#only like two ugly options | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

kiss-inthekitchen · 3 months

Text

no vacancy | spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x reader

set sometime in early s2; you get stuck sharing a room with your favorite boy genius who absolutely cannot know that you have feelings for him. and also, there’s only one bed. fluff, f!reader (i think there's only two usages of gender markers)

word count: 4.7k

notes: this is a rework of a very old fic i used to have up on ao3. i'm thinking i'll do more of these, i've got a few spencer fics in the vault and it was fun to rework this and see how my style has changed :)

You shivered against the cold desert air. Twirling a keyring around your finger, you headed for the door marked 3. You were exhausted from the day and so, so ready to collapse into bed as soon as you got inside your room.

You turned the key in the lock while Spencer waited behind you. It was late, and you and the team had pulled into a motel for the night, having been dragged out to a tiny rural town by the unsub after days of tracking him through surrounding areas. He’d been apprehended, finally, and handed over to local police around midnight. You all had decided it best to spend the night before driving back into town in the morning for take off.

So here you were, at one of those single story motels that still used actual keys instead of key cards. Given the time of night, you knew vacancies would be scarce, so you’d already expected to have to double up on rooms. Gideon had stayed behind at Quantico, leaving Hotch and Morgan in one room and JJ and Prentiss in another, with you and Spencer sharing the last room. You’d hung back while JJ got everything figured out with the concierge (who was just a bored looking kid posted at the desk), and then she’d passed you your key with its little keyring attachment listing the room number and you all bade each other goodnight.

You’d been on the team nearly a year already, but you were still the rookie compared to everyone else. Even Spence had two years on you. But seeing as you two were the youngest, and the least inclined toward the more physical parts of your job– the chasing, tackling, firing your weapon parts– you were paired off with him more often than not.

You weren’t complaining. You’d come to know Spencer pretty well, and you didn’t feel much apprehension at the thought of sharing a room with him for one night.

That is, until you opened the door.

“Oh,” you said involuntarily.

"There's only one bed,” Spencer said.

“Sure looks that way.”

"At least it's a queen?"

There was a brief pause before you both started speaking at the same time.

"Maybe we can go back to the concierge–" Spencer began.

"I mean, I guess I don't really–"

"–although, JJ did say we got the last–"

"–mind as long as you–"

You cut yourself off this time. It’s not like there was another good option, unless one of you wanted to sleep in the car. "This is fine?" it came out as a question rather than a statement.

"I think so? I wouldn't want to– to make you uncomfortable or anything."

"This is fine," you repeated, more sure of yourself this time. “And you don’t make me uncomfortable.”

It was only kind of a lie. You trusted Spencer with your life, of course. But he also made you nervous. He was sweet, kind, always seeming genuinely interested in anything you had to say. And of course, anyone could see that he was attractive. You were developing feelings for him, and in a job where your coworkers and your crush himself were all adept at reading people, it really wasn’t a good position for you to be in. You just hoped Spencer was as oblivious with women as Derek made him out to be.

"We should get out of the doorway," Spencer suggested, and you realized you'd been standing in the threshold this whole time.

"Right."

The two of you walked in, Spencer closing and locking the door behind you. It was a modest room in a tiny town; your standard ugly-patterned, faded bedspread draped over the queen bed in the center, a window looking out into the parking lot, and a dresser that didn’t even have a TV on top of it. You headed straight for the bed, sitting on the edge and removing your shoes while Spencer stood by with his hands in his pockets.

"You know, if it's a problem I can sleep on the cou– uh, the chair," Spencer offered, looking back mid-sentence and realizing that the only additional furniture this motel offered was one rigid looking armchair by the window.

"No, you're not doing that."

"What?" he asked, taken aback by the quickness of your response.

"You're not sleeping in that chair. It looks horribly uncomfortable and I’m sure it’s never been cleaned, and I know how you’d feel about that.”

Spencer grimaced, not having thought about that particular detail. “Yeah, but, I mean… I’d do it for you.”

God, why did he have to say stuff like that? Like you were something special. And why now, when you were stuck in the same room with him until morning? It probably didn’t even mean the same thing to him as it meant to you. He was one of the most caring people you’d ever met. He’d probably say that to any one of you on the team.

Or maybe sleeping in a chair meant nothing to him at all. Maybe he actually didn’t want to share the bed with you and that’s why he was trying so hard to avoid it.

Ugh. You just wanted this day to be over. It was late, the case had been a week long, and now you were probably in for a fun night of overthinking and second guessing when you’d been expecting silence and easy, dreamless sleep.

Okay, maybe that last part was never really an option, but still.

“Look,” you sighed, “I know this isn't an ideal situation but there's a perfectly good bed here, so let’s just share it. If you’re okay with that. It's just one night and tomorrow we'll be back home and nobody has to know about it."

You had to fight from squeezing your eyes shut in regret. You wished that had come out differently. You chanced a look at Spencer, realizing that you’d been staring down at the faded carpet pattern while you spoke.

The look on his face was one you hadn’t seen before, and you almost couldn't place it. He seemed sort of disappointed. Disappointed that he had to share a bed with you? Or that you'd made it sound like you didn't want to share a bed with him? Nope, you could not go down that road tonight. You shook your head once as if it would clear the thoughts from your tired mind.

“I’m okay with that," he said, casually enough that you could almost convince yourself that you’d just imagined the look on his face before. "So, do you want the shower first, or...?" Spencer asked.

"No, I can wait, you go ahead," you said. You desperately needed the moment to yourself anyway.

You started rifling through your bag for pajamas, toiletries, and your charger as an excuse to look busy while Spencer made his way into the bathroom with his things. As soon as the door closed behind him, you flopped back on the bed, staring up at the ceiling as if it might hold all the answers.

Spencer couldn't know about your feelings. For one thing, you were pretty sure there was a rule against dating your colleagues in the BAU. If not, there probably should be. You were such a close knit team, and if anything went wrong… you couldn’t imagine how difficult that would be. But then, the evil and uncooperative part of you also couldn’t help but think that things might go right.

From the beginning of your time at the BAU, you’d been drawn to Spencer. It just kind of made sense. You’d gotten through school at an accelerated pace– though not as quickly as him, the man was on another fucking level when it came to academics– and you were one of the only people who found his fact dropping actually interesting, often asking him follow up questions. He’d looked adorably shocked the first few times you’d done that.

He listened intently to your passionate rants about your favorite films and tv shows, even though he hadn’t seen any of them. When the two of you had discovered a shared interest in mythology and folklore, Hotch nearly had to separate you so you would actually get some work done. It was like you were a kid in school again, and you might’ve been embarrassed if you didn’t find it so funny, if you weren’t so giddy at the idea of a friendship that could make you feel like a kid again.

Spencer understood you in a way that other people didn’t, laughing at your jokes even when they didn’t land for anybody else. When people interrupted or spoke over you, he always paid attention, and in situations where you were trying to add details to the profile he’d bring the conversation back around to you.

Throughout your life you’d learned– through painstaking trial and error– to fit in pretty well in most any group you found yourself in, but you’d always considered yourself to be a little weird. A little too different. But when you were with Spencer, you felt like you didn’t have to try so hard. You could both be a little different, together.

Spencer opened the bathroom door then, startling you. You’d been so lost in thought you hadn’t even noticed the water turn off. You looked over to see him wearing a loose white t-shirt and pajama pants, his hair still damp. And now you knew what Spencer looked like fresh out of a shower. And of course it was endearing as hell.

“If that’s how you’re planning to sleep,” Spencer began, referencing how you were laid out in the dead center of the bed, your arms fully outstretched and hands hanging off the mattress, “then I think we might have a slight problem after all.”

You walked out of the bathroom a short while later, dressed in your usual sleepwear of shorts and an oversized shirt. You’d put your hair up in a bun to protect it while you showered, and now it hung loose around your shoulders. You simultaneously wished your outfit was cuter and uglier; knowing your giant t-shirt wasn’t flattering your figure while also feeling like you had too much skin exposed. Not that it mattered. You were just going to get some sleep and then wake up in the morning and head home. Everything would be back to normal.

Spencer’s in bed already. He’d turned off the big light while you were showering, the lamps on either side of the bed casting him in a softer, warmer glow. He looked up from his book to find you standing there, and the soft, familiar look in his big brown eyes had you rooted to the spot.

“Hey,” he said softly, patting the space next to him in invitation.

You conceded, finding your legs again and sliding into bed beside him. “Hey.”

He fidgeted with the pages of his book, ultimately shutting it closed on his index finger to mark the page. “So, uh, are we okay?”

“Yeah, of course,” you answered genuinely, feeling bad that your internal struggle had manifested in a way that worried him.

“Okay, cool,” he said. He paused long enough to let you explain if you wanted to, another invitation. You knew he wouldn’t push it if you didn’t offer something up. You wanted to give him an explanation, but you couldn’t bring yourself to.

“Sorry,” you managed.

“For what?”

“I don’t know… acting weird, I guess. It’s just been a long day.”

“Oh, well, you don’t need to be sorry about that. You’re always weird.”

Your mouth dropped open as you looked at him. “Look who’s fucking talking,” you scoffed. Some of the tension dropped from your shoulders, glad he hadn’t questioned you further.

“Language, please,” he held up a hand to stop you. “I’m delicate.”

“Wha–?” you let out a surprised little laugh. “You’re an idiot!”

“Yeah okay, tell that to my I–.”

“Oh, my IQ of 187,” you finished for him, rolling your eyes. Even that was full of endearment. “God, you are so annoying.”

“Hm. Y’know, this might be a long night for you. I’d hate to keep you up with my annoyingness.”

“I feel like you could’ve come up with a better word than annoyingness, Mr. 187,” you tilted your head where it rested against the headboard, looking up at him.

“Oh, she’s being a smartass now!” he split into a surprised grin, and you could swear your heart skipped a beat.

“You just said ass.”

“Wow. How quickly you’ve corrupted me.”

“Right, of course. It’s my fault.”

“I knew you’d agree.”

“Shut the fuck up,” you laughed.

Things felt a little bit more normal after that, joking around with Spencer like you normally did made the rest of the night feel less daunting.

Shortly after that, the two of you agreed that you should get some sleep, each reaching over to turn out the light on your respective sides of the bed.

You let yourself sink into your pillow, the exhaustion you had been feeling giving way to a hyper awareness of Reid’s body next to you. You were kept awake, completely overcome by the foot of space between you and Spencer; the consequences of crossing that space, the way it might feel, the curiosity over whether he was laying awake too, thinking the same thoughts as you. Even with that foot of space separating you, you could feel his body heat. You longed to move closer to him, to touch him, to let his warmth seep into you and lull you to sleep.

But you didn’t, and you wouldn’t, because this was just an unfortunate booking mishap. It didn’t mean anything. Tomorrow it would be over, and you could more easily go back to hiding your feelings from everyone else and yourself.

Eventually, exhaustion won out.

You woke what could’ve been a few minutes or a few hours later, the sky still dark. You couldn’t tell what exactly had woken you up, only the sense that you’d moved, almost like you’d fallen. But fallen from what?

You blinked in the dark, the street lamps in the parking lot providing enough residual light to keep the room from being pitch black.

Reid was sitting up. He must’ve bolted upright, you thought. Had that been what moved you? Were you lying on him?!

“Hey, you okay?”

“Sorry. Just a nightmare,” he said as if it was nothing. “Sorry to wake you.”

“What was it about?” you ignored his apologies, sitting up as well.

“I don't really even remember,” he breathed, almost like it was funny. “Just having a physiological reaction to whatever it was, I guess.”

You had nightmares too, of course. You all did. You hated remembering them, but you also hated the times when you woke up in the dark, dazed and inexplicably scared. Without thinking, you reached for his hand.

He turned to look at you then. “I really didn't mean to wake you,” he reiterated.

“I figured,” you smiled slightly. You noticed his breathing was just a bit too fast. You rubbed your thumb over the back of his hand, leaning over to rest your weight against his side, your head on his shoulder. His nervous system would regulate itself quicker this way.

“You were on my pillow, by the way.”

“What?” you ask, your head jerking back from him.

“I totally called it. You rolled right into the center of the bed in your sleep. Total bed hog.”

“Hey!” you protested, pulling your hand back from his in embarrassment. So you had been lying on top of him. Or at least really close to him. His hand chased after yours, finding you again.

“That wasn’t me complaining about it.”

“Oh,” was all you could think to say back.

It was quiet for a minute. You let your head fall back onto Spencer’s shoulder, but your heart raced in your chest.

“Can I ask you something?” he questioned, his tone becoming more serious.

“Oh– of course,” you answered, your brow creasing.

“What did you mean when you said ‘it’s not ideal’ and ‘nobody has to know about it’?”

“Wh– I– Spencer, come on.”

He didn’t give you an out this time. Just waited for an answer.

“I don’t even really know,” you sighed.

“I believe you’re being partially truthful about that.”

“Don’t profile me.”

“I’m not. I just know you.”

You sighed. “You know, sometimes I hate that stupid memory of yours.”

“I don’t need an eidetic memory to remember that. It was a weird thing to say, and it happened like four hours ago.”

“You’re guesstimating. And it wasn’t that weird.”

“Maybe not, but the way you said it was. And you’re avoiding my question.”

You continued to avoid it, biting down on your bottom lip.

“And you stuttered when I brought it up.”

“I told you to stop profiling me.”

This time, he just hummed in response.

“And so what if I stuttered?”

“Stuttering is usually more my thing. A nervousness thing.”

Maybe this was actually your nightmare. Maybe you’d wake up soon and none of this would’ve been real, and you wouldn’t have had to explain to Spencer that the reason you’d had an attitude was because the situation tonight had made it harder to hide your feelings for him. Big feelings that became a lot harder to ignore when he was this close to you, still holding your hand, the mix of scents from his detergent and deodorant clouding your judgment. Of all the embarrassing scenarios that you could’ve imagined playing out tonight, this was very high up on the list.

“I said ‘it’s not ideal’ because it’s not, just by definition. We were supposed to get a double room and we didn’t. Not ideal. And I said no one has to find out because I can already see Morgan having a field day with it and I know the exact expression that’ll be on his face–”

“The eyebrows,” he nodded, lips pursed.

“And then everyone else will get in on it and I just figured…” you sighed. “I don’t know. I didn’t want to deal with that.”

“That all makes total sense.”

“Good,” you breathed. Too relieved.

“Now tell me the rest of it.”

“God, Spencer–” you huffed out, frustrated. He knew you too well.

You wanted to run. Maybe you could go sleep in the car after all. And then ignore Spencer for the rest of the day, and then the year, and your life, and–

“Don’t make me say it,” you breathed. This had to be a dream.

