily's eyes landed on Y/n that they started to understand what the two were thinking, "What if- What if we sent Y/n in?"

The girl scoffed; that must have been a joke. "You're kidding, right?" She laughed. "I mean, I'm not- I'm an agent. I'm a normal person. I can't talk to a criminal!"

"That's exactly what we need," Spencer spoke aloud without even realising, "She's expecting me, she's expecting FBI, send in someone different and it might just make her slip." Spencer turned to face Y/n, one hand gently cupping her cheek as he spoke, "Especially if we send in the very girl she's jealous of."

Y/n's head shook; she couldn't. She was with Spencer, but she wasn't a part of his world, "I can't."

"You can," His voice soothed, "You can do anything."

"We'll be right here," Emily assured.

Y/n glanced back at the window, at the criminal who had targetted her. If this was their best shot, then she might have to take it. Her family was at risk for goodness sake. Once they figured out who  her partner on the otherside, all this would be over. The girl sighed, "Fine," She finally agreed. "But if anything happens, if she does anything, please-"

Spencer was already nodding, "We'll get you out of there, don't worry." He promised.

His hands fell from her skin before she glanced between the other two agents, "How do I do  this then?" She asked.

"Go in there, vague questions, act better than she is, because you are," Emily mentored, "We need to figure out how she's orchestrated this."

With those instructions, the girl nodded and Rossi handed her the file. The one of which was filled with the stalker photos of herself and the kids, "See what happens if you show her these too, it might tell us a lot." He explained.

And with that, with that grace of a nod, a peck to Spencer's lips, the girl headed into the interrogation room.

Cat Adams was nonchalant. She had learnt a lot. She had learnt the best way to not let BAU agents know what she was thinking. But sending Y/n in certainly hadn't been what she expected.

The girl swallowed as she took the seat across from Cat with a very weak smile. She gazed up at the woman who had suddenly grown a sickly smile which made Y/n become nervous. She wanted to leave already, "Hi," Cat shrugged her shoulders and gazed softly at Y/n.

But the other girl was staring back with narrowed eyes, "Do you know who I am?" She questioned.

Cat leaned back and shrugged, letting out nothing but a hum. So Y/n leaned forward and placed one of the photos in front of the girl. It was just of her - no Jay or Morgan present. Just her, exiting her car as she headed to the store, "So you don't recognise this?".

She barely glanced at it, "Should I?"

"You know Doctor Reid though, don't you?"

Instantly, her demeanour shifted. But she desperately tried to hide it, "Bumped into him...sure." She shrugged it off.

Y/n thought for a moment before raising her left hand, wiggling her ring finger to show off her wedding ring to the girl, "Yeah well, I know him quite well." She said, watching as Cat's smile completely dissipated, "And he, well, he sort of mentioned you. I mean I sort of remember your name...remind me again? Carol? Cath-?"

"Cat." She cut in.

The girl faked a shock of realisation; this was exactly what Emily had asked: make herself look better than Cat.  "And you don't know me?" She glanced back to her wedding ring, "Wife." She spoke.

The girl huffed and smiled to herself like something was funny, "Yeah, good luck with that."

Y/n glared back at her, tilting her head. The words from Emily echoed through her mind. "And what do you mean by that?"

Cat doesn't want to answer that. More specifically, she doesn't want to answer Y/n. "He- he's complicated, I'm sure you're aware right? Girlfriend died, no dad around, mum got kidnapped, and well, god knows everything that's happened to his team." She almost finds it funny.

Y/n leaned her elbows against the metal table, "And you were the very person who took his mother. I know you, Cat. I know all you want is to win against my husband but tough luck, it's not going to happen." The girl tried to keep up her straight face but when facing Cat Adams, it seemed to be proving difficult.

She shrugged, "Maybe not before, but now I have you." Her eyes narrowed and suddenly Y/n grew nervous; she was behind this. All of it. "And of course, you two little munchkins." Her shoulders squeezed and she smiled sickly.

"So you do know them."

"I know everything."

A shiver flew down her spine. She was behind all of this. And Y/n couldn't help but ask: "And what do you want?" Y/n had some idea. This had nothing to do with her or the kids; it was all about getting back at Spencer.

She giggled, "Well there would be no fun in telling you, would there?"

"You can't do this myself yourself," Y/n stated. Once they had the name of whoever it was on the outside, they could get over this: they could move on.

The girl on the other side of the metal table simply shrugged, "Who says I am?" And like that, it was confirmed. Not only the fact that she was behind this, but that she had partner and the outsider. And that was all they needed  - for now, anyway.

With narrowed eyes, Y/n glared at the girl and started to stand from the chair. She didn't need anything else. She took a breath before turning her back, "You might want to look over your shoulder." Cat taunted.

Something of which, the girl had ignored as she continued out of the interrogation room. An exhale fell from her lips as she found herself back in the company of people she trusted. Of people she knew...with Spencer.

His hand instantly reached at her waist, pulling her close. The feeling of her skin at his releasing a relief she couldn't stop. He was safe. He was loving. He was her husband, "Are you okay?" He questioned before anyone else had the chance to speak.

The girl nodded but gave no words. What was she meant to say after a face to face with Cat Adams? "She's definitely behind this," Emily confirmed.

"She's working with someone too," Y/n added as she eased into the familiar feeling of Spencer.

"So now we know that," Y/n started as she gazed between the three agents, "What do we do now?"

"Now," Answered Rossi, "We get Garcia."

And so the group of them wandered over from the interrogation room and headed to what they called Garcia's 'cave'. And safe tp say was. No windows, just a lot of screens and several different sparkly things. Plush teddies, framed stock photos of puppies and a slingy which Jay was playing with.

"Hi," Y/n gleamed as she greeted her kids once more, "You two been good for Garcia?"

The woman stood from her chair, "They're angels," She smiled.

"We need your help now," Spencer said as they quickly entered back into the situation at hand. They didn't have time for small talk.

"Of course, anything."

And so she sat back at her chair as Spencer came to her side, beginning to list the profile they had started, "Look for names that pop up in the guest book of the hotel Montana, it's the building next to our house." Spencer informed and Garcia became manically typing. "They'll have been a guest for at least a month, cross check that with anyone from Cat's old life, work, college, high school, anything-"

"Nothing."

"What if- I mean surely whoever this person is would be using an alias," Y/n suggested.

A theory of which Spencer agreed with, "Bring up a photo of the guests who have stayed for a month."

Garcia followed: there were three. As they scrolled through high school pictures and then college- "There!"

A photo matched. A woman, same age as Cat, sickly sweet smile, fire red hair and geeky glasses. And then the name: Amy Duke. They had a name. They had everything Garcia could find. "That's got to be her," Emily confirmed.

"Garcia, send us everything." And like that, everything was go-go-go.

Y/n barely had a chance to speak before her hand was reaching out to stop Spencer from running off, "Hey," She called.

His hands cupped at her cheeks, "It'll be alright, I promise." He gave a smile which could ease her nervous a million times over. "Go home, I'll be there soon."

And like that, he was gone.

Y/n said her goodbyes to Garcia before taking her kids hand in hand and heading for the exit. She tried to not think about what Spencer was doing, about the woman he was facing. It was all too overwhelming. Instead, she focused on feeding her kids and getting them dressed for bed. It was horrible when they asked about where Daddy was - if he was coming home. All she could tell them was that it was going to be fine...even if she wasn't so sure of such herself.

She perched at the end of Morgan's bed, her door open, giving the woman a view of a sleeping Jay in the room across the hall. She didn't dare to leave her children when there was danger still looming over them. The girl watched as her daughter's chest rose and fell with her breaths. And after what felt like hours, the front door rustled open.

Y/n became alert, she flew up to her feet and wandered carefully out of Morgan's room. She lingered at the top of the stairs; what if it wasn't her husband? "Spence?" She called, worrisome.

He was already rushing up the stairs at the sound of her voice, "Hey, it's me don't worry." He met her at the top of the landing, engulfing his body around her. "It's over, I swear, she's been arrested, Cat is back in prison." Relief flooded her. "It's all over."

Her head gazed up at him, a slight grin brushing over her lips, "What a way to meet your second family, hey?" She giggled. And while the day had been horrid, there was some good out of it - she wasn't a secret anymore.

[abbyromanoff]

CHOKEHOLD

PAIRINGS: Emily Prentiss x bsf’s child!reader

WORD COUNT: 2704

WARNINGS: smut, anal play, kinda dark Emily, manipulation, poorly written smut tbh, innocence kink, possessiveness, fingering, multiple orgasms, Mommy (E), squirting, cnc, somnophillia, R is JJ’s kid, think that’s all :)

NO ONE IS PERMITTED TO STEAL, COPY, OR REBLOG MY WORK AS THEIR OWN!!

“Love you, Mom. Bye, guys!” Emily watched as you kissed your mom goodbye, the sweet gesture causing her to grin. You waved to the group, walking through the glass door and heading towards the elevator. She knew it was now or never, this was her chance to make her move.

“Alright, I think it’s about time I get home. Why don’t you guys get an early night?” She was usually the last to leave, which is what confused the team. JJ furrowed her brows, spinning in her chair to face the older woman.

“You never go home early, not even on Friday nights.” She noted before a smirk took over her face. “Unless, Emily has somewhere to be.” She teased, causing Garcia to coo as she took a seat next to the blonde. She rolled her eyes, eyeing the clock as she estimated the time of your arrival.

“I didn’t sleep much last night, I’m tired.”

“And why didn’t you sleep much, hm? Were you too busy, say, entertaining other parties?” She flipped the woman off before disappearing past the doors, cursing herself for staying so late before rushing to her car. She started the engine in no time, instantly pulling out of her spot as she followed the coordinates. Her mind never once left you, and she started to worry if she absentmindedly blew a light or took a wrong turn. But she didn’t care, all she wanted was to get home to you.

Her fist came pounding on the wooden door, her gaze falling on every crack and seam that could be used as easy entry, she’d have to warn you about those.

“Em? I, uh, what are you doing here?” You questioned, only to be silenced as she pushed you into your flat, shutting the door behind her while your back hit the cold wall.

“What the fuck, Em-” She cut you off quickly, placing her fingers atop your lips as your breaths became the only sound to fill the room.

“There’s someone after you, and I’m here to protect you.” You furrowed your brows together, kicking away her digit as she towered over you. Her gray hair framed her face, and every line only showed her experience.

“Wha- Why isn’t my mom here, then?” She bit her lip, causing you to repeat yourself. She knew she had to act fast before threatening your trust in her lie.

“They don’t know, okay? Look, you have to trust me-”

“No, I want to know what the fuck is going on.” You pushed, scoffing when she remained silent for far too long. She shoved your shoulders back, forcing you to remain still as she took a moment to admire your expressions in a time of such weakness.

“There’s someone from my past that- that the team doesn’t exactly know about, and when I parked here last week to give you back that sweater you forgot at your mom’s, I noticed his car and I saw him leave the moment he saw me. I- I can’t risk putting you in danger, and since I already have, I’m going to do everything in my power to protect you from it.” It wasn’t entirely false, there was a time in her life when she was haunted by her past, causing her arrival in Paris. But that was when you were so young, you wouldn’t remember a single thing, which she used to her advantage.

“You don’t need to believe me, but all I ask is that you let me stay here, and you let me protect you.” You bit back a snarl and sighed, brushing her off as you brought yourself to the couch.

“I don’t have a spare, you can take the bed.”

“No, this is your place, I’m not going to take that from you. I say we share but if that’s not what you want, then I’ll have the couch.” She debated, crossing her arms over her chest as she examined the building. She wanted it to seem like she was checking in fear of danger, but really she was trying to get a picture-perfect memorization over every inch. That way she could have a better view from beneath her blankets when her fingers were buried deep inside of her.

“Fine, we’ll share.” You mumbled, clicking through endless amounts of channels before losing hope and tossing the remote to the side.

“You don’t have to stand there like a brick wall, you know. We’ve known each other since I was little, you’re allowed to speak.” She took a breath before taking the spot next to you, adjusting her suit jacket before ruffling it off. Your eyes fell to the biceps threatening to break past the tight blouse, but looked away before she could spot you, little did you know she knew the entire time.

“So, you graduated correct?” You nodded, leaning on your hand as your elbow rested on the wooden frame of the sofa. “What was your major again? Psychology?”

“Yeah, I guess I just really wanted to follow down my Mom’s footsteps.” She mimicked your pose, letting the tightness in her muscles loosen with a sigh.

“Well, I think she’d be very proud of her little girl following her lead. In fact, JJ goes on and on about how lucky she is to have a child like you, and I agree, she is quite lucky.” She chuckled at your darkened cheeks, using her thumb to stroke the soft skin after brushing a hair out of the way. It felt right being with you like this, everything seemed to feel right with you. She didn’t know why, no brain she studied had ever given her a clear image as to what differed from hers. She just felt so protective over you, she didn’t want anyone else to get close to you. Knowing you were here, all alone, with no protection until she arrived, it scared her more than she could express.

“I don’t know about that,”

“I mean it! Anyone would be so happy to have someone like you in their life, not only are you such a hard worker, but you’re also the sweetest person I know. Just don’t tell your Mom I said that, she thinks she’s my favorite.” You laughed, slapping her chest lightly as you felt your chest warm. You instinctively shuffled closer, your feet digging under her legs to search for warmth while her hand rubbed your thigh softly to provide you heat.

“Now I feel bad for yelling at you by the door.” You admitted, bringing her to scoff playfully, showing that she wasn’t truly mad at you.

“Oh, don’t stress it, love, I would be pretty annoyed if someone came pounding at my door too.” You gave her a soft smile, letting the comforting silence embrace the both of you before you leaned your head onto her shoulder. She kissed the top of your head gently, getting a small whiff of your shampoo, making her hum in delight.

An hour later she found herself lying next to you, sighing as the comfort of the sheets embraced her. You were in the next room brushing your teeth, and she didn’t try to stop herself as she peeked under the short bottoms you wore.

“I’m keeping my gun nearby, I hope that’s alright with you.” You crawled next to her, tossing the covers over your frame as you shut off the small lamp. She did the same, frowning as your back turned to face her.

“Yeah, that’s okay.” She hesitated before wrapping her arms around your tired body, letting her face press into your neck with a soft smile. You stiffened but eventually relaxed in her hold. You let yourself fall into a slumber, a peaceful sensation falling over you as images flashed through your mind regularly.

Emily admired the softness in your small snores, she felt grateful to be let in, but she felt worried at how easily you let her pass by with a lie. Anyone could’ve made up something similar and got free entrance, she was just lucky you knew her well enough to trust her.

She knew there was no hope in holding back now, this is what she came to do, to make you hers. She didn’t care if you were her best friend's child, you were old enough to make your own decisions and she was going to lead you into making the right one.

“‘M sorry, baby girl, I promise I’ll make you enjoy it.” Her fingers trailed below your large shirt as they pinched your sore nipples, her breath coming out shallow as her eyes fluttered shut. She pressed her crotch into your backside, letting her false cock rut into you.

“You wouldn’t mind if I just,” She brought them lower, causing her palm to rub against your clit as she teased your tight hole. “Touch you right here, would ya’, baby?”

She wished you were as pure as she wanted you to be, she wanted to be your first but could easily tell that she wasn’t. Instead, she let herself picture it late at night when she was all alone. She’d draw her digits in-and-out of you while you clung onto her, begging her to let you cum for the first time. She hoped you thought about it too, but she doubted it. She could read anyone, but you were like a closed book someone forgot to pick up.

“Fuck, you’re so warm, I could stay like this forever.” She inhaled the residue of your perfume and lotion, they were fading but she basked in all of it. She could feel her wetness grow, biting her lip as she continued to grind into your backside. The strap teased her clit, bringing her great ounces of pleasure.

“You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting for this.” She kissed down your shoulder blade as her mouth parted, a loud moan escaping her. You shuffled in your sleep, your eyes fluttering open as you adjusted to the dark room with minimal light coming from the window. You gasped, your hand falling to meet her touch. Her fingers were plunged deep inside of you, thrusting in and out as you gushed around her.

“F…fuck! Em, g-get off,” She chuckled, using her free hand to rid you of your bottoms completely. A slap came to your ass, eliciting a groan from your end.

“If you really wanted me to stop, you would’ve left by now.” You looked down, noticing she was no longer keeping you hostage in her hold. You still didn’t move, gulping as you settled in. Truth was, you had a crush on the older woman since your teen years. It was normal in the beginning, that was until you moved out and your loneliness grew. With the loneliness came a deep arousal that was unable to be removed, the only way to cure it was desperate women at the bar that reminded you of the woman. Your fingers were never enough, but you knew hers would be more than needed.

“Please, Emily-“ You chewed your lower lip, regretting the words the moment they left you. She smirked through a chuckle, sighing as she slowed her pace, bringing a high-pitched whine from past your lips.

“What was that? Please, what, Y/N?” When you came up unresponsive, she repeated her question, slowing even further until she was stilled completely.

“No- d-do that again, please,” Your hand lowered under your shirt as you palmed at your chest, shuddering as your sensitive nipples hardened to a peak.

“Mm, aren’t I already giving you what you want? I thought you wanted me to stop, so I stopped.” You couldn’t bear to face her, not in this moment, not in this level of heat.

“I…I want you to keep going, it feels really, really fucking good.” She hummed, and that’s when you felt the strap pressed into you. You were so consumed in the threshold of her long digits, you failed to notice what else she was planning.

