#would you guys mind if i made posts like this occasionally for things i don’t have the energy to draw

[somewhatfrequent-swordblademeta]

sword: what would you do if we were slugcats in rain world?

meta knight: i would hold your hand and then give you a berry

blade: spear to the head

[scremogirl]

✪⁂✫彡𝐎𝐍𝐄𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐓✵✥☆ミ★ ???

𝐀𝐛𝐨𝐯𝐞-𝐀𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐞

Yandere Student Council Pres x Nonchalant reader

I’m not sure if I should retitle this to Yandere! Childhood friend x reader or not. There’s not a lot of the fact he’s the SCP shown in the story. I felt like I went a little off track. I got so consumed in writing😭. I already have a post like that on my page so I didn’t want to make it confusing. I don’t know if I should’ve said unemotional reader either. Idk let me know what you think. Have fun reading!

He was at the top of the food chain. Good grades, teachers liked him, students feared him, rich, good looking, and most importantly; the student council president. With that being said, why wouldn’t he leave you alone?

Takenya was a stuck up priss in your opinion. Always lecturing you about things you could do in order of improvement. You weren’t popular but you weren’t one of those weird Naruto kids that sat in the back of the class and ate crayons either. You just existed. Someone so average at everything somehow attracted the most “perfect” guy in school. Your grades were fine; a straight A-B student with the occasional C here and there. Your attendance on the other hand… well maybe he’s not so wrong about that, but who actually wants to be at school anyways?

“I don’t understand why you don’t try harder? You could easily surpass most of our class,”

“You need to come to school. This behavior would never pass in the real world. What would your employer think of you just not showing up?”

“Chocolate for lunch…really? If you want to stay healthy you’ll need to-“

Why does he care so much anyways? Sure, you used to be friends in like what, fifth grade? You used to get bullied in school for being different. You just didn’t like the things that kids your age were supposed to like. But… it never bothered you. You weren’t emotionless per se, it’s just, why care what others have to think?

Mellisa Grey. The girliest of all girls. She used to have it out for you when you were younger. Calling you names and bumping your shoulder whenever you walked by. You put up with it until the end of the year; fifth grade graduation. That evening she and her crew thought it’d be funny to pour milk on the shy little nerdy boy in your class. Some spilled on your dress, that you didn’t mind, but the tears of the boy next to you made you. Something inside of you just snapped. You shot up from your seat grabbing a first full of her hair and slammed her head onto the wooden table. Not stopping until you saw the wire of her pink, sparkly braces fly out her mouth. Well, that was what you wanted to do; the teachers came too early for you to inflict any further damage. The most you got was a broken nose and a lawsuit. She transferred schools after that, and you got the whoopin of a lifetime. You didn’t care. You didn’t feel bad at all. If anything you felt elated seeing her in pain and the rage on her parents faces as the cussed child you out. You didn’t cry or yell when your parents picked you up. You weren’t phased by the belt or the palm of your mothers hand striking you. You didn’t feel anything. So why were you so upset on someone else's behalf anyways?

You knew this kid. I mean, how couldn’t you when he would follow you around 24/7.

“H-Hi… my names Takenya” you just blankly stared. His sheepish gaze barely meets yours from behind his big fat glasses.

“…Do I know you?”

“Well…no. But I know you!”

“Good for you I guess.” You continued to go back and forth on the swing, not acknowledging the boy's existence at all. The swing he sat on remained stationary, never once dropping his gaze from you.

“Uhm… I just wanted to thank you for yesterday,” Hm? What was he talking about? He saw the confusion in your face when you turned around to ask and beat you to the point.

“You probably don’t know me. We’re not in the same class,” Right. So why is he talking to you? Again, before you could ask he cut you off.

“The other day when recess started you helped me pick up all of my stuff after Carter pushed me down; remember? I-I just wanted to say thank you for sticking up for me” Ohhh, you do remember him now. He was that shy little rich kid that transferred here at the end of fourth grade. He didn’t have many friends, let alone any at all. Everyone had grown up with each other and formed friend groups at this poin. He was a little late to the party so he didn’t fit in. He wasn’t worried about the next episode of Ninjago and didn’t find humor in looking up the words penis and vagina in the dictionary at the school library when the teacher wasn’t looking. His hair long, tied back into a neat ponytail and not buzzed into a Mohawk like half the boys in your grade. He had glasses that almost covered the entirety of his upper face. He always ate his pb&js on whole wheat instead of white and preferred celery sticks over fruit snacks. So, just like you, he got bullied just because he was different.

“Oh yea. I remember you now. You’re welcome by the way,” he grinned. The first time you saw him smile ever since he came to your school.

That marked the day of a long friendship.

That was until you went to middle school. You think puberty had something to do with it. He grew into his face more and sized down those jellyfishing glasses. His scrawny figure gained slightly more bulk and dressed in a more modern fashion. His hair remained the same; a bit shorter than before but still longer than most guys. You’ve always liked his hair. He would let you braid it sometimes when he was too distracted playing on his DS. He didn’t get acne like many of the other kids your grade either, skin smooth and clear. All the girls found him to die for. Your nonchalant behavior rubbed off on him and he became more confident in himself. Not letting his elementary school self be reflected into now. He became a bit too obsessed with his studies for a middle schooler; pushing all his ways on you. He would always follow you around blabbing about not attending gym class. He even started hanging around the same snotty rich kids he would complain to you about. You became annoyed. So you cut him off. Just like that. Stopped talking to him, answering his texts, not sitting with him at lunch or in class. Even after all the rejection at his advances, he came running back to you. Not willing to let you go so easily.

The school bell rings signaling the end of 4th pd and beginning of lunch. You were planning to go off campus today and not come back. Keys in hand you make your way to the student parking lot. However, someone’s blocking the exit. He’s gotten taller, about 6’2-6’3; sleeper build accommodating his height. Glasses thinner and sit perfectly on the bridge of his nose. Hair as long as ever, tyed back with that same white ribbon you gave him years ago; revealing an undercut. He fixes the collar of his button up and readjusts his tie and vest.

“And exactly…just where do you think your going?”

“To lunch,”

“The cafeteria is that way,” he points with a slender finger, decorated by a diamond ring. It shimers under the lights above reflecting against his matching earrings.

“Off campus,” he raises his eyebrow, folding his arms.

“Knowing you, you won’t come back. You do realize your request for a half day schedule is still pending right? You also recognize that I’m the one who assists the principal in granting them as well?” You don’t answer him, already knowing we're going with this.

“As I said before, your attendance needs improving before I-… we can grant it,” what a pain in the ass this guy is. You try to walk past him but he stops you, putting a hand on your shoulder.

“I don’t eat school lunch. I’ll be back after,” he gives you an unamused look. Hand gripping your shoulder a little tighter as you try to take another step.

“You know I can’t let you do that. Not unless you don’t want a new schedule,” he pauses.

“Not unless I come with you,” you look up.

“You’re paying?” His eyes widened slightly, shocked at your willingness. But he can’t be too surprised, he knows you don’t care about anything unless you get what you want.

“Of course I am. You need to spend your money on other priorities; like a new math textbook,” you ignore the subtle jab and walk to his car. No need to ask where as he parks next to you everyday to make sure he knows you’ve actually show up. Definitely not because your the first thing he wants to see in the morning.

“I don’t understand why you come to McDonald’s of all places,” he lets out a sigh, handing his card to the drive through worker. He drives up to the next window waiting for the food.

“It’s not healthy. You seriously should consider my offer in taking you to that new place down the street,”. He looks over when he doesn’t get a response; noticing the music blasting from your headphones as you look at the door. He sighs again before taking the food from the workers hand and grabbing your headphones. You turn your head to look at him but your gaze shifts to the bag in his hand. You reach over and grab a fry out of the bag and he s his eyes. Pulling into the parking lot, he silently watches you eat. This brings him so much nostalgia. He misses eating lunch with you everyday. Ranting while you just sit there and chew. He misses having someone listening to him about something that’s not related to school. After you stopped *attempted* talking to him in the beginning of 7th grade, his heart felt like it got ripped out of his chest.

He’s never felt anything his whole life. His father would tell him that one day he’ll find someone who makes him feel everything, makes life worth it. He’d seen the love shared between his parents everyday. He always wanted that. In the fourth grade all of that came true. He saw you getting off the bus making your way to school. He saw the way you helped up Michael Lemitzki, a dorky little boy, after Conner pushed him down. Shaggy hair, braces lining his teeth, comic books all on the floor. How pathetic. You weren’t scared of Conner at all. He was bigger than you and more popular than you, but you didn’t care. You kept a straight face as he threatened you and held your composure. No emotion showing whatsoever.

He thought you were beautiful. It was love at first sight. He was too busy staring at you to hear his father calling out to him. He followed his son's gaze to you. He looked back down at the small boy and gave a knowing smile. Takenya just stared at the other boy hugging you with tears down his face. Why is he touching you like that? Push him away already! That day he purposely made himself a target to the bullying of Melissa and Conner. Hoping that one day, you’ll save him the same way you did Jacob. He got bigger glasses, grew his hair out, and started dressing like the typical “nerd”. He would leave candies in your cubby, prized limited edition Pokémon cards in your backpack, brand new color pencils and markers showed up around you. He started to lose hope though. Why haven’t you noticed him yet!? Sure he’s never actually talked to you.. but still! Could you not see his effort?! Did you not care? He sat alone at recess that fateful day. He was randomly pushed down, papers and crayons flying out his small hands. He wasn’t in the mood for Connors teasing today. To caught up on the fact that the love of his life may never see him they way he’s dreamed of. Oh the dramatic mind of a fifth grader. He clutched the safety scissors that flew out of his pencil pouch watching the dick of an elementary schooler turn around. He was about to get up but stopped as he saw someone bend down beside him. It was you! You helped gather all his things and placed them into his arms. His heart pounded in his chest and the blush on his face spread like wildfire. Before he could say anything you walked away. Taking your place on the swing set. He hurriedly put all his things away before trying to build up the courage to come talk to you. He took to long, however, as the teacher soon yelled for everyone to make their way into the line back to their respective class.

As he reminisces on the past, an alarm rings. Telling him that it’s time to make his way back to school. You’ve already finished all your food and somehow managed to take your headphones back.

“What?” You say snapping him out of his trance. He didn’t even realize he was staring.

“Nothing,”

You make your way back to the school and go your separate ways. He walks you to class ensuring that you get there. Out the corner of his eye he sees someone wave to you. Lemitzki. His hairs more well kept, ditched the glasses for contacts showing of his green eyes. He’s taller and has more muscles now. The only thing that hasn’t changed is the jagged line that makes it’s way across his right cheek, interfering with his dimple as he smiles. It’s been awhile, the scar healed well. The once clutzy boy looks at the door and freezes, hand dropping and going pale. There’s a silent stare off between the two before the late bell rings. Takenya makes his way to class, a slight smile on his face at a sudden memory.

Watching him walk away, a fist tightens. Little does he know someone was planning on getting their revenge.

Hi loves! I hope you guys enjoyed. Take is an OC of mine I’ve had for a while just never had a name for him until now. Like his concept was in my head foreverrrr. He might be a reoccurring character. I really like him. But I did put one shot so I’m not sure. Lemme know what y’all want. Check out this post below for a little more context. Hope you enjoyed.