“But there is something to be said?” he questioned, his tone hushed, almost reverent.

It was just vague enough. You could pretend it was nothing.

“Yes.”

You felt like you’d just blown your life up with one word.

Spencer took a deep breath, your body cresting and falling with the movement of it.

“You make me feel better about being myself,” he confessed.

You shut your eyes. You had a constricting feeling in your throat suddenly, and the awful realization that you might cry.

He spoke again, because you couldn’t. “I haven’t always felt good about it, you know? And then you joined the team, and, well– you changed a lot of things for me. And you’re beautiful, obviously, and I was scared to mess up what we have, because it’s special, I think–”

“It is.”

“–and then you started freaking out when you saw the bed,” he was smiling now, you could hear it, “and I thought, maybe it wouldn’t be so crazy… maybe I could make you feel that way too.”

“You do. Of course you do. I feel like I can be my full self with you. I don’t know that I’ve ever felt like that before.”

Spencer laughed, a little delirious giggle, and squeezed your hand in his. You’d managed to avoid crying, thankfully, and you grinned along with him, looking down at your joined hands as you squeezed him back.

Things seemed to still for a beat, the two of you sitting with this moment and letting it stretch out. You still couldn’t really believe this was happening. You might have to tell Spencer to pinch you.

“So what does that mean for us now?” you asked.

“Well, for right now at least, I think it just means that we can go back to sleep without overthinking things into oblivion.”

“I was not–”

“Okay, this time I am profiling you, and you’re lying,” he cut you off, his smile still evident.

“Oh, this was such a mistake.”

He continued like you hadn’t spoken, laughing a little as he went. “I could practically hear it. It’s like, you know when a computer is trying to use too much processing power and the fan starts whirring really loud? Like that but just like right next to me, like tangible—“

“Okay! Thank you so much, I actually totally got it, you can stop now.”

He laughed, and your cheeks warmed.

“For the record, I meant we could both stop overthinking.” Then he shifted a little, facing you a bit more. With the hand that wasn’t holding yours, he brushed a strand of hair from your face, a fake pout on his lips. “Sorry I make you nervous.”

You cackled at that, if it was possible to cackle in hushed tones. “Oh, I bet you are. Besides, I know you like me now, so you’ve lost that card.”

“Are you certain of that?”

“Certain that you like me or certain that you can’t make me nervous?”

“The latter. I do like you, if that was unclear.”

Your heart sped up, contradicting you as you answered, “Then I’m certain you can’t make me nervous.”

He titled your face up to his then, using his index finger underneath your chin to make you look at him. “You’re an awful liar.”

You just shrugged, watching triumphantly as Spencer’s gaze fell to your lips.“It’s been working out pretty well for me so far.”

“I guess it has,” he murmured, closing the distance between you and finally kissing you.

After so many months of imagining (and berating yourself for imagining) what Spencer’s lips might feel like on yours, you weren’t disappointed.

For once you didn’t have to think at all, the chemistry between you and him drowning out everything else. His hand fell to your waist, and yours moved to the curve of his jaw, pulling him closer as his mouth moved against yours. Your teeth grazed his bottom lip and he gasped, and your skin felt like it was lit up from the inside.

You pulled away to breathe, and to process, and to try and stop your head from swimming. You were rewarded with the awestruck look in Spencer’s eyes as he opened them again.

“Okay, was it just me, or–”

“That was crazy,” you breathed.

“Crazy,” he agreed.

“Spence?”

“Yeah?”

“I don’t think we’re getting back to sleep tonight.” Your eyes widened at the implication of saying those words at that time. “Not, like, in the sex way, though,” you hurried to correct yourself. “I need like, 4-5 business days to process things first, and I– well, I just meant, like– you know?”

Spencer was nodding at you even as his eyebrows pulled together in a frown. “Can I still kiss you during those 4-5 business days?”

“Oh, yeah,” you said, sounding breathless.

“Cool,” he agreed. “You seem really nervous, by the way.”

“Well, you kissed me.”

“I did.”

“How were you not nervous?” you breathed.

“Oh, I was. Your reaction is making me feel a whole lot better about it though.”

You scoffed half-heartedly. “I do so much for you.”

“You do,” he replied earnestly, letting go of your hand to wrap his arm around your shoulders as he pressed a kiss to your forehead. “We could lie back down, if you want. Like we were before I so rudely woke you up.”

“Yeah, I’m super mad about that,” you joked. “Anyway, I was asleep for that, so you’ll have to show me what I was doing.”

He seemed all too pleased to do so. “Okay, so you were basically like,” he leaned back against the pillows, pulling you down with him, moving his hand to the side of your head to guide you to the place where his shoulder met his chest, “Like that, and then your arm was over here,” he picked up your arm and guided it around his waist.

“Oh god, that’s so embarrassing,” you said, realizing that he must’ve been awake when you’d done it.

“Yeah, I know. Really terrible time for me.”

“I can imagine. I can scoot back over to my side of the bed, just say the word.”

“Don’t you dare,” he said, squeezing you closer.

You trailed your fingers up and down his waist, feeling more content than you had in ages.

“I can’t believe you’d suggest that I would have sex with you right after confessing my feelings. Like, take me to dinner first at least.”

“Oh my god,” you half-exclaimed, half-laughed. You felt your cheeks heat up again, grateful it was still too dark in the room to be noticeable. “You’re right, I’m so sorry. How’s next Friday?”

“Hmm, I don’t know. My work schedule is kind of unpredictable. I’ll have to get back to you.”

“You’re such an ass.”

A few short hours later, you were back on the jet with the rest of the team. You were lying on the couch while Spencer sat in a seat one row up and across from you, both to avoid suspicion and so you could try to catch up on sleep. He sat facing away from you, but with the angle you were at you could still see one side of his face if you tilted your head up.

You were just beginning to fade when your phone buzzed next to you.

Spencer: I have to tell you something, coworker to coworker.

You looked up to see him blank faced, looking down at the book in his right hand, holding his phone in the left.

You text back: okay?

Spencer: My crush asked me out last night.

You’re exceptionally glad no one was sitting close enough to see you. Spencer had caught you off guard, and you felt an infatuated grin spreading across your face.

You: what did u say?

Spencer: Wanted to get your opinion first.

You: i think u should say yes, obviously.

Spencer: Idk, I’m kinda nervous. I think she’s trying to jump me on the first date.

You just barely managed to refrain from laughing out loud. You looked up at Spencer again, and he’s looking at his phone as if it contained nothing more than a weather report. You’re astounded.

You: one could argue that technically you’ve already slept together, so there’s less to be nervous abt

You saw his eyebrows raise just slightly. Success.

Spencer: You’re trouble, you know that? See you Friday night

You: i promise i won’t try to jump you

Spencer: Oh

Spencer: I fear I may have shot myself in the foot here

You: i wouldn’t worry about it too much

Spencer: That’s rich coming from you

You rolled your eyes even though he couldn't see you.

You: whatever. wear something sexy ;)

You heard him blow air out of his nose, an almost laugh.

“Something funny?” you heard Derek ask.

Shit.

“This book contains a historical inaccuracy that was proven incorrect eight years before its publishing date,” Spencer replied without missing a beat.

Unbelievable.

You: you’re unhinged :*

Spencer: Go to sleep already, would you?

You: coworker to coworker? my crush keeps interrupting my beauty sleep

Spencer: He’s probably worried about the worldwide implications of you becoming any more beautiful

You: i guess that’s why the universe gave you insomnia :( too pretty

Spencer: Stop flirting with me

You: bc you’re too delicate??

Spencer: Yes

You snapped your phone shut, feeling dazed. You watched the clouds go by in the window across from you, and you couldn’t help letting your gaze slide over to Spencer. He’d put his phone down as well, concentrating on his book. Or pretending to concentrate. He was turning the pages much too slowly for his actual pace.

You: you have got to do a better job of fake reading than that

You heard a page turn.

You looked up again to see the ghost of a smile threatening the corner of his mouth.

This was going to be fun. And also, you were so screwed.

#so they have flip phones but i didnt want to write everything in shorthand so theyre just really fast at it. go with it #spencer texts with perfect grammar bc of course he does #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x you #spencer reid imagine #my fics

2K notes · View notes

tiktaalic · 4 months

Text

catching fire dash simulator

finnicksgirl Follow

my streams have been cutting all season omfg what is going on

caps4finnick Follow

cinnagirl3000 Follow

anybody heard from cinna lately?

plutarcheology Follow

Plutarch Heavensbee circa 2282

revolutionarykatniss

As if it’s not ENOUGH that yall wanna fuck the most morally bankrupt man alive who is more than complicit because he gets paid to live in luxury to ORCHESTRATE the deaths of innocents so that they’re a spectacle and don’t have the option to die even semi peacefully. as if that’s not enough. You wanna fuck him when he’s ugly?

caesarflickerwoman Follow

anyone else still thinking about how caesar and peeta were kinda ..

czrflckmn

Aren’t you the one who had the week long meltdown about peeta being overfamiliar with him

caesarflickerwoman

Well you see I’m gay and a man now

theeclove Follow

already tired of this fucking season of everlark -_- idgaf about the fucking fog

siblingvictors

DISTRICT ONE GONNA SEND THEM A CANCELLATION NOTICE!! #CASHMEREGLOSS4EVER

czrflkmn Follow

everyone looooooves to act like NOTABLE cishet peeta is so gay w caesar as if his gay cohost isn't right there.... slaying in a wig..... sending yearning glances caesar's way right before the camera cuts......

johannadykeson Follow

tbh she’s got the WORST taste in allies idek why i continue to stan. girl MAGS?

#my girl going to get slorn :/

katnissgirlsmakedo

She is choosing with her HEART she chose to save peeta in the games REMEMBERRRRRRRR she’s literally a lovergirl to the core

#lovecore #heartcore #truelove

lucygraydotcom Follow

Caesar flickerman kidn if a laughing gnome. Reblog

finnickforever Follow

I’ve supported finnick through a lot and defended them and I’ve always been proud they're from my district but honestly they went way too far by doing the salute during the interview. I can only hope that they just got caught up in the moment with everyone else doing it and obviously it’s a stressful situation but I don’t think I can continue endorsing them. I’ll be changing my url this week.

divorceekatniss Follow

hey guys i know times are tough for everyone and the capital has really cracked down but my mutual @divorceepeeta got flogged the other day and could really use some help. v3nmo here. anything helps #signalboost #mockingjay

disabledmags Follow

Tbh the baby is the saddest thing I've ever heard </3

peetaspride

Another citizen falling for capital propaganda. It's so glaringly apparent that this is made up to draw in views. The tributes undergo extensive medical examination prior to the games. They would NEVER let a pregnant woman compete.

disabledmags

As if killing children has ever stopped them before?

#We all saw him fall to protect her stomach before they even started the victory tour #Is it that ridiculous to believe two newlyweds fresh out of a life or death situation would celebrate a little carelessly?

peetaspride

If you think even the marriage is real you're stupider than I thought. Peeta spends every interview begging us to see his truth. The capital is shamelessly silencing him and "the baby" is a distraction.

peetasbabymama Follow

URL CHANGE!! faggotpeeta->peetasbabymama

cupcakeeverlark

this isnt funny. peeta's a real person with real feelings. it will never be funny to call someone a f***** as a joke. how would you feel if my url was f*****peetasbabymama?

peetasbabymama

district420

isnt cupcakeeverlark literally prez snow's 12 yr old granddaughter lol

tendinghiswounds

OOMF IS 12???????????

everlarklovechild

the age is the problem here?

marriedeverlark Follow

Canon url 🎉🎊💅😁🥰♥️

beeteemp3 Follow

New content of my favorite tribute 😁😁😁

3ffietrinket

Girl there’s a 96% chance they die ?

peenick Follow

getting reports from the presidential banquet that Peeta looks gay as fuck

3v3rlark Follow

ik peeniss has been flagging w the rehearsed speeches but did anyone else see the way they looked at each other in the censored district 11 speech

rues-song

you’re STUPID she’s a capital pawn AND i fucked your mom while you were busy looking for illegal streams

senecacraneofficial Follow

rip seneca you were so babygirl </3

plutarchbaby69

so now you think we can’t fuck old men?

#this fandom is so ageist #this is prob what I get for blogging about thg tbh since # it’s literally about kids. Some of you ppl need to grow up

#etxt #the hunger games #making a post with han is pretty much the most classic thing Len can do

1K notes · View notes

dilatorywriting · 2 days

Text

Monster Mayhem: Siren's Song [Part 3]

Gender Neutral Reader x Vil Schoenheit Word Count: 5.2k

Summary: Teaching a Siren to read is perhaps the best or worst idea that you've ever had. If only you were half as capable of reading between the lines.

[PART 1] [PART 2] [PART 3]

‘U-G-L-Y’

“Wow,” you drawled. “What a wonderful use of your new talents.”

The fish you were cooking landed upside down on the hot stone with a crackling sizzle of skin that you could feel as a jumping prickle of heat all along your arm. You poked at your impromptu stovetop with your impromptu stick-spatula and prepared your impromptu leaf-plates. A true culinary connoisseur, you were. When you were rescued, you were going to argue to Riddle that you deserved a promotion to the kitchens. Though, apparently not everyone appreciated your talents.

‘UGLY’ the Siren poked again, jabbing his talon into the sand.

“Then bring me prettier fish,” you returned, pointed. “It’s not that hard.”

His sharp, black claws came up to point at you next alongside his wonderful, two-syllable insult. Then back to you again, with four fingers this time. Both hands going for it. There was a tight, irritated expression on his face that you refused to call a pout because firstly, surely this vicious king of the seas could never pull something so childish. And secondly, because in these past few days you’d developed a terrible habit of just chattering each and every one of your thoughts aloud. And if you called him bratty, or dared imply such pouting was coming from his regal visage, you were just setting yourself up to get drenched by his flailing tail all over again.

“You can’t hurt my feelings,” you said, bland. “Ugly is the nicest thing you’ve ever called me.”

He huffed and smacked his fins against the sand. The trailing, dark tips cracked against your leg and you kicked him right back. It didn’t actually hurt, no more than a pinch to the side, but you’d spent enough time with this asshole now that not fighting back like a toddler pitching a tantrum wasn’t an option anymore.

Just over two weeks, now. Fifteen days and counting.

Those first few days had been spent in a nervous, prey-like panic, of course. Watching him circle the bay with his shredded fins, crying at the top of his lungs until your goosebumps had goosebumps. And then you’d helped untangle him from the mess you’d made, delicately working salt-brined twine away from weeping wounds. Sure, there’d been that whole hoopla of him pinning you in the sand after your act of Great Chivalry and promptly threatening to rip your throat out with his teeth, but you’d moved past that. The offering of home-cooked meals had softened his scaly hide, and then the even greater move of handing him your species’ alphabet like some great, guarded secret of old had sealed the deal. Cheers all around. It’d only taken you nearly being eaten, disemboweled, and drowned, but you’d made peace with your roommate. What a success story.