“God, I want to fuck this ass so damn bad. You want that? You want Mommy to fuck your tight ass, yeah?” Her breath was ragged, her lips in a frenzy on your neck. You choked out a whimper, nodding your head slowly as you mumbled a small agreement.

“Would I be the first, hm? Is Mommy going to be the first to stretch out this little hole?” She lowered her pants, the fabric tight against her skin as they were a borrowed pair from you. You insisted she got out of the jeans she wore to work, even if they fit her body perfectly.

“You’re the first, Mommy.” That was all the permission she needed as she thrusted her hips forward, the tip teasing your hole in a rough, yet gentle manner. Her lips came close to your ear, her teeth sinking into the skin as you yelped in pain.

“Oh, don’t I love making you cry like a whiny little bitch.” She eased in the first few inches for what felt like years but only lasted a few minutes. It felt painful, as if there was a fire pooling inside of you. That was until it slowly started turning pleasant, causing a satisfying sensation to take over you. Her digits slid in and out of you slowly, her thumb taking to rub your clit in small circles, but it was enough to cause your brain to fog up. Your tongue peeked its way past your lips, your eyes rolling to the back of your head as your hips had a mind of your own, grinding against both penetrating objects.

“Such a good fucking girl, Mommy loves her little girl so much.” You cried out, gripping her arm tightly as you shoved your face into the pillow to muffle the noises she forced out of you.

“No, no, you’re going to let me hear every single moan and whimper and cry; I’m not letting you off that easily.” Her length was now more than halfway through the barrier you set. You followed her hand, feeling a small bulge touching the surface. You pushed yourself impossibly closer to her, letting out a weak whimper.

“Mommy, I,” Your legs shook as you clenched tightly around her, soaking her fingers in your sweet nectar.

“It’s okay, baby, make a mess all over me. That’s it, Mommy is so proud of you, sweetheart.” She drove her hips with a harsher pace, watching as your hole squeezed her until she could barely move. She didn’t stop her ministrations, making you twitch in excitement and pain.

“It’s t-too much, Mommy.” She rubbed your clit faster, her groan evident as your juices sprayed across the sheets. You wept loudly, not caring for the neighbor's complaints the next day, they already disliked you, there was no point in trying to amend that.

“No, it’s not. You can go back to sleep, dove, Mommy just wants to play for a little bit longer.” You both knew there was no possibility of you resting after this, you’d both be continuing until the sun rose.

“Your Mom is going to fucking kill me, but, God, I want to taste you so bad.” Your eyes widened as you remembered the plans you and your mother were having the next day. She was supposed to come over for lunch before the two of you would leave to go shopping as she insisted you needed decorations for your new apartment. Emily couldn’t be here when she arrived, she’d instantly get an understanding of who left the dark marks over your neck, anyone who saw you would easily be able to guess the activities that were to be had the night prior, but it didn’t help that it was her job to read people like books.

“I don’t care, just fuck me, Mommy…please?” The moment you spoke she knew she was going to fulfill whatever request you made, and your small, tired voice only proved that. She bit her tongue, leaning close as she placed her digits on your lower lip, dragging it down as you took the offering with a grateful sigh.

“Whatever my girl wants, they get.”

[tgcg]

ms paint. you know her. u used her age 8 to make loads of rainbow ovals all over the canvas and then scramble it with selection tool. now u will know her true powers with my handyrandy tips under the readmore. some will be pretty basic and others are very special.

this post has 8 cool trix to learn for you. enjoy and i may do another in the future if i remember/learn more stuff

some of it might be common knowledge. but its got some deep cuts. all tips have gifs to show process easily.

🙂 enjoy and i hope this encourages you to fuck around in mspaint more

soundtrack for this post (loop it while you learn for advanced learning experience)

TIP 1) the right click trick

left and right mouse click correspond to col1 and col2 respectively, which u can see in the top bar. this applies to all brushes and the fill tool like above. when using shapes col2 will be the fill colour (if you have solid fill selected). right clicking with shape maker will reverse the colours use on the shape.

TIP 2) right click eraser

this one is extremely helpful for lineart or add shading. the eraser always uses col2. so your eraser can technically be any colour. but here's where you get powers: right clicking with eraser will only erase onto col1, with col2.

TIP 3) transparent selection change a guy destination

the beloved transparent selection tool works based on what is selected as col2. so long as you have the correct colour as col2 you can make any image transparent and put it on top of anything else. and yes this works with photo bg as you can see.

TIP 4) the gradience

this one is a little more complex. you want to start off with any canvas size, and make as many diagonal coloured bands as you want. (protip: holding down shift makes a perfectly diagonal line with line tool)

then you need to resize the canvas to a width of 1px (make sure you resize by pixels, and do not maintain aspect ratio). then resize again back to its original width (or a different width i cant stop you). you will have your lovely gradience.

TIP 5) superimposter

so. you got a cool gradient and wanna put a guy on it. heres what i do:

i open a 2nd mspaint with same canvas size and draw whatever i want on there. i then pick a completely unrelated colour to my entire piece, and set that as the bg. you could use white, pink, geen, whatever you want as long as it doesnt appear somewhere else in ur drawing. copy the guy.

go back to your gradient tab. ensure that col2 is set as that bg colour you picked (lilac for me). have "transparent selection" enabled. paste your guy in. cue fanfare

TIP 6) advanced superimposter

the great thing about this method is u can put multiple gradients in multiple areas of the image. this is where it gets all japanese printmaking type of shit. ukiyo-esque

all you need to do is make another canvas with a new gradient, ensure col2 is set as the colour you want to replace, then paste your original piece onto the new gradient. now my guy has a soft fade. you can do this as much as you want. (you could even make a canvas with a texture or photo and paste your drawing onto there)

TIP 7) "sketch layer"

so as you now know, col2 is what is removed when you click "transparent selection". which means you can also remove any instance of a colour from ur drawing. which means you can have a unique colour for sketch layer and remove it from the drawing later. i admittedly dont do this but it is a great trick to have.

now combine this with lowering your dpi for smoother lines. may seem obvious but it helps. its like a free stabiliser whenever u want.

TIP 8) rainbow art

now this is where you can get dizzee rascal "bonkers". check out my small and shitty rainbow trick. you can select anything and hold down shift, then drag with left mouse, to turn that selection into its own brush. i even did it with a guy. and you can of course do this with a photo as well.

🙂well that it for now. hope you liked it thanks for reading now back to your regularly scheduled tgcg programming

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

Hiya! I’m so happy your requests are open omg your writing is impeccable. So I’ve been with this concept in my head for so long since I read this prompt somewhere: what is with your weird fascination with me?

And just immediately my head started creating a story about reader having the nickname ‘Death’ because she has the highest body count known, skilled as no other and, also, imposible to know on a deeper level because she is like a wall, not letting anyone in. Until John Price needs her for a mission and is, as the prompt says, fascinated by her (and feeling other things he doesn’t want to admit), and is able to break her a little when he gets hurt in a mission after months of working together.

Glory to the Reaper

PAIRING: John Price x F!Reader

SYNOPSIS: He was strange, you admitted to yourself. Always around even when you didn't want him to be. But perhaps the Brit just might surprise you.

WORDCOUNT: 5.8k

WARNINGS: Angst, blood, death, gore, canon typical violence, avoidance tactics, fluff, pining, hurt/comfort, etc.

A/N: I switched around the codename but it's still the same plot! Enjoy, Anon!

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

Your eyes slip over the file on the table, slowly caressing the parchment with easy and careful consideration of every word and comma—searching. Focusing. You hum under your breath and slide the page away to spy on the one behind it, the room quiet and the air cold. Outside the window the entire compound is asleep, only the light of the street lamps illuminating the land; inside this office, your feet barely shuffle over the tuft of the rug.

Clicking your tongue, you go to the next document in the pile. 

The still-warm body flinches and jerks below you, but you barely notice—he hadn’t put up much of a fight; wasn’t memorable. Sighing and itching over the mask along the bottom of your face, you snatch the last six papers from the desk and fold them four times, stuffing them into your vest pocket. 

Stalking with sure steps, you press into the radio on your gear as you step over the body and head to the door. Bloody bootprints follow behind you like a crimson shadow of surefire death.

“Actual, intel secured. Heading to Evac now.” Laswell was listening intently on the other end, your Op of the highest priority. 

You wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t, surely. The small click from the other end greets you as you shove open the office’s door and saunter down the hallway paved with glints of marble and pools of viscera like a Roman horror story. Eyes numbly slide past the scores of bodies; necks slit and stomachs burst from bullets fired through silencers. 

“Good job, Tomb,” Laswell utters, voice fast and serious as always. “What’s the clean-up status?”

Your lips flinch upward, “I suggest fire and a prayer, Actual. But no one knows I’m here. Main house is neutralized.” 

A small pause later and a huff of dull amusement. 

“Copy, Tomb. Your ride is waiting—best not to miss it, we need you back sooner than later.” The structure of your lungs rearranges in a small chuckle that echoes off the ceiling; molten silver from the moon slips over your darkened form. The patch upon your right shoulder is illuminated in steady intervals, the familiar image of a mausoleum and a guarding Sphinx. 

Alone, that patch is, with no other dark affiliations beyond that demonic cause. Many see it right before they meet their end, but the insignia was entirely left to ruin—no one sees it and lives besides other soldiers.

“Copy.” Your voice is easy and bland as the curtains from the single open window shake in the breeze. “Tell the boys I’m on my way.” You pass the window and slap a gloved hand to it, hearing the squeak of the frame as it hits back down before you turn the corner, slinking away to reform into a figure that evokes grim glances and sliced sentences. 

—

You stare into blue eyes with a sheen of disinterest coating your own, hands stuffed into your pockets and gear heavy on your chest. From your shoulder, the strap of your rifle sits as you speak, tilting your head, “Captain Jonathan Price of Task Force 141.” 

The man was tall, you admit, fit and formed to harsh military life. Undoublity he’d been in the service for decades. You’d seen his face before—the brunette beard and the strong jaw; small eyes with wrinkles, it’s how you had ID’d him. Plus the bucket hat. Laswell had told you he’d been inquiring about your file and you’d done your own digging off the books. 

John grunts a greeting before nodding.

“Pleasure. Tomb, was it?” On the tarmac, you glance around with stiff shoulders as the blades of the helicopter slow down behind you. Morning was just on the horizon, and you hadn’t gotten a wink of sleep on the flight back.

Lips thin, before your vision slides back into place. John’s hands are crossed casually, but his blue holds glints of intrigue. You don’t like that. “...The one and only. Excuse me.” 

Walking past, you move like a crane, legs taking long, steady, strides. A hand comes up to scratch at your cheek through your face covering. Laswell was expecting you immediately. 

And those feet at your side were not supposed to be there. Your eyes shimmer lowly at the shadow of John as he follows.

“Should tell you that Laswell’s in building two, then.” Pace halting, the Captain continues off on his own as your sharp gaze burns into his neck. He spares a glance over his expansive shoulder before adjusting his course to the East. “Told me to bring you to her. We need to have a little chat, yeah?”

You stay silent, watching John travel to the larger building where Laswell was apparently now waiting for you. After a still minute where you listen to the birds waking up and the scent of dew is in your hidden nostrils, you sigh deeply and roll your shoulders before beginning to walk behind. 

“Hm,” Garbled grunts are only heard by you as you stay well enough back from the man. Cautious as you stare at his head. 

He holds the door open for you when you finally make it, and you stand blankly from the opening as John’s calloused hand clenches over the door. When you don’t enter, the Captain shakes his head and releases a deep chuckle. 

“Alright, then,” he mutters, shuffling through the door first. You follow the strain of his back until you look away and reach for the barrier, pushing it back from you. Making your way inside, you sigh and wonder what you’re getting into. 

“Laswell said you don’t like strangers,” eyes peek back at you as the buzzing from the overhead lights echoes in your ears. Your throat releases a hum; shoulders showing a picture of wound ease. “Can’t say she’s wrong, now can you?”

Watching another soldier pass the two of you, you tilt your head to make sure the stranger’s footsteps turn the corner before you answer John’s question with a raised brow to mirror his own. 

“Did she also tell you that I don’t plan on joining One-Four-One, Captain?” His bearded smirk catches you slightly off-guard, perplexed by not even the hint of shock in his gaze. He’d done his research.

John grunts as his eyelids narrow, amused. Your muscles tense.

“Affirmative.” The meeting room door is opened and this time he allows you to ease your paranoia by slinking in first. 

In the room sits an occupied Laswell, a long table, a projector, and black-out windows. Confused but used to last-minute changes, you simply enter silently and pick a chair with your back to the wall and a good view of the room. 

“Laswell,” you utter in greeting as the woman hums a hello, shifting through numerous files. In your breast pocket, you pull out the files you’d stolen and toss them onto the wood. John stands near the entrance with crossed arms, hips shifting every so often as his feet re-situate themselves. 

He blinks down at the papers and then back to you with a careful glance at Kate.

Your Station Chief chuckles when she looks at you, tilting her head before she snatches the prize. 

“Good work as always, Tomb.” 

“Why is he here?” You get to the point, one hand going up to brush over your hair as the other sits limply on the seat’s arm. Your gear sits heavy on you, but that brutal tic of curiosity blooms. 

John’s lips twitch before he answers, “An offer. Knew I wouldn’t be able to meet if Laswell wasn’t the mediator, eh? You’re bloody difficult to track down.”

“Offer?” Small talk never mattered to you, hadn’t since you’d signed up, and probably never would. You didn’t understand why people beat around the bush—just say what you need to say and get it over with. There was only so much time in a day. 

It seemed John Price carried part of that opinion as well. 

Blunt, you admit to your opinion of the man, and sure of his strengths.

“I need your skill set.” Kate looks back and forth between you two before she focuses on her work, multitasking. John continues, pointing a hand at you in demonstration from their hold on his chest. “Mission in three days. Turkey…” He watches you closely as if gauging your abilities. “You in or out?” 

You wait in a dim silence for a minute or two before you tilt your body to Laswell, eyes still stuck in stormy blue and pale wrinkles inlaid with dirt. 

“Kate?” 

“Totally off the books,” the woman says confidently, pen sliding over paper. “Two targets in Bursa. There’s a file in your office.” Raising a brow, John hides his cheeky smile behind a bored mask.

“Take your Lieutenant,” you glare, “Ghost, was it?”

Price shakes his head, hat flinching along with it. “On assignment. I’ll need an answer today, Tomb. Time’s ticking.”

Your jaw clenches in annoyance, “Capture or kill?” 

John shrugs nonchalantly, “Either. Is this a yes or a no?”

In this game of cat and mouse, you find yourself slipping. Your obligations as a soldier call to you to take the mission immediately, but for the simple fact that this Captain was unknown to you—and apparently, you weren’t unknown to him. 

John was checking all of the boxes of people you didn’t like to be around.

Your voice grits out, eyes burning in their glare, “...When?” 

His smirk makes you want to storm out.

“Tomorrow. 1300.” The air in the room is thick, tense like a thick layer of molasses was overtop everything. Under the table, your foot taps to the steady beat of your heart, your face tensed, and the layers of your facemask suddenly too formed to your neck and chin. 

Twitching your nose you dig your eyes into John, peeling down his expansive shoulders and chest to take in the layers of packs and other miscellaneous items. His thigh holders and the way they hug his legs. You end with one last dead-on look into his eyes, trying to pinpoint intentions and flay the lines of his brain. 

Most people glance away, but John returns the look with a casual tilt of his head and a raised brow. Not at all off-put. 

Your hand steadily clenches over the chair. 

All you give him is a firm nod—nothing more than a mere jerk of your chin. Kate sighs from where she’d been watching. 

“Perfect. John,” she points her pen at the Captain as you both stare off. John grunts before his eyes flicker to the side, leisurely roving back moments later. You blink and rub your forehead. “You have your answer. Now would the both of you get the fuck out of here?”

“Copy, Kate.” John sighs, and you huff; standing as you plan out the amount of time you have to clean up and sleep before you have to leave. With an easy brush of your shoulders, your form shimmies past the Captain with dull enthusiasm. 

You weren’t happy about this, but fine. You’ve been through worse. 

As you shuffle down the hallway to the armory, your ears quirk when the footsteps ring in the drums of your ears like a hiking beacon. Already you’d memorized the walking pattern. 

The thump-bump, bump-thump, of boots and the clink-clank of metal on metal. Shoving down a growl you hiss out into the air, not turning around. 

“Problem, Price?” A gruff humph bounces. 

“Negative, Tomb.” His shadow comes to conjoin with yours, large body standing side-by-side. Eyes flash to the side of your face, hidden from all by the cloth—like a bored cat, you continue to pave your way to silence; hoping whatever thought this man had in his head would disappear. “Just curious, see.” 

“Curious?” your brow raises, the make of your muscles showing your unease. “Can’t help you with that.” 

“No, probably not, eh?” John grunts and reiterates as strange emotion spikes in the lines of his face as he glances along you. “Tomorrow. 1300. Don’t be late.” With nothing more, he halts and pivots, peeling back to leave your side as his sudden absence leaves you devoid of heat. 

Confusion breeds in your chest, but your steady legs carry you on until your tension leaves. Under your breath you utter a question as you enter the armory, shuffling your rifle off of your chest. “What the hell was that about?”

—

Price and you stand inside the safehouse with fast hearts and narrowed eyes. Blood was dripping down your hands, the black gloves flooded with gore that sure as hell doesn’t belong to you. 