-Love, Sos❤️

[sugrhigh]

RUMORS - ( c.s )

REQUESTED**

summary: you and chris have known each other for a long time, and you’ve always had an inescapable crush on him. when you all go to tara’s party and fans see them together for the first time, speculation begins to circulate, and you begin to pull away in fear that he likes her as more than a friend

warnings: angsty in the beginning, fluffy in the end :) some swearing a kiss and that’s it really

bff!chris x fem!reader

a/n: i loved this concept and i hope i brought it to life well for the anon that requested <3 my inbox is always open for u guys #kisses

@fawnchives @l9vesick @mattinside @sturnioloco @sturniolossss @cupidsword @teapartyprincess4two @princessbetsy123-blog @cookiehaos @sturnlova @junnniiieee07 @vsangel-starbies @chrissystur

doom scrolling online is like a car crash that you can’t look away from; especially when it involves your friend and your long term crush. you’ve been laying in bed scouring the internet for the past hour, pouring over comments about and tara and chris.

ever since her last party, when fans actually saw them publicly interacting for the first time, the gossip has gotten out of control. people want them together, and you hate to admit that it makes you sick to your stomach.

hell, you’d been the one to introduce them, since tara had become your friend first. but you and chris go all the way back to childhood; you were best friends with him and his brothers in your early years of school, and then you moved to another town after your dad accepted a new position.

you kept in touch through social media and occasional texts after that, until you all found yourselves in LA fresh out of high school, alone in an unfamiliar city across the country.

their youtube channel had taken off, and you’d gained a large following after you’d finally been recognized for your photography due to some big-name collabs. you were all in the same vulnerable position, and because of this your friendship with the three of them started right back up where it left off.

the rest is history. it’s been two years now, and you’ve all grown exponentially, fully adjusted to LA and the recognition, comfortable with where you are in your lives professionally and personally.

you spend nearly every week with the triplets, doing anything and everything together. they’ve made the occasional homesickness bearable, been your rock through the hard times, and supported you like no one else.

but things are a little different with you and chris. he’s your best friend, the person you want to tell everything to first. it’s always been that way, really. you had feelings for him at 13, and now at 20 years old you love him even more.

but that doesn’t mean you have to love him being shipped with every female influencer on the planet.

it’s selfish, really, to want chris to yourself, considering his occupation and the fame that comes with it. tara is a good person and an even better friend, and you shouldn’t be angry over the idea of them dating.

still, it’s been consuming your mind ever since you saw the first post about the two of them a few days ago, and you’ve been checking social media every hour since.

you’re about to read through yet another comment section when your phone buzzes, a notification appearing at the top of the screen.

chris

can you pls answer me

i don’t like this silent treatment thing

your stomach flips. he’s been texting you things like this for the past few days, since you started distancing yourself after the party.

the whole night he had acted as if he was into tara; always making conversation, asking to dance, posting her on his story. even when you were right next to him, it still felt like he was miles away.

so of course it’s been upsetting you, and you figured rather than taking it out on either of them you would just remove yourself from the situation.

it seemed like the best option in the moment, but it still sucks. you hate not talking to him, not seeing his face or feeling his arms wrap around you in a familiar hug.

another text pings, snapping you out of your spiral once more.

chris

i don’t know what’s wrong but you’re scaring me

the message makes your eyes burn, and you blink away the tears. you don’t want him worrying about you, especially when it’s your own stupid feelings getting in the way of things being normal.

you sigh, tapping out a response and staring at it, debating back and forth whether you should actually press send. but he beats you to a response, and another string of texts come through.

chris

i can see you typing

i’m coming over

y/n

no don’t do that, everything is fine

chris

i don’t believe you

and i already left my house

it’s only a five minute walk to get from his place to yours, and you know he’s too stubborn to actually turn around, no matter how hard you plead. you’ve already broken out into a nervous sweat just thinking about the confrontation.

but at this point you owe it to him and yourself to be honest. you just hope you don’t get your heart broken in the process.

y/n

fine, doors unlocked

i’m in my room

a few minutes later you hear the front door slam open and closed, just to see chris peek his head around the corner of your room moments later. you’re still curled up in bed, too scared and tired to move, so he takes the liberty of coming to you.

“hey.” he says softly as he sits down.

“hi.” you mumble, wrapping your blanket against your chest tighter.

it’s not cold, but you’re so anxious that you’re shivering. chris notices and puts a hand on your covered knee, rubbing small circles against the joint. he looks so sweet, clad in his blue fresh love hoodie with his hair all curly from showering.

“what’s up? i haven’t heard from you all week, and nick was about ready to call the cops.” he tries to joke with a small grin.

you can’t bring yourself to match his energy, and your face remains grave as you attempt to swallow the lump in your throat.

“i’m alright, just tired.”

his face falls, and a slight frown replaces his smile. you know he’s not believing any of it for a second, and you’ve never been a very convincing liar.

“don’t do that, you’re obviously not alright. and i’m not trying to be pushy or anything, but i feel like you’re shutting me out.” chris replies quietly.

you shift a little bit so you can sit up properly, back resting against the headboard as you gaze at him. his hand remains on your thigh, a source of comfort while you try to pick your words wisely.

“i’m not trying to push you away, chris. i just…wanted to give you space.” you continue to dance around the truth.

he looks even more confused, eyebrows furrowed like you’re speaking another language. “that’s nice and all, but i don’t want it.”

“well maybe i do.” you shrug.

you’re lying through your teeth, but chris’s eyes go wide regardless. you’ve shocked him into silence, which rarely ever happens. he’s just staring at you, the gears in his mind turning as he tries to figure out what could possibly be wrong.

“are you serious? did i do something that i don’t know about?” chris asks, clearly exasperated.

he removes his hand from your leg, dropping it back in his lap. the small act alone makes your heart sink, and you feel the question crawling its way out of your mouth before you can help it.

“do you like tara?”

it hangs in the air, and you’ve stumped him once again. chris shakes his head, clearing his throat while his face reddens slightly.

“i can’t believe you’re even asking me that.” he sounds genuinely astonished.

“what? why?” it’s your turn to be baffled.

“because i feel like all i ever do is flirt with you. i mean seriously, it’s embarrassing for me at this point.” chris reaches to scratch the back of his neck sheepishly.

your jaw drops, which makes you feel silly. throughout this whole relationship you felt like you were the one putting the moves on him, doing too much. you’d never once stopped to think about all of the little comments he would make.

“i, uh, guess i didn’t pick up on that.” you manage to reply.

you immediately wish you hadn’t, that you just kept your mouth shut. but he smiles widely at you, chuckling lightly.

“no shit.”

this makes you laugh too, and it feels good to experience at least a brief moment of normality between the two of you. things have felt tense for so long that you’d almost forgotten why you love being around chris in the first place.

you wait to calm down a bit before you decide to finally lay it all on the table. “i like you a lot, chris. and i don’t want to mess up the dynamic we have, because you mean the world to me. but i’d be lying to myself if i said i didn’t want to be with you.”

he’s still grinning, though you can tell he’s gone a little shy now hearing you admit your feelings. this moment is all he dreamed about for so long, and now it’s finally happening in a realm outside of his own brain.

“i want that too, and i’m a dumbass for taking this long to say it. so no, i’m not interested in tara like that. it’s always been you.” chris confesses, reaching to interlock your fingers.

you’ve held hands before on many occasions, but it’s different now in the best way. butterflies erupt in your stomach as he leans in, and you can smell the fading hints of minty body wash on his skin.

you tilt your head so your mouths finally meet, soft and slow as you both finally enjoy the kiss you’ve been yearning for for so long. he tastes sugary, like the lollipops he’s always got between his teeth, and you’re already addicted.

chris pulls away a minute later, his lips reddened and glistening from the contact. you giggle slightly from the unfamiliarity of the situation, glancing down at your linked hands.

“your lips are so soft.” he praises, still awestruck that he finally got to kiss the girl he’s loved since he was a preteen.

“take a girl out to dinner first, jeez.” you joke playfully.

chris rolls his eyes, but he smiles nonetheless. “i think i will, actually. you got any plans tomorrow?”

you tap your chin with your free hand like you’re contemplating your schedule. “i can probably squeeze you in.”

“you better. everyone else can get in line.”

[nvrsaidiwasinurcloset]

Requesting something where reader works as a barista and her boss/co-worker is flirting with her like non-stop. She finally reveals to her BF Ethan about it and of course he’s livid. Ethan/GF makes a visit to the cafe to show boss/co-worker to leave y/n alone for good. Later that night Ethan reminds y/n that she is ONLY his. Please include as much smut as you deem necessary. Btw absolutely adore your writing. 💕

Hiiii! I hope you like it💕

I Mean It - Ghostface!Ethan Landry x Fem!Reader

This contains SMUT - Minors DNI

Summary: Your creepy supervisor threatens to get you fired after you reject his advances, so Ethan takes care of the problem.

Contains: Suggestions to murder, workplace harassment(Nothing graphic), oral - f recieving, p in v, rough-ish sex

A/N: I was going to post this earlier today but life happened haha

Ethan was the sweetest boyfriend to you. He loved to randomly buy you flowers just to see you smile, plan date days for the two of you, and he was always doing something to make you laugh, especially if you were having a bad day. He was also very protective. Whenever he’d be out with you somewhere, if he noticed that another guy was staring at you, he made eye contact until the person took the hint. God forbid anyone said anything or catcalled you because Ethan didn’t mind confronting someone. He didn’t want anyone else to think they could have you, but he also thought it was disrespectful to you.

You knew how Ethan could be, so when your new supervisor at work, Logan, started to flirt with you, you didn’t want to tell him. The last thing you wanted was for Ethan to pop in one day and say something, and with his occasional hotheaded tendencies, you were sure you’d get fired. You needed your job, especially with Ethan talking about how he wanted you to move in with him.

“Hey cutie,” Logan said, as you’d just put your apron on. “What are you doing after work today?”

“You know I have a boyfriend,” you said, brushing him off as you checked to make sure the coffee that was already brewed was still fresh. “Plus, you’re my supervisor. Don’t you think it’s a little unprofessional for you to keep hitting on me?”

“No,” he said, leaning on the counter beside you. “I can’t believe you’re with that loser.”

“Don’t talk about him like that,” you warned, as you once again, walked away from him. You peaked in the fridge to see what milk you needed to grab from the back, but he stayed right beside you.

“He’s not going to do anything,” he said, as you sighed in frustration.

“Seriously, Logan. Let it go. It’s never going to happen,” you said, making a mental note of what you needed before going to grab the extra milk.

He was still behind you, and you were starting to get a little uncomfortable. He was always flirting, but him following you into the walk-in cooler where no one else could see the two of you was making you nervous. You tried to push any anxiety you had to the side so you could get what you needed and get out, but once you had two gallons of milk in your hands and he stood in front of the door so you couldn’t move past him, you were starting to get mad. You huffed as you sat the milk down on one of the shelves.

“What the fuck is your problem?” you asked, staring him down as he smiled.

“I could write you up for talking to me like that…but I won’t if you let me take you out. Just once,” he said, trying to manipulate you into giving him a chance.

“Yeah, I can only imagine how that night would end,” you scoffed, as he started to smirk.

“Hopefully with you naked in my bed.”

You didn’t have time to process what you were doing before your hand connected with his cheek, the sharp sound muffled by the hum of the cooler. Your hand was stinging as you pulled it away, a red mark appearing on the side of his face as he stared at you in disbelief.

“I’m getting you fired for that,” he said, stepping away from the door as he ran his hand over his cheek. “I’ll tell the manager about this in the morning.”

“I’ll tell him about you sexually harassing me,” you snapped, grabbing the milk off the shelf and walking out of the cooler.

Your other coworkers looked at you as you walked out, noticing that you were trying to hold your tears in. You put the milk in the fridge before Logan walked out, an angry look on his face as he made his way towards you.

“I think you should go home for the rest of the day,” he said, as you took your apron off.

“Fine. I didn’t want to be here with your creepy ass anyway.”

“Expect the manager to call you in the morning,” he said, as you made your way out of the coffee shop.

On your walk back home, you knew you needed to tell Ethan. If Logan was going to get you fired anyway, you knew you’d be happier with the situation if Ethan confronted him. You dried the stray tears on your cheeks before you pulled out your phone to text him.

You: Can you come over before your late class?

Ethan: Yeah

Ethan: Wait, why aren’t you at work?

You: I’ll tell you about it when you come over.

When you made it to your dorm, you noticed Ethan standing outside of the door, waiting for you.

“That was fast,” you said, as he took in your sad appearance.

“You know I live in the next building over,” he said, as you walked up to him and rested your head against his chest. His arms wrapped around you, his hand soothingly rubbing across your back. “What happened, baby?”

“Let’s go inside and I’ll tell you,” you said, pulling away to unlock your door.

As you explained the interaction with Logan, Ethan was starting to get angry. His leg was bouncing as he tried to keep calm in front of you, but he knew that Logan needed to pay for the way he’d treated you. Ethan wouldn’t tolerate him flirting with you in the first place, but the idea of anyone thinking they’d even have a chance with you had him fuming, because you were his.

“I don’t know if I can stop by the coffee shop tonight, but I’ll take care of it tomorrow,” he lied, already having a sinister plan floating around in his head. “Maybe if you tell your manager what happened, he’ll be the one that gets fired.”