And now instead of trying to murder you, he just called you U-G-L-Y.

So, you know, baby steps.

The thin, pointed end of his tail whipped up from where you’d kicked him to twine around your ankle and give a sharp tug that had you sprawling face first into the sand with an oomph. Your great tumble sent all those pretty letters of his scattering in the breeze, and you spat out a mouthful of grit.

“Here’s a new one for you,” you chirped, digging your fingers into the muck. F-U-C-K—Y-O-U.

The Siren yowled, which you’d come to recognize far too well as a prickle along your nape and that forever echoing tug, tug, tug somewhere in your head that could never return the call with its corresponding answer. His tail flailed out again to smack at your hands. It was thick, and scaly, and all smooth, powerful muscle. The fact that he hadn’t crushed your poor fingers into a sad, bony paste by now beneath its wrath was a miracle. If you were a more optimistic person, you’d say he was being extra gentle with you on purpose. But even you weren’t delusional enough to think he liked you that much.

“Okay, okay,” you grouched, spitting out another mouthful of pebbles. “Fine. Just not around the food. Unless you want to have to go hunting for dinner all over again.”

The Siren huffed, rolling his eyes like it was a professional sport, and settled himself prettily back against the butt of his tail like he’d never even tried to beat you to death with his fins at all.

You sighed and pulled yourself back out of the sand, scrubbing it from your salt-sticky skin as best as you were able. You returned to poking at your fish. They weren’t too terribly singed, despite your distraction. And the Siren seemed to like the edges extra crispy either way, so it wasn’t any kind of loss. You were in the middle of balancing your impromptu stick-spatula against another impromptu stick-spoon to try and flip the fish without destroying it entirely when you felt a gentle poke, poke, poke against your arm.

You looked back and the Siren stared down at you, lips canted in a sharp smirk that was all pride.

U-G-L-Y—A-N-D—S-T-U-P-I-D, the sand said.

He’d been struggling with applying the whole -pid noise to the proper lettering, because of how similar it was to -ped. And the spelling had been tripping him up (with much obvious frustration) for the last day or so.

“Well done,” you sighed, not even too terribly upset that it had taken you months in Riddle’s impromptu classrooms to learn what he was picking up over the course of a few, harried sessions delivered with broken bits of sharp sticks and an ever changing canvas. “Try this.”

You scribbled another message in the sand. An insult, naturally, because he seemed to like those. You sounded out the letters as you hopped the tip of your finger over them one-by-one, and the Siren stared down at the inscription with the sort of intense focus meant for ancient tomes or sacred texts. You watched his lips move silently as he sounded it out alongside your mini-lesson, and then he was reaching forward to trace over the letters with the curved tip of a claw—knuckles bumping yours for a moment before shooing your hand away.

You returned to your dinner—finishing up the poor, murdered fish as best as you could and doling it out as usual. You reached out to hand pretty boy his leaf-plate, which he took like a lord accepting a meal from a lowly servant. All upturned noses and pointed disinterest. He set it beside him and nibbled on the offering as he continued to study the new task you’d given him—grand, purple fins splayed out at his sides to brush against your hip like a habit. And this was your life now, apparently. Sitting and frying lazy, shallow water fish over a heated stone while your Siren student studied curse words in the sand. If you managed to survive this, no one would ever believe you.

The wrecked ship called to you like, well, did you even have to say it.

(It felt like a low hanging pun at this point. You’d never be able to use the expression again for as long as you lived without thinking of narrowed, purple eyes nearly rolling up into the back of a too pretty head because you were apparently that annoying.)

Every day when you ventured towards the western side of the islet to feed your teeny, round octopus friend, you couldn’t help but sit and stare at the shattered hull. It’s not like it was in any sort of shape to actually get you off your little, sandy prison, but it was… There was something about it that was familiar enough to scratch an itch in your brain, but just alien enough that figuring out what was itching was outright impossible.

Silver songbirds.

‘Not safe,’ the Siren had demanded, with an almost frantic look to him. Not safe.

Every time you tried to venture closer to get a better look, it was like he could feel it. And he’d be pacing the shoreline like a blood-frenzied shark—rattling off muted, angry complaints the whole time that popped against your skin like soda fizz. So, lesson learned. Keep away.

It was a particularly sweltering afternoon today. Not a cloud in the bright, blue sky and nary a breeze to be seen. Sweat was beading unpleasantly along your brow and all down your back, and you hated it. At least on the Rose Queen there had been shade. And the lower decks of the ship submerged in the waves had always felt at least a little chilled. You could practically feel the damp, cool wood against your cheek. The smell of salt and pine oils in your nose. But here, on this stupid not-island with its barren trees and nothings, you just had to suffer in silence. The memories of your ship had you thinking of the washed up Songbird all over again, and you were in the middle of a heated, internal debate over making a swim for it again when something cold rained down over your face in small, scattered droplets.

You blinked back into focus to see Mister Merman at your ankles. You’d been sitting with your heels in the water, but no deeper. Because the shallows were still his territory, and while he hadn’t tried to hold you under in a while now, it was hard to forget something like that so easily. You didn’t really want to chance it if a foul mood struck him, no matter what sort of fragile truce seemed to exist between the pair of you lately.

Last you’d looked he’d been sunning himself on one of the wide, flat rocks—as he was wont to do. Lavender-tipped hair splayed out along his cheeks in a pool of soft gold and fins spread at his hips like the finest, plum silks. How he never seemed to burn with that delicate, ivory skin of his you had no idea. Maybe it was a Magical, Mystical, Merman perk yet undocumented. Or maybe he was just Like That. But he’d been snoozing away on his favorite boulder, and now he had rolled in with the tide to lounge by your toes. His fingers were spread, still dripping with sea water from where he’d flicked you in the face. You frowned at him—partly curious, but also pissilly blinking salt out of your eyes that stung, because come on dude.

He flicked more water your way and said something that you couldn’t manage to catch the shape of. When you didn’t respond with anything other than a pointed scrub of the water dripping down your cheeks, he reached out to wrap a clawed hand around your ankle and give a gentle tug.

“What?” you frowned, confused, and he tugged again.

He canted his head towards you, and then out to the cove behind him. He slipped back with the soft, frothy roll of the waves—just a foot or two—and clearly meant to pull you with him. You slid against the sandbar with a yelp and dug your heels into the muck to keep from getting yanked all the way in.

“No way,” you snipped, kicking a mess of water into his face. He didn’t even blink, just frowned down at you with a twisty sort of petulance. “I thought we were over this. If you drown me you won’t get any more cooked food, y’know. And I, in turn, would very much like to not be drowned. Win, win.”

That frown of his went stiff, and his lips twitched down at the corners. His amethyst eyes darted away and for a moment you swore that those gemstone irises flashed with something almost like guilt. He rolled forward with the next curl of surf and pressed a claw into the damp, dark sand at your hip. He scratched out a careful message, stubbornly refusing to meet your gaze all the while.

Won’t, it said.

“Forgive me for not believing that,” you returned, dry. “You’re oh-for-two now, I think. And, you know, fool me twice, and all that.” Though maybe the first one didn’t really count, seeing how you were both tangled together and sinking to the bottom in a mutual sort of destruction. But whatever. You were keeping it.

The Siren’s brow pinched in the middle and he reached forward to dig his claws in again.

Accident.

Your own brows jumped nearly to your hairline. You were just about to politely point out that dragging someone to the bottom of the ocean until they were bubbling from the nose and flailing wasn’t really an accident,but then you remembered the startled look on his face. The way he hadn’t stopped you from clawing your way back to the surface and how he’d carefully helped tow you back towards the shore after. And… maybe he hadn’t really meant it. It had to be strange, probably. Being able to thrive so easily below the waves and then be faced with someone who would die if they were left facedown in a puddle.

“…Fine,” you huffed, and his eyes jumped back up to yours with all cat-in-the-cream smugness. “But just because I’m about to drop from heatstroke. Not because you asked.”

The Siren rolled his eyes at you and returned to dragging you by your ankles into the shallows.

The bay really was very lovely. It was crystalline clear and the sort of brilliant blue that you’d never even known existed until you’d left the land for a life on the open ocean. The sand below your feet was soft and white, with barely any pebbles or broken bits of shell to dig into your toes. You watched a few crabs scurry out of the way as you were led deeper and deeper, but most of the cove’s occupants were spoiled and slow. Unbothered by this weird, fleshy, bipedal creature stepping past because they’d never known anything else. Once you hit waist-deep, the Siren let go of you to sink more fully into the water. He swam around you in a languid, looping circle—plum fins cresting the surface to flick water against your arms and scales shining like polished glass in the sunlight. It was still far too shallow for him to move around in earnest with how massive that tail of his was, and how wide and trailing his great, beta-like fins were, but he was still elegant. Still fast and flexible as he swam rings around you like an orbit.

“Show off,” you scoffed, but couldn’t quite bite back the grin twitching at your lips.

Because creature from the deep trying to devour your crew or not, Sirens really were so impressive, weren’t they? Straight out of a storybook, and deserving of every song and tale attributed to them.

You reached out before you could help yourself to run your fingers along his tail. The scales were smooth, and sleek, and cool against your palm. The wispy ends of his fins caught along your fingers, but other than a bit of a tangle, you almost managed to run your hand along the whole of it. And what was it? Eight feet? Ten? Bigger than you at least, that was for sure. It wasn’t like anything you’d ever felt. No fish, or whale hide, or shark. Something entirely of its own.

You realized on the next loop when your fingers danced over a patch of still healing scales that you’d felt already that he had most definitely realized your err in personal space, and was letting you poke about on purpose. You glanced up, embarrassed and warm faced, to see the tail end of a smirk quirking out from the water’s surface. Preening bastard.

You turned up your nose and waded deeper. There was a ripple in the water around you, like a chuckle, and he returned to his looping circles. Occasionally his tail would brush up against you to get you to jump, but otherwise he kept his hands to himself and—as promised—did not attempt to wrestle you down to the sandy floor and your subsequent watery grave.

Once you’d made it up to your chest, the Siren was able to start his dance in earnest. He darted away to make a wide arc around the edge of the cove—sunshine catching on his scales like a glare on the water. He shot from one end to the other, so fast it was nearly dizzying to try and keep up with. And then he was back to circling your ankles all over again—tangling your legs in his fins and curling his talons against your calves to try and drag you deeper.

“Okay, okay,” you laughed, paddling after him until you were well and truly above your head. The bay wasn’t very deep, but there were a few areas that dipped down to at least fifteen feet. So soon enough you were bobbing like a top in the gentle surf as he looped around your idly kicking feet—brushing up along your ankles and tugging at the frayed edge of your shirt with his claws when he passed by.

When he next rose above the surface, you’d already taken in a big mouthful of water in preparation, and shot it right into his face. The Siren’s whole expression shriveled up like a hundred-year-old prune and you laughed so hard he had to curl his tail around your waist to keep you from dipping under the waves and choking yourself. You let him drag you around and only grabbed at his fins a little. He would dive below your feet and you’d sink after him. Not nearly as agile or adept, but competent enough to follow his little game of tag without losing completely within the first few seconds. It was—it was nice. Genuinely. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d swam for the fun of it. Way back when you’d first joined up with Riddle’s crew, maybe. It’d been a hot day, just like this one, and you’d been anchored in a safe, shallow inlet off the coast of an archipelago. Deuce and Ace had jumped in first, already brawling, and you’d dove in soon after. It’d been a mess, and Riddle had nearly hung the three of you up by your toes for it. But it’d been fun. Familial. Warm. Something you’d never forget. And while this moment didn’t feel entirely like that one had, there was something similar about it. Sure, you weren’t trying to give the Siren a bloody nose and there were no rock wars, but it was… well, it was nice.

By the end of it, he was swimming lazy, looping shapes around the cove, and you were being dragged alongside him like a raft—kept afloat by the curling press of his tail and relaxing in the afternoon sunshine with the cool ripples of the ocean water to keep you both comfortable in the heat.

“Do you do this a lot?” you asked, as you relaxed in the gentle lull of the surf. “With your pod, I mean.”

The Siren stiffened beneath you, but after a moment he nodded. Slow and rigid. Which—

Oh. Right.

“…sorry,” you mumbled, gaze darting away.

Because he was missing his family just as much as you were missing yours, wasn’t he?

All that frantic pacing at the start of your mutual stranding had just seemed to… fade away as the days passed. He would still circle the entrance of the cove some mornings, singing towards the skies and tilting his head—fins pricked as he searched for an answer. You’d feel it in your nerves, see the gulls overhead dipping in a trance and watch the crabs crawl up onto the sand like they were being dragged out by their little claws. But most of the time now he just… didn’t. He spent his days mumbling over the letters you showed him, or carefully preening over his healing fins and resting in the sun. Catching fish for you to prepare and roast, and taking his meals at your side as you both snipped at each other with sandy curse words. It was pleasant, this routine you’d fallen into together. But all the same, he never really stopped checking the ocean waters. And you could see a spark in his eyes, an itch. The same one that lit yours, no doubt, every time you caught yourself squinting for the outline of ships on the horizon.

The difference between the two of you, of course, was that in a few more days his scales would be healed enough to face the dangers of the open water alone. Life as a rogue mer was notoriously perilous. The lone Sirens were those that poachers were willing to risk battle with for a trophy. They were the ones caught in fishing nets, and found mauled by rival pods. But your Siren was smart. He was big, and strong, and impressive. He’d find a way to survive it, no doubt. One morning you’d wake up and he’d have darted off into the deep to search for his family. To go home. And you…

You would still be trapped here.

Alone.

Forever.

Rotting under the sun with no one to take you swimming in the afternoons. Or bring you clawed up fish to cook for dinner. Or to use your writing lessons just to insult you with scribbled words in the muck.

Which—that was what you’d wanted, wasn’t it? At the start of all of this.

And it was only fair, in the end. He was the better of the two of you, after all. Born and bred to thrive in the depths of the sea that would swallow you whole without a thought. And if either of you was going to survive, to find your home again, it was always going to be him. Maybe you’d be a story, like he would have been for you. The strange human with no ears, just like the rest of the pirates whispered about. Who taught him that fire could make fish extra tasty and that leaves could make perfectly serviceable plates if you tried hard enough.

You sighed, and bubbles of salt water frothed along your mouth.

The Siren raised his head from his own lazy sprawl to arch a brow at you in question, and you did the very mature thing of spitting water in his face all over again.