“Fuck,” John growls, guttural reverberations echoing off the walls. With stiff ribs, you go and lightly peel back the fabric of the nearest window to study the street below; looking for any suspicious figures. Frowning, you see nothing and let the curtain fall, eyes wafting to the Captain. 

“We either lost them or they have surveillance on the building. Best for you to not leave either way.” The mission had gone sideways—apparently one of the targets had an ID on John as a member of One-Four-One. One thing led to another and resulted in you sticking a knife into some man’s gut to get away when he’d been spotted. You blink at his agitated expression, the black beanie on his head ruffled as he runs a hand over it.

But you don’t say anything else. Peeling off your gloves, you listen to him as a rain of blood splatters the carpet. 

“This sets us back—since when does bloody fuckin’ Metin Baydar know who I am?” John’s hands are clenched, jaw so tight you wonder if his molars will crack under the pressure. A smirk twitches your lips at the thought. “Tomb,” you slowly tilt your eyes to him. The man sets his lips and crosses his arms, the brown casual wear in his chest bunching. “I’ll need you to be my eyes on this, yeah? If I leave this position I jeopardize your safety.”

“My safety?” you huff a laugh and push your gloves into your loose pants. “Captain, I don’t need you to worry about my safety.” 

He seems to pause for a moment, and with a shake of his head his blue eyes shutter closed. A deep, tight, breath is taken and those tiny lids are forced back as you lock gazes. You send a blank look his way and he nods firmly.

“Keep low.” Is all he grunts, feet standing apart and his stare intense. “Copy?” 

A swirl of amusement dances in your gut—you tap the earpiece in your shell with a stained streak of blood on your fingers. John stares, unreadable.

“I’ll leave when the streets cool. Just keep on the line so I can relay my intel, Price.” After a moment of silence, your eyes tighten with intrigue. “How do you wonder Baydar knew your face?” Standing by the window again, you peek out and keep John in view. His form shuffles, and he scoffs before walking beside you. Over your shoulder, he also views the buildings and businesses below. You still at the sensation of his breath on the back of your head, hand twitching over the curtain. It ruffles your hair for a moment before you snap out of it, eyes blinking rapidly. “Your Task Force isn’t exactly known,” you finish your sentence, voice strained. 

Clearing his throat, as if realizing how close he’d gotten with only the intention of gazing outside, the man’s form jerks back; taking a step or two away to give you distance. Your far-gone eyes blankly continue to look outside but your chest gains some tension to it. You don’t know why.

This Brit is strange. You frown, watching a cat traverse the concrete far below. Not that I really have much to go off of. 

“Haven’t a clue.” John sighs again, one hand going to itch at his chin. “Your guess is as good as mine. One thing I do know is that we have to fix this. Now.” 

“You should tell Laswell,” you mutter, turning around and walking past him to stand around your packs—all of which hold your gear. Your knife was set into a small sheath inside your shirt, leather wrapped around your waist as you stopped near the coffee table. You pull the lip of your clothes up and grasp at it before peeling the metal out with an inquisitive eye. 

If there was any breakage to the tip, you’d be furious. 

John watches from across the room, catching glances at your bare skin riddled with scars and burns; unmarred flesh foreign. He feels his breath hitch before you drop your shirt back down and bring the blade into the light. 

Holding it parallel, you gaze along the edge and tilt your head, eyelids half-closed. 

“Kate?” Price answers you, clearing his throat. “No, it’s better not to create any more shite. She’ll be good off not knowing, yeah?” The brunette’s brow raises in question.

You hum and don’t reply. 

The rest of the mission was spent with the two of you conversing over the open line of your comms as you scoured the streets for any sign of the target, feet carrying you over the city as the chill of the late afternoon set in. Presently, you didn’t know how to feel about your situation. Working with others was a strain on your focus—on the walls you’ve built up; John had obviously noticed that you didn’t exactly play well with others. It was plainly stated in your file, after all. 

“—attitude, or lack thereof, is a detriment to the structure of any team/unit/platoon that she is placed into under all circumstances. Recommended reserved operations to limit drawbacks.” 

Having a pleasant attitude wasn’t your job. 

Stalking around the corner, your ears twitch to John’s voice. “Sitrep, Tomb. What’s it looking like out there?” 

It was strange, then, that the man over the line was so eager to speak to you. Your sigh hits on deaf ears, and you respond as you carefully walk past civilians making their way home.

“Quiet. No sign.” The silence re-settles and you gradually loosen again. Like a cat, your ears twitch to hear the muttering from the commuters; eyes sliding with watery film across faces. 

Baydar owns a restaurant as a front for funding terrorists. Anyone exiting from this direction could be part of it—

“You said you’d never join One-Four-One,” John’s voice makes you shove down a flinch, ripped out of your focus. In your pockets, your hands close into fists, and a deeply annoyed mask fits itself over your expression. “Why’s that, then?” 

“What is this?” Your voice goes cold, “interrogation time?”

“With a record like yours, you’d get pick of any Task Force or SOF in country.” The Captain seems to ignore your hiss and jab as his deep voice continues; accent low. You hear the drag of a cigar and the puff of smoke. Internally, you’re thankful for the casual yet attentive acknowledgment of your skills—how the man doesn’t seem in the slightest worried about you. “Why is it that you’re always alone out ‘ere? Couldn’t wrap my head ‘round it, truthfully.” A tobacco-slick chuckle, “Bloody hell, people would kill to get you on a mission like I did, eh? No doubt.” 

For a long time, you don’t answer, leaning against the wall across from your target’s restaurant doing recon. Frown tight and face stiff. John’s voice fizzles. 

“Ah, fuckin’ forget it Love, just a man’s curiosity speaking for ‘im. I’ll leave you to focus.” Before the line can click, you open your lips—as if the things have a mind of their own.

“People are unpredictable.” The Captain’s breath is gently puffing over the line. He listens and you know he hangs on every word; it was a strange feeling to know that. From under you, your feet shuffle. “They do things that don’t make sense. I don’t like dealing with it.”

A grunt. “Well, can get behind that…” John had a smirk on his lips, you can hear it. “You’d lose your head if you met MacTavish.” 

Your focus waning, you blink, getting sucked into this strange interaction with an even stranger man. 

“Yeah?” You wonder, head tilting to the side. “One of yours?”

“Hm,” he affirms and the chill of the night caresses your skin. John chuckles. “Sergeant. Bloody good shot, but can get into trouble faster than his fucking gun can fire.” 

Your mouth quirks. “Sounds horrible.”

“Makes my job a living hell,” John admits and you shock yourself by listening. “But no one better to keep by my six…You’d ease up to him.” 

“I’m not joining, Price,” Your voice mutters out like how a dragonfly snaps its translucent wings on still air. “This is it.”

In the safehouse, John hums under his breath, staring out the window at the blinking lights of the city as you watch the restaurant with far-off thoughts. A smile twitches his lips. For some reason there was something about you he wanted to figure out—something to unravel. You were like Ghost sometimes, but more… fascinating. Darker.

And you knew how to get the job done better than anyone.

John wanted you on his Task Force, your expertise, and the only way to get that was to take you apart like a puzzle of razor blades. Study you. Learn you as the edges cut up his flesh. The Captain had no idea what picture you’d make when everything was in its proper place, but he’d be willing to try with the very tenacity that had gotten him this far. 

But there was something else there, too. Some kind of tightness in his chest when you looked at him; he'd gotten it when he’d seen you on the tarmac back not so long ago like some schoolboy. Those blank eyes of yours…why did he want them to light up? 

Why did he want to see your laugh? 

John wasn’t immature enough to not know his own feelings or attractions, but this was an entire section of its own. Blinking, the man grunts to himself and smirks. “Well, better make it last, then.” 

You feel your eyelids carefully pull in surprise. 

“I…” Your voice starts but dies off, swallowing saliva down as your mouth clacks shut with a connection of teeth. Closing your eyes, you steady your heart, which had suddenly created a concerning skip in its beats. 

John places the cigar back to his lips and takes a long drag, leaning out of the window to watch the smoke disappear into the twinkling lights. Lips peeling his beard hairs back.

—

As it turned out, the mission in Turkey wasn’t the only time you’d have to deal with John Price, and it certainly wasn’t the last time you’d see his face in front of yours. One mission turned into two—two into three and so on. You hadn’t exactly wanted it, but you found you couldn’t turn him down either. 

At whichever base you were stationed at, all of a sudden he’d just show up; standing on the tarmac with his arms crossed and that casual set to his shoulders. The first time you’d seen him after Turkey, you had half convinced yourself he was a mirage. And then he’d smirk at you and tilt his head and you’d have no control over your words. 

It was pathetic…disgusting…it was…it was…

You shake yourself back to the present when a bullet whizzes past your head, a sharp call from across the utter warzone you’d found yourself in the middle of.

“Tomb, what in the hell’s wrong with you?!” John’s voice is harsh, and you lock onto it. “Get your gun up!” 

You sigh, unperturbed. Peaking past the large crate you use as cover, your eyes glare at the enemy soldiers across the dock, fixing your finger’s position over your M4A1. The small unit you’d been dragged into by John was mostly dead—only four of you remaining from the ten.

It wasn’t supposed to go down like this. 

Jerking back, a splintering of wood explodes in front of you as the next fast piece of metal nearly takes your nose off. With a grit of your teeth, you flick your safety off and swivel your shoulders. 

Popping from the top of the crate, your sharp eyes lock onto the first visible body before you press your finger to the trigger with practiced ease as the word shrieks all around you. Recoil is eaten into the padded kevlar of the junction of your shoulder and arm. 

When you dart back, the body has yet to hit the ground. 

“There she is!” John calls, and you look forward with a steady stare as the brunette laughs from behind his own crate a few feet away. “Keep your head in the game, Tomb.”

You frown, normal facemask back over your chin hiding it. While you loathe to admit it, John had grown on you in these…what was it…? Months? Yes, that seemed about right.

Months of joint missions. You could hardly believe that he’d dragged you out like this.

“Tell the others to flank,” Your voice whisps over the line like smoke, “Left side—there’s a gap in the crates.”

John looks you in the eyes and blinks, eyelids twitching. With his beard covered in gunpowder, the man looks across the open space between the gunbattle to the left. Sure enough, right before he’s forced to snap back down to cover, the Captain spies a very well-hidden gap in the defenses.

He smiles viciously like a dog, and barks a laugh to you, nodding, “Good eye! Boys,” the two don’t pause their assault but call their questioning voices over the line. You don’t listen, occupied with giving off bursts of gunfire and trying to avoid the eyes of your fellow dead soldiers. Your lungs are compressed inside of your ribcage like prisoners. “Flank left. We’ll cover you!” 

“Sir!” Steadying your breath, you avoid John’s confused glances and scoff to yourself, resituating your clammy hands. 

When all’s said and done the four of you are the only ones left. Letting your gun sit on your chest you use the body as an armrest, allowing it to hang off the side from the trigger-guard. Your fingers twitch, and as John speaks to the two men, you stare silently at the gushing bodies of your fellows like phantoms spring from their chests.

John’s voice slows when he sees you apart from them, glancing at the soldiers at your feet before ordering the remaining men to get to the evac point. They try to argue everyone should be going together, and on all accounts, they’re completely right, but John won’t hear it. 

“Go—that’s an order.” Reluctantly, the two glance at each other and speed off. 

You jolt at a call of your name, head turning to face stormy blue as they gaze at you with concern. Stopping a few feet away, John stands still and folds his arms, face going rigid with concern as he glances you over for wounds.

His head slightly leans in, chin down.

“...You alright?” Hand flinching, you clear your throat. 

“Why wouldn’t I be?” You ask, fixing the position of your feet and forcing away the images of dead bodies and blank eyes. 

You’d seen scores of men dead before—friend and foe—but you had thought you’d never have to see more of your own fall. It had been a long time since you’d felt the distant lull of numb horror in the back of your brain; like some ocean wave that drowns you under every time it comes back. It always comes back. 

John narrows his eyes and frowns deeply, glancing around and hiding the slight way his right arm sags. 

“Tomb?” He says it so lowly that you really have to focus, ears straining. That gravel was back, and you found yourself latching onto it. “Eh, you just focus on me, yeah? I’m right ‘ere.” 

“I know,” you snap, eyes shuttering away only to find more vacant stares. You flinch back and look up into the sky; a sudden burn in your brain that you need to quell.

The man grows even more concerned with you, taking a step forward and clenching his jaw. He studies you, your shaking tension and the clench and loosening of your fists—attention always on you but roving to the dead men all around. Something clicks with a violent inhale.

John moves to you without a word and grasps you around the shoulders quickly. You gasp at that, immediate reaction to shove away, but only gape at the warmth that he brings you instead—the steady presence and chest to lean on. As the Brit drags you, you focus instead on calming your breathing. 

The Captain lightly shimmies down your facemask and you suck down tight air as you go limp into his side. 

“C’mon, Tomb. It’s alright. I’m here. I’m right here.” He’s muttering to you, disguising his pained grunts in favor of taking care of you. 

That strange affection for you had grown in your time together…not that he’d said anything. It was more proper of him to watch out from a distance, not sure of your own feelings or the probability of you gazing back at him with the same amount of concealed longing. Many a night he’d sat on his bed and wondered. Wondered how an animal so extraordinary and remarkable took the form of a woman with a black sphinx patch and sharp eyes. 

John had heard you laugh once through your expeditions together—sniping in Greenland. Once had been enough; if he never heard it again, he could still recall the pitch and frequency to the yawning of his soul. He didn’t need to hear it again. 

It was locked into the fabric that made up your skin and speech, and every time he stared at you he could find it in your eyes. 

The Captain puts you down near a crate around the corner, letting you lean into it as he turns and captures your neck from either side. You shake under him, blurry vision stuck to his dog tags as they wink against his chest. 

“Tomb,” John says again, and with a lick of your chapped lips, you carefully turn your head up. Blue eyes crease worriedly. The thumbs on the sides of your neck caress up and down your rapid pulse steadily; calluses creating stimuli. A small smile meets you. “There we are, atta girl. Focus.”

Tears dribble down your cheeks, and you flatten your lips, whispering out brokenly, “I said I don’t like teams.”

John’s heart breaks. 

“Oh, Sweetheart,” his hand captures the back of your head and you’re brought into a deep and firm embrace—gear pinching and prodding but neither of you care. 

When was the last time you’d been held like this? The feeling makes your mouth quiver, your face stuck into the junction of the Brit’s neck and shoulder.

“John…” You whimper out and his arms around you only tighten—his tense nose shoved into your scalp as his eyes closed tightly. 

“I’m so sorry,” he whispers, heart racing, “I’m so, so, sorry.” 

You don’t know long he holds you there, the air filled with blood and death but just so soundly resting atop his vest and limp to his gentle swaying. The tears dry at some point, they always have to. Sniffling, your burning face takes in the scent of beard oil and gunpowder and you find yourself calmed by it.

Calmed by John. 

The man holding you waits a moment more before he slightly leans back, staring down at you intently; nervously. You lick at the tears drying into the line of your mouth to taste the saltiness on your tongue as fingers grasp at your chin. 

Angled up, your face is on full display. 

John sighs and the drowned keratin of your lashes flutters, embarrassment flooding you. His eyes crease before his hands come up to take away your sorrows with a soft brush of his digits. The man clears his throat tinily, voice deep with emotion.

“Better?” Your eyes dip away from his, knowing you’d been staring. 

“I…” Glancing over his right shoulder absentmindedly, you only get a word off before you see a fountain of red. Blinking away the last of your tears, John’s finger on your cheek stops moving as you freeze—stiff to the touch. 

His panic spikes again. 

“What’s going on—”

“When did you get hit?” Your voice is hard and laced with something you can’t name. Shaving back from John you frantically grab at his arm. In an instant, the Captain is whirled around and shoved back into the crate; he grunts loudly, eyes snapping wide.

“Fuckin’ hell.” He grumbles, but flinches when you peel at the bloodied layers of his compression shirt. John smirks, letting your touch rove him as your nose scrunches. He represses a shiver at the bite of your nails, whispering out, “If you wanted to throw me ‘round, Love…all you had to do was ask.” 

You blink rapidly and turn your fast gaze to his eyes as you stutter, fingers covered in blood and holding apart the fabric of his outfit to show a bullet graze to his pale upper bicep. John’s cheeky smirk grows and against all the pain and the dark corners, you feel a bubbling in your gut. 

A small chuckle snakes out, like twinkling bells. 

“Shut up,” your smile leaves him breathless, smirk falling to a small open-mouthed screen of obvious admiration. A hum marks the back of his throat, eyebrows loosely curving upon his forehead. 

You look over and find him like this—his gaze trapping you like his arms had. Like music, it takes you into its melody. Staring, your smile, gradually too, leaks out. 

“What are you doing?” Your question is breathy. "What is your fascination with me?" John’s eyes stick with you, the shining, shimmering, blue. There are tempests held there and if this man was anything, he was a storm of intentions and promises. 

“Looking,” John answers lowly. "Just looking." 

You take down a breath, “At what, John?”

He chuckles at you, face close and pleasant, “Y’know, I haven’t quite figured that one out yet, Love.” 

Blindly you wonder how the world can still turn while you both stand here—was it, even? How can life go on when such things are uttered to light? When they’re buried deep into your marrow like the dirt on top of a grave? 