“All that man does is kiss the higher-ups’ asses, and he cornered me where he knew there weren’t any cameras,” you sighed, as he took a deep breath.

“I promise you, you won’t have to deal with him anymore,” Ethan said, as he stood up. “I’ll take care of it. But I have to run right now or I’m going to be late for class.”

“Okay,” you said, as he grabbed your hands and pulled you close. He placed a sweet kiss on your lips before he pulled away. “Wait, my roommate had to go home for a family emergency. If you think you could sneak back in here tonight, I’d love to spend some alone time with you.”

“Hmm, I like the sound of that,” he said, smirking at you. “Leave your door unlocked. I might not get here until late, but I don’t want to get caught in the hallway.”

“I will. I hope your class isn’t too boring,” you said, as he mumbled “I know it won’t be.”

It wasn’t going to be because he wasn’t going. After seeing how upset you were, and the possibility of Logan getting you fired after he harassed you, he knew what needed to happen to him. He’d go to the ends of the earth to protect you, and he’d do anything to make sure you didn’t have to see Logan’s pathetic self again.

Ethan always paid close attention to his surroundings, even when he was visiting you at work for your breaks. He’d met you at the back entrance a couple of times when you had to close…the back entrance that was never locked until the supervisor left. He knew that was his way to get in, he just needed to plan it out perfectly.

He ran to his dorm to get the things he needed, hoping Chad wouldn’t come back as he put the robe, mask, and knife in his backpack. His roommate walked in just as he’d finished zipping his bag back up.

“Hey, wanna play Mortal Kombat when you get home later?” Chad asked, as he held up the game he’d just picked up.

“No, I won’t be coming home after class. I just stopped by to grab some extra clothes,” Ethan said, as Chad shook his head.

“Don’t get caught in her dorm again,” he said, as Ethan rolled his eyes and walked out.

Ethan found a little hiding spot outside of the view of the exterior cameras of the coffee shop as he waited for his opportunity to go in. His head snapped up from his phone once he heard your coworkers talking amongst themselves as they walked out the back door. He locked his phone and slid it in his pocket before unzipping his backpack and grabbing what he needed to not get caught.

He held the knife tightly in his hand as he walked up to the back entrance and opened the door, peaking around the hallway. He noticed that the coffee shop was dark, aside from the glow of the fluorescent lighting in the manager’s office. He quietly stepped towards it, and once he made it to the doorway, he tapped the blade of his knife against the metal door frame to get Logan’s attention.

As soon as Ethan finished what he went there to do, he wiped the blood off his knife before heading towards the back exit. He slowly opened the door to make sure no one was outside before he bolted to where he was hidden before. He took off the robe and the mask and shoved it, along with the knife, into his backpack.

You kept checking the time on your phone, wondering what was taking Ethan so long. You almost thought he got caught by your RA, but you knew he would’ve messaged you to tell you that. You jumped when your door quickly opened as Ethan ran inside.

“You scared the shit out of me,” you sighed, as he turned to smile at you.

“Sorry. I almost got caught,” he said, his breathing heavy from all the running he’d just done.

His adrenaline was still pumping through his veins as he took in your appearance. You had the cutest little pajama set on, and he was dying to get you out of it.

“You know you’re only mine, right?” he asked, as he stepped closer to you. You noticed the dark look in his eyes as you curiously looked at him.

“Are you okay?” you questioned, as he let out a light chuckle.

“You didn’t answer my question. Maybe I need to show you who you belong to,” he said, as your core started to throb at his words.

“Are you still mad about the Logan stuff? I’m sorry I didn’t tell you he was flirting with me until it got bad,” you said, as he shook his head.

“You do need to tell me when stuff like that happens, but…” he trailed off, once he noticed you laying there, clenching your thighs together. Your eyes were so needy, and you were struggling to sit still. “I think you want me to show you that your mine.”

“Mhm,” you said, as he sat his stuff down and pulled his shirt over his head.

He got on your bed and hovered over you before he leaned down to place his lips against yours. Your mouths were hungrily moving together, like you couldn’t get enough of each other. You felt Ethan start to tug at your pajama shorts as he pushed his tongue past your slightly parted lips. You lifted your hips so Ethan could slide the shorts down over the curve of your ass. As soon as he got you out of them, his fingertips gently moved up your thigh.

You whimpered into his mouth as he started to rub you over your panties. He slid them to the side to rub painfully slow circles against your needy bundle of nerves. He knew what he was doing, but he couldn’t help it. He loved teasing you until you were begging him to fuck you.

“Ethannn,” you whined once he pulled away to catch his breath. “Move your fingers faster.”

He smirked at the pouty look playing on your lips as he barely changed up his pace. It was almost unnoticeable, as you gave him a ‘Really?’ look.

“Oh, you want more?” he asked, his fingers quickly rubbing against your clit. “Is this what you need?”

“Yes,” you moaned, as he started to laugh and slow his fingers. You whined in protest as he almost came to a stop. You were starting to get a little frustrated, especially after you’d thought about Ethan taking care of you in the way you needed him to the entire evening. “I thought you were going to show me who I belong to?”

His smirk dropped and his eyes got so dark at your question. You weren’t trying to piss him off, but you felt like you did as he stared at you.

“Don’t be a brat,” he warned, “I do so much for you.”

“I’m sorry, babe. I know you do,” as he scooted down the bed and looked at you from in between your thighs.

“You don’t know the half of it,” he said, before he leaned forward, his tongue licking stripes up your clit.

Your hands went to his hair as his tongue skillfully moved against you, but you still needed more. He already knew that, but he wanted you to ask him for it. You stayed quiet, not wanting to make him mad like you did before. Your bottom lip was in between your teeth as you tried to hold your sounds in, because you didn’t want anyone to hear you. Ethan loved it when you were loud, but you didn’t want him to get caught in your dorm again.

He wasn’t satisfied with your silence, a low moan slipping past your lips once he sucked your clit into his mouth and started to move his head from side to side.

“Unf, fuck,” you whimpered, your hips lifting off the bed as he fought to hold them down. “Please use your fingers.”

He slid his middle and ring finger into your dripping pussy with ease as he kept sucking on your clit. He curved his fingers just right, your legs involuntarily twitching at the feeling. Once he sucked even harder, you felt your orgasm building.

“I’m close,” you whined, as his fingers pressed harder against that spongy spot inside of you.

His eyes connected with yours as your moans kept getting louder, the feeling in the pit of your stomach getting stronger and stronger as he brought you closer to the edge. Your hands were tugging on his hair as you started to move your hips with his fingers until your entire body started to shake. He watched you fall apart as that feeling finally washed over you, your breathing shaky as you whimpered his name.

He slowed his fingers as you started to come down from your high and switched from sucking your clit to gentle licks. Once you started to pull your hips away from the slight overstimulation, he removed his fingers and sat up to look at you.

“You’re mine, right?” he joked, as you stared at him through your post-orgasm haze.

“I think so…I need you to fuck me so I can be sure,” you said, teasing him as he glared at you.

“Be careful what you ask for,” he said, sliding off the side of your bed to take his jeans and boxers off. He walked over to your bedside table and grabbed a condom before he crawled back on the bed with you.

He grabbed one of the extra pillows from beside your head and placed it under you as you lifted your hips for him. Once he slid inside of you, he gave you time to adjust to his size as he leaned down to kiss you. His tongue glided across your bottom lip as you let him deepen the kiss, but you were starting to squirm underneath him.

He started off with slow, deep thrusts. The tip of his cock was brushing against your g-spot as he caught all your moans with his mouth. Your nails ran over his back as he fucked you at a slow pace, but you were craving more. Your legs wrapped around him so he could go even deeper, but he knew what you really needed.

He pulled away to look at you as he rested on his knees, still thrusting into your soaked core.

“Are you mine?” he growled, as you nodded. “You better fucking say it.”

“Mmm, shit. I’m all yours,” you said, as he quickly sped up. His cock was slamming into you so hard that the sounds of his skin slapping against yours, along with the loud moans flooding out of your mouth, were bouncing off the walls.

His brows were furrowed as he concentrated on keeping his pace, his cheeks a rosy pink as he tried to keep his breathing as steady as he could.

You snaked your hand down to your clit, before he swatted it away and replaced it with his thumb. He was rolling circles over it, the pressure making you whimper.

Grunts were slipping past his lips as he started to drill into your g-spot even harder, your shaky hands gripping the comforter to brace yourself for your orgasm.

He knew that if the sounds already coming from your room weren’t loud enough for anyone else to hear, the sounds you were about to make definitely would be. He placed his hand over your mouth, your eyes wide as your eyebrows knitted together.

Your pussy started to flutter as you let out a loud cry against the palm of his hand, your entire body bucking as he tried to fuck you through it.

Your chest was heaving as your body started to relax, but he still kept his hand in place just in case you couldn’t be quiet as he chased his own orgasm. It didn’t take long for his hips to stutter.

“Aahh fuck,” he moaned out as he pulled his hand away from your mouth, his head falling forward as he gave a few more week thrusts, his cum filling the tip of the condom. He slid out of you and flopped on his back as he tried to catch his breath.

“Holy shit,” you mumbled, as he turned his head to look at you. You looked like you could fall asleep in that moment, so he got up to take the condom off, and grabbed your panties and his boxers off the floor.

“Let me help you, baby,” he said, as he slid your panties back up your legs and over your hips. He slid his boxers back on before crawling in bed beside you and pulling you closer.

You moved your head to his chest, and he heard your breathing slow as he drew patterns on your back with his fingertips.

“I love you, babe,” he said, placing a kiss to the top of your head.

“Love you, too,” you said softly, as you started to drift off.

The next morning, you woke up to the sound of your phone vibrating against the nightstand. You lifted your head off Ethan’s chest as he started to wake up, a sweet smile on his lips as his eyes stayed closed.

“Oh shit,” you said, grabbing your phone. Ethan’s eyes opened as you glanced over to him, your phone still vibrating in your hands. “It’s work.”

You hesitantly answered it, a nervous “Hello?” slipping past your lips. Your eyes went wide as you listened to your manager speak, your hand covering your mouth as you tried to process everything you were being told. Ethan was trying so hard to hold in his smile over the horrible crime he committed, but he’d do anything for you. He had no shame in that.

Once you hung up with your manager, you turned to Ethan, your eyes still wide as you tried to put into words what you were told.

“So uh, the coffee shop is a crime scene right now,” you said, as Ethan looked at you, fake confusion painted on his face.

“What do you mean?” he questioned, as your words got stuck in your throat. “Talk to me, baby.”

“Logan was murdered last night after everyone left,” you said, the shock fully hitting you once the words left your mouth. “Oh my god. That’s fucking crazy.”

“Yeah…I’m just happy you weren’t there,” Ethan said, as you nodded.

“Me too…I wonder what happened,” you said, as he shrugged.

“We’ll probably know something soon,” he said, as he started to laugh a little. You didn’t think it was very funny, your questioning look letting him know he needed to explain himself. “It’s not funny, but I guess you aren’t getting fired, after all. He was a scummy person…now he can’t treat anyone else the way he treated you.”

“That’s true,” you sighed as you laid your head back on Ethan’s chest.

[welcometowhore-rrorville]

I AM LIVING FOR YOUR SLASHER HEADCANONS, esp the last post!! but i have a question: what do you think michael would do if the next time he wants to fuck, they’re like “nope, don’t want to, you didn’t make me cum” and is generally just provoking him and saying shit like “i can just find someone that CAN satisfy me” and other dumb shit. would he not care?? get jealous? knife through the door?? so many possibilities

Thank you thank you!!! <3

𝒞𝒶𝓇𝑒𝒻𝓊𝓁 𝒲𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝒴𝑜𝓊 𝒲𝒾𝓈𝒽 𝐹𝑜𝓇

Featuring: Michael Myers

Word Count: 2k

Warnings: oral sex, fingering, rough sex, overstimulation, general nsfw things, mdni, i got carried away, unedited because I didn't think i'd write this much

As for your question(s):

I think it definitely depends on how long you've known him. The only way he'd give a flying fuck about what you think is if he was down bad. Especially if we're talking about the OG Michael. RZ Michael is easier to convince to actually give a shit what you want in bed, but it's still not a priority for him. Still, there are certain personality traits you can exploit to get what you want. . .

-

When you first brought up that you were unsatisfied in bed, it was a very soft comment after he was done and zipping his jumpsuit back up.