You ended up being dragged through the cove in a flurry of spitting, Siren rage. Laughing and laughing until he huffed and hauled you back to shore to keep you from swallowing any more seawater like the idiot that you were. And it was fine, really it was. He wasn’t so bad, not really. And if he was able to reunite with his pod once more after all those days of hollow wailing and pacing, pacing, pacing that had made something deep in your soul itch like a freshly scabbed wound that you just couldn’t stop picking, well, that wouldn’t be such a bad ending after all.

The next afternoon while you were out on your daily Octopus Wellness Check, you came across a piece of pale, purple sea glass mixed into the rocky shore. It was smooth to the touch and frosted over by the endless tumble of the tide. You held it up to the light and it sparkled just like the Siren’s scales.

“What do you think?” you asked the octopus as it grabbed shredded bits of fish with its chubby, little tentacles. “Do you want it? Or should I give it to—”

You blinked, startled, and realized all at once that you’d never learned the Siren’s name. Or given him yours. You’d just sort of been calling each other a variety of derogatory pseudonyms and hoping for the best. Which, huh. You hadn’t even realized you’d wanted to know his name. It wasn’t yours to take, of course. Let alone from someone who would no doubt be leaving so soon. But it was a thought.

“You always give the best advice, you know,” you told the teeny creature, and it hid from you like you were a great, looming monster of old. “Whether you meant to or not. Thanks for that.”

So on the way back to your cove, you picked through some tufts of beachgrass to find the longest, driest spikes. You began winding them together as you walked, and settled down in your favorite little corner of the inlet to continue your weaving. The Siren, naturally—being as nosy as he was—was immediately hovering over you like a child watching someone hold a bag of sweets just out of reach. You clutched your little project to your chest like a secret, and it had him puffing up in irritation and smacking his fins against your sides like your refusal to share whatever had caught your attention was a crime beyond comparison. He arched up as tall as he could to try and peer over your shoulder, and, in failing at that, just outright tried to snatch the thing from your hands.

“I won’t give it to you if you keep being a pest,” you warned, and immediately he was slipping back to rest on his stomach in the damp sand with a starbright curiosity in his eyes, chin pillowed atop his interlaced fingers and gaze following the movements of your hands like a cat tracking a mouse in its hole. Clearly the promise of it being a treat for him was mollification enough to keep him from hovering.

Once you’d braided a sturdy enough chain, you carefully twined it around the sea glass in a little, crisscrossing cage of fibers. Just knotted enough to keep the ocean-worn trinket safe and in place without hiding the shine of it. With that, you held up your trophy with a dramatic wave, and the Siren was popping up all over again. His amethyst glare tracked the swinging pendant with startling focus and a surprisingly wide-eyed spark of confusion.

“Here,” you said, reaching out to drop the makeshift necklace into his lap. He caught it in his claws, eyes still far too round with shock. “It made me think of your scales. I thought you might like it.”

He was staring down at the gift in utter silence. And not the normal sort of quiet either—where your broken eardrums simply refused to pick up on all his petulant grousing against your person. This was actual silence. His lips were parted like they were caught on a breath, but he wasn’t saying anything. Not even a complaint about how plain and ugly it was. He curled his claws daintily around the woven chain, as if he was afraid of tearing right through it with an accidental prick, and then held the sparkling bauble aloft like he was utterly entranced by the soft gleam of it.

After a long, long moment of that near eerie silence and a pool of dread filling your belly that screamed you’d clearly fucked up in some way (overstepped some weird, Siren tradition. Accidentally insulted his father. Handed him a bad luck omen on a string. Something), the Siren was twisting around to show you the back of his neck. He held up the woven chain so it draped along his shoulder blades, and he pointedly shook the ends at you.

When you just gaped back in shock, he turned to sneer over his shoulder at you and jabbed a claw at his throat, then the necklace, then you, then his throat again. Which, oh. Oh! That—that you could do.

So you reached out to pluck the ends of the grass-woven thread from his talons and he immediately shifted around again to make himself comfortable. Curling his tail firmly against the sand with his plum-lined fins spread out in all their glory like a spill of purple ink along the shoreline. He set his shoulders square and firm, and looked straight ahead with that same, queer sort of focus to him as before.

You tied the ends of the necklace in a bow against his nape, making sure it was securely fastened in place and not snagging any of the softer, shorter hairs at the back of his neck. Once it’d been fussed with to his liking, he turned back around and stared you down until you could feel goosebumps prickling up all along your spine. You wanted to meekly tell him that it was just sea glass. Just a little trinket you’d found in the sand that you’d thought was pretty enough that he might like to have it. But the words died on your tongue. They felt wrong somehow. And you’d put your foot in your mouth plenty of times throughout your life, but this definitely felt like it would have been the biggest boot of all.

“…You like it?” you tried instead, because that sentiment at least seemed less like something that was ready to clog up your throat.

The Siren nodded, firm, his eyes still drilling into yours with that unnerving level of focus.

You coughed into your fist and awkwardly attempted to shift away to give yourself a bit of room, and—Huh. When had his tail come up to wrap around your leg? That made running away a bit inconvenient. You’d just have to try and wriggle your way out and hope he would take mercy on your far inferior musculature, and—

There was a poke at your hip. Tap, tap, tap. One, two, three. And you glanced back up at him with a pinched frown, confused.

The Siren pointed to a scrawl in the sand. Tap, tap, tap.

Acceptable.

You gawked, and then swallowed a laugh so fast it nearly choked you. Because he was still himself, wasn’t he? No matter what. Sassy, asshole fish. Gods, you were going to miss him.

You wiped at the bubbling, giggling tears prickling at the corner of your eyes and reached out to pat at his tail in good humor.

“I hope you find your happy ending,” you beamed, and meant it.

The Siren just looked at you with one of his familiar, lemon-sour puckers. He pointedly reached up to flick at the necklace around his throat, like that had anything to do with him finding his family again at all. Like it wasn’t just some silly trinket you’d gifted him in hopes that maybe one day he could look back fondly on the little human that he’d found himself stranded with. To not just forget you outright. To make your fleeting presence in his life something tangible, rather than just a mess of already fading scars and memories that would too easily be swept away in the depths of the sea.

“At least it’s acceptable,” you said finally around your giggling, and he huffed at you in a way that almost looked fond. You stood from the sand and brushed the mess of grit and salt off your pant legs. “Come on. Let’s go have dinner and I’ll teach you some nicer words tonight. So you can give me a real compliment next time.”

There was spray of water all along your back from where he’d no doubt dove back into the shallows behind you and walloped you with his fins to the best of his ability. And honestly, you couldn’t find it in yourself to be bothered by it at all.

[TAG LIST - CLOSED]

@marvelous-maxi, @ilikefanfics4, @jackalope08, @crocwork-clockodile, @cosmicobubisi, @buttplugs-stuff, @pomefleur, @decemebercircus, @ailynyan, @genzombie, @meliade-ot, @sunlightocean, @theofficialantitherapist, @hermiona18, @sailorenthusiast, @fantasy-dating-sim-trash, @thefiasco-onyourblock, @insideous-beez, @its-clockwork-princess

@novaloptr, @imlost-sendhelp, @matcha-berry @preciosayorgullosa @whoretaglia, @kookygirlwholikescookiesandcoke, @nanauedorian, @trixeraptops, @voxnipop, @starkling25, @thedum1, @horcrux-alchemist, @sleepykitty21, @apathicace, @instantregret101, @nekanecorvus, @looney-mori, @re-ducing, @my2phetaliaheadcanons, @naughtybodypillow, @rendy-a, @carmen-404, @candy284, @thealiennamedterry, @their-name-is-fake, @huetolog, @glacticrose, @seraphinariddle, @rabioa, @sn00zl4x, @dreasimping, @jeidoreech, @ai-dev, @galaxyshine24-7, @fatally-incorrect, @juulranch, @camrastuff, @nocteetdie, @stargaryengirl, @warmsmilesandhugs, @01paige01

#twisted wonderland imagines #twisted wonderland #twst x reader #Vil Schoenheit x Reader #Vil x Reader #vil schoenheit #Mermay #Monster Mayhem #My Writing #vil shoenheit #Siren!Vil #Mermaid!Vil #Fantasy AU #Monster Mayhem Vil Part 3

658 notes · View notes

skullamity · 3 months

Text

PSA for trans men and trans mascs on T who are afraid of/concerned about or experiencing male pattern baldness: Talk to your endocrinologist who monitors your T about hair loss before you talk to anyone else, you have options!

When the hair in the top of my head started to thin, I talked to my regular GP. She told me it should be fine to use Rogaine topically. There were no other options, either because she was somehow not aware OR was under the impression that alternatives might interfere with HRT. If this was the case, she did not relay this info to me, and if she had, I would have made an early appointment with my endocrinologist, who specialises in HRT for trans people specifically, and asked her about my options.

But, since I only have appointments once a year with my endo now because my levels are generally super consistent, I decided to try Rogaine. I lasted about a month, because it basically meant I had to wear a lined hat at all times to make sure I wasn't getting any on my pillow/cats/child. You need to apply it two to three times a day and leave it on your scalp for a couple of hours for the best results, every day, forever, and if you stop using it, your hair goes back to whatever it was up to before that made you concerned in the first place. I quit after a month and resigned myself to eventually going bald.

I finally had a phone appointment with my endo last week (was supposed to be in person but she had an emergency and was working remotely for the day), and when I brought this up and that I had tried Rogaine but couldn't deal with all of the above + my scalp was not reacting well to the alcohol in the foam so I quit, she was like ????? what? why didn't your GP just prescribe you finasteride???

I am now on finasteride! It is a dirt cheap, tiny ass pill. I only need to take a quarter of a pill once a day (my endo also helpfully explained to me that pill cutters exist and are also dirt cheap, so perfectly cutting a pill into quarters takes about 5 seconds and I got it for a whopping $8). Just like Rogaine, I WILL need to take it every day, forever, but it's not going to get all over my pillow and make my cats sick or cause my kid to grow a beard or whatever. It isn't going to dry my scalp out, and it also the cost comparison is a joke. I take it every morning at the same time I take my adhd meds, so it's easy to remember.

I have seen so, so many trans men and mascs online lately worried about this, probably because I've seen so many conservatives and the kind of detrans people that conservatives like to parade around put a lot of emphasis about how T will make you UGLY and make all of your hair fall out. I do feel sorry for any detrans women who are dealing with wonky hairlines or male pattern baldness, but also it sure is convenient that none of them see fit to mention that if you are experiencing those things, you can literally just talk to your endocrinologist about what your options are and then take a quarter of a pill every day to fix it. Almost like making you aware of that might move you away from their end goal, which is getting you to detransition.

#trans man #trans guy #transmasc #hair loss #transmasculine #endocrinology #finasteride

854 notes · View notes

yandere-writer-momo · 8 days

Text

Yandere Head Canons:

Double Trouble

Yandere twins x childhood friend gn reader

Michael and Mica were polar opposites in personality despite their eerily similar appearance. Michael was soft spoken and kind while Mica was loud and boisterous. It wasn’t uncommon for Mica to be on your left and Michael to be on your right. They’ve always been your friends for as long as you could remember…

As the three of you got older, they became clingier. They were always at your house whether it was to walk to school with you or to complete homework, they were there. And it became much worse when you mentioned having a crush.

“I have a crush on Darren. I think he’s cute…” you had said on the first Tuesday of your senior year in college.

“Darren? The really quiet guy?” Mica furrowed his brow. “If you like quiet guys, don’t you think Michael is a better fit? Look at him?”

Mica squished Michael’s cheeks together and directed his face at you. A bright cherry blush on Michael’s face as he averted his gaze from you. “Isn’t Michael rather handsome too?”

You chuckled as you helped Michael out of Mica’s grips. “I never said Michael was ugly, you two have always been my friends… wouldn’t it be weird to only date one brother?” You brought up which made the twins become silent.

“Ah… I didn’t think about that.” Mica whispered, his eyes filled with stars. “So would you date both of us then?”

You quirked a brow. “Both of you?” Mica nodded his head while Michael blushed even more.

“Hmm… probably just one of you.”

Since you had said those words, you noticed a change in your friends. The twins were now always in a silent battle for your undivided attention on one of them.

They followed you to around to each of your college classes, both eager to be by your side. Mica babbled your ear off while Michael firmly held your hand. His cheeks aflame and his palms sweaty.

“You really think you could choose one of us? Isn’t two better than one?” Michael asked you with a smirk. “You wouldn’t want to break one of our hearts would you?”

It was so odd to be badgered by Michael every single day without fail. The blonde would constantly pick on you to pick one of them while Mica would hold onto you like a lifeline. The quiet male consistently reminded you of his presence as well.

It was at a college party filled with one too many cheap beers that you found yourself sprawled out with the two of them on either side of you. You were no doubt in their dorm room, whisked away in your tipsy state by Michael. Mica sat in front of you on his knees while Michael held your body from behind.

Mica’s lips were pressed firmly on the side of your neck while Michael’s hands slipped under your shirt. Your body felt as if it was burning from their fervent attention.

“How about we help you see things our way? We can make you feel good…” Michael chuckled at your dazed expression.

You sighed. It’s not like you really had an option at this point. These two weren’t going to leave you be until you accepted them both.

You helped Michael slip your shirt over your head as you grabbed Mica’s blonde curls to pull him into a kiss. If this was the way it was going to be, you might as well have your cake and eat it too.

1K notes · View notes

aratedfreyjablog · 3 months

Text

Squishmallow HC Kings ver.

When they find you hugging a gigantic squishmallow in your sleep. Reader/MC gender neutral!

Satan

Violence is going to be only thing in his mind when he sees you sleeping while holding a squishmallow

He’s going to be glaring and grinding his teeth at the squishmallow, regarding it as an angel incarnated from the heavens itself and imagining all the ways he can torture it in the worst and most terrible ways (most of them involving shredding and stuffing flying every where)

When not thinking about tormenting the squismallow, he would be trying to figure out what exactly it’s supposed to be. Like, he can tell it resembles some sort of animal on Earth but its head and body aren’t even separated! Hell, he would’ve felt a tiny bit better if its head and body were separated so he could rip it into two cleanly like he does with other stuffed animals! But what is that supposed to be!?

The only that’s stopping him from doing exactly everything he’s wanting to do was the fact knowing it was one of your precious keepsakes back on Earth and has been giving you comfort during your stay in Hell

That and he finds the image cute of you hugging some sort of stuffed animal in your sleep

Don’t get him wrong though, the minute he finds an opportunity, it’s gone. Dead. Done.

He’s going to remember what it had done to him and have it pay the price once he gets a chance.