How can the Reaper knock at your doorways when love exists in such quantity…in the fractures of his eyes? Only when his lips brush yours do you understand. 

It’s all here, and then it’s gone. Nothing can truly be as it was in the past, and therein lies the small, glorious, deaths. Both a blessing and a curse.

Your lips press deeply into one another and the blood of old wounds dries. 

TAGS:

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Rigor Mortis (part 1)

College roommate!Miguel O'Hara x reader

(AO3 Mirror) (Wattpad) Series Masterlist, Main Masterlist,

Prologue, Part 2

summary: After the breakup, you move into a new place.

warnings: no warnings! cheeky bit of angst at the end

a/n: this is me admitting that realistically, miguel would be sick of our shit.

Thank you to my beta readers, @tianyhi and @urgonnaneedabiggership (they also write Miguel fics, I highly recommend! my favourite is this series), I couldn't have done it without you guys <3

Join my taglists here <3

wc: 4.2k

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

or in the cold, crisp morn:

"These are the keys," Your new landlord hands you the copies, clinking against each other as you transfer them to a dish by the door. Your first thought is that there seem to be too many for this modest apartment: of varying shapes and sizes, and at least half a dozen. He steps through a wide archway to the kitchen, eerily clean. It's not modern by any means,  the top half of a hulking brownstone some time away from college.

It’s been… a trying summer. Moving halfway across the country with your boyfriend had seemed like a great idea at the time. Younger you (barely 2 years ago) had been enamoured with the promises of city life: fast-paced, bustling, and never a dull day. Naivete and big ideas that you'd been too stupid, or maybe too desperate, to let go of. After being locked in a loop of the same 3 or 4 places, the same dozen faces - in a place as big as this, mind you - maybe your ex-boyfriend had freed you. Forced you from that halfway-home; as cold and empty as it had become; and back out into the world. 

The reality was less than ideal - apartment hopping across the city for the past 4 months or so. You’d seen it all: glorified shoeboxes, fancy duplexes, viewing sublet rooms that were at least a little illegal. A box within a box within a box; coat closets rented out for double your monthly take home; and you had just about given up.

So this place seemed like a godsend: a brownstone, tucked away. Its interior is dated, but gorgeous. It had character: quirks and rich history in the brick and mortar. A fireplace tucked into the corner, window alcoves, wood panelling. Yes, the wallpaper was slightly warped with damp  but it’s affordable - a reasonably priced gem that had made you jump when you saw the ad. With the overexposed and pixelated images, they didn’t do it justice.

You pad into the kitchen, running your hands on the smooth countertops. They’re bare and spotless - suspiciously so. Not many personal items, no fridge magnets, photos; nary a blanket on the sofa or half eaten plate of toast on the worktop. It’s so clean it feels staged, and it makes you squint. Isn’t there meant to be…

“I let Miguel know… he must’ve cleaned up the place-”

“Miguel?”

“The other tenant.” He pauses, boots clicking on the grain of the floorboard. “I don’t think he’ll be back until later tonight. Should give you some time to settle in.” 

Nodding, you give him a small smile, and he steps out of the apartment. Your apartment.

~~~

You fill the rest of day with unpacking, putting some life into the place. You’d visited not long ago, fantasising about how you’d decorate. Something about sharing an apartment with your boyfriend for the past 2 years had done something to you: flattening and squeezing into a space not built with you in mind. How Jamie didn't like things on the walls, or how he needed the space for his textbooks, so why don't you find somewhere else to put your little stories? If his desk took up half the front room, then that makes sense, he needs it for work. But God forbid you needed a quiet space to study; what if the guest bedroom has your shit everywhere when his friends come over? A million compromises that didn't seem much like compromises: you'd give an inch and he'd take a mile. And so, the space to spread your wings without knocking over a gaudy plaque or two was very much appreciated. 

You want to walk around the neighbourhood, map out the convenience stores, bodegas, community hotspots and hubs. Where's the best place to get a drink? The cheapest meal? Your usual haunts were a fair distance away, so maybe you'll make the trek and pick up waffles from Pam's, as a treat. Tired already, you slump on the sofa - a tattered old thing that can clearly take a beating. Looking around the place, something settles solidly at your chest. Contentment, maybe, a strange feeling considering the past few months. This will do, you think. This will do. 

Perhaps it's not a very feminist thought, but you're not thriving . Thriving felt presumptuous, and yet coping seemed too complete a word - its implication too tidy, too neat. A mess, before; better, now…? And it didn't quite span the width and depth of the past few months; how long it had taken for the numbness to make way to anger, hot and intense - its flame fueling many a long night. And yet, maybe coping was just the way to describe your foray into this new chapter: a new year, new apartment, and whatever that brings. You had forgotten what it felt like to be alone; not lonely, but with only your own self for company. Without the ache of another person, for the first time in a while. 

…except, you had a roommate. Which you had known when signing the lease, of course, but it's taken some time to sink in. What that means for you - a new person to tiptoe around and appease - you're not too sure yet. What is he like? He's out late, so maybe a chronic partygoer - sloppy drunk and vivacious, the life of the party. He might clatter into the apartment, chattering and bubbly. What do you know about him? From the apartment, as is, it doesn't tell you much. At first glance, it had looked too clean, but not unreasonably so if he had anticipated your arrival. No, it was the lack of personal effects that confused you. How long has he been living here and there aren't any pictures or knick knacks? To clutter is to be human, you think. And with the front room as blank as it is, you wonder just what kind of man he is. 

It's getting late. Naturally, you do some snooping, lazily padding around in search of life. Onwards and upwards, to new frontiers: the cupboards and drawers in your new apartment. 

He likes coffee, you learn. There's a fancy machine on the kitchen counter, glossy and shiny and clearly taken care of. Little packets of beans and filters line the cupboards, all with names you can't quite pronounce. The fridge is similarly well-stocked, with none of the junk food you've gotten accustomed to in the past few months. Its innards are leafy green and plush; labelled tupperware with leftovers notwithstanding. All the spices in a tray above the oven and fancy knives on the wall tell you he likes to cook, or rather, he likes to eat well. The lack of junk would take some getting used to - maybe he's a health nut? The type to go on runs at the ass-crack of dawn, to blend oddly coloured smoothies, and "reflect" after a long day of… dog walking or something. 

You move on to the living room, running a light hand over the deep walnut of a side table behind the sofa. Again, it's oddly bare. When you tug at the drawers, it's brassy handles are solid. Locked. Kneeling, you run a hand across the larger cupboard door at its base. You pull at it, and it pops open with a click. Inside, it seems empty, save for a dusty box nestled in the back corner. With your top half almost completely inside its depths, you move it into the light. 

It's old, a battered shoebox adorned with coloured sharpie - shaky drawings of flowers blossoming from its sides. The cardboard crackles when you open it. It's full of junk, mostly: half-dead pens, broken crayons, dried flowers, and little plastic toys - the kind you get from cereal boxes and happy meals. And, there's something peeking out. Confused, you dig a little deeper, to uncover a pair of… soccer cleats? They're tiny, clearly for a kid but seem barely worn, with minimal scuffing on the plastic blades. 

"What the fuck are you doing?" A voice from above rumbles, and your head snaps up like a rubber band. You hadn't noticed the door open, and you are met face to face with, who you assume to be, your roommate. 

He doesn't shout: tall, broad, and back straight by the door. He's got a backpack slung over his shoulder, dressed in a crisp white shirt and slacks. His name was… Miguel? Miguel crosses his arms, brows furrowed in quiet rage. Fuck. 

"I was just looking for.. uhh…" 

You know how it looks. It's the worst time for your brain to go blank, and you're left holding the hypothetical bag. You stand up a little too quickly, and smack your knee on the lip of the table. Half of the box spills onto the floor and you dart downwards, embarrassed. 

" Shit. Sorry, let me-" 

He leaps towards the floor, and you're forced behind him, as he scrambles to put everything in its place. You start to help and he stops, stock-still. As if in slow motion, his head turns to the side and he gives you a look that could kill thousands. Retreating, you shrink back, only able to watch helplessly. 

" Chica tonta... ¿se crió en un rancho? ¿qué clase de persona entra en casa de alguien y toca todas sus cosas?" He's muttering something under his breath - too fast and not saying anything you can understand. Pausing, he throws you a look. "...y luego me ve como si yo fuera el que está mal- ojos grandes y bonitos como de perrito pateado...oh dios mío.-" 

[silly little girl… was she raised in a barn? what kind of person walks into someone's house and touches all of their stuff? // and she looks at me like I'm the one in the wrong - big, pretty eyes like a kicked puppy… oh my god-] 

He's gentle with the box, the way he puts it in its place contrasting his mood a couple of seconds before. He closes up the door and you stumble to your feet. In the glow of halogen bulbs, he follows, arms crossed like a mother hen. 

"I think… I think I'm your new roommate?" You say your name and  stretch out a hand, but Miguel doesn't move. You watch as his eyes sweep over your body, shameless. 

"Are you asking, or telling me?" He sighs, pinching at his temples. 

"...Telling?" You offer him a weak smile, and he cracks.

Softening, ever so slightly, he grumbles. "I know. I know. Mr Estévez said you would be in tomorrow, though."

"I like to be early." 

"Right. Well… don't do that. Again, I mean." He clears his throat. "Don't touch my shit either. It's too… fuck , it's too late for this. I'm going to bed."

He kicks off his shoes, and all you can do is watch as he saunters off; the door to his room shutting with a resounding slam .

~~~

His name is Miguel O'Hara - not that he told you that, or anything. He hasn't spoken to you much at all, leaving you to figure out who he is and what he does from vague clues around the apartment. You don't go snooping , learning quickly from previous mistakes; but his full name on a letter slotted through the mail was fair game, you think. The most you've gotten out of him were grunts and frustrated requests to keep to your shelf in the fridge. 

Passive-aggressive wasn't in his vocabulary, you’re convinced. A plethora of dirty looks in his arsenal? Sure. Plenty of vulgar swears in Spanish? Absolutely. Miguel was not, however, passive-aggressive. Just… aggressive. Not angry, of course. Upfront. Abhorred any passivity and indolence: umm-ing and ahh-ing for the sake of it. 

So naturally , you were sent to kill him. 

You tiptoe around the apartment, avoiding him at all costs. At first, it wasn’t on purpose, just the awkwardness of your first meeting bleeding into the next week. But you dodge and weave like an expert boxer -  particularly impressive in the small space. Miguel’s in the kitchen? Suddenly, you’re not very hungry. He’s curled up on the couch for a movie? Wow, look at the time: and you're heading to bed. You can’t read him very well, and don’t trust yourself enough to look him in the eye without fear of melting under his gaze. The few short interactions you have, you crumble; a brush against his shoulder in the kitchen, or legs against his on the dining table. Not that Miguel offers a peace branch, pursing his lips when you’d make eye contact, somewhat frustrated at your theatrics. Call it cliche: you’re avoiding confrontation at all costs. It manifests itself in peculiar ways: the Shower Incident being the most memorable. 

The Shower Incident, aptly named, happened not too long ago. The apartment is old , as you soon learnt, coming with its own plethora of quirks. What you had first taken as character and charm - window seats and wood panelling - also came in the form of a building half falling apart. Creaky floorboards, leaky pipes, and a distinct lack of central heating. The discounted price, that had seemed like a bargain before, clearly lacked some creature comforts… like heating. And a working shower. 

As you’d been in a rush, you clattered into the bathroom; stripping in no time at all. Bare feet on the tile, and you turn the knobs at the base of the shower unit. You’re not going to pretend you know how it works, just yet, but… it’s not rocket science, is it? The brassy spout sputters; but with no luck. Groaning from the pipes makes you jump, before huffing in frustration. This is not the time; late to yet another 9.00am? You want to be different this year: organised, put together, and on time to your lectures. On your tiptoes, you peer down the shower head hesitantly, like it’s the barrel of a loaded gun. With cruel irony, it sputters to life, sending a face-full of ice-cold water your way.There’s a scream, as you scramble at the handles, scurrying out of its brunt; desperately trying to turn it off. 

Unbeknownst to you, Miguel leaps out of his room towards the shouting, with a fumble and clunk of his feet on wooden floor. He’s quick , hand hovering on the bathroom door before you can register it; his voice echoing outside. 

“Are you…” There’s scuffling, which you can just about hear over the pounding of the water against tiles. “Are you okay, in there?”

You wince, stepping out of the shower – legs shaky like a baby deer – as you gurgle. “...Yeah?”

“Can I –” He clears his throat. “Are you.. clothed ? Can I come in?”

You scramble for something to cover yourself, settling for a plush towel on the rack. Wrapping yourself up, you brace yourself for the grimace that's sure to be on his face. Tentatively, you crack the door open. There Miguel is, face knitted with worry. 

There's a flash of confusion at the scene, and then, what you think is relief. Relief you haven't cracked your head open, most likely: the blood would be hard to clean from the grout. You feel guilty, as you've probably broken it, or touched something you shouldn't. The shower is still on; sputtering, starting, and it becomes a strange sort of background music to your silent exchange. 

"I don't know how to use the shower." You say with a small voice, guiltily. 

" No me digas…" No shit, he mutters, face back to the furrowed brow you're starting to become more familiar with. He sighs, easing up. "You hurt?" 

You shake your head, and swear you see a small smile on his face. You looked like a waterboarded rat, probably: big watery eyes and shaking with the sudden cold. 

A mess , he thinks. But not a bad view. 

He's still in workout clothes from his morning run, compression shirt and lazy shorts that hug his ass on; as he turns towards the shower. With some sense of shame, you try not to stare, to not watch the muscles of his back and arms flex as he angles the shower head away from his face. It's not enough that you've embarrassed yourself – twice, in the space of a couple of days – but the fact it was in front of your roommate, who is maybe the most beautiful person you've seen up close. Which, granted, narrows the field; but Miguel is gorgeous, a flash of pink tongue sticking out as he concentrates, wide palms toggling the dial. 

"You need to be careful… push it in slightly when you turn the-" You crane your head towards his movements. "Come closer, or you won't see what I'm doing."

You move towards him, half naked and shivering, trying not to buckle with the heat of his body next to yours. This is what you get for not having spoken to a man since your ex: a tight coil at the base of your stomach for someone that you've done nothing but unwittingly terrorise for the past week.  

He explains, patient and even-tempered; how to use the shower and you half-zone out to the low tone of his voice. There's no malice, or pomp in his words when there are a million things he could make fun of you for - that Jamie may have made fun of you for. You look up, at the sharp lines of his face, and chew at your lip, deep in thought. 

"...and this side is for hot water. Next time, just ask me – instead of almost drowning."

You nod, embarrassed. "Sorry."

"...For what?" He says, softly. "Place is falling apart, anyway. It's not really your fault." You're convinced everything you touch in this house breaks, but with the way he looks at you, you believe him. 

"Just ask me, next time." He echoes and makes for the door, stopping to drag his eyes up and down your frame. Oh… oh. You like that, the way he looks at you shamelessly, practically undressing you. 

He smiles, amused at your deer-in-headlights expression. 

"...I think that's mine."

He nods to the towel wrapped around your body and your eyes bulge out of their sockets. " Fuck , I didn't realise-" 

He shrugs, noncommittal. 