"I didn't even cum. . ." you mumbled, staring at your bare abdomen and leaking cunt. It was all him. You didn't even have the chance to pleasure yourself; it was too difficult with him constantly flipping you over and manhandling you. Your body was sore and bruised, but you laid there, discontent.

You moved your gaze to look at his masked face. Judging by the way he stopped his movements, he'd heard you. You bit your lip, turning your eyes away and down to your hands which fiddled with each other. You knew he didn't care, but it would be nice if he did.

"Just get out, okay?" you spoke, embarrassed and a little angry. "I'll just get myself off since you can't seem to do it."

Your tone had him walking around to the side of the bed, grabbing his discarded knife from the nightstand. You flinched, but didn't bother to run. If he wanted to kill you, he would have already.

Just as you figured, he turned back around, trudging out of your bedroom with the blade in his grip. You rolled your eyes. You were half tempted to call up and old friend of yours for a night, but realized that might end in bloodshed. Michael was much too possessive for that.

Suddenly, an idea crossed your mind. You knew Michael was selfish, but he also always had something to prove. He wanted to, no, needed to be the best at everything. Nobody could escape, outrun, or hide from him, and he knew that. So what if. . .

It was a few days later when he came back, heavy footsteps on your porch alerting you. Still, you pretended not to notice, phone up to your ear as you chatted. You were leaned against the kitchen counter, occasionally popping some popcorn into your mouth.

The door to your house creaked open before shutting again. You paid no mind.

"Go out? Ha," you spoke, fingers moving around a stray popcorn kernel absentmindedly. "If I want to get drunk, I'll do it in my own home, thank you very much."

At this point, he was looming in the kitchen doorway, but you didn't even bother with a glance.

"Oh, go out to meet someone, huh? Yeah, I guess that would be nice. . . I mean sure, there's a guy that stops by, but I'd be lying if I said I was satisfied." You leaned against your fridge, his massive form still lingering just a few feet away.

"It's just. . . other people I've been with have gotten me off four, five times a night, but this guy? Not once. Yeah. You heard me. Not once."

You made sure to emphasize that last phrase. You knew the dangerous game you were playing, but you didn't care. "Talk to him? Girl, I've tried. He's like a brick wall. Doesn't even say goodbye. As soon as he's done he's out the door. Rude? Tell me about it. Sure, I've had better, but he always keeps crawling back looking like a kicked puppy. I just kind of feel sorry for him."

You didn't have time to speak again before the phone was ripped from your grasp and tossed carelessly across the kitchen, plastic pieces shattering across the tile.

One hand wrapped around your throat while the other rested just beside your head, almost denting your poor fridge with the force. The choke was painful but not deadly, and you locked eyes with the culprit, staring intently.

He pulled you against him before slamming you back against the fridge, and you winced at the sudden force. "What's wrong with you?" you sputtered out, your hands trying to fight the grip on your throat.

He glanced at the destroyed phone, and you had to stifle a smirk from appearing on your lips.

With another slam, he finally released his hand from your neck, and you took in a few shaky breaths. Still, he loomed close enough to leave you pressed against him.

"You're angry," you spoke, rubbing the marks forming on your neck. "I assumed Michael Myers never got angry."

He looked to the shattered telephone again before looking back at you. He wanted an explanation.

"What do you want me to say? It's true. And I'm pissed about it. All you ever do is use me then leave. I haven't had a proper orgasm in weeks!" You pushed your hands against his chest angrily, but he didn't budge. "I know you're not a good man, but it still isn't fair. I can't even call anyone because you'll have a knife through their neck before they can get their pants off."

He let out a breath, both hands finding purchase on your hips. "Now's not the time," you huffed, moving to push his hands away. His grip tightened. You headbutted his chest, forehead resting against the rough material of his jumpsuit. How could he be raring to go at a time like this? "Unless you've got anything planned for me tonight, I'm not interested."

He didn't falter. You looked back up to try and read his face through his mask. It did not work. You could tell he was. . . different than usual, but he was probably still pissed off from your words over the phone.

His fingers nestled behind the waistband of your shorts, and in one fell swoop they dropped to the floor. You stayed silent. He never had the decency to take your clothes off. It was always ripped or sliced, and there was never any time taken. Hell, he'd never taken your shorts off without your underwear going with.

You stifled a laugh. Was he actually. . . trying?

He slid a knee between your thighs, pinning you. One hand explored your upper half, sliding under your shirt until he hit your bra. His other hand travelled downwards, slipping underneath your panties. You felt a rough digit slide against your clit and let out a sudden breath. Quickly, he backtracked, moving back up until he found that same spot.

You had to bite your lip to prevent a gasp from leaving it. You couldn't remember the last time you'd been stimulated there. It was suddenly all too-sensitive.

Two fingers caught the small nub, and you had to grip his shoulders to prevent yourself from falling. The digits toyed with it, squeezing and brushing like he was testing something. Your forehead pressed against his chest as heavy breaths left you.

One hand worked at massaging your chest, running a thumb against your nipple, while the other played with your clit harshly. You didn't expect him to be gentle in the slightest, but it still had you shimmying your hips in discomfort. It's not that you weren't aroused, and in fact, you were all too turned on. He'd never shown any interest in any part of you besides your cunt and mouth, and even then it was only to slide his dick into. This? This was all new. This feeling of rough hands overtaking your body, touching your skin, pleasuring you for the first time. . .

You pushed your hips forwards, trying to gain friction. With any luck, you could actually get off tonight.

Suddenly, all hands were off of you and he stepped back, tilting his head.

You rushed to hold yourself up, knees wobbly. You shot daggers at him, eyes burning. He stopped. Why the fuck did he stop?

He stared at you, waiting for something. You crossed your arms over your chest, looking as put-together as you could with wetness creeping down your thighs and shorts discarded on the floor.

"I'm not apologizing, if that's what you want," you muttered. "Congratulations, you found the clit. Took you long enough. You'll have to work a little harder if you're looking to clear your name."

In a flash, he had you hauled over his shoulder, and you let out a gasp of surprise. You could only sigh as he took you to your destination.

You were dropped onto your bed, legs dangling off the front as he pushed you down into the mattress. You cocked a brow.

In an event you'd never thought would happen, he kneeled down in front of you, hands spreading your thighs apart. Was this a dream? You were in shock. There's no way he was going to. . .

You were pulled out of your thoughts when your panties were slid down your legs and tossed aside. It didn't take long before one hand was back between your legs, rubbing your clit as the other pressed against your stomach to keep you in place. You couldn't move your thighs which were locked apart, blocked by his shoulders.

You couldn't sit up with the way he had you pinned, and so stared at the ceiling, hands gripping the sheets.

A new sensation startled you, and you tried desperately to sit up enough to see, but it was no use.

It was his tongue, dragging up your folds until he reached your clit. He took the nub in his mouth, and you had to slap a hand over your mouth to prevent the noise that threatened to come out.

That old and familiar feeling built within you, like a spring coiling and coiling, ready to snap. Your mind went blank as a tension built within you. It was like everything but your cunt was numb. There, feeling was in overdrive. Every swipe of his tongue, every prod of his fingers inside of you, swiping forward to push against your favorite spot: it was too much.

You came with a breathless gasp, back arched as your hands dug into the sheets. Even without seeing, you knew your cunt was a mess. You could feel your cum seeping out. You could smell the scent of sex in the room. Your thighs shook, pussy clenching around nothing.

You expected him to pull back, but instead you felt his tongue licking at your cunt, swiping up any spill into his mouth. You let out a whine as he prodded inside, tongue lapping up your wetness.

Digits were back to circling your clit, and you moaned, still much too sensitive. Despite this, he had no intentions of stopping, instead switching out his fingers for his mouth as he thrust a finger inside of you. You had no time to process before another joined the first. Your head pressed desperately against your bedsheets.

"Slow down," you gasped, voice shaking. He didn't heed your words, and in fact, sped up the way his fingers pushed in and out of you. You whined. The tension was already back and ready to snap within you.

"Michael," you cried, eyes clenched shut. "Please!" You weren't sure what you were pleading for.

You came again, more violently than the last. Over and over your cunt pulsed, leaking your cum to pool at your enterance, only to be pushed back in with the shove of his fingers.

"Okay! Okay! You win!" you panted, wiping the sweat from your face.

When he still showed no signs of letting up, all you could do was let out a weak groan. You got what you desired, you supposed. But it seemed he found something he liked as well.

All this because you decided to talk a little shit about him. You didn't dare tell him there was nobody on the other line.

[greenfiend]

The Significance of Lover’s Lake and Byler (Theory) Part 2

Sequel to this post

(Warning: mentions of sex and drugs)

Okay so first of all, if you haven’t seen my previous post on my theory involving Lovers Lake and Byler, please read it first. I go over my theory and predictions for Byler and the heart shaped lake. This is a secondary post to it, outlining some VERY interesting details involving the owner of the lakeside house, the lakeside house itself, and all the romantic and sexual elements present. I’m saving the best for last here.

Let’s start with the owner of the lakeside house.

Reefer Rick

So I recently made a silly post arguing that the most queer coded character in Stranger Things is not Mike nor Will (nor Robin, Henry, Eddie etc), and I stand by this statement. The most queer coded character is: Reefer Rick. Now, I know we never see the guy, but literally all the information we have on him is either queer coding or drug references.

Synonyms of his name are literally f*g Dick, with a shared last name with the famous tea company founder who so happens to have been a homosexual: Lipton.

We know he doesn’t have a family, thus he’s a single man who occasionally has his buddy/fellow dealer Eddie stay over. Hm, not very heterosexual of him.

Then we have his movie list.

Now, as many of us know, the movie “Fast Times” is used within Stranger Things as a way to gage if someone is attracted to women or not. We have Steve, Dustin, Lucas, and Vickie all confirmed to have enjoyed this movie… specifically for that shot at 53 minutes and 5 seconds. Sure, Reefer Rick rented the film, but why is it the only movie he rented that was returned on time? For context, he’s the only character who had films listed as “late” returns. So, he obviously enjoyed Cheech & Chong a lot more. Two guys doing drugs is more interesting to him than a sexy lady. Okay, noted.

Now, how is he perceived by the people of Hawkins?

Oooof. Okay. He’s not well liked it seems. He apparently is causing some fear and anger amongst the Hawkins residents. Kind of similar of a reaction these people would have towards an openly gay man during the 1980s.

Also I have to include @/conflictofthemind ‘s excellent point that injectable drug use and unprotected sex (specifically between two men) were both commonly associated with HIV/AIDS… a major epidemic during the 80s and a major subtextual theme within the show.

Now, where’s this guy live while outside of jail?

I don’t blame the guy for “hiding” when the town is not too fond of him. Of course he is a drug dealer so there’s that as well. But interesting they used the word “hide”, which has been associated with queerness within the show already (plus this line was said by Robin (featured in the middle of the shot!!!) who is queer herself).

(Both of these screenshots are from 1x02 interestingly enough.)

Wouldn’t it make sense for these two “hiders” to hide out in “a perfect place to hide” together? Seeking refuge in a fellow gay man’s secluded house?

I will say it’s also worth noting that he does not have any women featured on the walls within his house. Also, he has a phallic shaped bong (we’ll get back to that soon).

Phew okay so that’s Reefer Rick. Are you still with me? Hopefully I didn’t bore any of you with this. I promise you this all leads back to Byler.

So, moving on to his house.

So as @/therainscene kindly pointed out, this poster with the smiley face can be related to rave culture and ecstasy in the 1980s. So a drug reference, in a drug dealer’s house… shocker I know. But I gotta say, ecstasy is also a term often related to sex. I also have to add this little tidbit from one of our favourite directors of Stranger Things, Shawn Levy. Keep in mind, he knows what’ll happen in the next season… and he’s directing episodes after 3 and 4…

Interesting word choice, no?

So, back to the symbolism within (and near) the house.

Let’s talk about the phallic symbolism that appears in pairs in these shots. It’s a choice, isn’t it? With two males in each shot. We know the Duffers love details and foreshadowing… I doubt it’s a coincidence. Also, anyone else notice that phone in the background? Just had to mention it, since our boys are frequently associated with phones and calls.

Then, of course, I gotta bring back this shot.