In the meantime, he opts to leaving you to sleep and climb into your bed

He hugs you from the back, pulling you closer to himself and snuggling his face into your head as if rubbing his scent on you will assert his dominance over the thing and show you were his

He’s petty enough to give you a hard time over the whole thing the next morning by making you incapable of walking out of bed for breakfast

Beezelbub

Sort of shows a similar reaction as Satan where it starts off with him either dragging his cigarette longer and harder compared to normal if having one or being devoid of expression with arms crossed as he simply stares at the scene of you hugging the squishmallow in your sleep

He does feel puzzled by it and tilts his head side to side to try to figure out what it is while taking a quick picture because, even he admits, the scene is 100% cute and blackmail material

But this whole thing doesn’t last long, probably 2 minutes at best

Remember, once he puts his mind into something, he’s going to be sticking to it. And that thing stole the spot that’s reserved for him and only him. As if he’s going to leave it alone and let it stay in his spot

There isn’t any hesitation when he walks closer to you and casually yet quietly rips the squishmallow out of your arms before he quickly slides into your arms without waking you up

It does satisfy him a bit when the squishmallow hits the wall across from your bed before falling face-down on the floor

He holds you tightly and calms himself down by smelling your scent from the top of your head

He may even choose to secretly mark you in a couple of places along your upper body since if he went any lower, it'll definitely wake you up

Now there’s two options he can choose from:

If he chooses to stay the whole night, he’s going give you a hard time in the morning by “reminding” you who exactly is yours

If not, he’s going to take the squishmallow with him as he leaves to give it a special disposable treatment or draw bunch of doodles all over its face and body to make it ugly and no longer charming in your eyes without guilt

Leviathan

Oh boy, you better prepare yourself because if you thought Beel and Satan were bad, this demon takes the whole cake

He will know whether or not someone or something other himself was in your arms and he will not react well to it

And that’s exactly what is happening when he catches you hugging some sort of abomination in your sleep

There’s none of the whole contemplation or staring - The second he sees it and at where it is, he yanks the squishmallow out of your arms without caring whether it tears or not and hangs it by its nonexistent neck tightly to the point it looks it’ll burst

He doesn’t even care if he wakes you up when he does it as his jealousy consumes him from the mere sight of something other than himself in your embrace

Because of this, this, too, has two options this can go:

If you don’t end up waking up from it, he’s going to contemplate whether or not to wake you only to choose to hold some restraint and let you sleep by yourself. But he does plan on giving you one of the worst mornings involving pain from mostly your spine all the way to your legs, that’s for sure

But if you wake up from the feeling of missing something while he’s still in your room, he’s not planning to let you go back to sleep and leave you alone until he calms down and feel that he’s marked you or you marked him enough so that you won’t ever look or touch anyone or anything other than himself

No matter which option you choose, say goodbye to the squishmallow because he does take it with him and utterly destroys it no matter if it’s precious to you or not.

Mammon

He’s the only one amongst the four that decides peace was an option and doesn’t show a visceral reaction over the squishmallow

Because he was the one that gave the idea to humans to create the stuffed toy, despite not knowing what it is, he thinks he’s the one that gave it permission to be graced for the night while sleeping in your arms. Though, he does think he could’ve given you something better…

But if it gives you comfort during your stay in Hell, that’s fine. That's a free service that he’s willing to offer as a means to persuade you into becoming a permanent resident.

Despite finding the image of you hugging such a massive squishmallow endearing as it reminds him of how you hug him in your sleep, he does feel disgruntled over the fact he got replaced

No matter though, he’s bigger than the squishmallow in every single way. That works to his advantage along him being a living being that pleases you in all aspects including pleasure. So, there’s no competition whatsoever

It doesn’t mean he won’t join you in bed. He climbs in and pulls you into his chest from the front, squishing the squishmallow to the point one might pitifully think it’s suffocating

In fact, when you wake up the next morning, you’re the one feeling jealous seeing that you missed out to being the one that gets squished

Of course this leads to morning playtime once he senses this as you throw the squishmallow out of the bed and dive straight to something that’s much softer and squishier

#what in hell is bad #whb #headcanon #whb leviathan #whb beelzebub #whb mammon #whb satan #whb x reader #whb x mc

699 notes · View notes

remcycl333 · 11 months

Text

STEP 1 - CHANGE WHAT YOU’RE AWARE OF

notes from “the creative use of imagination” by neville goddard 🤍

step 0 is to decide what you want. maybe you want money, or a new place to live, or an sp, or physical appearance changes.

step 1: begin to observe those thoughts and reactions towards the thing you want to manifest.

“to arrive at a certain definition of self, you must begin by uncritically observing your automatic reaction to an event, for your reaction defines your state” -NG

throughout this post, I will use the example of physical appearance change.

maybe throughout your day, you see pictures of other people on social media that you view as more attractive as you, and your reaction to that is “I wish I looked like them, this isn’t fair why am i not as attractive as them, what do I need to do to look like them” etc.

or maybe you see yourself in the mirror and you think “god why do i look like that, why am i not attractive? why hasn’t my face changed yet?” Etc

if you were in the state of having your desired physical appearance, would you be reacting that way to your 3D?

the first step to changing our state is to first learn the way our old state behaves and reacts to things. it is our current dwelling state that is reflecting in our 3d right now, and when you stop and observe your reactions to things, it becomes glaringly obvious how they’re creating your 3d. if you’re ruminating on how ugly you think you are all day long, you cannot be surprised when you look in the mirror and are dissatisfied with what you see.

“If you react to that which is being objectified, you bind yourself to a certain level of awareness, but if you refuse to react, the thread is broken.” -NG

“Only by observing your reactions to life can you find yourself.” -NG

how are you supposed to know what state you are in if you don’t observe your reactions? And once you begin to observe your reactions, Neville says you will be shocked by how deceitful you truly are. but he always urges the importance of uncritical observation. you should not shame yourself for what you find, or even feel bad. these observations are simply meant to show you your current state, and the ins and outs of it so you are able to change it more easily.

“always examine yourself uncritically, for the moment you become critical, you automatically justify your reactions and associate yourself with the thing observed.” -NG

once you begin to observe your reactions, you will become more aware of them when they happen. they’ll grow to become uncomfortable and glaring. they will feel like they don’t fit you anymore. maybe before they were just knee-jerk, unconscious reactions, but now you will feel them take up the space in your head whenever they arrive. and because of this, you will be able to shift your awareness to what you really want your 3d to reflect. you will be able to let go of the parts of yourself you no longer wish to identify with.

“be transformed by the renewing of your mind by changing the ideas planted there, for you cannot change your thinking until you change the ideas from which your thoughts flow.” -NG

your state creates your thoughts, not the other way around. it is critical to understand this if you wish to change your dwelling state. your thoughts are not your enemies. if you constantly battle against your thoughts, without ever paying mine to your state, you will not have much success.

“accept an idea as true. identify yourself with it and it will out-picture itself in your world. but if you do not accept the thought and identify yourself with it through feeling, you are free from its results. you must become very selective and learn not to associate yourself with unlovely thoughts.” -NG

this is not to confused with the term “mental diet.” when you react negatively to something, you have two options. 1) beat the thought down and panic and tell yourself the opposite without believing it to be true, or 2) choosing not to identify with it. remind yourself that this thought is just a thought. it has no power over you, and if you don’t want it to be manifested into your reality, it will not. Neville says if you do not consent to a thought as true, it will not manifest into your world. if you don’t associate your inner being with that thought, it will not come to pass in your 3D.

“start now to consent only to lovely thoughts of fulfilled desires prior to their confirmation by your senses, and give up the animal instinct of suffering and bathing yourself in the feelings of hurt and self-pity.” -NG

ruminating in unpleasant thoughts where your desire remain unfulfilled can be comfortable, and even habitual, but at the end of the day it is a choice. a choice that you have to stop making if you truly want better for yourself. this is something I struggled with a lot at the beginning of my manifestation journey. there was some twisted pleasure and comfort found in picking at scabs in my mind, and feeling sorry for myself, and imagining what would happen if my desire was never realized in my 3d. but eventually I had to choose better for myself, and I had to choose to stop giving so much attention to mental conversations like that.

“control your imagination with steady attention and dare to stand and be heard.” -NG

YOU create the happenings of your imagination, and your imagination creates your reality. do not feel silly or foolish deciding better for yourself in your own imagination. and do not let the logical restrictions of the 3d to tell you what you can and can not give yourself in imagination. give yourself what you want in imagination and stand firm in that, even if your 3d shows the opposite. stop silencing yourself in your own imagination!

this is my thoughts and notes only on the first two chapters of “the creative use of imagination” so more may come as I continue my re-read! 🤍 just wanted to share this :)

#law of assumption #neville goddard #states

2K notes · View notes

xozombiee · 7 months

Text

“𝑺𝑶𝑴𝑬 𝑾𝑨𝒀!” | C. KAMO

✫| synopsis: emoboy!choso who works at spencer’s sees how nervous you are about trying out a new toy, so he offers to help!

warnings: sex toy usage, pet names as always :3 (sweetheart, honey, baby, etc), lowkey switch!reader, braindead!choso at the end LMFAOO, little hair pulling, no protection used..wrap it up. uhhh idk what else

notes: uhh guys pretend that batteries are included for vibes LMFAOO and..do i have a thing for car sex?

your feet ache as you walk through the mall. a friend was supposed to meet you half an hour ago to go shopping for dresses, only for her to text and say ‘sorry gotta cancel’.

the public chatter of others fill your head as you walk. since you were already here, you figured you’d look around. it’s been a while since you’ve shopped for yourself, and you were in desperate need of a new vibrator.

a colorful sign from the distance catches your attention. it read ‘spencer’s’ in orangey-yellow words. they sold sex toys right? the last time you checked they did. your eyes light up, figure walking a little faster toward the store.

when you enter, you’re met with the sight of shirts on display against the wall, a rack of hoodies and sweatshirts with ugly anime designs on them, and the section with shot glasses with corny messages written on them.

you pretend to be just shopping for a few minutes, not wanting to immediately go to the back of the store. as you pick through some of the clothes on a rack, a voice startled you from behind.

“need help finding anything, ma’am?” the voice asks lowly.

turning swiftly, you’re met with the sight of a taller man. the name on his tag read ‘choso’ with a small sticker next to it. he was young, had piercings along his ears and one on his lip, and a faint pink scar along the bridge of his nose that stretched out to his cheeks.

and he was kinda cute.

you find yourself staring for longer than needed. with a quick nod, you advert your gaze to something else.

“no, no. i’m fine. thank you though.” you reply nervously.

“well, if you need anything just let me know, yeah?” he replies, sounding uninterested.

you give him another nod before he walks off, tending to other customers. watching him out of the corner of your eye, you sigh a little.

this was the reason why you needed a new vibrator immediately. any attractive male that approached you was in danger. you’re surprised you didn’t jump him when he first walked over.

when you make sure no one’s watching, you quickly make your way to the back of the store. the small pink and purple bullets and vibrators come into view as you try to casually approach.

after hiding your body between the shelves by the wall, you look at all of your options. a bullet? nah, you’d already tried that. maybe go for something bigger?

your gaze catches on a cute, pink 8.5 inch vibrator with a ‘rabbit’ attached. before you can even stop yourself, you reach for it. the box made seem like the size was nothing. with a small shrug, you clutch the box next to your thigh. you had to find something else to buy with it.

yes, buying sex toys was normal to society, but it wasn’t normal for you.

after maybe ten minutes, you cautiously make way to the cashier. your eyes are glued to the floor as you put your things up on the counter. hopefully no one would see you walking out the store with a pink dildo in your bag.

“find everything alright?” that voice says again.

you look up with wide eyes, the pierced man with two space buns staring back at you. choso held no amusement in his eyes like you thought he would; he was nonchalant if anything. you give him a nod, looking to the snacks hanging from the counter.

your voice was weak, “a little..overwhelmed, but yeah.”

he flashes you a small smile, putting the toy and socks into a bag. “overwhelmed? this your first time shopping for—” he pauses, glancing down at the bag.

it was obvious he was just trying to make conversation, but you weren’t all that interested. still, you tried to be respectful.

“er..not really. i mean, i’ve had one before, but it’s-” you cut yourself off, cringing at how pathetic you sounded. “i’ve never tried that kind before.” you answer, going a little quiet at the end.

he raises a brow, “never had one with the rabbit?” he asks without really putting thought into his words.

a small nervous laugh falls from you, shaking your head in reply. with that, he leans forward a little, his eyes scanning your figure.

“i’ll show you how to use it if you want.”

your mouth goes dry, looking at him slightly appalled.a chill went up your spine from just his words. your shaky hands move to grab your wallet, brain attempting to find the words wanting to be freed from your throat.

you blink a few times, “you’ll show me? as in..”

choso looks at you, the uninterested expression still on his face. “my shift ends in twenty. i’m parked on the side by macy’s.” he says, watching a few people walk into the store.

now…you’d be an idiot to not meet him. but the contemplation was there. you could just go home, try the toy out yourself. that’d be the sane thing to do.

however, you hadn’t used that small little bullet on your bedside in months since buying a new one was always something you brushed off. so, you weren’t gonna miss this chance to get some dick.

you insert your card into the reader, feeling choso’s eyes on you. when the small device rings, you take it out, putting it back in your wallet.

he hands you the bag, your fingers brushing over his as you take it. it was like an electric current ran into your arm by his touch. you chew on the skin inside your cheek, feet staying planted in front of the counter despite your head telling you to move.

“i’ll see you in twenty.” you say, slowly walking away from the counter.

choso watches you in surprise. he partly only said that for a reaction, the sadist in him wanting to see your cute little eyes widen from his words.

when you exit the store, turning around the corner and leaving his sight with your cute skirt flowing, the crotch in his sweats begin to harden. it left little for an imagination choso wouldn’t need now, and every tomorrow, he hopes.

twenty minutes seem to pass quickly. you stand outside the macy’s entrance, mindlessly scrolling on your phone. the doors slide open, the sound catching your attention. you look up to see choso, space buns and all.

he nods toward the parking lot, motioning for you to follow. and you do, like a clueless puppy. choso leads you to a black colored toyota parked in the back of the lot.

his thumb presses one of the buttons on his keys, unlocking the car with a noise. he pulls you to the passengers side, opening the door for you. his hand finds your lower back as you climb inside. when he assures you’re in all the way, he closes the door.

you watch him from inside, his legs carrying him to the drivers side slower than you’d prefer. when he gets in, he settles into the seat with a soft groan. his hand finds the ignition, slotting the key in and turning it to start the car.

it rumbles lightly, the sound filling the silence between you two. you watch as he turns the wheel with one hand as the car starts to move.

minutes start to pass as you watch him, not even questioning where you were going. he could’ve been taking you somewhere to kill you..would you care? not really.

when he finally parks, you’re in a more secluded area of the mall parking lot. he was near the empty sears that had been closed for about five years, the blue sign still hanging high up.

choso glances over at you, or rather the bag in your lap that you clutched tightly onto.