"...Seems like you need it more than me, anyways."

~~~

It's a rough first couple of days, and then a week, and then two. The rhythm is all off: like the jerky stop and start of an old car. He wakes up early to go on runs at the ass-crack of dawn, and you stay up late to finish papers and assignments. He has a job, you think, darting out at the same time once or twice a week in smart clothing and a backpack. Sometimes, you catch him hunched over a laptop or scribbling something in a beat up old notebook. Maybe, he’s a student - even if he doesn’t seem quite like the fresh-faced 19 year olds you see around campus. Although, you suppose it’s not implausible; you were one of the older people in your classes, after all. It’s hard to imagine O’Hara, stony-faced and serious, at a… dorm party, or something. To be that carefree, he’d need to get rid of that stick up his ass, first.

You’ve got a day off from lectures, using the time to catch up on the reading you should’ve done over a hectic break. The list seems to go on and on, already, this early into the year. Internally, you’ve made a promise to be on top of it all - the little hiccup with Jamie, notwithstanding. You’d knuckle down this morning, reading ( scanning) and summarising ( liberal use of the copy-paste function) in preparation for the rest of the semester. Miguel’s locked up in his room, somewhere, so you use the opportunity to spread out onto the dining table.

There’s a knock at the door that makes you look up from the muddle of words on your screen.

When you open the door, there’s a woman there with a notebook in hand. She’s pretty, in a classic sort of way, ginger braids cropped to her shoulders and lips slathered with gloss. Her outfit is relaxed, but carefully curated: a tight jumper and long brown legs stretching out from a black skirt. 

“Hi.” She says, visibly keening. It’s clear she wasn’t expecting you, but she quickly recovers and gives you a blinding smile. 

“...Hi,” Honestly, you’re a little confused. You haven’t seen her around the complex before; so who she was, you hadn’t a clue. Too pretty to be a door-to-door salesman, and too hot to try to convert you to Mormonism, you think. Whatever that means.

You wait expectantly, as a beat passes. 

“Oh!” She laughs, and it sounds like puppies and rainbows, much too bright and airy considering the time of day. It makes her next words even more of a shock. “I’m looking for Miguel.”

With her last words, she steps a little closer; scanning the apartment from her vantage point. Something in you bubbles up, but you try to choke down the laughter. 

“You’re looking for...Miguel?” Even out of your own mouth, it sounds absurd . The man had no friends, as far as you could tell. He seemed like the type to lock himself away in his enclosure, only stepping out for work, school, the bare minimum. In the short week that’s passed, his ‘enrichment time’ had consisted of a dry documentary on spider mating cycles - which had been a shock to walk into, the first time. 

So someone here, at the apartment? Looking for him? Fidgeting, you scratch at your neck. “Uhh, I ca-”

“Sorry about that, Jia. You can have a seat.” His voice comes from behind you, and Jia breezes into the apartment, perching on the sofa. Legs crossed, she reaches into her bag, taking out a laptop and a pen and paper. He’s changed out of his workout clothes, donned in a loose white sweater and casual trousers - relaxed, for once. With a limp thud, you close the door. There’s an odd feeling as you look around at the scene: tension, and you feel like you’re interrupting. Miguel clatters around in the kitchen, fumbling for mugs and coffee filters and God knows what else.

“...was it two sugars, or three?”

“Three!” She throws over her shoulder, tapping away at her open laptop. “I like it sweet, Miguel.”

You squint. He laughs : a small chuckle that comes with a heat at the base of your stomach. Your head almost aches, trying to recalibrate; reconcile with the version of the person you’ve barely seen around the apartment to now - present, engaged, and personable. Exasperated is the only word for it. Miguel O’Hara was, in fact, capable of joy. Dickhead.

He barely acknowledges you, but Jia does; batting her wispy eyelashes in your direction, curious. The tapping stops, and she curls the corner of her mouth up with a hint of a smile. 

“You gonna introduce me?” She calls out to Miguel, and then smiles to you; warm and genuine. It makes you feel a little more at ease. You catch the end of a sigh coming from the kitchen.

“Jia, this is my roommate.” He glances up to gesture towards you. “...this is Jia. I… help her out with work, sometimes.”

From the couch, she rolls her eyes. “He’s too modest. He’s my tutor, technically.”

With that, your eyebrows shoot up. Of everything you’d imagined him doing, tutoring students wasn’t one of them - especially considering he seemed barely out of college himself.

“...Technically?” 

“He doesn’t like to advertise it, because he’s picky with his clientele.” She giggles and he scoffs. You get the feeling there’s a joke flying over your head, just out of reach. “Word gets out on campus that Miguel’s tutoring again…”

“ Vale, vale ,” He grumbles, but his tone is good-natured and light. “S’enough, Jia.”

She gives you a wink, before turning towards her work.

You walk towards your things, still on the dining table. He’s got his head buried in a kitchen cabinet and you look on, wanting to ask a lot of things. The words seem to die in your throat: too big, too small, not the right shape. She's a stranger; that knows where the coffee’s kept and the best spot on the couch. That makes Miguel laugh . You want to ask him about the stranger in your home; but you’re too scared he’d turn and point the finger at you.

He walks to the couch, balancing two cups of coffee. You look back. Next to him, her presence is an oddity - a blip in his carefully crafted universe. With the warm sheen of familiarity, she nudges his shoulder. Taking careful sips, he pointedly ignores her, tapping a finger at her screen - as if to say, pay attention. She smiles, wide; an asteroid across the depths of space, dazzling and brilliant in the night sky. 

The exchange… it makes you think. If Miguel is the Sun, and Jia, a bright body in orbit: what’s your place in this four-walled cosmos? Where do you belong? 

_

_

_

Rigor Mortis Taglist: @bunnyrose01 @lavenderslemonade @tsukkie-daisuke @malxoxo @thekidscallmebosss @vvitcxen @theyoutubedork @doublevirgogirl @jnghs @taleiak @noblesavagex @cumikering @rebeccawinters @evanpetersrightbigtoe @saucypeanuttt @pix-stuff @maliarenee @truthuntolddd @honeycovered-bandaids @aiyaaayei @aeeliy @amplsblog @sikrettt @opuffmango @spear-bitch @maddielikesmoths @lemonpepsi @sweet-strawberryhoney @lacedinweb22 @bubbsby @jing5uan @ellaandorersoct @hibarbiesblog @valentxi @kittym1ka @delulu-dia @melovetitties @yohoe-hoe @acollectionofcells1 @froggi-mushroom @thund3rthighs

@teacoffeeflavored @chuuyara@qiapia@rotten-zombi3@bonbyon @tianyhi @noelsilly @frieddesigninspiringquotesslime @peachsteven @thesquidni@fatenpara @verr-uckt @kurakasabe @kamiko32 @mushy-mushroom04@izzys-hawttea@theandromedastar @wicked-futures @truthuntolddd @prettygirlpattinson @hellokittylover202 @angel-eyes05 @lacedinweb22 @starguiders @buggiecrawls @eugeab @tarjapearce @whoreloll @path0logicalpeoplepleaser @ancientbeing10 @shartythefarty@royalhearts

@bonthebunnie @natthernandez @strawberrymiguel @twwcs @mammonispunk @um-well @renn-pumkin-head @ietherealkistar @smallishbook

[moonstruckme]

so i read somewhere that sometimes a better response to someone struggling with depression is warmth, rather than positivity and i was thinking if you’d be interested in writing a bau!reader x spencer pre-relationship or established relationship whichever u prefer!! where he comforts a depressed reader having a rougher couple of days & is very gentle and understanding and warm towards her 💘

Thank you for requesting lovely <3

cw: depression

Spencer Reid x bau!reader ♡ 638 words

You’ve been completely useless through this whole case. You’d sat with the team during various briefings, gone along to view crime scenes and question witnesses, but your brain just wasn’t working hard enough to put anything together. Lately, the effort of cranking the gears is too much. 

You’re considering leaving the rest of your paperwork for another day. You want to not be here so badly. You want your bed. You want to stop being a burden to the team that’s been carrying your dead weight for the past couple of days (and giving you increasingly inquisitive looks throughout that time), and to go home and sleep the weekend away. 

It’s a testament to your fatigue that you smell the coffee before you hear Spencer approaching. Morgan would hand you your ass if he knew. 

“Thanks,” you say, making an effort to smile at Spencer as he sets the plain ceramic mug on your desk. The coffee inside is barely brown, letting you know that he’s already loaded it down with cream and sugar the way you like. 

“Seems like you might have a long night.” He leans back against your desk and braces his hands on either side of his hips, nodding towards your paperwork. 

You shrug. “I don’t know, I’m thinking of leaving it for Monday. Strauss doesn’t need my report that badly.” 

Spencer nods again. “Are you doing okay?” 

“Yeah.” You blow gently on your coffee, wishing the aroma brought you the same sense of contentment it usually does. “Why?” 

“You never let your paperwork sit overnight,” he says. “And you’re not eating as much, having trouble concentrating, looking tired all the time…” Spencer pauses, meeting your eyes. It’s an effort not to drop your gaze. He sounds like he’s been adding things up for a while. “Do you need anything?” 

You smile again. It feels better this time, more genuine. “I’m just having a tough couple of days,” you tell him. “It happens to me sometimes, it’ll pass. But thank you.” 

Spencer’s face smooths out and pinches all at once. For a profiler, he’s shockingly horrible at controlling his expressions. Or maybe he just doesn’t feel the need to around your team. You read him plain as text: relief at having an identified problem, distress at the lack of an easy solution. 

You know he means well, but you can’t stick around to bear the weight of any more disappointment.

“I think I’m going to head out,” you do your best to sound calm, reassuring, as you gather your bag from beneath your desk. “See you Monday, Spence.” 

“Wait.” You pause, but then Spencer’s falling into step beside you, grabbing his bag to follow you to the exit. “Do you want to come over?” 

You look at him, surprised. “To your place?” 

He nods. “Yeah, there’s a marathon of the Jurassic Park movies on tonight. We could watch them and order pizza, or whatever you want.” 

A little laugh startles out of you. The sensation feels odd and atavistic, like a bubble popping in your chest. “You like Jurassic Park?” 

“I like talking about how unfeasible it is,” Spencer says, pressing the button on the elevator. “Did you know velociraptors were about the size of a large bird?” 

“...I did not.” 

“Probably because you watched Jurassic Park.” He smiles, and you can’t help but copy him. “Really, I’m not attached to the idea of watching them. We can do whatever you want.” 

The inside of your lip finds its way between your teeth, but Spencer glances down and you release it. “I’m not sure I can pass up the opportunity to witness that much berating,” you say. “How many are there?” 

“Six, not including two short films or the animated series.” 

“Will you hold it against me if I fall asleep?” 

“Not at all.”

[autumnalmoons]

Your late-night company (nsfw, mdni, +18 only)

It's smut bc I'm a horny bitch (lovingly), and because I want him to split me in half--I know he can, like c'mon

Viktor x fem!Reader | 2.1K

Notes: PWP, Established relationship, set kinda between act 1 and act 2, Vaginal Fingering, Innapropiate use of Viktor's cane (sorryyyy), Dom!Viktor if you squint, Cockwarming, Nipple play, English isn't my native language so lemme know if i messed up somewhere :)

Ever since he could hear the echo of your heels reverberate around the lab like a second heartbeat, Viktor knew you were onto something—and such rhythm makes his heart pick up speed too, though Viktor’s faster than each one of your carefree strides against the dark marble floor.

You go, smooching his cheek and surely leaving a pink mark on your lipstick. Not that he minds, of course, he's used to leaving his loving marks on you, too, and even now, he can see the now purplish hickey down your collarbone that you’ve been trying to veil with a silk scarf.

“What brings you here, my darling?” Viktor hums, unconsciously seeking your lips. Is that pink lipstick the one that tastes like cherry? He’s a man of science, he’s ought to investigate.

“Nothing much. I came to bring you home,” you say, hugging his slender frame from behind, your chin hooked in the crook of his shoulder, just over his back brace. “I miss my Vitya so, so much…”

Viktor shivers, trying to ground himself in the domestic, seemingly innocent gesture of a kiss over your temple. "I miss you, too, my jewel. Alas, Progress Day is in a couple of weeks, and we need to have everything ready in case a mishap happens.” He sighs, thick brows furrowing in focus. “As usually does.”

You nod. Of course, you understand that his work is a priority, but you also have a good memory; of those two past days when you went to sleep alone. There are those familiar purple bags under his eyes, only darker.

“Hmm, alright,” you say, massaging his scalp for a bit before wandering around the lab. “Then allow me to make you company. This place is filthy, handsome.”

“Chaos potentiates creativity.”

Your chuckle reverberates around the lab, which causes Viktor to lift his chin a little higher, how easily he can make you happy.

He turns back toward his desk, hearing you going toward the closet supply to get a feathery duster, mumbling a song under your breath as you hop around cleaning surfaces and wiping down machinery with a piece of cloth.

It's only a matter of time before your plan starts, and you have calculated it just as perfectly as Viktor's equations; using your knowledge of the man next to you, his existence is the most amazing creation you've seen—much to Viktor's attempts to surpass it with his machines.

You dust off the drawer next to his desk, ‘accidentally’ knocking off one of the pens tossed over the wooden surface, further down against the wall. "Oops!" you say in your best role of an actress, which isn't that good, only for him to look your way.

The floor is cold as you brush it with your fingers, a fine layer of dust and carbon covering it. One of the windows must be open because you can feel the cold autumn wind brushing under your mischievously short skirt, one of Viktor's favorites, right against your already wet folds that the underwear you chose today isn't meant to cover.

You want him to see. Swaying your hips playfully the moment you feel his gaze burn your back.

Over the purring of the machines, you hear his air leave in a sharp inhale.

Between not wearing panties at all, you choose ones made of black lace and cute, little black ribbons decorating the most… enticing areas. The cloth down your pussy was too small, and you had to choose or covering your clit, or covering your core—which of course, you choose the eager bundle of nerves, so Viktor could see you all wet and glistening for him.

Smiling, you push the pen further down his desk, a soft—very inappropriate—groan escaping your lips, copying my memory of one of the sounds you made every time his cock presses that special spot inside of you.

“I liked that pen a lot,” Viktor mutters, though you can hear the smirk in his voice.

By now, you have no idea where that damned pen had gone. “I’m sure I can make it up for you about that,” you say, knees bending slightly, so your pussy can open a little. Only if he ever tries to play the oblivious.

A chair squeaked, and it’s impossible not to start imagining Viktor’s lithe fingers caressing the curve of your ass. Instead, you got the cold metal of his cane’s handle.

“Ah!” He chuckled at hearing your surprised gasp.

“Is that disappointment I hear, my jewel? Or just cold?” He hums, dragging the handle along the folds of your pussy until it brushes your entrance, only the tip. “You’re all dressed up for me. And I wonder… why is that, hmm?” he says, the tip of the cane playing between your folds. “Is it because you’d like to ‘keep me company’?”

“I never told you how I planned to accompany you," You mutter, feeling your legs starting to shake as the cold metal meets your boiling core, thinking that you were about to melt.

“Use your words, darling. If you’re so eager.”

There is a certain edge to his words, the hoarse tone around his R replacing the usual soft tone he uses to whisper to you when you two aren’t in the privacy of your bedroom.

“I… I thought you may need… um…” you say, voice lost with each playful movement of his cane in and out your entrance; barely some inches in, but moving it just right thanks to the exhaustive research Viktor had conducted ever since he caught you with that vibrator. Little by little, your arousal warms the metal, and you wonder if Viktor can feel it, too. “Relaxing.”

“Relaxing? My, I’d say this is rather… distracting,” he chuckles, the wheels of his stool coming closer as you hold your hands against your burning thighs. “A pleasant one, of course, but still a distraction.”

“Oh? Then do I deserve a punishment?” You try your best to quip, though your voice quivers mid-sentence.

There’s barely a heartbeat of silence, and then:

“Bend over the desk,” he says, voice stern. You could almost picture him in one of the Academy’s auditoriums giving a lecture in that tone, absolute, bossy. He knows it, of course. He knows you, after all, just like any of inventions, he had spent several hours studying you. Loving you.

Your walls squeeze nothing at the words, but the light from the descending dusk is enough for him to see it.

“Hmm,” Viktor says. “I wonder how you’ve been pleasing yourself these days that I haven’t returned home, my jewel.”

You attempt to roll over—you want to see him, because he looked just so unfairly stunning with his brown hair stuck to his temples, beads of sweat running down his chest as he bit his lip as seeing you just so shamelessly needy for him, trying to contain himself just a little longer...

He pushes your back down the desk, pinching your butt once he catches you trying to turn your head to see him.

“Oh, no, no, my love. If you are going to distract me, then you must accept the consequences.” He bends down, biting your earlobe before nuzzling his nose down your neck, taking in the sweet essence of your clothes, of your hair, the same one he could always smell on his pillow. The mix of his shampoo makes his grasp on your hips tighten.

You whine, pouted lips parting in a breathless moan when he introduces the handler of his cane inside of you, his thumb lazily rubbing circles on your clit, first clockwise, and then in the contrary direction once he feels your walls starting to contract, ushering your orgasm away.

The wet sounds of the handle coming in and out your soaked cunt fills the lab, Viktor’s stool creaking as he re-position. From the sound of his pants unbuckling, you think you know what he’s doing that needed such a good grip on his seat.

“I wonder if you’d take me as well,” he mumbles, your wet sounds mixed with a new one that could only be Viktor starting to jack off from the view of you. "All those toys and they can't replace me.” He uses his left knee to part your legs even wider, his free hand making a wrinkled mess of your skirt, just above your hips.

You huff, fingers white from grabbing the edge of the desk. “As if I’ve ever disappointed you.”

Viktor chuckles, pinching your clit slightly before letting go. The emptiness fills you when he withdraws his cane, though the narrow length is soon replaced by the thick head of his cock rubbing against your entrance.

“Mmmm,” you hum, satisfied. Your hips buckle against him, trying to take him inside of you in one thrust.  Sadly, Viktor’s punishment for keeping him away from his duties was never.-ending teasing.

Viktor caresses the curve of your ass, his hands going to brush the outline of your hips and waist until his chest is against your back once again, his big length teasing through your folds without actually giving you what you want—and yet, you know you could finish off with only this. Would he be so cruel, though?

“Come here,” he mutters against your ear, sliding a hand around your waist, and pushing you down the seat with him.

You hiss, feeling the quick buckle of his hips as his cock burrows deep inside of you, twitching at the welcoming, wet warmth of your walls. His hands take you by the hips to stop you from starting to ride him.

“Shhh, shhh. Patience, my love,” Viktor coos, nuzzling his face in the side of your neck as he bites a trail of kisses toward your shoulder, fingers gently pulling down one end of the scarf, brushing slowly down your shoulders to reveal the quite generous cut in your neckline.

Humming, approbatory, Viktor returns to his desk, with a firm grip around your waist to keep you still.