The bed. Blue meets yellow. You know it! We all heard it a thousand times by now. Let’s look at what else is in the shot. A closed closet. Another reference to our boys. To the right, you’ll see a toilet paper roll. Now, if you have a brother, you might see the same thing in his room. Sure it can be used as a tissue for your nose but let’s just say there’s usually another use for it. I’ll call it “self love”. So, basically, another sexual reference.

To sum up this house: lake/water, drugs, and ecstasy/smiley face. Now, let’s go back to a scene featuring our boys with all these elements in the background.

Makes you wonder doesn’t it?

I must also point out the “Paris” poster in the background. City of love, anyone? Plus the fireworks. They’re really trying to tell us something here.

Also, @/foodiewithdahoodie pointed out how Paris specifically was one of the first places to decriminalize sodomy.

You know, I also wouldn’t rule out every aspect of Murray’s prediction here.

Shout out to the Hylers out there!

Perhaps after a lot of stressful days of fighting interdimentional demons, these boys want to wind down and de-stress in their hiding spot. I can see Reefer Rick as a fellow Nintendo player, leaving his console behind, as well as his weed, for our boys to use. I also wouldn't be surprised if Eddie left a few of his beers behind. I mean… Murray has a pretty good track record for predictions. This would also really double down on the message that Mike and Will “aren’t kids anymore.”

Also, wouldn’t it be fun to look back at Murray’s predictions and realize that they’ve all come to be?

Okay, now let’s finally get to the romance elements!

First thing I want to start with is this shot:

So… they had to show us a mailbox, didn’t they? With that name “Lipton” which as I mentioned in my previous post… is associated with Thomas Lipton who had a lover named William Love.

1 point for #lettergate

And…

“Hope Our Love Lives/Lasts And Never Dies”

WWII solders used the acronym H.O.L.L.A.N.D. to convey a love message in a letter. The whole love letters association with Mike and Will never end, do they?

2 points for #lettergate!

As for the “2121”, I think it’s possible that it’s referencing multiple things… number references are tricky like that in my opinion. But I will say that @/thestrangestthing89 brought up the fact that “2121” could be a reference to “Twin Flames” which is yet another reference to romance.

Continuing on with the romance…

Let’s return back to the scene where Reefer Rick is first mentioned. After Max mentioned him, we are cut to Steve talking about a movie.

A movie filled with action and romance, you say?

So… Doctor Zhivago.

Basically a tale of two people in love during a difficult time (Russian Revolution) being separated, with other people, then finally reunited. Not completely unlike our boys. Notice how the “adult” sign is noticeable in the background. Not kids anymore.

He mentions action, which I’m sure there will be some of as well at the famous lake.

Okay enough with the silly details, let’s stop and look at the bigger picture.

Our beloved lake. Look how gorgeous it truly is. Plus the fact that it’s a literal heart? You can’t get more “on the nose” than that.

Now, who else is known as a heart? (Tough question I know…)

This boy is, without a doubt, narratively tied to the lake. He is “the heart”… he is THE LAKE (symbolically).

Thank you to @/everaster for bringing attention to the fact that after Mike was pushed to deliver that monologue to El by Will, Max “died”, then the gates opened WIDE. One of those gates, as we know, is located within Lover’s Lake… known was “watergate” (term coined by Dustin).

So, as of now in this story… Lover’s Lake is literally broken in two. A broken heart in need of mending.

Who better to accomplish that task than the boy who has known him for a decade and loves him completely and selflessly?

💌📬❤️‍🩹

Hope you enjoyed these posts as much as I enjoyed making them! It’s honestly so much fun looking for evidence and finding such interesting stuff. Some of it may be reaching, and that’s okay because it’s all in good fun! That’s what fandoms are all about.

The level of attention to detail in this show never ceases to amaze me! There’s so much depth and clues to look for and play around with. I hope to have sparked some inspiration and creativity for some people! 💛💙💚

As always, would love to know your thoughts!

[psuedosugu]

just thinking about vox w/ a famous singer! reader…

cw: themes of stalking and heavy manipulation

gender neutral

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅

✮₊ ⊹ || you guys probably met through velvette, she started helping you shoot music videos and things of the sort once your popularity started skyrocketing.

✮₊ ⊹ || and your popularity really did skyrocket, think ice spice.

✮₊ ⊹ || it started with him sponsoring you, asking you to include some voxtech products in one of your music videos.

✮₊ ⊹ || then, he had you on his talk show.

✮₊ ⊹ || after a while, vox started having an interest in you far past business relations.

✮₊ ⊹ || he started stalking you, not just your public socials but even pictures on your camera roll.

✮₊ ⊹ || we see in ep 2 that he can look through tvs and control what they show so im js assuming its the same for all electronic devices.

✮₊ ⊹ || he would watch you through your phone and tv, “just to keep them safe,” he said to himself.

✮₊ ⊹ || you two had more and more partnerships, more and more collaborations, perhaps even your own ‘keeping up with the kardashians’ type tv show.

✮₊ ⊹ || the pubic started speculating on you two’s relations and vox felt a strange sense of happiness and pride in his chest when he saw a post online shipping you two together.

✮₊ ⊹ || val definitely knew what was going on, subtly teasing vox about it every chance he got.

“if you put nearly as much effort as you do ogling at [name] into what we’re trying to do here, imagine the things we could accomplish.”

“wh- i don’t- shut the FUCK up.”

✮₊ ⊹ || vox made subtle moves at you, occasionally flirting with you, it didn’t matter if you flirted back or not, he kept going.

✮₊ ⊹ || flirting escalated to small touches to ur thighs and waist.

✮₊ ⊹ || he slowly coaxed you into a relationship, pretty much lovebombing you, buying you expensive things that you didn’t even need since you were rich already, writing you poems, taking you out on “dates”, ect.

✮₊ ⊹ || he could switch up fast, though, get angry and lash out at you verbally and maybe even slightly physically.

✮₊ ⊹ || he always made sure to apologize after, though, to put the bandaid on the broken bone.

✮₊ ⊹ || you went along with it at first because 1. being seen with him did improve your reputation, 2. he was a strong overlord, it would be hard to escape him, and 3. you genuinely did like him to an extent.

✮₊ ⊹ || he was pushing you into a box, leaving you no options.

✮₊ ⊹ || if you did attempt to leave or even show any sign of wanting to leave him, that would be when the hypnotization began.

✮₊ ⊹ || he didn’t want to do this, he wanted you guys’ relationship to come naturally, but you had practically forced the dude!

✮₊ ⊹ || you weren’t fully under his control, just enough so you wouldn’t leave. you wouldn’t want to leave.

✮₊ ⊹ || you were his trophy, his prize, his, his, his, he almost didn’t even see you as a person.

✮₊ ⊹ || eventually he started presenting you to the public as his too, and its not like you could refuse.

✮₊ ⊹ || you loved him, despite that doubtful feeling in the back of your mind, you loved him.

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅

i do requests!

check out my masterlist!

[backwardsbread]

Your “Hazbin Hotel Characters Forgetting an Anniversary” has become a comfort post of mine. You did such a good job with it and did amazing in capturing their personalities as well!

I was wondering if I could request an Adam fic? Like one where he realizes that he actually cares about reader, but he goes about showing that in the strangest ways? He may be a massive obnoxious jerk in the show, but he somehow made his way to being a favorite of mine in the show.

My heart- opening my inbox and seeing this made my day-

I’ve also been obsessing over Adam fics lately so seeing something with Adam get requested made me SO happy! I am happy to oblige~!

Adam x Gn!Angel!Reader

~Feelings are Fucked~

Warnings‼️: Adam being Adam, mutual pining, swearing, maybe OOC?

~Not proofread~

Listen. I don’t gotta tell you that Adam is always up his own ass.

Dude is OBSESSED with himself.

He would be the type of guy to be like;

“Oh yeah, have you heard of the BIBLE?? I’m kinda in it, no big deal.”

He’s on his own mind 99.9% of the time. His needs, wants, desires.

He’s so Self centered it’s not even funny-

So IMAGINE how he feels when you start to pick your way into his thoughts. And he has no idea why.

(Obviously Adam was the superior being, why should you have all people be on his mind??)

It’s easy for him to brush away these random thoughts of you. He could easily distract himself with material things to get his mind off the topic.

Eventually when distractions stop working, he feels like he’s going crazy.

He’s got a lot of things to do in Heaven, yet you feel like the most important ones to him.

I can see Adam being a huge flirt in the beginning. If he can get you to fall for him as hard as he has for you, he’ll consider it a win.

But he doesn’t really realize how much of a dick he comes off as. He absolutely makes a fool of himself majority of the time.

Gives the vibe of him saying something lowkey offensive while laughing and you just staring at him blankly and asked ‘What’s so funny?’

It’s frustrating for him how he can’t seem to get to you.

He doesn’t ask for advice from anybody, but I can definitely see Lute giving her 2 cents while Adam is ranting about how ‘annoying’ you are.

Her biggest piece of advice being for him to just stfu sometimes and actually listen to you.

Adam will never admit how much that actually helped him, it seemed like such a simple solution that he just hadn’t been doing.

So instead of being this overbearing flirt, he’ll just listen to you talk, occasionally chiming in with his own banter. Through this he learns a lot more about you.

And he makes an effort to show you he’s been listening.

You mention your favorite candy? He grabs some for you whenever he’s out getting snacks.

You mention a favorite scent of yours? Suddenly his whole house smells like it whenever you come over.

Got a favorite flower? He just so happened to see some at the garden and brings you one.

Of course he makes sure to follow up his kind gestures with a flirty or snarky remark. Trying to be this big tough guy despite how sweet he’s being to you.

He doesn’t realize how much of a total sap he’s being and how obvious his feelings are for you.

I can totally see Adam’s love language being gift giving and physical touch.

He’s not good with words. Never has been, never will be.

So he often shows his care for you by poking your side or cheek, resting his head or chin on your shoulder, ruffling your hair, or keeping one of his wings behind your back to make sure your close to him.

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

Adam was walking along the streets of heaven with you, ranting about how his superior Sera, was supposedly being a Karen.

In his words she ‘wouldn’t get off his dick’ about his behavior and language. You listened to Adam’s ranting, letting him express his frustrations despite how petty the situation might’ve been. You occasionally let out hums of acknowledgment and nod towards him to show you were listening.

While you’re paying attention to him, a few angels who seemed to be in a rush, nearly bump into you from behind. Adam catches a glimpse of the angels coming your guys’ way, and extends his wing out to shield you from the other angels.

He grabs your hand, bringing you closer to him while his wing wraps around your torso. He waits for the angels to pass by, giving them an extremely fake smile as they flew by. Once they were out of sight, Adam’s smile falls and he grumbles to himself, pulling his wing back to his side.

“Stupid, fucking… can’t watch where they’re going?”

He keeps your hand in his own, continuing to grumble how some angels needed to mind their business and watch where they were going. The two of you continue to walk, but Adam’s voice seems to drown out, and you can only really focus on your hand in his own.

Sure Adam had been affectionate to you many times, but never in public. It wasn’t something that bothered you either. You just felt anxious butterflies fly around your stomach, a sense of pride welling up in your chest that Adam was holding your hand. As the two of you are about to reach your destination, you finally speak up to Adam before you would have to depart from him.

“Hey, are you.. doing anything.. tomorrow evening?”

You ask, scratching the back of your neck a bit with your free hand. Warmth spreads across your face as Adam just kind of stares at you for a moment, pondering.

“Uhh, got a few boring ass meetings after noon, but otherwise, I’m chilling for the rest of the night.”

“Would you.. want to go out to dinner tomorrow? If you’re up for it.”

Your question seemed to go over Adam’s head of what your intentions were. Free food was free food, (and time spent with you was a plus)

He lets his ego take over for a bit, putting a proud hand over his chest. His grin shines across his mask, spreading from ear to ear.

“I suppose I can make some time for you. As long as I get to pick the place.”

You can’t help but chuckle, face flushing hues of pink when Adam agreed. You smile brightly, finally letting go of Adam’s hand.

“Sounds good! Let’s say around 5 or 6?”

“Don’t rush me babes, I’ll text ya when I’m headed over.”

Adam says nonchalantly, crossing his arms. Despite his attitude, you watch his eyes shift away from you, avoiding your gaze. He’s embarrassed and you can tell by how his guard started to come back up. You had learned these little telltale signs Adam had. You chuckle, simply waving to Adam, wishing him good luck on his meeting and telling him you’ll see him tomorrow.