“open it up.”

you blink at him for a second before complying, hands moving to unravel it from the bag. your delicate fingers try to tear the tape off of it, but struggle as it’s not letting up against the box.

he notices, lip twitching at the side as he watched. one of his hands come up to your wrist, taking the box in his other. you watch as he slowly pulls a blade from his pocket, cutting through the tape with ease.

choso notices your expression, the confusion written all over it as your eyes continue to look at the blade.

he chuckles, closing it and putting it back into his pants. “i was opening some new merch that came in the store today. forgot to give it back to yuki.”

you let a small ‘oh’ fall from your lips in understanding. choso takes the box back into his grasp, unraveling the toy from its packaging. the sight of something pink comes into view, and your eyes widen at how small it looks in his hand.

choso fidgets with it, “you said you’ve never tried one of these?”

“no.” you reply, keeping your eyes trained on the object in his hand. “i’ve only ever used one of the bullets.”

he sighs a little, looking up at you. “get in the back.”

you look at him, brows raised in surprise, “what?”

the pierced male leans forward, his face inches from your own. “get in the back.”

despite the music from the car’s stereo playing lowly in the background, your audible gulp overpowered it. you let out a shaky breath as you move to your knees, climbing into the backseat of the car.

he watches you, the skirt you wore lifting up as you shoved yourself in the back. choso followed soon after, moving to sit beside you in the closed space.

you watch him from the other side of the backseat with your shoulders pressed against the window. one of your legs propped itself onto the seat between you two, the other on the floorboard.

choso glances down at your underwear that was shying underneath the cloth on your legs. a small wet patch adorned the lacy piece you wore. his hand slowly moves to you ankle, his thumb moving back and forth against your skin.

“is it okay if i touch you?” he asks in a whisper.

a quick nod comes from you in response. your eager eyes watch him, expecting him to move closer to you.

his hand trails up further on your leg, “words, sweetheart.”

“please, choso.” you whine, enjoying that electric feeling from his skin on yours again.

choso gives you a sympathetic look. “please what? need you to be specific, honey.”

“touch me.”

he lets his hand move up your leg, making its way to your upper thigh. one side of your skirt pushes up, giving him a clearer view of your underwear. he smiles slightly at the cute purple lining that stuck to your lower stomach.

you feel his hand pull you down a little by your hip, back fully against the seat. his hand moves back to stay planted on your stomach, the fabric of your skirt now in his palm. his other hand picks the dildo back up that sat on the console, pressing onto the ‘on’ button.

the sound echos through the car, making the anxiety in your stomach build up. choso looks down at you, his hooded eyes boring into your soul.

he doesn’t give you a warning before he’s pressing the baby pink toy to your underwear. a small gasp evokes from you, back arching against the seat. choso slowly moves his hand on your stomach down to your hip, keeping that side in place.

everything felt heavenly. vibrations moved into your cunt, making your chest heave. your thighs want to shut together, but choso’s body keeps you from doing so.

“shh. you’re okay, baby.” he mutters, continuing to press the vibrator into the fabric.

you let out soft groans and gasps when the toy hits against your clit just right. when you feel that euphoric tightness in your lower stomach, your hand moves to clutch onto choso’s wrist.

“wait-” you whisper out, “want more.”

choso raises his brows, continuing his movement with the toy against you. your head falls back, hand clutching onto his wrist as the pressure builds up.

your jaw slightly hangs open but no words were escaping your lips, just soft cries. choso watched the scene intently as you squeezed your eyes shut and your body spasmed. you came hard, drenching those lace panties even more with your cum.

the sound of your heart beat in your ears lets you know you’re still alive. you listen as choso turns the toy off momentarily. “that was quick.” he comments as your heavy breaths fill the car.

you open your eyes to shoot a meaningless glare at him. he doesn’t say anything, only rubbing small circles on your hip.

“it was barely anything.” he says with a small shrug, “we should test it out with the panties off.”

with a small nod and ‘yes’ requested from him, his fingers start to dip underneath the band of the purple underwear. choso slides them off with ease after letting you lift your hips to get them closer to the ground.

you feel the somewhat cool air hit your pussy that was glistening. a sudden burst of vulnerability comes over you as you press your thighs together to hide from the man that sits in front of you.

his fingers move up your calves, up to the side of your thighs. he brushes them gently, keeping eye contact with you. “don’t need to hide from me, honey.”

at that, you slowly return to your state from before. he watches your pretty pussy come into view, his gaze going sinister at the sight. choso moves one of his hands to the edge of your core, hovering his palm just above your clit.

“so gorgeous.” he mutters, mostly to himself.

the sound of the toy starts up again. you’d figure he’d give a warning before putting it in, but he doesn’t. choso watches your eyes widen as he inserts all four inches of the dildo inside, the rabbit moving along your clit.

an unfamiliar hunger overtook his existence as he watched you squirm underneath him. choso slowly slotted the pink toy back and forth inside of you. you struggled to find something to hold as the pleasure took over your senses.

your hand is suddenly enwrapped by his, that electric current returning to your skin. he moves it to rest beside your head, his other hand maneuvering against you.

the sound of your pleasure almost makes choso’s head spin. he wants nothing more than to throw the plastic toy out of the window and shove his dick all the way into you. but he knew he wouldn’t be able to control himself. you seemed like such a sweet girl, and he didn’t want to ruin that.

“mm..’m close, choso.” you rasp, looking into his eyes. “don’t wanna cum with that.”

choso looks at you dumbfounded, trying to process your words. he watches you reach for his hand, pulling the pink toy away from your pussy.

you lean up, pressing your forehead against his. “would you fuck me if i asked nicely?”

“don’t bother.”

not even a millisecond passes after his words before his lips are attaching to yours. choso discards the toy to the front seats, pulling you closer to him.

you feel the hardness under his sweats pressing into you. with a small wiggle of your hips, he lets out a sigh into your lips. his hands find their way to your waist, pulling you up from laying against the seat.

choso places you into his lap, hands curled around the back of your thighs. his head moves upward to keep the connection between your tongues. you bite down onto his bottom lip, and his hands squeeze your flesh.

“please.” you murmur against him, “don’t tease, choso.”

he pulls his mouth away from yours, looking into those gorgeous irises you held. “i like the way you say my name.” he whispers.

you feel his hands remove themselves from you, going to the waistband of his sweats. within a moment, they’re pulled to his thighs. choso looks up at you in anticipation.

“goin’ at your pace, baby.”

your hands fall onto his built chest as you sink all the way down on him, driving the entirety of him deep within you. his hands fly to your hips when it you flutter around him, but then grabs for your wrist on his chest, intertwining your fingers with his.

a moment passes before you begin to lift your hips up and down, pushing his length through you. your movements, your warm skin, fluttering eyes—it's so overwhelming for choso. his head falls back, and even though you’re going at such a slow pace, it feels like you’re milking him, intent on making him fill you to the brim.

choso looks up at you, his brows furrowed with sweat building between them. his face is flushed, highlighting the scar on his nose. you almost cum right then and there from the sight of him looking so desperate.

when you speed up, he groans loudly. “you’re gonna fuckin’ kill me.”

moving closer to his ear, “that was the intent.” you whisper.

he unsuccessfully stifles a groan when your breath meets his ear. his hands are loosely closed around your thighs, not even wanting to press you tighter against him because his brain is practically melting.

you tug on the buns in his hair, forcing him to lock his gaze with yours. the pain in his scalp doesn’t phase him, in fact, he feels himself getting closer from the feeling. he watches your expression change with each thrust, holding him in your hand like a puppet.

“so fuckin’ pretty, choso.” you gasp, kissing up his neck.

he inhales sharply from your praise, “fuck—”

you looked godly--his savior, and your pussy was one squeeze away from sending him to heaven. you were giving him this gift of riding him and god he was so grateful for it--for you.

“feels ‘s good,” he whimpers, looking at you through half lidded eyes.

when you feel him twitch inside of you, your legs find what’s left of the energy you have left to quicken your pace even more. "come on baby, come on," you whisper to him.

he isn't used to this. he isn't used to being guided to his orgasm first, but he his brain is dissociating. he can't think of anything else--he's lost control over his brain and he feels himself tip over the edge of an orgasm.

choso groans when you flutter around him as you cum. he’s thrusting his hips up into you with a newfound force. it requires you to tighten your grip on his shoulders to stay put as he empties his load deep inside you, his sweet moans intercepted with apologies.

hours could’ve gone by, and you wouldn’t realize it. your body lays atop of him, hands lazily gripping onto his shoulders. choso doesn't pull out his cock, keeping it buried inside of you.

his hands are locked together, circled around your waist. his breathing has evened out along with yours, and the only thing filling the silence is the radio that’s barely above zero on the stereo.

“so..did you like the toy?”

#xozombiee #choso kamo #choso x reader #jjk choso #jujutsu kaisen choso #choso smut #choso my beloved #choso x female reader #choso my beautiful babygirl #jjk #jjk x reader #CHOSO PLEASEE LET ME RIDE JT #i’m so normal about him guys

867 notes · View notes

blingblong55 · 11 months

Text

The Mess we made - Colonel König nsfw

This is based on a request:

May I humbly request your writing talent and creativity of a dirty, nasty, hardcore smut you can come up with based on colonel König x reader, please? His back scratched, reader’s in deep with pleasure

F!Reader, smut, 18+, MDNI ಠ_ಠ, p-in-v, solidier!Reader, sexual! relationship, unprotected sex

There was something about the way that you looked in your uniform that had your CO touching himself at night. The way that your shirt would get tighter around your chest area, how your curves looked like when you sparred with a few of your teammates and how you looked like, at least in his imagination, on top of him.

Lately, you have been giving your attention to some new recruit, he was actually quite kind and funny. König didn't like how you looked beside that man. So, the only way he could ensure others would know you were busy, with him, was by making you train for hours on end. At times, he'd wake you up earlier, knocking on your door and using his best drill sgt. voice.

Today one of the other COs ordered you to train with the recruit, said he was lacking in hand to hand combat, and since everyone on base knew König was enhancing your skills lately, they figured you'd be best option.

You and the newbie were in the sparring room, both exhausted but laughing. "I swear you'll leave me aching for days, dude." a small chuckle escaping him. "Yeah, sorry, didn't mean to throw ya into the mat like that."

Once you both finished that small break, you continued to spar, teaching him new moves and giving a few examples along the way. His hand on your waist as he was now learning a new move to bring someone down, your eyes locking as you spoke. "Once your hands find the enemies side, you'll have to-"

"Hands off her!" König spoke as he approached you both, "Sergeant, in my office, now." you and the newbie both pulled from the other, you with a confused look just obey his order. König stayed behind, giving the newbie a newer move. Definitely not using this as the perfect excuse to let his anger out of the poor man.

You sat on one of the chairs in his office, toying with the hem of your shirt. You hear some whistling, König, based on the rhythm. He walked in, closing the door behind him, he stood by the window, looking out, "That man doesn't know how to fight, much."

"That's why I was teaching him, sir." You try to at least, in some way, defend the poor newbie. Anytime he wanted to have you, he would, but that was usually in the comfort of either of your rooms. Hence to why you were calling him 'sir'. "I never told you to teach him," he turns to you, closing the blinds, "Why don't you ever listen to me, schatz?" he asked you, he sat on the chair next to yours, towering over you. His voice more softer now, unlike back in the mats, low and gentler with how he delivered his words.

"What do you mean, sir?"

He has never spoke to you, not in this tone. "Why can't I never have you, for myself?" a hand on touching your chin, him and you making eye contact, "Uhm, sir-" you weren't sure why he was doing this, especially here. When you two established this 'relationship', you two agreed to only have the other do what they'd please behind closed quarters.

"Don't talk, little one, just listen."

You nod, not knowing what else to do. Part of you was into this, the other part of you was scared. There were times when he would do something that would have you weak at the knees. How his arms in that muscle shirt would be flexed after lifting some ammo boxes, or when he would workout, how he would lift so effortlessly.

"That's my girl, always obeying me," a hand snaked to the back of your neck, the other still on your chin, "Now, you follow as I say, ja?"

You nod, willing to do whatever he says at this point. "Good, start to take that ugly jacket off," he stands back up, finally going to sit on his chair. You removed the army jacket, staring at him, not knowing what to do next. "Hm, seems to me you must remove the rest, can't have you like this." he leaned back in his chair, smirking under that mask. "But sir-"

He shook his head, "tsk tsk, I don't want excuses, take it off." As he watched you hesitate, he went up to you, hand on your shoulder, "You want to make me happy, don't you?" You nod, his hand at the button of your trousers, slowly, he unbuttoned them, he then removed your belt. His hand digging into your trousers, the other hand on your thigh, "Hm, seems to me I need to see you, all of you, so stand up for me," he grabbed your wrist, pulling you up and making you stand up, "now take it off and don't test my patience." he commanded.

You soon stripped from your close, he couldn't take this view, especially not when he knew that stupid newbie had his hands on what König calls his. "Bend over my desk, c'mon, do it." now he was definitely desperate to have a taste of you. You bend over, his hand rubs your bare ass, the other hand snakes to the front of your panties. Warm hand toying with your wet slick.

"So needy, hm" the other hand still rubbing your ass. Lips on your neck, licking, biting and sucking the soft skin. "König not here, please." you begged, because what if someone walked in or what if someone heard your moans.

"Thats the fun part, schatz" he whispers against your ear, nibbling at it. He wanted it to be final, for everyone to hear you call out of his name. Hear the pathetic cries you let out as he made you his. Hips thrusting in you, for everyone to hear but not see. Not yet at least.

He lowered you panties to your ankles, spit on his mouth and rubbed his fingers against the entrance of your aching entrance. "Hm," he looked at the old hickeys he had left on your back just days ago, "seems you're due for more." He lowered his trousers, played with himself as he watched how you would desperately look back. Eyes looking from the door to him. Drove him crazy knowing you two could get caught, but that was the fun of it, wanted to experience it so others would know about you and him.

Your body did him wonders, made him play with himself when you weren't around and at meetings when you would sit across from him, looking up at the board with those sweet innocent eyes of you. The same look he wanted to corrupt, make it change just for him. He didn't, like how you were so innocent, how you knew so little but did so much.

He parted your legs and without any foreplay or warning, he slid his now aching self in you. He knew his size was big, that you could only take so much. But today he wasn't playing nice, not when his favourite toy let another man touch her. Although the touches the newbie and you had were innocent, he didn't like them one bit. Now, here you were, taking him all of him.