He kisses your cheek, putting his cane against the wall. The metal glistens, soaked with your juices against the reddish hue of the dying sunlight.

His right hand pushes your legs open, tangling your legs against the desk to keep them open when his fingers slide down your stomach, fingers lazily rubbing your clit.

Closing your eyes, your head lolls against his shoulder, letting him take your lips in a kiss that lets you taste the bitterness of the coffee he has just drank to keep himself awake during the night.

His tongue passes along your bottom lip, and it’s indeed that cherry-flavored lipstick, teeth grazing the sensitive skin as the hand grabbing your hip raises to grab your breasts when he grows needy, too.

“Vitya…” you moan, voice muffled as he kisses you again.

“My favorite blouse,” Viktor says, tugging down the smock of the front so he could see your lacy black bra. “So easy to access.”

You smile, hips gently swaying side to side against his lap each time he strokes your clit.

Viktor’s fingers work masterfully inside your bra, rubbing your nipple as your hands frantically undo the clip of your top so he can push the bra away.

It’s too much. Between his playful nibbles down your neck, the slow circles drawn on your clit, his fingers pinching your nipples and rubbing them to make the little peaks soft again even his cock filling you, although still, is enough to push you through the edge of pleasure. Legs shiver as your mouth stutters a moan, letting out a cry that Viktor drowned with his mouth.

“We can’t let the guards know what we’re doing, don’t you think, my jewel?”

“Why… why not?” you pant, kissing the mole peeking above his shirt’s collar. “My boyfriend fucks me so good,” you giggle.

Viktor smiled, his cock twitching at your lewd words. Your walls keep squeezing him, greedily wanting to be soaked with his cum.

"I haven't yet today," Viktor hums, deep in thought, kissing your sweaty brow. “Let me finish revising this blueprint, and we’ll go home.”

You pout, but only another heated kiss is necessary to make you respond:

“Okay,” you say, all doe-eyed now that you’re satisfied. Momentarily, of course. And that you had convinced him to go home. “But only this one blueprint. Or I’ll bite you.” You try to stand up, Viktor’s hand yanking you back between his legs before his cock could sleep out from your pussy.

“I never said you could move, my love,” Viktor says, squeezing your hips playfully. “I’d take you can be a good girl while I finish my work?”

You shake your head. “No.”

Viktor chuckles, his free hand starts to rub your overstimulated clit once again. His other hand quickly drops his pen to reach the bottom drawer of his desk, where you can see the outline of the vibrator Viktor keeps there ‘just in case’. “I suppose I just have to tire you up, then.”

[conspiring-limabean]

EDIT: This post was made about the first wave of basic barebone copy-and-paste scams. It is now outdated when it comes to identifying REAL, VETTED gofundmes that exist

If someone sends you an ask asking for help in Gaza, look for vetting done by a real person (do NOT trust ones that simply claim they are vetted if you don’t SEE the vetting), and check that their gofundme address isn’t clearly publicly listed in some other place. Then reblog their post. And block writing-prompt-s or anyone else that runs actual genocide survivors off the platform with poorly researched scam accusations

original post:

so apparently the tumblr donation scam farms are moving in on Palestine; this includes both slapping basic phrases like "Free Palestine" into their blog headers, but also some of them go so far as to claim they are Palestinian refugees who need donations.

Here is your routine reminder that whenever you receive an ask in your inbox requesting donations, check their ass. 19 times out of 20 it'll be a brand new blog who reblogged a few posts to seem older than they are, is sending out spam asks to random blogs, and will be deleted in a few days once they've already scammed people.

Check their blog's age by trying to scroll to the bottom and checking the post timestamps. Turn on post timestamps by going to Settings > General Settings > Dashboard Preferences. On any device, you can also see when a post was made by clicking on the 3 dots at the top right of it. Scam blogs reblog an amount of posts to try to seem like they aren't brand new and pretend to have older accounts, and it’s very successful against people who don’t scroll down enough.

Check the location and area code of a PayPal link where/if it says something like country.x=xx. The xx will be a country code. Most tumblr donation scams are for some reason in the Philippines and will have the code PH. No I am not saying to distrust anyone in the Philippines who needs donations, but if a brand new blog is claiming to be a refugee in the Middle East but their PayPal link is from halfway across the world, then well...

Reverse-image search any of the images they use and find if it was stolen somewhere. Remember that these images are often edited to prevent people from easily doing this, and this is not reliable but can be an easy sign if successful

Be careful with blogs that request people send donations through "Friends and Family" on PayPal because you cannot refund money sent in this manner. This isn’t a dealbreaker as many regular users also request this to avoid fines, but is an addendum to scam blogs when enough other red flags are raised. It isn’t unusual for them to insist on receiving money through FaF to the point that some will refund money not sent through that manner to prevent accountability

Follow scam busting blogs like Kyra45 that might pull up evidence you otherwise would not have access to. I guess I'm going to start bringing back my habit of recording the exact paypal addresses that scam blogs use which has sometimes been the only evidence of a new donation blog being a scam, and no one would know this if I hadn't been tracking them

It is disgusting that people would take advantage of an ongoing genocide for their own gain. Please remember to keep an eye out for yourself and the people you follow reblogging suspicious donation posts trying to steal aid from people undergoing a tragedy

[kentopedia]

it's been decades since you've last seen dazai; your lover & your maker. now that you're finally happy, he's haunting you again with a thousand buried memories.

overall contents. fem!reader, nsfw minors dni, exes to lover, gothic romance, blood drinking, vampire!reader, vampire!dazai, smut, cheating reader, complicated relationships, blood, gore, jealousy, manipulation, religious symbolism, betrayal, reunions — currently at 21k words

PART I ♰ MASTERLIST

As another careful conversation progressed, you poured the tasteless champagne down your throat, the liquid far too much like sandy water.

It was the same, over, and over. The sentence structures were unchanged, never deviating from saying too much without saying anything at all. A practiced smile would follow, where lips perfectly curled upwards. Copied faces plastered onto the next, making it difficult to determine where one individual personality ended and the next began.

These were repeated games, you knew, and you maintained the politeness required of you, even as each curtsy felt stiff and robotic, each refined handshake felt dishonest and meaningless.

Still, you’d grown used to the monotony of this dull life. You tolerated it gladly, ignoring the continuous throb in the back of your mind that grated at you, reminding you that things hadn’t always been this way.

Quietly, you shoved that small voice away. If all of the pomp and circumstance meant you’d feel normal, you’d gladly put on a show and pretend you belonged there.

The woman that stood before you continued her monologue, her dark eyes bright enough to match her elated smile. Her lips were a red, distracting and perfectly lined with the kind of makeup you were certain was far outside her budget. Though her cheeks were powdered and bright, you noticed the beginnings of lines on her young skin, the signs of a life more taxing than she let on.

You’d forgotten her name already. Too many people had introduced themselves to you this evening, and you hadn’t had the patience or interest to remember them. It was unlikely you’d see most of the guests again, after all.

“Congratulations,” the woman said, squeezing your wrist like you’d once played together on the playground. You cringed, wondering if she’d say anything about the iciness of your skin, though it was almost indiscernible with your satin glove as a cover. “I had a feeling you two were going to get engaged soon, but I had no idea when he would pop the question.”

You traded her an indulgent smile, nodding along as you tried not to let all of the conversation float right over your head. Somewhere in the past few decades, you’d lost interest in the faux interactions that events of this grandeur yielded. Everyone was merely putting on their best act, fitting in with those that they deemed superior to them in every way.

In truth, your engagement party was never supposed to reach this scale. Somewhere in between a few close friends, half the city had been invited. It was alarming to see so many unfamiliar faces in a celebration that was supposed to be entirely for you and your new fiancée.

“Thank you,” you said smoothly as Atsushi nudged you gracefully, probably wondering if you’d been ignoring all his friends that evening.

You had… but you felt bad telling him that and would never admit to it. The engagement ball had been his idea, and while you were vehemently against it, you’d indulged him in his innocent excitement. After a life that you’d lived to the fullest, Atsushi seemed to think he had something to prove when it came to loving you.

You just wanted to be with him, plain and simple. There was no need for all the theatrics.

“I’m surprised you invited so many people, Atsushi,” the woman continued, and you’d wished you’d paid attention when she told you her name. She was one of Atsushi’s co-workers, after all. He’d be upset with you if you forgot everyone that he introduced you to. “You’re not usually that type of person.”

Atsushi flushed, and he darted his eyes away bashfully. “It wasn’t my intention for so many guests to be here. Someone got a bit carried away with the invitations.” His thought trailed off, and he diverted to the story of how the elaborate affair had been conceived. Atsushi was the friend of a wealthy agency president’s son, who had offered to organize the event for you. Predictably, he went completely overboard, and now appeared to be having more fun than either you or Atsushi.

Atsushi spun that particular tale with passionate amusement, and you let your eyes wander, hoping to spot a singular face that you were familiar with. If you stood by your fiancée with nothing to say any longer, you weren’t sure you’d make it to the end of the night.

Across the room, a couple of your neighbors huddled in a circle of gossip. You considered speaking to them, if only to entertain yourself, but their husbands were horrendously awful, you didn’t think you could stomach it.

The rest of Atsushi’s co-workers shared hors d'oeuvres and a polite conversation away from the societal elites. On the left side of the floor, the woman who tailored your clothes spoke with another young girl you’d never seen before. A baker from down the street drowned himself in a glass of champagne, looking so dreadfully lonely that you weren’t sure how he’d gotten into the party at all.

You frowned inwards, realizing that while you recognized many of these people, they were more Atsushi’s friends than your own. These were people who greeted him every night on the street, passing their eyes over you like you were just another midnight fling, not the woman he’d been with for nearly two years.

There were too many strangers here to celebrate a marriage they felt nothing about. The superficiality of the situation left a bitter taste in your mouth, and you, very quickly, felt like an outcast at your own party.

You played with the chain around your neck, glancing from person to person. Atsushi, beside you, carried on his conversation, every so often throwing in a word about his work. You were listening half-heartedly, still trying to decide if this was worth all the trouble, or if you should give up on the niceties and head home early.

Someone behind you laughed.

The noise caught your notice because of how achingly familiar it was, how eerie, even. It was cynical and sharp, almost a snort of air that had been released on an accidental exhale. Still, you could hear the genuine amusement in it, a gratitude that came with being able to have something to laugh about.

You shuddered, your body unwillingly reacting as you turned to see who had been loud enough to draw your attention, to stand out amongst a sea of disinteresting people and intolerable voices.

In the corner, the man stood with an aligned spine, every muscle taut to hold himself up. His dark hair was grown out, but every strand remained smooth and healthy, falling over his forehead in loose waves that were glossy in the candlelight. He was caught in a conversation with another, twirling a glass of wine between his fingers, disgustingly captivated by the individual before him.

There was something too recognizable about him for comfort. The shadowed outline of his silhouette was the ghost of a memory, and you were left gawking at a person that you might not even recognize once he turned.

Swallowing, you tried to avert your gaze more subtly as he began to shift his position. He’d noticed you watching him, and he peered over his shoulder, in the fraction of a moment, to catch your eye.

His features were unmistakable.

Your glass slipped from your hands, shattering into a hundred tiny shards on the marble floor. It shushed the room as you maneuvered clumsily to hide away behind Atsushi. From head to foot, you had gone stiff, your body colder than it ever had been, even when you were on the brink of death, before the bliss of sweet blood had ventured down your throat, a memory you’d tucked far away.

You’d long since given up on praying, but you thought about it, just this once, in the hopes he hadn’t recognized you.

Which was a ridiculous concept, really. The memory of him was as fresh in your mind as every bit of yesterday was. He was as likely to forget the image of you as he was his own name, even if you did your makeup differently, if your clothes had changed from how they’d once been.

He’d come here with a purpose—that was the only thing that made sense—and it certainly would have something to do with you. The undeniable acknowledgement sent another wave of nausea through your gut, and you tried to remember what it was like to breathe.  

“Honey?” Atsushi asked, concerned, his voice bringing you back to the present. His hand was on your lower back, wide eyes full of an anxiety you often saw reflected back at you. “Is everything alright?”

“I’m fine,” you said, clutching your hands to your sides to calm yourself. If you didn’t turn around, maybe he’d go away. Maybe he was just an illusion. One way or another, you needed to be free of him. “I just need to get some fresh air. I’ll be alright.”

It was then that you realized that almost everyone’s eyes were on you, and while some stared back at you with pity, some began snickering under their breaths at the darkened stains on the bottom of your gown. You ignored them, trying not to feel the burning observation against your back, trapping you.

If you left, he was certain to follow.

You stepped away from Atsushi, and his hand reached out to you, before retracting, falling. “Are you sure?” He followed your every movement. “You seem—”

“Yes.” You smiled at him placatingly, hoping no one else could hear you. You didn’t want them to be concerned—least of all, Atsushi. It had nothing to do with your engagement, and you were afraid it appeared that way. “I’ll be right back.”

Atsushi seemed to understand after that, shifting his attention to his friends warmly, as he attempted to diffuse the tension. If anything, he knew that you had no desire to cause a scene and relented to your wishes, drawing everyone’s focus off of you. “Alright. I’ll wait here.”

He’d always been steadfast in his understanding. It was one of the reasons that you had fallen for him in the first place.

You nodded and said goodbye to the dark-haired woman before escaping from the ballroom, hoping you could find a room to hide in. Once your feet started moving, they didn’t stop, carrying you throughout the manor in a desperate search for the closest escape route. There were too many doors in the house, a multitude of bedrooms that weren’t needed at all.

As you weaved your way through the halls, you ran into a few couples caught in a salacious embrace, blocking each of the rooms that had once been private. They shouted at you, and you slammed the door uncomfortably, having no desire to intrude on their secretive affairs.

You couldn’t remember what it was like to be sick, to expel every last fluid from your stomach, but you were certain it resembled whatever you were feeling now. Foreboding dread had come to cripple you in every sense of the word, gripping you tightly in the vice of panic.

Finally, you reached an empty bedroom, one with a balcony that overlooked nothing but the gardens. It was a beautiful night, and the dark sky calmed you, bringing you back to the present, pulling you away from memories that you had shoved deep into the pits of your soul, burying them under lock and key.

There was a dreamy hue over the garden, illuminated by the candles and lamps outside. For just a moment, you basked in the serene lighting, the calmness of the evening away from all the guests. The music inside was but a faint whisper, the orchestra stumbling their way back into a tune after you’d escaped the ball less than dramatically.

Inhaling through your nose, you stilled your mind, and waited for the peace to end.

You felt his presence behind you before you heard him, those sharp eyes on you like daggers along your back. He moved silently, gracefully, like he was floating above the floor and not even there at all.

You curled your hands into a fist, staring hard into the horizon as your nails broke the skin of your palm. He’d be the first one to speak, as he always had been, and you’d get sucked into his alluring features, letting yourself indulge as you knew you shouldn’t.

Closing your eyes, you waited for him to break the silence. To come up behind you and hover his touch over your skin. The fragrance of his skin got closer and closer, and you squeezed your eyes tighter, hating how much you’d missed him. That even when you despised him, a part of you still belonged in his possession.

“I’ve missed you, my angel.”

Five words were all it took. Your knees buckled under you, the voice you hadn’t heard in decades like a soothing lullaby from your childhood, a hymn you’d used to worship a god that had left you behind. Your knuckles turned pale as you squeezed the stone of the balcony barrier, just enough force to keep you on your feet.

His voice was never gentle, but for you, he plated his steely knife in rose-colored foil, softening the edges until it couldn’t cut too deep. The sound was exactly as it had always been; nostalgia had its teeth deep in you, before that cool wave of horror crashed over you, remembering who it was, exactly, that you were dealing with.

“Don’t call me that.” You grew stiff as you felt him drawing closer, pulling to you with every word. Within seconds, he was near enough to ghost a breath along your neck, merely a phantom sensation.

“Hm.” His fingers dipped along your shoulders, the blades between them, and you tilted your head away, refusing to gaze into those eyes. “You always did hate that, didn’t you?”

Against your better judgement, a part of you had lit on fire. You longed for him, even when it sickened you.

“Perhaps my lovely devil will suffice instead. You never could accept that you were the very killer I made you out to be.”

“I don’t care what you call me.” You stepped away until you were digging your flesh into the balcony guard, the stone cold as it pressed into your stomach. “I’m not yours anymore.”

“Can you say that while meeting my eyes?" Dazai laughed, and though the sound of it was acerbic and mocking, he stayed where he was. "Maybe I’ll believe you, then. You’ve always been so horrible at lying to me.”

You snarled, ready to slice your nails across his cheek and watch with satisfaction as the blood dripped to his chin.

The anger steeled you, made you think you’d be prepared to face him once more; surely the hatred for him outweighed your lasting weakness.

You turned, eyes narrowed, and though you continued to exhibit your antagonism, the sight of him was poison to your resolve.

Dazai was still as hauntingly beautiful as always, those deep eyes gleaming in the moonlight, watching you with a hint of amusement. His hair was styled as it had been a century ago, transcending lifetimes while he remained eternally twenty-two. He smiled, lips curling into a grim expression, all too delighted with the loose hold he still had over you.

You averted your gaze but stood your ground. “I hate you, Dazai.” You curled your arms around your chest, keeping the distance between you. “I always will.”