Adam smiles genuinely, giving a small wave back, before turning towards the large angelic building to head inside. Lute was waiting by the door for him and she just so happened to hear your guys’ little exchange. Adam’s whistling to himself, his heart beating fast in his chest but he can’t put his finger on the exact reason as to why.

Lute looks towards him, raising a suspicious brow. She sighs seeing how Adam was oblivious to what he had just agreed to. While holding the door open for Adam to enter the building, she speaks.

“You know they just asked you on a date, right?”

Adam’s whistling comes to a complete stop, his body freezing where he stood. Lute glances up at him, pressing her lips together so she doesn’t laugh at Adam’s look of shock.

“They fuckin’ what??”

[devilmademewriteit]

Dark Paradise

part 3 of Salvatore

read part 1, Salvatore, here

read part 2, Playing Dangerous, here

pairing: javier peña x afab!fem!reader

summary: left alone in javi’s bed, you go looking for distractions. finding them only leads you further into his world: a world of danger and violence, where no one can protect anyone.

warnings: rough sex/smut (fingering, fem penetration, super SUPER light choking) so 18+ only content; pet names (cariño, hermosa, querida, sweetheart, baby) afab fem reader; reader is American; mentions of hair pulling; allusions to SA; attempted SA against reader (not by javi); violence against reader (hitting, slapping, manhandling); smoking; dubcon (power imbalance, trauma sex??).

word count: 7k+

no use of y/n in this fic

u guys. it is here. and the most exciting part is I can already promise u a part 4!! pls be mindful that this part is darker than the rest. it has many triggering themes, so many sure u read the warnings & stay on the safe side of things.

as always, love u all so effing much. feedback, reblogs, comments & asks are always appreciated, & don’t forget to join the taglist in my pinned post !

-em<3

—

No one compares to you. I’m scared that you won’t be waiting on the other side.

- Dark Paradise

“Girl, where did you go?”

You’re on the landline with Carrie, one of the few half-friends you'd made living in Medellín, thighs sore and bruised from the backseat-loving you’d received the night before. While Javi’s at work, you’re on (his words) 'house arrest,' and lounging alone in his apartment feels eerily quiet. The occasional car drives by—you try not to listen for the sound of scraping tires.

So, around 9:30, you’d decided to fill the silent space with a bit of vapid conversation, realizing that last night's antics (and your unexplained disappearance) may have caused a bit of confusion.

You start by filling Carrie in on the generalities: the guns, the car, and the rescue, at first planning to leave out the more… personal details.

Like the one you'd filed away under 'Riding a Cop to High Heaven in the Backseat of his Jeep.'

You also leave out the part where, afterwards, you’d kicked off your heels by his front door, let down your hair in a sloppy, half-drunk movement, made a beeline to the familiar crinkles and folds of his unmade bed, and swiftly passed out in his embrace.

Oh, to fall asleep between those arms for the rest of eternity.

Given your more cynical—okay, borderline self-denying—approach to life, you felt downright ashamed of how much you’d enjoyed it. How much you’d enjoyed him and all of his lasting touches.

And in the morning… Javi’s hardness biting into your hip was a more efficient wake-up-call than the trial nuke sirens back home; the soft kisses laid down the length of your neck and the long, lazy fingers creeping down your abdomen had you surging to consciousness with embarrassing speed. You’d shivered into wakefulness, flattened against his chest.

“Good morning, cariño.” His words were molasses, melted caramel, thick and damp with sleep.  

“Hmmmh,” was your only reply, sloping into your highest octaves as his hand sank to push aside your already-ruined underwear, dipping lower to toy with the switch only he knew how to turn on best. Arching into his spine, last night’s dress crumpled up above your waist, leaving him to feel more, more, more of you.  

“Thought it would take more convincing,” he breathed against your shoulder, a breeze of late august air.

“Wh’time z’it?”  

“We have time, cariño, we have time.”

When his digits pulled a moan from your lips, no other answers really mattered. He’d loosed that deep, guttural rumble of approval that made your chest swell with pride, your legs part in service and need.  

“Can you hold this leg up for me, baby? S’all you need to do.” He’d helped fold up your knee, and you’d turned to meet him with pleading, drooping eyes, dutifully contorting to mold into the shape of his body. “Perfect, baby, good job,” a rough kiss to your temple, “n’I can do the rest, hermosa—I’ll do the rest.”  

He slid in effortlessly, harmonizing to your sigh of relief with a “shit, s’wet,” and sheathing his cock between the folds of your morning slick. Brows furrowing, mouth falling open, you had every detail of your bliss etched on your expression, all for the beautiful man looming over you. “Always fuckin’ askin’ for it, huh, sweetheart?” He'd mused. “Woke me up moanin’ in your sleep, cariño—dreamin’ about last night?”  

An “mhmm,” was all you could muster. Javi’s hips rolled against your ass, and the resulting feeling of overwhelming fullness had you swearing you were still in reverie. When he paused, snaked his arms under your neck and around your waist, and pulled you flush against his chest, you remember it feeling like a dirty, desperate hug.  

“M’sore, Javi,” you’d whined at the stretch of your opening, the continued drag of Javi’s fingers against your aching, weary clit.  

“S’no excuse, baby,” he’d grumbled into the shell of your ear, pressing hard into that tender bundle of nerves. “Gotta get you used to it.”

A harrumph as he’d turned up the intensity, punishing you for your protests. “Y-you’re a mean-mean man, Javier Peña.”

Soft, gravelly laughter danced, twirled, traveled along the dip of your neck. “‘N you’re gonna come so hard for this mean, mean man.”  

He was right, bringing you to the brink of orgasm with the thick, rough pads of his fingertips, the tip of his cock sliding up and down, over and over, in and out of your guts.  

“Yeah—yes—m’gonna come for you, Javi,” you’d admitted.  

But he’d stolen his magical digits away, used them to turn your jaw, to square your face off with his own concentrated, lust-filled expression. “Show me cariño, yes—gonna be picturin’ that pretty lil’ face aaaaall fuckin’ day,” and you’d tumbled over the edge the moment he’d slid back down to the apex of your thighs, drowning in the darkness of his cinnamon-brown irises and the tantalizing circles—drawn from memory—against your clit.  

“J-javi—it feels—feels s-so good—”  

“I know, hermosa, s’just what you needed, fuck—”

He was already close enough, but your climaxing trembles and your whining, choked gasps had him wrapping his hand around your throat, pushing you further and further down the length of his tensing shaft.  

“Shit—you feel like heaven, baby, so good for me—”  

His release came fast and hard, leaking his hot spend into you, painting your insides like brushstrokes on canvas with his final thrust.  

He seemed to lay there for forever, softening between your walls as sweet slumber carried you off once more. “Go back to sleep, baby,” he’d advised against your shoulder (as if you’d needed any kind of encouragement), “Did such a good job; go back to sleep.”  

It was easy to accede to his command.  

You’d come to for a half-second as he’d placed, fully dressed, the clink of his belt and the crisp waft of his cologne rousing you to near-consciousness, a deliberate, lingering kiss to your forehead. “Don’t answer the door for anyone else, okay, hermosa?”

“Huh? Oh—mhm.”

And you’d vaguely registered a low laugh. “Good to know you’re so well behaved when you’re half-asleep.” His finger traced your cheekbone, dragged down to pull teasingly at your bottom lip. “Means I’ll have to keep fuckin’ you to the point of exhaustion.”

“Mhm—please." Squished and mumbled, guttural and breathless.  

Another soft laugh, and then echoes of receding footsteps.  

Waking up a few hours later, you’d peeled your sticky thighs apart, confused at first by the mysterious pool of wetness between your legs.

You didn’t bother cleaning it up, already feeling the loss of your DEA officer. You somehow chose to dial Carrie's number to kill some time on your day off (or else, you feared, you’d have quickly found another use for your bored fingers).

Being alone in his room leaves you feeling very young. Lying in his bed, thinking about the past night’s events… you feel giddy, like a highschool girl after her first time, and anxious, on edge without Javier’s protection.

You just want to gush about it.

“Do you remember that DEA agent? The Texan?”

You barely have time to finish your thought before Carrie’s cutting your question short.

“Sexy Javi?”

She giggles. You snort indelicately into the receiver.

“I never called him that.”

“You didn’t have to,” she returns. “I deduced it from the amount of times you ranted to me about his… callers.”

You fiddle with the telephone chord, smiling artfully to yourself. “I’m in his bed right now.”

There’s a slap. No doubt the sound of a hand clapping over a set of slack lips. And then—

“I thought he lived outside the city?!”

It’s a strange reaction. You’d expected something a bit more on-topic, confused at your friend’s preoccupation with Peña’s living quarters when you’d just divulged such an out-of-character, personal detail.

Well, at least the enthusiasm is there.

“No, he lives right by the embassy.” You respond, rolling lazily onto your side. Opening the top drawer of his bedside table, you grimace to yourself, taking in (on top of the empty bottle of men’s cologne and an old, broken watch) a box of tissue paper, a pair of handcuffs (not regulation), a smatter of sex toys, and a few scattered, unopened condoms. “That new… fancy building on the corner,” you continue, swiping a few tissues between your legs, trying not to giggle at the teasing Javi was in for tonight, “Carrie—are you seriously not gonna ask how it was?”

There’s a pause. You hear a rustle in the background; the sound reminds you of students in class, whipping out pens and notebooks.

Is she taking notes?

“Tell. Me. Everything.”

That reaction felt more appropriate.

It all comes bursting out of you—the night out, Javi’s rescue, your backseat escapade. Carrie’s an ideal audience, gasping and ‘oooh’-ing and ‘girl!’-ing at all the right moments.

When you get to the end of your tale, your cheeks hurt from smiling so much. Carrie pries for more and more specifics, keeping you on the phone for close to an hour. You don't give her everything (did she really need an approximation of his size?) but you do make sure to remind her, often, that Javier Peña was an excellent fuck.

Finally, the conversation dies down. Sitting up, you realize just how desperately you’re in need of a shower. It wasn’t necessarily a bad thing, the smell of sex, tequila, and Javi’s day-old cologne clinging to your skin, but his place gets hot, and you hadn't anticipated the need to pack deodorant in your purse during last night's going-out prep.

Either way, Carrie's become distracted, the length between your words and her responses growing with every passing minute. You notice a Spanish conversation taking place in the background, no doubt the reason for her decreasing attentiveness.

You’re about to hang up, launching into a polite, “alright girl, I’ll let you go” when she goes back in for more.

“Is he home now?”

She blurts it out, and you're a bit taken aback. Frankly, the urgency of her tone feels a little jarring.

“Um, no,” you answer, uncertain, stretching out your vowels, “I think he went in early today.”

“Good.”

Her clipped tone continues to confuse you. It’s… not playful anymore. It’s administrative.

Commercial.

“What do you mean?”

“Oh,” a flutter of shrill laughter, “Just wanted to make sure he’s not listening in on our—”

There’s a knock at the door before she can finish. You call out just a sec! automatically, pulling on your rumpled clothes from the night before as the receiver tumbles onto the unmade bed.

It’s only once you’ve lumbered over, wiped the grogginess from your eyes, once you’ve unlocked the door and twisted the handle—it’s only once your head is covered with a thick, scratchy fabric, once the world’s gone dark and a cry of surprise is wrenched from your throat—that you recall Javi’s warning:

Don’t open the door for anyone else.  

Something else takes over. Something primal. Fight, fight, fight. Find the flesh and punish it, scramble for purchase into any detectable, softer areas. Squirm until your legs give out, 'till your knees hit the floor and the beginnings of bruises scatter across your burning skin in a plethora of vulnerable places.

But when you thrash around like that, make sure your head doesn’t hit the doorframe.

Because then? It’s lights out.

—

The first thing you notice is the smell.  

Weed and tobacco. Wet weed and tobacco. It’s not a smell you’re accustomed to (you worked for the DEA, for crying out loud). It makes your already-pounding head spin, so it takes a second before you remember that you’re not safe—you’re not at home, you’re not at Javi’s, and you’re not with Javi.

Instincts kick in. Your stomach aches with fear, lighting you up from the inside, energizing every inch of your body. You wrench, pull, struggle against the restraints suffocating your wrists, binding your hands around the back of a rickety, wooden chair. You can’t kick at anything, either. Your ankles are crossed, squished on top of each other and secured by a firm length of (what you assume to be) rope.