You were so small compared to him so taking him like this was hard, yet it felt so...right and good. He started to thrust in slow, opening you for him. Hands on your hips, you still bent on the desk, your hands gripping the edges of his desk. Small moans could be heard coming from you as you tried to not make much noise.

"Louder, I want them to hear you." He definitely wanted to make a show out of you, humiliate you as he took you, knowing the other hungry men would be outside his door, listening as you took every part of him. He forced your mouth open, hand on your mouth as the other still guided your hips.

Your ass becoming red as his thrusts go harder and faster. He fucked the anger and frustration on you. Degraded every second he spends in you. "Such a fuckin' slut for me," another few slaps on your now raw ass, "what a slut you are, taking me like this. I bet you like it." He dragged another moan from you, this time louder, just like he wanted it to be. His accent coming off more stronger by each thrust. Once he knew you'd be willing to keep moaning loud for him, his hand slides to your wet cunt. His thick fingers start to toy with you, "I bet you like being treated like a whore." You couldn't respond, your brain in mush as waves of pleasure started to create through your body.

He slammed his hips on your ass, his cock deep in you, he leaned in, biting your back and shoulder. His moans and yours echoing around the room. He knew he was close and he didn't mind if you were or not. Today, his needs were above your own.

He pulled out, pre-cum dripping from you and him. He sits on his desk chair, removing his shirt, knowing this view would be your only reward. A finger motioning for you to sit on him, he wanted to see those tits of yours bounce as he came in you. You, like his toy obeyed. He lets you guide his throbbing cock inside, once your hands met it, you slide it in. Causing more moans to leave your sweet lips. More for the men outside of the door to hear.

You start to ride him, his lips meet your hardened nipples. He bites and licks them. Your moans of pleasure and pain, causing him to feel himself get closer. Your hands on his back, gently holding yourself as you ride him. "König, t-this is....too much" you could feel yourself get more and more sensitive.

But since today, he wanted to please himself and not you, he didn't care. Instead, his hands on your hips, making you go faster, he slapped your ass every now and then. Causing more moans and cries to come out. Your nails digging deeper into his bare back. You started to leave red marks across it. This only fed his needs more. "Look at you," he said as he pulled back, eyes staring into your, mascara running down as it mixed with your sweat, "takin' me so good." The praises finally began.

He knew he was getting closer, so he thrusted faster in you. Your inner thighs would for sure be sore by tomorrow. He leans in, lips on your shoulder as he slowly licked it. Hands still on your hips, at times they be on your ass, spreading your ass so he could feel himself finally fit inside your tight cunt.

Thrusts becoming more sloppy, pre-cum on your and his thighs. He bites into your shoulder, moaning and whimpering can be heard. Your nails leaving more red trails across his back.

His hips bucking as he started to cum inside of you. Filling your walls with his white seed. "Oh schatz, the things you do to me." he let out a small moan. He cups your face, your brows furrowed, tears running down as he wipes them away. "Look at you, such a mess," his voice now more soft, letting his cum drip from in you to your thighs, "you know I don't allow you to look like such mess." He kisses your forehead, he leans and grabs a napkin from his desk, he gently wipes your now dry mascara tears from you. "You did well, liebling." he kissed your cheek and then leaves continuous kisses on your lips.

He moves the hair from your face and tucks it behind your ear. He hugs you, his head on your now bare breasts. "Such a good girl." he whispers, a hand on your back as the other holds your ass, rubbing it slowly, as if he was now caring for it, unlike a few minutes ago.

------------------

A/N: I hope this was smutty enough. If it wasn't not to worry, I have like 6 other smut requests to write.

1K notes · View notes

chooseruin · 1 year

Text

The thing making me Feral about Judith Deuteros today is like. Her absolutely unfortunate attempt to declare martial law at Canaan House was the only thing she had to contribute. She is the ranking Cohort officer in this situation (she thinks) and like that's IT. In practical terms she's the weakest player there and she knows this; never mind the illest anime ill girl in the whole Seventh House and the three simultaneous greatest necromancers of their generation and Abigail Pent (at whom she is in any case strenuously not looking), Isaac could punt her through a wall. Silas is good enough at his terrible job that an actual Lyctor had to punch him out and then orchestrate that situation with the keys just to make ABSOLUTELY certain no one would ever listen to him. Judith is a competent melee support necromancer when in an actual melee. Judith can hold her own against Camilla Hect at ceiling chess even with a high fever, but Camilla and Palamedes and Ianthe are also there. Judith's cavalier is the glory of the Second House and their ability to work together is like... it's fine. It's professional. It's good. This is what peak performance looks like. It's fine. They're fine. Everything's fine. The hardware on her uniform is the only thing that's supposed to matter that she has and no one else does, that's ALL she has that she can imagine leveraging to get them out of here, and the way that works when your dad is the Fleet Admiral is that they give you everything you ask for and then you spend the rest of your life scrambling to earn it and she's not even very good at that. She has the charisma of drywall (affectionate/despairing) and all she can do to assert authority is fall back on the Cohort playbook and holy fuckballs did no one else in this bar actually care about that even BEFORE people started dying and all she does is completely discredit the actually pretty reasonable option of pulling together and trying to get out of this. And then Camilla Hect happens in front of everyone. And then the situation is REALLY losing cabin pressure and it's glorious last stand o'clock and her glorious last stand turns ugly and squalid and doesn't even help and she doesn't even get to die for it. She's the perfect product of ten thousand years of God needing cultural infrastructure for his genocide run against the rest of the universe, and she doesn't even get to Charge of the Light Brigade her way out. She doesn't get to die senselessly and prove to everyone that the rules don't matter anymore, because no one else ever really believed they did. She's so goddamn doomed by the narrative that it won't even let her die. Corona won't let her die. Blood of Eden won't let her die. MERCYMORN THE FIRST takes time out of a very packed schedule specifically to not let her die, not even long enough to come back wrong, how much more wrong could she get. She's the last kid left in Hamelin and she's opposite day Jackie Yellowjackets and she's a minor war poet and a virgin who can't drive and a wholeass Indelicates song and the most exhausted twenty-two-year-old in the universe and THAT'S ALL BEFORE NT9. Who is being happened to like her.

#the locked tomb #tltposting #judith deuteros #embodiment of “of course god doesn't hate you. he doesn't care enough about you for that.”#scrungliest dirt-jar kitten. bad-time girl. sad wwi military homoerotic girlflop.

2K notes · View notes

theidiotwhowritesthings · 1 year

Text

✨D.D. MASTERLIST ✨

[banner and dividers created by @saradika]

[DRABBLES]

At Fault (1.7k words)

Common Mistake (1.8k)

Deep Blue, but You Painted Me Golden (1.8k)

Familiar & Unfamiliar (4.1k)

I Miss You, I Miss You Too (0.5k)

In a Perfect World, You Love Me (6.9k) // Perfect World pt. II (2.5k)

Language Barrier (1.0k words)

Lost in the Light (1.4k)

Ni Ceta, Cyar’ika (7.8k) // I Love You, Cyar’ika (4.5k)

⏤ Do You Want Me, Cyar’ika: HAPPY END (6.7k), DARK END (5.1k)

Not Like This (1.3k words) // Not You (2.3k words)

One Hundred and Fifty Seven (4.1k words)

That’s Not My Name (632 words)

din djarin x female!reader

Playlist

Older!Grogu Inspo Art

summary: When you made plans for your future they never involved being hired by a Mandalorian to baby-sit his adorable, green gremlin of a child. However, after your life fell apart in the span of one disastrous night, you found it to be the only feasible option you had left. Nevarro was a far cry from Coruscant, but the thriving community turned out to be exactly what you needed. Every day you spend in Nevarro you fall more and more in love with your new life, but when your past rears its ugly head you find that perhaps peace wasn’t meant for everyone.

✨: signifies a ‘AFS’ deleted scene/drabble!

#01: Two Porgs, One Blaster

#02: Are You Trying to Say Bear?

#03: Marshal Daddy

#04: Mayfeld Didn't Mean to Step on Him

✨#4.5: He is a Quick One✨

#05: Wife Material

#06: Trikar'la, Buir!

#07: Soran

✨#7.5: Like The Wizards✨

#08: You're His Home

#09: Buir, Grogu, Ma

✨#9.5: Ma’s Got You✨

#10: Show Off

#11: You Didn’t

#12: Grogu, Grogu, Baby, It’s Okay

#13: The Danger Has Passed, Cyar’ika

#14: Am I Making You Quiver?

#15: Mando Looks Like He Knows How to Fuck

#16: I Don’t Want It to Be a Sin

#17: Close Your Eyes, Ner Kar’ta

✨#MID 17: Take a Break, Doc✨

#18: Talk About a Power Couple

#19: My Boys Needed Me

#20: Short Stick Bears His Wrath

#21: Made of the Right Stuff

#22: Like Father, Like Son

#23: It’s a Surprise

✨#23.5: Am I Close to Redemption?✨

#24: Right Between Your Thighs

din djarin x female!reader

summary: It was like fate or destiny had planned from the beginning for you to be on the run from the law. With the words ‘I can bring you in warm, or I can bring you in cold’ adorning your rib cage you always wondered what was worse: Knowing you were bound to being wanted or realizing your soulmate was a cursed bounty hunter. You had a mission to finish and no bounty hunter, soulmate or not, was going to stop you.

#01: Unstoppable Force Meets Immovable Object

#02: Falling For You

#03: Call it Fate, Destiny, Call it Luck

#04: Cool Motive, Still Murder

#05: Right Person, Wrong Time

#06: Partners in Crime

#07: A Favor For a Friend

#08: But You’re Still a Traitor

[SEVEN DAYS]

Cowboy!Din Djarin x Female!Reader

Summary: The Mandalorian, a morally gray and hardened bounty hunter, makes a decision that alters the course of his fate and yours. As your two very different worlds collide, you learn the Mandalorian is more than his reputation has led you to believe, and you have only seven days to decide if saving his life would be worth destroying your own.

DAY ONE

DAY TWO

DAY THREE

DAY FOUR

DAY FIVE

DAY SIX

DAY SEVEN

AFTER

#the mandalorian #mandalorian x reader #mandalorian x you #din djarin x you #din djarin x reader #protective din djarin #good dad din djarin #din djarin #star wars #din djarin masterlist

2K notes · View notes

captain-hawks · 7 months

Text

STRESS RELIEF

♡ — atsumu miya x f!reader

Atsumu may be a legendary setter, but he’s also an incredibly sore loser. And all other forms of post-game slump stress relief pale in comparison to a particular one he shares with you.

18+ ONLY

wc — 2.4k

prompt — lactation kink

additional content — established relationship, fingering, squirting, coming in pants, coming untouched, unprotected sex, rough sex, creampie, cockwarming, questionable refractory periods, multiple orgasms, cum eating, insatiable Atsumu, Miya twin bickering, timeskip!Atsumu

╰┈➤ kinktober masterlist

“Is there a reason ya always call me to babysit after losin’ a game?”

Atsumu can hear the exasperation in his brother’s voice on the other end of the line, dulled slightly by the hum of customers chattering away in the background. He ignores Osamu’s question, shifting slightly from where he’s seated on the bench in the locker room as he tugs at his sweat-soaked MSBY jersey, pulling the material free from its damp grip on his chest.

“Some godfather you are,” he snarks back, offering Bokuto a wave as he slaps him on the back while walking past him on his way to the showers. “And how’d ya know we lost anyway, ain’t ya at work?”

Osamu snorts, “Had the game on in the office while I was working on the books. You played like shit.”

“Bite me,” Atsumu huffs, running a hand through his haphazard blonde locks.

“I’m leavin’ the restaurant in about an hour.”

“I’m droppin’ her off in forty-five.”

“Take a goddamn shower first, ya pig. I can smell you from here.”

“Fuck you, Samu.”

He can practically hear the middle finger that his brother proffers to the phone as Osamu laughs, hanging up on him. Atsumu trudges to the showers to wash away the grime from the court—and hopefully some of his sour mood in the process.

—

In the years that you’ve been together, Atsumu has always been a sore loser when it comes to his favorite sport, even more so once he went pro. He cycles through different ways of working through his disappointment with himself after tough games, ranging from forcing himself to run miles on end until he’s nearly throwing up when he regretfully calls you to come and pick him up halfway across town, to dragging Osamu out for impromptu boxing sessions (“Ya tryin’ to make yer face even more ugly?!”), to binge eating ice cream on the couch (until he’s then also throwing up).

Sex, of course, is also one of his favorite (and least self-destructive) options, though his frustration-fuelled stamina is enough to leave you both fucked out beyond belief.

However, following the birth of your daughter just over a year ago, Atsumu found…a new form of stress relief.

One where he’d prefer to have no interruptions.

Hence the recruitment of Uncle Osamu, who probably just thinks his pouty, needy brother forces him into babysitting duties to have loud, raunchy sex with his wife all night.

Not quite.

—

“You’re worse than our daughter,” you fondly groan at Atsumu when he immediately starts tugging off your jacket the moment you step in your front door after swinging by Osamu’s house, his impatient energy coming off of him in waves.

Atsumu’s sound of protest dies in his throat when he spins back around from hanging it up to watch you slip off your shoes, his pupils expanding from eager to lust-blown the moment his gaze falls on the two wet spots already soaking through the thin material of your sundress.

“Fuck,” he murmurs, his lips slotting tenderly against yours as he pushes you up against the wall, one hand coming up to cup your tender breasts.

His tongue dances along the seam of your lips, and you part them, sighing into your husband’s mouth as he deepens the kiss. You card your fingers through his still-damp hair, keening at the feeling of his thumb teasing your peaked nipples through the fabric. The arousal simmering in your gut sparks, pleasure seeping through your nerves with each deft sweep of his hands along your skin as he effortlessly unhooks your bra, tosses it to the ground, and pulls down the straps of your dress.

“Can’t even wait till we get to the bedroom?” You ask teasingly.

“Nope,” he replies, though the sound is muffled from where his mouth is now latched on to one of your engorged, leaking tits.

Atsumu has never been one for patience.

You haven’t pumped all day, and the soothing feeling of Atsumu needily lapping at your tender nipples, milk flowing into his mouth, has you whimpering in relief. Knees going weak with a flush of arousal, you start to slide to the floor, and Atsumu follows suit, his warm body slotted between your spread legs as he continues to drink from you.

The house is quiet save for the wet, sucking sounds of Atsumu’s mouth slurping at your swollen tits, punctuated at intervals by his groans—the vibration of which makes you shiver—and the breathy, keening noises falling from your own lips.