For all his confidence, Dazai’s expression momentarily fell, like he’d expected you to welcome him back with loving arms, grovel at his feet with apologies you didn’t mean. Then, the insincere smile was back, drawing you in with revolting sweetness. “I’ve searched for you for decades. I thought you were dead—”

“I don’t care.”

“—Only to find out you’d been running from me this entire time.” Dazai invaded your circle once more, and his fingers pinched your jaw, studying you raptly. There was just a foot of air between you, the cool heat exchanged in your breaths. You ignored every muscle in your body that was relying on memory, wishing to do all the things that it had once done. “Did those years together mean nothing? Were you not to be my everlasting companion?”

You swatted his hand away, a million little fires starting along every point where your skin met. But no matter how beautiful he was, how calm those saccharine words of his made you feel, you knew the mercilessness that he was capable of. “I never made that choice of my own volition. You took it away from me.”

His eyes flashed before he retracted, complacent. “I gave you what you asked for. A life more than the one you had. And then I gave you everything I had left to give.”

“Your apology means nothing to me. Get the hell out of here.” Your words lacked the bite that you’d wished for, not sure you had the courage to push him into a fight. His strength outweighed yours by centuries; you had enough sense not to challenge that.  

Dazai blinked, and then laughed, jeering, without any sense of real humor. “You misunderstand. I’m not apologizing.” He tucked a hand back into his coat, regarding you with serious disdain as he sunk back, the outline of his dark clothes blending with the evening. “I never regretted the decision I made that night.”

You stared at him, blinking, before retracting and matching his heartless laugh with one of your own.

It was as if you’d never been parted at all. The unpleasant decades thinned into one small period, an insignificant point in time that, now, seemed nothing more than a development to your character. “Fine. I’ve got nothing to say to you, Dazai. I wanted to be rid of you, and I was. Your insincere words don’t matter to me anymore.”

His jaw tightened, and you stared each other down, searching for any glimpse of the familiar figure you’d used to love. Undeniably, he was there. Those eyes of his were just the same. The soft words he used for you and only you had never changed.

Yet, just as those sweet parts of him were as comforting as ever, the ugly parts of him were there as well. You remembered his cruelty, his gift of manipulation, and you pushed him away, never again wanting to be strung in that web.

Dazai did nothing but blink as you withdrew, standing straight, pulled taut by a marionette cord. “Is this the life you intend to live now? This half-hearted existence where you befriend mortals that will wither without you, to be engaged to a man you will never spend eternity with? Pitiful, really.”

For just a moment, you’d been so caught up in Dazai that the man who’d loved you with all of his heart had vanished into the atmosphere. It was as if, somehow, you’d forgotten that Atsushi was there at all.

Guilt overwhelmed you.

That man, the sweet, kind man who had become your saving grace, was at risk because of your carelessness. Dazai was too smart not to have taken cautious measures, and you knew he’d learned everything there was to know about your life before intervening.

It made sense why he’d appeared now of all times. It was the perfect opportunity to ruin everything you’d loved for good, reducing you to the whimpering mess that had accepted him in the first place.

He'd made you; he’d known you; he’d loved you for decades. If anyone knew how to break you, it was Dazai Osamu, and that was the thing that scared you the most.  

“I fully intend to turn him,” you said, hating the way your voice broke on a singular syllable, making you seem uncertain of the decision you’d made nearly a year ago. “Though I appreciate your concern. I’ll be perfectly happy this way.”

The comment didn’t faze Dazai, who grinned, his eyes burning with a fire you’d never forget, a sort of glee that only transpired from evil. “I should kill him before that happens, shouldn’t I?” His teeth gleamed in the candlelight, two long fangs slipping over his lips with threatening causality. The points were even more severe in the lighting. “I’ll be sure to savor in the taste as I rip his throat out.”

The image was sickening, a gruesome thought that made your old panic reignite. You schooled your lips into nothing but a line, knowing that Dazai could detect even the smallest change in your features.

“Honestly, I’m surprised you’ve managed to control yourself so well.” He went on, mocking you with every second that passed. “After three years, did I hear? I admit, I was having trouble listening over the band.” He tilted his head, studying you, searching deep into your consciousness for an answer that would satiate him. “You’ve never been able to resist your hunger before. What changed?”

You knew better than to underestimate him and stood taller.

“I’m not the same person I was when I was with you, and I never want to be her again.” You closed your eyes, looking away.

“This isn’t the life I envisioned for you a century ago.”

“My life is not yours to craft. I’m not some doll you can bend to your will.” Finally, you reached out to him, wrapping your hands around his own. His skin was cold, dead, void of any blush from the stolen blood in his veins. You were one word away from begging, pleading with him, even as you stood your ground. “Just don't kill him, Osamu. I’d never forgive you, and that’s what you want, isn’t it? You want me to come back to you.”

The scowl twitched ever-so-slightly as something in his eyes flashed. His name on your lips had always been his greatest weakness, and you could see him thinking hard. “For once, my love, you’re wrong. That’s not what I came here for.”

You stared, puzzled, before dropping his hand and frowning. “Then what are you here for?”

“I was looking for you, yes,” he admitted with a one-shoulder shrug. “I’ve been looking for you for years, and it is by mere coincidence that I found you here.” A cheer sounded inside the house from a toast. You wished that you were in there, warm, where all of this was but a nightmare. “As happy as I am to see that you’re alive and well, I refuse to compete with someone who turns you into everything you are not. If you’re so much happier without me, then who am I to stand in the way?”

“I’m supposed to believe that?” you scoffed.

You’d be a fool to believe that was any more than an obvious lie, that Dazai’s motives were pure of heart. He had never been loud about his jealousy, but he’d killed every lover you’d ever dared to take, leaving you alone with no one but him for comfort.

Dazai had always refused you even one outlet of happiness, even when he’d had other lovers of his own, had brought his one-night affairs to your shared home. The place where you slept in the same bed, fucked on most every surface imaginable had been tarnished with decisions that he’d never be able to undo.

Your gaze hardened. It didn’t matter anymore. With lives that never ended, vampires weren’t known for their monogamy. You were naïve to think that a man like Dazai would give that to you.  

“I mean it, Dazai.” You shoved away the vile memories from the forefront of your mind, wanting them to stay just that – memories. They would not become a repetition of the past. “If you kill him, I’ll burn you to ashes. Then, I’ll step into the flames myself.”

“Ah, but wouldn’t that be such a lovely way to go? Tossed into the flame by the very woman I care for most dearly, reunited only moments later in death.” He seemed too fascinated by the idea, his gaze faraway as if wondering what could possibly push you to that breaking point.

“Hell has a special place for you, Dazai,” you said, disgusted. “Somewhere far, far away from me.”

He laughed darkly. “Oh, how wrong you are. If I am the devil himself, as so many say that I am, then I’ll ensure we spend every moment in the flames together.”

Your lip curled, and you pushed him back in abhorrence, ignoring the tug in your heart that wanted to do everything but. You hated him, you loved him, you never wanted to see him again, you wished he’d stay by your side forever.

Nothing was more dangerous than the allure of fond memories. It seemed even those could lead you to turn a blind eye to the horrors that had been unleashed in the very city you inhabited.

You exhaled. There had to be a line in the sand, a point that you could never pass.

“Please, Dazai. Let me go.” His very presence had already put a kink in your future plans, and if he stayed any longer, you weren’t sure how much damage he’d cause. “Things can never go back to the way they were. I don’t want them to.”

“I don’t either,” he promised, nodding sincerely. “You’ll be rid of me once I make sure that this is what you really want. Who would I be if I watched you lock yourself into a marriage with a man you can never love more than you loved me? To watch you live a life reduced to hiding in the shadows, pretending you were never there at all?”

The arrogant bastard.

“I do love Atsushi more than I ever loved you,” you said with as much conviction as you could muster, your eyes full of flames, unrelenting. That man was waiting for you downstairs, probably worried out of his mind. You refused to play any more games. “Loving you was the biggest mistake I ever made. It was a mistake to let you turn me. I regret all of it.”

Dazai’s lips curled, his gums exposed as he snarled. “Ah, but mistakes are your specialty, aren’t they? You’ve made even more in my absence.”

You said nothing, tired of already falling into the same routine with him. The same old song and dance, taking you back to a time when all you had was him, a time you never wanted to go back to again. The exchange of cruel words was more familiar than your own last name.

“I should be on my way to my room. Sunrise is fast approaching, and I won’t be taking any risks, now that I know what I have to look forward to.” He bowed his head, though you could see his careless smirk, filling you with an irrepressible anger. “I’ll be around.”

With that, you watched him turn and walk out the door, ruining the rest of your evening.

Dazai’s chin was covered in blood, clots drying together around his lips as he pulled away from the lifeless doll between you, the woman that had once been on her way to becoming a well-known actress. Now, she’d be found in a pile of her own blood, the liquid creating a sticky pool beneath her.

It was a sight you’d never tire of; Dazai the very product of his own misdeeds, looking forever the gruesome killer that he made himself out to be. He was most alluring this way, his fangs protruding over his lips, teeth-stained ruby red from the drink of eternal life.

Your adoration for him was most intense in moments like these, when blood became the one thing that bound you together.

“You are beautiful,” he said, shoving aside the corpse, her deadweight toppling onto the floor. “Everyone pales in comparison to you, my darling.” His fingers were soft around your jaw, bringing you closer, reducing the space between his own lips and yours. “I am eternally yours.”

You woke in the bed that you’d chosen to share with another, the one with a squeaky spring, so unlike the coffins you’d previously spent your days in. The room was completely dark, sun-proofed to save you from your fatal weakness. It could have been the middle of the day, and you wouldn’t have known.  

Atsushi was beside you, a flickering candle creating shadows on his features as he read through his reports. It’d become routine for him to be by your side as you slept, now that you didn’t fear the sun slipping through cracks on the boards.

It wasn’t as much time as you would’ve liked together, being on such different schedules, but you made it work as best you could. Atsushi often went into work with puffy eyes from sleepless nights, or you fumbled around the house, bored while the whole city slept.

“Are you alright?” he asked, eyes full of concern. His hand inched across the bed to hold your own. “You haven’t been yourself since yesterday evening.”

You hated that he’d noticed, even though it was his job to do so. It was wrong to keep secrets from the man you loved, even more when you were to be married in just a few months.

Still, you were reluctant to say anything on the matter, certain that you could deal with Dazai on your own. You’d mentioned him to Atsushi only once, and it was through vague details that gave the impression you were in too much pain to talk about it. Like the sweet man he was, Atsushi had accepted it, and he had never once forced the words from your mouth.

You owed him nothing, but it felt wrong to keep your history with Dazai a secret from him. Especially now. Especially when Dazai, who was a loose cannon on his own, had never been very rational when you were around.

“I’m fine.” You sat up in the bed, maneuvering closer to the side where Atsushi was, his legs spread out in front of him. He was wearing casual clothes and seemed scrubbed clean from a bath. It must have been later than you thought. “Just a weird dream is all.”

“I didn’t know vampires had dreams.” Atsushi went back to his reports.

That was because you’d never told him. You rarely had dreams, and when you did, they were more like memories. Or some prophetic, horrible vision that you’d learn to ignore. Nothing pleasant, like when you were human.

“What time is it?”

“About eight. Sun should be down by now, I haven’t checked. I’ve been working—there seems to be an increased amount of crime this week. I don’t know who came into town, but they’ve got an itch for trouble.”

“It’s not a vampire, is it?” you asked, instantly feeling nauseous. Dazai had no qualms about making a spectacle of killing humans. He’d leave a string of bodies like a signature, knowing you’d recognize his mark.

Atsushi snorted. “No, I think I’d see the signs. Just some regular guy.”

You weren’t convinced. Dazai knew how to hide his tracks and make it seem like anything but a vampire, but you convinced yourself to keep quiet. If Atsushi had even a suspicion about Dazai, he’d go after him, and you didn’t want to see what would happen if he did.

For both your sake and Atsushi’s, you hoped that he was right about this.  

“Okay.” You threw the covers off the bed, putting yourself together with the clothes you’d strewn across the room. Atsushi’s eyes remained on the paper, ever the savior of the city he lived in. It was admirable, really, even if his work took some fraction of your time with him away. “I’m going to go out, Atsushi. I’m starving.”

“Want me to come?” he asked, finally looking up, much too eager. He was always so willing to stand by as you clamped your jaws into rodents, feeding off the unwanted pests that lingered the streets.

It was disgusting. You knew that your diet to him, and to all the other humans, was noble. It was repentance for all the horrid sins you’d committed at your lowest point.

To vampires, it meant you were rejecting your nature, trading your gift for a chance to thinly grasp at the cord of humanity you’d never truly held at all. It was abhorrent and shameful.

“No,” you said, certain that if anyone saw you feed on a rat that evening, you wouldn’t be able to recover. How Atsushi could stand to be with you after that display of events was beyond your comprehension. “I need to clear my head.”

“Okay.” Sometimes, you wondered if he’d ever doubted you at all. He was always understanding of each rejection, each carefully chosen word, no matter how harsh they were. “Will you be back quickly?”

“Of course.” With that you smiled, never wanting to waste the precious hours you had with your fiancée before the sun rose. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” Atsushi kissed you before blowing out the candle and laying his head down. “I’m going to take a nap. I’ve been working on this all afternoon.”

“See you later.” You watched as he tucked himself into the bed you’d just left, waving at you lazily from the covers.

You swallowed down the sharp pang in your chest, looking away from him as you left the room, into another that was bathed in moonlight.

Really, you were content with your, but the arrangement between you and Atsushi was growing dismal. While you made it work, you always had, you couldn’t help but feel guilty that you’d never be able to accompany him on daylight ventures, confined to your midnight prison.

You lost your head as you traveled through the dark streets, the city busy with nightlife now that the sun was far beyond the horizon. As usual, there were all kind of people out and about, the rich and poor, the young and old, the good and the bad. And you, the worst of all, the one pretending to fit right in with the rest of them.

After a young couple, not much older than Atsushi, crossed the road, you slunk down into an abandoned alley, bending yourselves into the shadows like the nightly creature you were. You heard the rats scurrying about before you could even spot them, your supernatural hearing so much more attuned to subtle sounds.

With a face, you walked to the hub of rats, your speed much quicker than any of their tiny legs. One particular animal looked back at you, intrigued against its very nature, holding a piece of garbage between its small human-like hands.

You took the rat by the neck, staring into its beady eyes as you plucked it from the ground like a dandelion. The creature looked back at you so helplessly that you almost felt guilty for freeing it from its meaningless existence. Without thinking, you bit into its flesh, draining the rodent dry. The fur was rough against your tongue, disgusting as always as the strands got caught in your teeth.

It wasn’t enough. What little blood you had gained from the animal was never enough to sustain the bloodlust that had increased tenfold since Dazai stepped back into your life.

With a sideways glimpse down the alley, you plucked another rat from the gutter, remembering why you were destroying your own dignity in such a way.

“You’ve made some concerning decisions lately, but this certainly takes the cake.”

With the rat still thrashing around your lips, you glanced up at the man lingering down the alley, his tone cruel and mocking. You continued to suck the last bit of blood from the rodent before tossing the body aside, meeting Dazai’s eyes.

“Why do you care?” you asked, and though you were still starved and lightheaded, you would draw your hunt to a conclusion. You would only embarrass yourself further with Dazai’s keen stare watching your every move.

“I’d wondered why you seemed so weak.” He tossed a disgusted look towards the rats scurrying through the trash, their plump bodies dragging thick tails behind them. “I see, now.”

“Spare me the lecture. I swore I’d never feed from another human, and I’ve never broken my vow.” A rat ran past you, unafraid, even after you’d just killed another member of its clan. The long tail hit your ankle, and you cringed, to Dazai’s satisfaction.

“You’ll get yourself killed. For a vampire of your age, you should be much stronger than this.” He took a step towards you, cornering you in the alley. “Now, you’re a threat to no one.”

“Then, I will die. Something I’m surprised you haven’t done already.”

Dazai was silent, his eyes hard. For all of his promises of the threats that lie out there, you couldn’t spot another but him. There were dangerous vampires in the world, you knew that better than anyone, but he’d always be the one you feared the most.

“Will you continue to torment me for another night?” you sighed wearily, wiping the blood from your chin with a handkerchief. “Your very presence exhausts me.”

Dazai, irritatingly, lit a fire deep in your gut, increasing your hunger to lengths you hadn’t felt in years. You could smell his blood from where you stood, the ambrosia that you’d never tire of. It was a dessert so unlike anything you’d tasted as a human, and you hated that he was tempting you with it now.

Your vision flashed with images of you sinking your fangs into his shoulder, draining him of every last drop as you lost yourself into the man that was Dazai Osamu.

Dazai eyed you carefully, dragging his gaze down to your chest, across your body, back to the blood-stained mouth that remembered too fondly what it was like to taste him. “You still wear the ring I gave you, hovering delicately over your heart.”

You’d forgotten; or you just thought he’d never notice. You’d hidden it under layers of clothing, but still, it had broken free. “A reminder of my past mistakes. It has nothing to do with sentimental value.”

He hummed, considering twirling it around his index finger before he thought better of it. “If that’s the case, why haven’t you turned another companion? Is it not for the hope that we might return to another one day?”

You hadn’t noticed when he’d gotten so close, close enough to touch you. It became hard to focus, even as he kept a respectable distance, letting you retain a semblance of control.

“Atsushi clings to his human life as I did. I will never turn him against his will.” You stood taller, even as you refused to look into his brown irises, to see the mockery that was pushed back at you. “When the moment is right, only then will I do so. That’s something you’d never understand.”