And then the canvas is unceremoniously yanked off of your head, taking a few hairs from your scalp along with it.

You squint, blinking into the dim light, slowly adjusting to your surroundings: some sort of musty basement with concrete walls and floors, decorated by nothing except a couple of small, rectangular windows near the too-high ceilings. It’s completely empty—save for your company.

One, two, three strangers. All men. All Cartel, by the looks of them.

And all positively leering.  

The one nearest you, holding the bag in his hands, speaks down to you. It’s quick and harsh, mocking and cruel. Spanish and unintelligible.

Your hatred towards the captor blinds you; it coaxes the animal out of its cage. You spit: “I don’t speak Spanish, motherfucker.”

(Even if you did, the adrenaline coursing through your veins wouldn’t allow you much room for comprehension).

From the shadows, another man appears. He lumbers over to you, and you notice the peculiarity of his European-looking hat as he squats down to level with you.

He clicks his tongue, dousing you with a look of disapproval. “That’s not very nice, hermosa.”

You shiver. Javi had called you that before, many times. And even though it sounded totally different coming from this foul man’s mouth, shrouded under the veil of a thick, Spanish accent, it sticks.

You hold your tongue, biting it to keep from sobbing. The glint in his eye, visible behind his glasses, moves from playfulness to exasperated ire.

He sighs, stands, and grabs your hair, tilting your head back harshly to look down at you. “You’re very hard to catch, you know that?” He muses, darkness trickling across his features. “But you’re alone now, Americana. No DEA—no Javier Peña to protect you.”

He makes a mockery of his name, oozing cockiness as it comes spitting out of his smirk. You glare up at him, simmering anger and bubbling fear claiming you. Would they go after Javi?

No. They wouldn’t dare.

Only an American like yourself—low-value, replaceable, unnoticeable—was expendable.

“What do you want from me?”

He smiles, releasing your head and taking a step back.

“You’re the assistant, aren’t you?” And that deceptively sweet tone is back, frightening you more than his rage. “We need directions, hermosa. You’ve been in all the government buildings—we know, we watched you. Why don’t you give us some assistance,” he pauses, leaning down towards you, “And tell us where your evidence against Pablo Escobar is filed.”

You snort, unimpressed, shocked, and a little humoured by his little monologue. This was what they were after?

This was why you'd been fearing for your life?

A fucking… map?

“Find someone else. I don’t know shit.”

It’s honestly true. The bastards could not be barking up a more wrong tree. For all their criminal genius, they hadn’t managed to catch the fact that you really, truly didn’t give a flying fuck about the particulars of your job.

But if this was about Escobar—the Pablo Escobar—then these were men from the Medellín cartel. The same Medellín cartel that left scores of expendable bodies in its wake, that bombed, assassinated, and tortured government workers like they were no more than rats in a science lab.

You weren’t the end-all, be-all of this operation.

No, you were just another lead.

A lead that (only you knew) led to jack-all. Unless they were scrambling to learn about the best places to go out dancing or the worst brands of moisturizer, you had very little to offer the thugs.

The one with the strange hat—the ringleader, you decide—shares a smile with his co-conspirators, and you begin to regret the arrogance of your statement.

“There are many ways we can do this,” he warns, voice sloping down to a dangerous hum. “It can be easy…” and he lowers a hand to his belt buckle, setting every cell in your body on fire, “Or hard.”

It‘s a plea to God more than a question for your captor, your desperate, self-pitying: “Why me?” It can't be above a whisper, but the asshole responds anyway.

“It’s more enjoyable when we get to work with something pretty.” A dark laugh. “Who’s going to come looking for you, hermosa? Your family? Your friends? Your… government?” He clicks his tongue again, looking down at you in mock concern. “Like I said, we’ve been watching. You have a habit of disappearing. Running away.”

Figures.

Figures that the reason you’d wound up with your life on the line, your body in danger, was because of you. Once again, it boiled down to the lack of attachments you’d curated over the years, passing from one thing to another, quick on your feet the second they hit solid ground. For God’s sake, the only reason you’d made it this long in Medellín was because it hadn’t managed to bore you yet.

Figures that the closest thing to stability you’d been able to find was in the crime capital of the world. It was poetically honest, laughably ironic.

Of course, the American government would assume you’d fucked off—just another ditzy contractor swept up in the thrill of a south-American life.

The other part held water, too—no one would come looking for you. Your boss might huff about ‘these flighty secretaries, can’t hold ‘em down for anything,’ but beyond that, your disappearance would cause less than a stir.  

Somehow, that thought comforted you. The lack of collateral, the lack of another’s suffering… very little harm would befall the world in the wake of your absence. Peace was beginning to crest upon your settling soul. And, either way, you’d worked in this line of work for long enough to know that your death warrant had been signed the very second they’d seen you as a target.

You give the bastards what they want? You die.

You hold off? You die.

All things considered, you resign yourself, making up your mind.

Still, your defiant voice quivers as you say it.

“Fuck you.”

The ringleader smiles, like a predator cornering its prey, taking that first bite into hard-earned flesh. Your brain responds, screaming warnings in big letters, in flashing red ink. He barks an order to his underlings in Spanish, and the other two men come forward, roughly undoing the holds along your ankles, your wrists.

“Get the fuck off of me!”  

But they don’t listen, yanking you upright and shoving you onto the ground. Your vision becomes hazy. Something takes over, a protective instinct, perhaps, barring you from your own body. Distantly, you observe yourself fighting, but really all you feel is beyond. The words ‘I am not here, this is not happening’ wash over you over and over again, like a cleansing, salt-water wave.

Hands on cement. Clothes torn, destroyed—the cold barrel of a gun to your head, a man barking orders, hitting, slapping—and right as the worst is about to happen, everything just…

Stops.

It’s like they’re spellbound, bugs frozen in amber.

You hear the cause of it well after your torturers do. Footsteps upstairs, and gunshots, screams followed by the definite sounds of a creeping squadron.

The men get messy. Scrambling around, they gather their options. In your dazed periphery, you watch their eyes latch onto one of those open windows, 8 or 9 feet up from the ground.

A hushed conversation ensues. You're familiar enough with the more violent side of the Spanish vocabulary to string together their meaning.

“Shoot her? — no, the noise, they’ll find us faster — kill her? — too long — take her? — too messy — we have to go, we have to go, we have to go.”

Your ruined shirt is shoved down your throat, and then you’re gagging on it, ankles bound once more, shaking and naked on the freezing concrete. The trio uses the little wooden chair to frantically sneak out of the window.

It would be downright comical if you weren’t so terrified.

Soon, you’re alone, choking on cotton and wriggling to flatten your back against the wall. Centuries pass before the movement upstairs graduates to the basement below.

Relief doesn’t grace you. Any man—DEA, cartel, or Colombian police—would likely perform the same violence as your previous captors had planned to. A naked girl, roughed up and completely unprotected, in a dark, hidden basement, totally at their mercy… Shit. You were basically an invitation. A free meal, offered up to a different, hungry crowd.

You just pray that this one might be gentler.

The stairs creak under the certain weight of bodies in motion.

Tears run down the side of your face, dripping down from your temple onto the ground below. You compress into a ball, making yourself as small as possible.

The echoes grow louder, closer and closer. At this point, you just hope they’ll assume you’re an enemy or get trigger-happy and give you a quick taste of lead. Put you out of your misery.

Giving up was well within your comfort zone.

Someone gasps when they see you, and a single name hurtles through the space.

An out-of-commission part of your mind recognizes it—the name—knows it as a comfort. Still, you only tremble, trying to disconnect yourself from what must be a wishful, crafted, deceitful version of reality.

Then someone else comes forward. Your eyes, weary of keeping you in the dark, fling open just in time to watch a tall, dark-haired man push through the crowd of soldiers. You watch his expression—shock to rage, rage to relief, and then rage all over again.

He rushes you, falling to his knees before your wrecked form.

His first move is to wrench the fabric from your mouth. You croak out the most desperate sob of relief, all those stifled, unvoiced expressions of terror tumbling out in great-big-heaves.

“Are you hurt?” He asks.

“No.” You respond.

“Did they…?”

“No.”

Javi tears his big doe-eyes, filled with worry, away from yours, twisting to impatiently address the frozen crowd of four or five behind him. “Can somebody take these fuckin’ ties off?”

Switchblades slice through twine. Someone brings you a blanket, and Javi bundles you up in it, gathering you and lifting you in his arms. You don’t resist, clinging around his neck and hiding in the comfort of his shoulder.

“Hermosa—”

You regret the way you flinch. “Please—please don’t call me that anymore.”

“Okay.” He doesn’t ask questions, sounding a little softer, a little more unsure when he presses on, muffling the desperate edge to his tone. “Did you see where they went?”

“The window. Out the window.”

Most of the rest take to that almost immediately, scattering to start on their chase. Javi delivers a set of orders in his native tongue.

Then, he grows silent, carrying you through the house with two soldiers in the lead. “Close your eyes, okay? You don’t wanna see this.” But now that they’re open, you can’t seem to shut them. You only glimpse flashes of the upstairs area. Tables covered in paper, glass contraptions and coke, so much coke, which is almost more impressive than the quantity of blood splattered against the peeling walls.

And Carrie.

Carrie with half her brains hanging out, long, dark, red-soaked hair fanning around her crown like a rotten halo, lounging on the couch, fingers splayed and palms to the sky as if she were ready to wrap them around a glass of white wine—as if she were ready to catch up on girl-talk.

What’s Carrie doing here?

Should I ask her?

She’s dead.  

No, she’s not. She’s right there. She was waiting for me to be done so we could catch up. That’s just how she always sits—it’s just the scoliosis.

That’s why she always showed up so late to the club. She… she couldn’t dance too long because of the scoliosis.

You’re still debating whether or not Carrie would be up for a bit of gossip, another debrief, when big, strong arms lower you into the passenger seat of a Jeep Cherokee.

Javier buckles you in.

“We can’t go to your place—that’s…” and you trail off weakly, throat burning with effort. “That’s where they took me.”

He nods, his face a complete mask of concentration.

But you know him.

He’s holding everything back. You appreciate him for that, never wanting to hear a man shout for the rest of your cursed time on Earth.

“Steve’s, then.”

It’s your turn to nod.

—

Javier drives in complete and total silence, only speaking the occasional clipped sentence into his radio. Despite your vulnerability, despite your overwhelming gratitude, you feel guilty for taking him away from his work, from his team. For forcing him to rescue you once again.

For sure, he’s angry. Would he have to move? Find a new place? Leave all his stuff at the old one? Would a better captive have paid better attention, taken note of the exact direction her kidnappers had taken off in after clearing the window?

Soon, you’re settled against a couch, the light from the opposing window breaking in and dancing across Javi’s face. A blonde woman—fiery, familiar, concerned—hands you a glass of water.

Javi watches you, eyebrows notched together, lips drawn into a thin line as you take a slow sip in silence. The liquid slides down your throat, cooling and soothing the rips and tears there.

And they both won’t stop staring. Truly, their joint study makes you self-conscious, watching on with unapologetic intent as you shiver under the scratchy blanket.

Finally (thankfully), Steve's wife—Connie, you recall—speaks.

“You can go, Javi. I'll take it from here.”

“No.”

She looks borderline offended at his line in the sand.

“I don’t think she’s in any shape to talk, Peña.” It’s authoritative, protective, clearly marked with harboured resentment.

She'd make a good mom.

He scoffs. “I’m not gonna make her talk, Connie. Just don’t wanna leave her like... this.”

Connie looks confused. They share a glance, and an eventual understanding passes over her expression. In fact, even in your distressed state, you’re almost certain you catch a hint of a smile.

“Well if you’re both staying, we’ll need food.”

Javi nods absentmindedly, lighting up a smoke. You look away, still feeling the weight of his eyes boring into your ducked head.

She clears her throat. “I’ll be back in an hour or so. Remember to lock the door, Javi.”

Then, swinging her coat on, she traces an awkward line out of the apartment.

Silence flits across the room. The agent continues to study you from his seat at the counter across the room.

“Are you okay?”

You pick at your nails, internally asking yourself the same question.

“I’m just glad you were there,” you muster up, looking up at his softened, warm gaze. Concern etches a couple of fresh lines on his face.