You reach down, carding your fingers through his hair, running them from his messy, blonde strands to the soft, dark brown undercut beneath. He sucks harder, letting his teeth graze a pert nipple in the way he knows makes your toes curl, and you gasp, arching into his touch as you give his hair a rough tug in return.

Atsumu moans, and you do it again, tipping his head back enough to take in the dazed look in his eyes, milk coating his lips and dripping down his chin. Suddenly, you become very aware of the way your arousal-soaked panties are clinging wetly to your folds, sticky and plastered against your eager, aching cunt.

A knowing smirk teases its way across his full lips, and Atsumu snakes a hand up the skirt of your dress, running a finger down your slit. Separated from his deft touch by both your stockings and underwear, he teases you by pushing his fingertip firmly against the nylon and cotton where your fluttering entrance is. The material gives just enough, breaching your hole and scraping wetly against the tight walls of your cunt, and you whine, bucking into his touch as you plead for more.

You can feel another spurt of milk dribbling from one of your tits, and Atsumu dips his head back down to catch it, tongue tracing a broad stroke from your belly to your nipple as he laps it all up. And just when he latches back on to milk you further, you hear a ripping sound as he tears a hole in your stockings, one large enough to slip his hand into. He then uses his thumb to pull your panties aside, swiftly plunging two fingers right into your damp pussy knuckle deep.

“Atsumu,” you pant out, bucking up into him, the slick squelch of him finger fucking you warring with the sounds of his wet mouth fervently sucking on your breasts.

He groans your name, drinking deeply from one tit as he massages and squeezes the other, pulling away for a moment to let milk squirt and spray against his lips. The feeling building inside of you burns its way down your throat and into the pit of your abdomen, your tightly coiled composure beginning to unfurl amid a slick, exhilarating thrum of pleasure.

Feeling the way the muscles in your thighs have clenched, he swipes his thumb over your clit, stroking circles into the sensitive bundle of nerves as he firmly curls his fingers inside of you. The tidal wave of pleasure bursts, clear liquid spraying from your cunt as you come hard.

Atsumu’s own steady sucking grows sloppy as he moans loudly when he feels you squirt all over him, smearing spit and milk across the swell of your tits. Bringing his fingers to his mouth, he pauses in his ministrations for a moment to suck off the creamy results of your orgasm before returning to the streams of milk leaking down your chest.

“Haaaaaah, oh f-fuck,” he groans as his entire body tenses and then goes entirely limp, arms wrapped loosely around your waist as he presses his forehead against your breasts, breathing hard.

“Did you come in your pants again?” you ask, already knowing the answer.

He nods, voice slightly muffled against your skin, “Ya know what you squirting does ta me.”

Playing with his hair, you smile, “Good thing we have all night.”

And Atsumu makes the most of it, both of you stumbling into the bedroom in your post-orgasmic bliss and collapsing against the mattress, slowly taking turns peeling off one another’s clothes until you’re both naked, his cum-soaked boxers left forgotten on the floor.

The thrum of anxiety and frustration from the game still lingers, and you know Atsumu hasn’t had his fill yet.

If this didn’t turn the both of you on so much, you know he’d otherwise latch on for hours on end without stopping once for air, suckling every last drop of milk from your swollen tits till the sun begins peeking over the horizon. And it’s not that you don’t spend hours with him lapping up your milk on nights like this, it’s just also always littered with copious amounts of orgasms, his normal refractory period taking a backseat to whatever milk-fuelled stamina keeps cum pumping from his cock far more times than either of you could ever hope to count.

An hour later, you’re on your back, legs spread as Atsumu drags his tongue up your slit, lapping up a glob of his cum that’s leaking out of you. He leans in to kiss you, his filthy mouth slotting against yours tenderly, and you can feel as more cum from his last two climaxes drips out of you and onto the sheets below.

He’s left your tits untouched for a bit, mouth otherwise occupied swallowing down your moans as he fucked you deep and slow. Milk dribbles down your body, and you arch your body up into his where he hovers over you, grabbing one of his hands and dragging it through the wet, sticky mess.

“Here I thought I was the needy one,” he quips, a boyish grin on his face.

You raise an eyebrow. “Don’t act like you’re done.”

“Not even close.”

This time, when his hot lips latch onto your tits, there’s nothing slow or gentle about it. He’s greedy in the way he sucks and slurps, palming at your breasts and groping your ass and squeezing your thighs. Need courses through you as you wrap your legs around his waist, both of you moaning in unison as his thick cock sinks into your cunt again.

The sound of him fucking his cum back inside of you is filthy, and you revel in it, nails digging into his shoulders and the heel of your foot pressing into his lower back as you urge him to go deeper.

He bites and sucks at the sensitive skin of your breasts, the mattress creaking loudly beneath you as he begins to roughly fuck you into it, cum leaking onto his balls and dripping down your ass. Your chest heaves as pleasure snaps through you like a whip, drunk on the combined feeling of the downright feral way Atsumu’s drinking your milk and the relentless way he’s pounding into your tight cunt.

When you come this time, it’s with a shout, vision going white as your pussy clenches down on his shaft. His orgasm follows in kind, Atsumu sucking on your nipple like his life depends on it while his cock pulses within the grip of your slick walls, once again filling you to the brim with another load of hot cum.

Atsumu collapses on top of you afterward, both of your bodies limp with exhaustion, though not enough to stop him from keeping his mouth latched to one of your tits, idly sucking away.

—

You don’t realize that the two of you fell asleep, not until you rouse to the soft morning light coming through your bedroom window and a round of knocks coming from your front door. When you go to shift, you find Atsumu’s head pillowed on chest, still unconsciously sucking on one of your nipples, even in his sleep. You roll your eyes fondly, stroking his hair.

Atsumu hums, stirring slightly. Softened cock still lodged inside of you, he rolls his hips, and you moan softly at the combined pleasure from the feeling of him sliding through the copious amounts of cum he filled you with and the hypersensitivity of being touched when you’re still half asleep. His eyes open slightly, and he gives you a tired little smile as he groans, mouth falling open as he rocks into you again.

His cock is quick to react, the feeling of his thick shaft hardening inside of the tight squeeze of your cunt leaving you breathless.

There’s another series of knocks at the front door, followed by the buzz of a text message on his phone.

Atsumu presses a kiss to your nipple before dragging his lips up the column of your throat, mouth capturing yours.

Another knock.

He pulls out and thrusts back into you deeply, languidly, cock dragging against your cum-soaked walls with ease.

Your phone buzzes.

Lazy, gentle kisses follow.

His phone begins to ring.

Atsumu reaches out in the direction of the nightstand, shoving his phone to the floor and ignoring everything but the way you keen and writhe beneath him as he fucks you through one more wet, tired, blissful orgasm.

—

Osamu, fully dressed in his Onigiri Miya uniform, looks like he’s weighing the pros and cons of fratricide when Atsumu finally opens the front door in a robe, his hands and a brush no match for what an all-night marathon of sex and sucking on your tits has done to his hair.

“I have a staff meetin’ in an hour, ya horny bastard,” he growls when he walks in, the malice a direct contrast to the way he then proceeds to coo over his sleeping niece when he sets her down in her carrier.

“We slept in,” Atsumu says casually, though his air of nonchalance is thrown off by the way Osamu unceremoniously shoves the diaper bag into his arms.

“Yer a shit liar.”

Exiting the bathroom looking far more put together than your husband, you place a finger to your lips as you gesture to your child, who’s somehow conked out despite their raised voices.

Osamu offers you an apologetic look, though he shoots his brother another glare when you make your way into the kitchen.

“Thanks again, Samu. Want something for breakfast before you head to work?” you ask him.

Atsumu pours himself a glass of orange juice in the meantime.

“Toast would be great.”

“Thought ya were in a rush,” Atsumu snarks before rolling his eyes and taking a large sip from his cup.

Rifling through the fridge, you brandish a hand in the direction of the myriad of beverages on the shelf. “Drink?”

“Milk’s fine.”

Atsumu chokes.

— likes, comments, &/or reblogs are greatly appreciated!

#atsumu miya x reader #miya atsumu x reader #miya atsumu #atsumu miya #haikyuu fanfiction #haikyuu #haikyu #haikyuu smut #dee writes

469 notes · View notes

virgincels · 7 months

Text

WASTE ME !

ft. leon s. kennedy x gn!reader

tags. rape, non-con to dubious consent, reader has low self esteem so they think the rape is deserved, dead dove, vendetta leon, implied age gap, virginity loss, kind of stockholm cuz they end up liking leon, guilt, p in v

a/n. please don’t read if this is triggering it’s quite literally just non-con and reader saying they like it bc they’re lonely !!

two / three

You haven’t been out of the house in a while. Not quite unusual, but you’re sure it’s been an extended amount of time since you did anything more than stepping outside to collect a delivery. It’s late and there’s nothing sweet to eat. Excluding the bloomed chocolate stored all the way in the back of your fridge on the shelf that’s icky in ways you choose to ignore. You don’t want to clean that shit up. Gotta seek out a hazmat suit first.

Delivery is always an option, but you’ve wasted so much money on those fucking service fees, it’s a total joke. So you put on your brave face and head out. The October wind chills you to the bone, makes you ache like your entire body needs to be thawed the second it hits you. Put in the microwave a few times. Left to defrost. You regret not putting on those cutesy mittens, got nervous the old corner store owner would find you childish and left them behind in the heat of the moment. Now you’ve got fucking frostbite, you silly bitch.

With your heart in your throat, ready to slip out at a moment’s notice if you do as little as open your mouth, you step inside the dimly lit store. The bell jingles, you’re welcomed by a damp smell that makes you retch silently, the buzz of the refrigerators slowly drives you mad as you make your way through the aisles. Anything will do at this point. You grab the first pack of sugar-coated gummies, and pop it down on the counter. You’ve only got a note, hoping he’d break it, but the cashier unhelpfully drops an extensive amount of change into your small palm, leaving you fumbling.

Keeping the plastic packet between your teeth, you try your best to shove the change into the pocket of your puffy jacket. Of course, everyone is against you at all times, so a coin falls to the ground with a metallic clink. And you’re gonna chase after it when it rolls away. Duh. You don’t have a single penny to waste. Not with all those utility bills. Not with all your bad online shopping habits.

You’re crouched down on the ground, tucked into a nook the streetlights don’t see, feeling around with both your hands. Like how Velma looks for her stupid fuckin’ dork glasses. You feel him before you see him. Smell the sourness of whatever he’s been drinking. Like a fucking keg party, Jesus. His hands are warm on your hips, grabbing them like nobody’s business. You’re scared for sure. Scared shitless in fact. You almost pissed your pants when he crept up behind you like that, like he’s some beast from a creature feature.

Although, you suppose, no one’s ever held you this way. Held you like they want you. Lucky he can’t see your face. You’re certain he’d be the one kicking up a fuss, stumbling out of the alley like you’re the one that tried to rape him. Understandable. You’re a sexually repulsive rat. No one's ever wanted to bang you. Like ever. Once again, totally understandable. You’re not exactly what anyone would call pretty, average even. Dog-face is closer to what you are, face like a pound of slapped ass. Shouldn’t be allowed in public. A guy once told you he’d only hit if you put a bag over your head first. You were willing too, but he was messing with you.

Anyway, back to this guy, he’s got a firm grip on you. It should be totally horrifying, but you’re leaning back into him, and wondering if he’s handsome or not. Probably not. Handsome guys don’t feel the need to shove their dicks in ugly holes. It’s too dark to see his face. You feel prickly stubble on your cheeks when he grabs your face, forces you to kiss him. You don’t know how to kiss him so it’s likely clumsier than he anticipated. You taste the whiskey on his lips, and suck on his tongue when it slips past your parted pucker. Shit. So this is what it’s like. Makes your gut stir, panties sticking to your core with each passing second.

Doesn’t seem as tense as he previously was. Maybe he expected you to put up a fight, but he got lucky. Hit the rape victim jackpot actually. ‘Cause you’re willing to take any dick you can. Most cockhungry virgin in all the world. Other than the dizzying scent of alcohol, nothing else about him is inherently nasty, the nails that dig into your jaw seem to be trimmed well. His hair is better kept than yours ever is when you squint through the darkness at his looming figure. Huh. Hot guys really do fuck ugly bitches. Less pressure maybe. An ugly bitch like you wouldn’t complain one bit, not about his dick, not about how he’s roughing you up, how he smells, none of it. You’ll take whatever venereal disease he’s got just to know what it’s like. To be wanted. To be fucked.

“I’m sorry,” he says, he sounds earnest, you forgive him. He’s taking your virginity, something that’s way overdue, of course you forgive him. Especially with that voice. Gosh. Sounds like warm honey. He pulls your sweats over your hips, presses his hard cock into your ass cheek. Strange and fleshy. Firm and soft all at once.

He takes you like an animal. Stray dog mounting his bitch in a back alley. Sounds about right. It hurts like hell, you’ve never been able to force your fingers particularly deep. Too short, always missing the mark. He exceeds it. You’re pretty sure he’s bruising your cervix, the pace he builds is fast, then he runs out of breath and it’s slow. Sloppy. Lots of ragged breathing. You put a hand over your mouth, weep into your palm, nose running as this stranger fucks up your insides. Fat cock splitting you open on the ground. This is how it was always going to go, ugly bitches like you don’t get laid, they get raped. Reserved for filthy fucking. Sex and foreplay and all that shit is for pretty girls. You’re far from it.

“Jesus,” he hisses when you squeeze around him, when you jolt in pain, hips backing up into him. He runs a finger along your jagged spine, leaves you covered in goosebumps. “I’m sorry.” He says it again, and you know he means it. “I’m so sorry.”

You’re crying like a baby, your chest aches and your knees are scraped. It’s okay, you’d like to tell him, but a hiccup bubbles up in your throat. It feels good. Really. You like it. You’d let him do it again and again. You want to be needed. Want to be the subject of someone’s desires.

He finishes in three minutes flat. You don’t complain when his seed sticks to your ass, trickles down your thighs all sticky. You’re just glad you made him cum. You feel accomplished. Can tick it off your bucket list. He’s trembling more than you are when he stands up, offers his warm hand, refuses to look you in the eyes as you struggle to dress yourself. Feels like you got pins and needles. Hoisting your joggers up, you grab his wrist before he walks away.

You were right. He’s cute. Super cute. Facial hair is a little scraggly but who are you to judge? He’s older than you by a fair amount. Pretty eyes, low brows, dimpled chin. Looks like he should be in a movie with that face. Shoot your shot. Come on. “Hey, could I get your number?”

#leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy smut #leon s kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy x you #leon kennedy x you #leon s kennedy smut #leon kennedy imagine #tw noncon

486 notes · View notes