He laughed. “You’ll continue with this narrative, will you?”

You said nothing, staring at the bodies of dead rats that would soon begin to decay. Let him find amusement in the choices you’ve made.

“Sweetheart,” Dazai said, his voice softening with the tone you’d never been able to resist. Your heart twisted, your forehead wrinkling as you kept your eyes firmly on the ground. “Don’t hurt yourself in this way. These vermin will not sustain you.”

“I won’t hunt with you, Dazai. I won’t kill anyone. Don’t try to deceive me into coming back to you.”

“That’s not what I was suggesting.” Before you could discern his actions, Dazai had bit into his wrist, opening a vein as blood poured down his forearm.

You froze.

Fangs had dropped over your bottom lip without a thought, your pupils dilating with the desire of blood. The scent was hard to resist, a sweetness that had been placed on this Earth only for you, handed over from the Devil in an attempt to bring you furthest from God. Though, that might have been all wrong... maybe your god was standing right before you.

Your eyes glued to the fountain of life, and you began to doubt your restraint. It’d been so long.

“Dazai—” you tried to step away, but your feet were cemented, buried under the cobblestones of the dimly lit street. You were a stronger woman than this, and certainly a vampire of your age would not collapse at the sight of blood in the way you were. “Stop it.”

“I’m trying to help you.”

“I don’t want your help. This isn’t what I want at all.”

You finally tore your gaze away, taking a few more steps back into the alley as you regained control of yourself, sick with a yearning for him. Dazai was playing a torturous game, and you refused to be the victim.

The vein closed, and Dazai watched you curiously, but he made no move to reopen the wound. Your irrational thoughts began to calm, and though you could still smell the blood that circled through his body, warm from a recent kill, your resolve was now stronger.

“I can’t stand to see you like this.” His words were hard, disappointed. “I won’t leave until I know you’re safe from harm. Even a mortal could end you with the weakened state you’re in.”

“Safe from harm?” you asked, crossing your arms over your chest protectively. “I’m in no danger here. I’ve been fine without you for fifty years, and I will continue to be fine without you for the rest of eternity.”

His voice deepened, eyes narrowing into a glare as he watched you retreat. “Don’t pretend to be a fool. Your very position with me put you at risk. You betrayed vampires even older than me, and they won’t stop until you’re dead.”

You exhaled, looking up at the stars before dropping your attention back to Dazai. “I don’t think you actually care. You told me that you loved me, and time and time again, you failed me. You left me there, Dazai. I had no choice but to betray them; they were going to kill me.”

“I thought they already had.” He reached out to you, curling his hands around your chin, desperate and wanting and so many things that you had never seen him. “Don’t you understand? I thought you were already dead. I never would have left if I’d known the truth. I’d never think of escaping without you.”

Your breath caught, and while you couldn’t stand to believe him, you felt yourself giving in a little more, succumbing to Dazai each time you crossed his path. Still, you removed his hands from your face, forcing yourself to be a little stronger, to put up those steely walls until he left your life once and for all. “I don’t trust you, Osamu, and you don’t trust anyone but yourself. There’s no reason for us to be speaking at all.”

His jaw tightened, but he let you go, straightening with a frustration he didn’t deserve.

“I’m going home to my fiancée—the man who has never put conditions on his affection. Please, stay as far away from me as you can.”

You shoved past him, shaking with nerves. Though he was stronger, he stumbled back, watching you go with an emotion you couldn’t discern.

PART II

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[lorryicious]

OMG YOU HAVE BILL KID OCS??? 👀 PLZ CAN I KNOW ABOUT THEM?

I DO- The gist of it was its an au of beyond the falls (has no name) but in this case Loretta and Bill accidentally ends up with quadruplets (I haven't fleshed out HOW accidentally happened it just did LMAO) and they decide to co-parent to try to be better than their own parents- They reside somewhere in a stable part of the nightmare realm/outside of gravity falls and its kinda like a tangled situation where the kids don't go out much BECAUSE of the reputation of their father (and you know being a wanted criminal).

I mainly focus on the dynamics of the siblings because I think it's silly. Bell (the pink one) is the most fleshed out of all the siblings because I had a storyline back in the day when she ran away to try to figure out her father's past because of how mysterious it is. She wants to get in touch with her own roots as half/Euclidean/Flatlander and half human.

All the siblings bear a different piece of their father's abilities. They all have the pyrokenesis but they all are strong in their own abilities. Bell is the dream entering/mind stuff, Ace is strength and form changing (the violent stuff), Wyatt sees the future, different timelines, and has the sight stuff, and Cytherus (or Cee for short) has the intelligence and duplication ability!

PS: THIS IS NOT CANON TO BEYOND THE FALLS LOL. I highly doubt if Loretta and Bill could they would have kids. Both have their own issues revolving around parents, and both are WAY too afraid to face that. Also in the BOF timeline they have SO MUCH GOING ON. No kids for them. Although the concept of Bill being not the best dad is something I enjoy from time to time :))

I do need to redesign them though- I originally thought Bills top hat was apart of his body so I made it his genetics FOR the kids. I don't think that would be the case anymore. Wyatt and Ace can keep their top hats though (because Ace likes to copy his dad anyway and would) and Wyatt copies his brother Ace-

[twst-drabbles]

Malleus 16

Summary: Class has ended and you’re ready to eat for lunch, but everyone has stopped at the door. Turns out Malleus was there, and he craves affection.

(Wanted to write about kisses. And then Malleus popped into my head. So here you go!)

“Um, hey, Prefect?” Oh, well would you look at that, it’s Deuce speaking up this time, “Can I… copy your notes again? Please?”

“Yeah, I really couldn’t pay attention,” Grim tapped his paws on your desk, like that’ll somehow endear you to him, “besides, the board is so far away.”

You and your group are two seats away from said board.

“Yeah, come on,” Ace laid an arm across the back of your seat, “do us a solid, yeah? You know you want to. Can’t resist the call of enlightening our tiny little brains.”

“What are you gonna give me?” You closed your notebook just so Ace and Deuce don’t have a chance to look at your notes. “I’ve been saving your asses for the past two weeks. You gotta give me something.”

“Hehe, that’s my minion! If you want a fast pass, you need to give us reparations in tuna!” He cheered, once more using ‘we’ as soon as he thinks he’s getting something.

“You have to pay too, Cat.”

There will be no ‘we’ this time.

“What?! Why?!”

You tried tutoring them in the past but having Ace, Deuce and Grim all in the same room for more than ten minutes always leads to either an argument breaking out, a bunch of whining, or just general chaos because one or more people tried to slip out of trouble.

Yeah, yeah it’s partially your fault for losing patience and just giving up on them, but you’d think they’d at least pay attention long enough to take notes.

They’re right there! On the board!

They have no excuse and they have to at least pay you back for this emotional trouble.

Was this petty? Yes, very. You don’t care right now. You want a treat. Or money. Or both!

“Huh, ah, well,” Deuce got sheepish and reached into his pockets, “I have gum.”

“No.” He has disappointed you. An unworthy treat for your notes.

“How about I only eat three-fourths of your food this time?” Suggested Grim.

“My treat is me giving you more of my food?” And you don’t even give it, he just steals it!

Grim hissed. He was probably hoping you didn’t know fractions. But, good on him for finally learning. Shame his first thought was to try and trick you with it.

“Okay guys, you all know that’s not what the Prefect really wants,” Ace leans in, acting chummy, “how about this?”

You were given one thaumark.

“…”

“Alright listen, I need the rest to buy other things, okay?”

You got up after calmly putting your notes away. “I’m going to get lunch.”

“No wait come back!”

But, as much as you wanted to walk out and sit at the regular table while your friends slowly fill in the seats, the exit to the classroom was blocked by a cluster of murmuring and rather nervous students.

“What’s he doing here?” You heard one whisper.

“Uh, did we do something? Were we too loud?”

“I’m really hungry but…”

You are not in the mood. You tried to excuse yourself as you bumped into shoulders but you had to settle for grumbled apologies instead as you shoved yourself through.

Finally, you popped out of the other side, a little more heated and more irritable.

“There you are, Child of Man,” so goes the voice of Malleus, who stood to the side of the door, waiting. The cause of this blockage, students frozen with only his green-eyed stare. “I was kept waiting quite a while. How bold of you to do this, after the slight you made this morning.”

What?

“Wha?” Your annoyance was momentarily replaced by bafflement, but that quickly went away when your brain caught up to his words. You grumbled, “Oh, come on…”

Yeah, you’re probably not even gonna eat at the cafeteria. You’re just gonna get your food and go hide away somewhere until you cooled down.

Malleus walked forward, the surge of students all taking a collective step back as though his very air could potentially kill them.

“Well? Don’t you remember?” He crossed his arms and you were ready for that high-brow glare that comes with all people of royalty, but instead, you found an exaggerated and childish pout. “You forgot to give me my morning greeting. I felt off the entire morning, unable to focus, because I didn’t have the memory of you kissing my brow fresh in my mind.”

A hush fell over the classroom.

And then a, “Huh?!” shot out of Ace’s mouth.

You snorted, then gave out a hearty chuckle. Once you calmed down, you waved Malleus over.

“Alright, alright, get over here. Let me correct that.”

A laugh rumbled low in his throat as he tilted his head into your hand. Playfully, you lightly pinched his ear, just because his pointy ears always caught your attention. He twitched, breath hitching just the slightest bit, and you couldn’t resist the urge anymore and kissed above his brow.

Malleus’s lashes fluttered open and the sigh that escaped him reminded you of a pure-hearted maiden with a fast-beating heart. And yet, there’s nothing delicate about the way he stood. If anything, the affection flowing through him made his pride more apparent. He practically glowed with that royal grace he was taught to have.

You couldn’t help yourself. You gave him an extra kiss on the corner of his lips. Malleus nearly hissed in a breath as he clamped his hand over your own, his body leaning in closer towards yours, as though he wanted to meld with you.

But, with a chuckle, you pulled away and he had no choice but to let go. Malleus was back to pouting, though this time, cheeks flushed and hair slightly messier than usual. The air around you was slightly charged with wayward magic, causing the hair on your body to stand on end. And his eyes…

Well, whoops.

“Good morning. I’ll see you later, okay?”

Better get out of here before Malleus jumps you right in this hallway.

[starrrlights]

Based on something in my notes app (copy and pasted too but edited to make sense) maybe oc Jay? Idk

you and Jason had became friends when you were on the streets, helping each other when needed and also just being there for each other. When he became robin, with #BruceWayneBenifits, he was able to help you more. Often letting you have sleepovers at the manor and hanging out. You both grow to have feeling for each other, and you were planning on telling him on his birthday or sum, but he died. So you never find out if he felt the same way or not (he does)

Time skip (5? Possibly 6 even?) Years later when Jason comes back alive and is less vengeful of his death, Jason frequently goes to old book stores to find good books to read. He goes to one frequently and the vibe felt off that day.

He thinks there might be a threat and keeps a good eye on everything. While browsing; surprise, surprise, you are there. Standing somewhat next to him. You obviously don't recognize him right away or at all from how different he looks. You're trying to find a specific book that a friend had recommended and just so happen to get closer to Jason little by little. (You have social anxiety)

You don't want to get to close to this person because of personal space and well, he's huge. Handsome looking, but huge, and a lot of scars. Which was kinda a hot look on him. You steal a few glances at him, hoping he wouldn't notice.

Jason does notice, since the Pit heightened his senses. (I think? I read it from somewhere that it did 🤷‍♀️) He finally looks over at you, expecting you to just be a normal Gothamite who is just scared of his size; when he freezes for a second. Recognizing the your hair and style almost immediately. He thinks he's hallucinating. There no way it was you.

You notice that he was looking at you and you almost shy at his gaze. Mumbling a sorry and returning your gaze to the books in front of you, but knowing that the book you're looking for is probably right in front of the man.

Jason panics a lot in the inside. Do you recognize him? Do you hate him? Are you afraid of him? He's you jaybird, why you'd you be afraid?

You mentally punch yourself and raised your voice a bit, taking a breath.

U: "I think that book I'm looking for is by you. Can I look?"

Oh my god, he's going to say no-

J: "Sure, that's fine."

God, if you could faint, you would. Not only looks handsome, but sounds handsome.

Jason on the other hand let's put a mental and physical sigh of relief, now thinking that you probably don't even recognize him. It saddens him a little at that thought but it was better, way better than having you scared of him.

He scoots over and you scoot closer, looking over more books until your predictions were right and the book you were looking for was right by where he was standing. You mutter a thank you and move so he can continue looking in the spot he was in.

He doesn't even register that you were moving away because he was so enchanted by you. you had grown up and matured. And damn did you look good. A lot better than he did in his opinion.

J: "I-uh, have me met before?"

Jason asked. 'Great going, idiot. All the romance novels you've read and that's what you come up with?' He thinks to himself.

U: "..I don't think so? What's your name?"

He's sweating bullets now. What does he say? Does he sat jason or use a fake name?

"Jason"

You've met many Jason's so you don't think about it. But there seems to be a familiar aura to him. But you can't put a finger on it. It's going to eat you up later but you put the thought to the side for now. Out of habit you stuck your hand out in a polite way.

"(Name)"

Jason almost said "I know" but bite his tongue and nodded, reaching out to shake you hand. Jesus, you hand fit so well with his. So warm and welcoming.

you and Jason talk for a bit more, it was awkward but it worked. You ended up switching numbers for "book recommendations". But you both were giggling like school girl in the inside because of it.

Over several months, you got to know Jason. And he reminded you a lot of Jason, your dead friend and crush. It saddened you a bit but you decided to not dwell on the past so much. You'll just visit his grave soon, again.

It wasn't long before Dick encouraged Jason to ask you on a date. Well, going out for coffee/fav drink bev and talk about books. You agreed and you did the date.

You had a great time. It was slightly awkward but it was just like all the other hang outs, but more special.

Jason asks you what your life is like because he wants to know what your life has been like since he was gone. He had asked before during those mothes about resent stuff, but he wanted to know more, like high-school years and such.

Boring, you said. Mostly the same thing over and over again. You told some funny stories and it made Jason want to genuinely smile. He makes up a few things to not have to talk about the Pit or dying. Or being Red Hood.

You go on a few more dates and finally, he takes you on a fancy one. (Using Bruce's card ofc)

You initially declined going on a fancy date, not really having the money or outfits for it but jason insisted and said he'd had one of his friends to go with for shopping if you needed it. (Steph or Cass idk, some fem friend he has.)

You ended up going shopping with his friend and got a nice dress.

You go on the fancy date and had a great time as always, a bit panic on the bill but jason pays for it all. He's a true gentleman for you and only you.

At this point, your bf and gf

I think jason would wait for about a year, you make sure things are secured and there is a lot of trust in the friendship/relationship before dropping hints that he is your not-so-dead best friend. He just wants you to know that he is back :(

One night, trying to sleep, it clicks for you. You immediately go to his apartment and knock on the door. He thanks whoever runs his life for the great full night of not patrolling that night and answers the door. You have tears going down your face and look puffy. He panics and asks if you're alright. You look at him with a confused but surprised lookin your face

U: "Jason Todd? ... Jaybird?"

He also has a look of shock on his face, happy that you finally got it but also scared of your reaction.

J: "... ... yeah. It's me."

U: "Oh my god..."

You stare at each other for about a solid minute and you break down, crying, hands to your face. He panics more and freezes, not knowing if they were good or bad tears. You reached out and hugged him tight. Feeling his out grown and bigger frame in your arms. You finally have your best friend back. And your dating him. You love him. And you know he loves you. All of your dreams have finally come true. Obv not financial ones but wvr.

It ends up with you cuddling jason on his bed or sum. idk.

Kinda long ngl, I have a good grasp of what his character is like but I may have a few things wrong. Pls tell me if something is ooc, I'd probably fix it or sum 🫶🏻😭

[gatheredfates]

Also known as 'Sea had a shower thought and SEAFLOOR validated me.'

Hi all! Would you like something fun to do in the lead up to Dawntrail? This is my extremely laid back (Count)Down To Dawntrail challenge, hosted predominately through SEAFLOOR, but open to anyone who might be interested in participating.

Submissions open June 21, 2am PDT and consist of the following:

DAY ONE, JUNE 21, ARR: Create a gpose or fic around the word realm or reborn, or set somewhere in ARR.

DAY TWO, JUNE 22, HW: Create a gpose or fic for the world heaven or ward, or set somewhere in HW.

DAY THREE, JUNE 23, SB: Create a gpose or fic for the word storm or blood, or set somewhere in SB.

DAY FOUR, JUNE 24, SHB: Create a gpose or fic for the word shadow or bringer, or set somewhere in SHB.

DAY FIVE, JUNE 25, EW: Create a gpose or fic for the word end or walker, or set somewhere in EW.

DAY SIX, JUNE 26, DT: Create a gpose or fic for the world dawn or trail, or shows your character getting ready for a new adventure!

DAY SEVEN, JUNE 27, FREE DAY: Create a gpose or fic that encompasses your love for the game/your character's love for the world around them OR talk about how the game and the people you have met have made an impact on your life. Tag your friends and loved ones!

DAY EIGHT, JUNE 28, EARLY ACCESS! Go forth, be free, have fun!

I'm going to copy/paste the exact FAQ I have on my server but you're welcome to send me an ask if you have any further questions!

How many days do I need to participate?

As few or as little as you want! If the prompt for Endwalker is the only one that interests you or you just want to take the free day to gush about your friends, that's fine!

What counts as a submission?

Anything creative! There's no minimum requirement provided you have fun with it.

What happens if I miss a day?

Devastation. Absolutely nothing. All I ask is that you don't post the prompt early (if you can help it). You can plan and prepare for it now but I'd like for works to go live each day rather than randomly or all at once!

Is there a prize at the end?

Not at this stage! People in my server get a fancy role for participating but there's no 'prize' as such. However, if you want to volunteer one, feel free to reach out to me!

Did you make this FAQ on the fly?

Absolutely. I'll probably add to it. DFKGJHFSD.

If you end up participating, I'd love if you tagged your works with #(count)down to dawntrail. That way I can see and reblog them!