Javi nods, taking a long drag. “Always, sweetheart. I’m glad I was there, too.”

You shiver at the thought of what could have happened if he and his team had showed up just a few minutes later. What shape he would have found you in, or if you’d ever permit yourself to feel the touch of a man again. Of anyone again.

“Why were you there?”

The question comes out of nowhere, bursting out the moment you realize that you hadn’t yet bothered to ask him how he’d pulled off yet another well-timed rescue.

It couldn’t have been in answer to your prayers—those had never worked for you before.

“Carillo’s been following Escobar’s cousin for a while. Zeroed in on the neighbourhood, but we spent all morning doing searches. Honestly,” he breaks off for a moment, rubbing at his temples, “It was just damn luck that we found you when we did. Wish I could say it wasn't, but it was. We were gettin’ ready to call it off. I had… no idea you weren’t at home.”

He blames himself for it. You can tell. In turn, you blame yourself for that—for his misguided, self-inflicted anger.

There’s more left unsaid.

“My friend—I called her this morning. From your place. She was there. She was… dead. I think.”

Javi doesn’t react, evidence of the years of gore, wreckage, and betrayal he'd witnessed.

You swallow, soldiering on.

“I told her. I told her where I was. Could she… could she have told them?”

Is she the reason this happened to me?

Slowly, lips pressed around his cigarette, Javi nods. “I’m sorry,” he barely mumbles.

Strangely enough, you’re not. That’s what you say: “I’m not.” And it’s true. “She was upstairs when it was all happening. I’m glad she’s dead.”

Now, he looks at you with a consideration that swells into a kind of respect. Not a respect, no not respect. A knowing. A new kind of understanding, of equal footing.

You meet him head-on with it, basking in your retribution, revelling in the immediate justice she'd been served. You’d mourn the person you thought she was when your wounds weren’t so open, so fresh.

"They wanted directions, Javi," you suddenly blurt out, voice hoarse, "Isn't that insane? They were gonna... they were gonna do that for directions. Not even the evidence, just fucking directions-"

Javi lifts his hands in the air, signalling for you to slow down. Normally, it would make you want to tear his arrogant head off. Now, however, you just do, although the silence isn't very comforting. After a moment, you can tell there's something Javi’s been avoiding, something he’s holding in. The agent clears his throat, finally calling it quits on his tiptoe-ing around the subject.

“Cariño," he begins, "I know you told me earlier, but I... I gotta be sure. Did they hurt you in… any way?”

God, he sounds so deeply wary, unable even to speak his fear into existence. You shake your head no, prompting his shoulders to relax.

“Okay. Good,” he breathes, crossing his arms and looking down at the rug. “Don’t think I could…”

Panic ripples through your frame.

'Doesn’t think he could' what? Bear to look at me, knowing the enemy had been where he’d been, done what he’d done? Touch me in the same grooves they'd left on my skin? Javi’s not that kind of man—is he?

“Don’t think I could forgive myself if anything were to happen to you under my watch.”

The rush of anxiety quickly dissipates, replaced by a stifling bloom of admiration and adoration across your chest. Like soft tendrils, warming your shivering body from within.

You smile self-consciously, scoff, and meet his eyes. “I wasn’t ‘under your watch,’ Javi. I opened the door. It was my fault.”

He raises his eyebrows, huffing a breath before ashing his dart, rising, carving a path towards the couch-cushion next to you and taking your glass of water from between your hands. It clinks as he sets it on the table. Taking your unsteady hands between his hardened palms, he coaxes you into meeting his golden eyes.

“It’s not your fault, herm—” a pause as he corrects himself, noticing your flinch, “—cariño. It’s not your fault.”

He waits for your nod of acknowledgement before pulling you into his arms. You let yourself go limp, dragged into the plushness of the couch and the firmness of his chest.

He lays a kiss to your forehead. He fidgets with your hair. He traces long, lazy lines up and down your spine.

How had you gone from that youthful giddiness this morning to this dark, anxious wreck in a matter of hours? It wasn’t even two o’clock yet.

The comfort your agent provides is good—will always be good—but you want more. Every inch of attention he gives you is just another step away from that cold basement, a foot towards freedom.

Time heals all wounds, and you want a distraction while you face those excruciating seconds. Something to move it along. Something to keep you busy, to keep the harrowing images at bay.

So you tilt your head up. Finding his lips, you press into him, shuddering when the rough hairs of his mustache tickle your top lip. When your body asks for more, when your tongue meets his and your hand drops to his thigh, Javi tenses, pulling back and breaking off the kiss.

“Sweetheart—you’re not in a good place,” he whispers, lovingly running his fingers through your hair.

You look up at him with eyes full of need, wordlessly begging him to give in. “I am now,” you assure him, tossing a leg over his hips and straddling his body. His expression darkens as you slowly chip away at his resolve, one touch at a time. “I’m with you.”

He smiles, plucking your hands from his chest. Every kiss he lays to your knuckles sends a ripple of electricity up and down your spine. “That right?” He muses between embraces. “That all you need?”

You nod, the pace of your shallow breaths picking up in anticipation. “When you touch me, Javi, it’s like you’re cleaning them off me,” you croon, leaning forward to brush your lips against his jaw.

“You’re in shock, baby,” but his hands defy his words, slipping down to circle your waist, “You don’t know what you’re doing.”

Slowly, deliberately, you lean back to stare directly into his heavy-lidded eyes. “I know exactly what I’m doing.”

You feel him tense at that, his body hardening alongside the weight building underneath your thigh. He lets you go on, deft hands pooling onto your hips.

“Get rid of them for me,” you plead, grinding down onto his bulge.

“Make me all yours again.”  

That does it.

His hands shoot up to your face, firmly cupping your cheeks between their heat. Then, Javi’s kissing you harder than before, warming your desire up to a feverish level. You moan into him, turning to putty in his grasp.

He peppers kisses down your jaw and up your neck, allowing you to clumsily untuck his shirt and undo his belt. It’s frantic and needy—it’s pure business. You free his length from the confines of his clothes, heavy breaths mingling when you look down in tandem, hungrily watching your small, delicate hand pumping up and down his cock.

“Fuck,” he groans, his dark crown of cropped curls falling back against the couch, “You make it fuckin’ hard to be a good guy.”

You smile, spreading the slick dribbling at his tip around the head of his cock.

God, the sight of him never gets old.

“Good guys listen, Javi,” you tease, managing to pull off an air of sultriness, “Not just to no—also to yes.”

A lazy, roguish grin spreads across his face. “You are feeling better, aren’t you?” and he knocks a squeal out of you when he cages you in his arms, flipping you over ‘till your back’s digging shapes into the worn-in cushions below. “Gettin’ mouthy already.”

You giggle up at him, but all of your noises dwindle when a few rough fingers push your torn, ruined underwear to the side. You grow especially wordless when one separates your folds and makes its way inside you.

Javi gives you his signature look of condescension, of mock pity.

“What happened, sweetheart?” He taunts, thumbing that aching bundle of nerves. “All the ways I’ve had my dick in you, just this—” he makes a point to curl his fingers towards himself, pressing against the most desire-stricken spot, “—‘n you can’t find your words?”

Your throat won’t open, choking around your own pleasure. Instead, you nod with enthusiasm, desperately clinging onto his forearm. “More.”

He quickly accedes, pushing another long and thick finger inside you. You shudder at the perfect sting—the stretch—as your opening hugs his knuckles. Javi mutters curses to himself, angry and lustful, supervising your writhing form.

“No one else gets to see you like this.” He speaks low, sitting up to work you with both hands. Your body responds without your permission; Javi clicks his tongue and shoves you back down when your hips buck up. “Don’t deserve it,” he continues voicing his thought as if no interruption had occurred, “I’d have to track ‘em down and kill ‘em.”

His tone goes beyond protectiveness, easily veering into the realm of the possessive. “I-I wouldn’t be good f-for them, Javi,” you manage, wanting to comfort him, to calm him, “Wouldn’t—wouldn’t listen.”

“Oh,” he smirks down at you, finally pulling his fingers from your soaked, ready cunt. “Like you listen to me?”

You spread your legs for him, shimmying down until he’s hovering right above you. He strokes himself, taking you in with hunger, playfulness and… something else.

Something like devotion.

A smile. You stroke his jaw. “You come harder when I misbehave.”

He shrugs and nods, a silent, ‘you got me there,' before lining himself up at your entrance.

You whimper, a pathetic, pleading sound, when the head of his cock finds your opening. “Then make sure to misbehave.”  

He rocks inside you, taking note of the way your jaw goes slack, hanging open, and the way your brow furrows, grateful eyes glazing over, showing high praise for that feeling of fullness.  

And he laughs to himself.

“Needy fuckin’ thing,” he coos, settling into a comfortable rhythm. “Beggin’ for cock after bein’ kidnapped. I shouldn’t be feedin' into your crazy, cariño.”

It is crazy. But you don’t care, giggling along to his taunt.

“Just makes me feel so-so good, Javi,” you breathe.

“Yeah?” He coaxes, sitting back to tower over you, pressing your thighs to your calves; the new angle has bliss rippling through your centre, your back arching involuntarily. “What feels good?”

He shoves your hips down, lowering a finger back to your clit.

“Oh—God—y-yourcock—” he nods approvingly at you, beckoning you to go on, “your—your fingers, too.”

He slows his pace, pulling out fully before slamming back inside you.

“Look at it, cariño,” Javi instructs, steadying your hips once more. “Watch me fuck your pretty lil’ pussy.”

You struggle onto your elbows and obey, mouth slack and perpetually open. Pressure builds at your core as you watch every inch of his hard, dark length disappear, over and over, inside the shelter of your body. It’s so dirty, and somehow the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen.

“M-made for you, Javi.”

And he moans, an animalistic sound you’d never heard from him before.

“S’right, baby, made just for me.” He flattens his fingers against your clit, applying just the right amount of pressure. “Can you come for me now?”

You nod, grateful for his permission as soon as you start to feel your thighs shake. The tension snaps within you, and you tumble over the edge of your climax with a high pitched whine.

“Good girl,” he praises, low, deep, and bristling with pleasure, “Good fuckin’ girl.”

You ride it out. Javi shows no mercy, squeezing your waist and bouncing your lower half against him. His biceps and shoulders strain against his shirt, the sight making your eyes roll to the back of your head.

After having him a few times, you were well aware of his impressive stamina—Javi wasn’t going to finish without giving you another one. Nonetheless, the overwhelming pleasure has you squirming away from his unrelenting grasp.

He pulls you back against him, steadying you between two forceful hands.

And he fucks you harder.  

“Still remember them, querida? ” He breathes.

You find your voice, using great effort to stammer out a “y-yes."

It's not the correct answer.

Javi growls, “Then I’m not fuckin’ done with you.”

His shirt grazes the insides of your thighs, and you're certain that every part of his form is working to set your skin on fire. A skilled hand wraps around your jaw, and Javi leans over you, lowering his lips to latch around a hard, peaked nipple.

Your whimpers do nothing to stop him. He just keeps rhythmically rocking into you, the head of his cock reaching impossible, beckoning depths.

An almost-sob wracks your lungs. “S’a lot, huh? Takin’ all this cock inside you…” Javi shushes you with feigned sympathy, nipping and suckling at the softest spots at his disposal. “S’okay, baby, s’okay.”

Then he makes his way to your lips, forces you to kiss him—deeply—as your lungs scream for oxygen. He locks your hands above your head in just one of his own, the pressure of his weight the only thing keeping your squirming limbs in place.

And then his mouth is sliding down your jaw, his breaths hot and heavy next to your ear.

“Fuck—can feel you gettin’ close, sweetheart, gonna come again?”

All you can do is nod.

He rolls into you—hard and deep—forcing tears to pull from the outer corners of your eyes.

“S-so good to me,” you manage, seeing pure white as your third orgasm of the day blooms from between your seizing legs.

He groans, freeing your hands (which immediately find stability in the firmness of his shoulders) to clumsily wipe the tears from under one dazed eye. Above you, he resembles a hungry, lustful angel, eyes darkened with unbridled need, affection, approval.  

“‘M’good to what’s mine, baby,” he whispers, pulling you into the crook of his neck as he chases both your highs. “Come, cariño—s’right, come for me.”

And you do, aching, ruined cunt squeezing and releasing, fluttering around Javi. He moans a downright sinful ‘fuck’ at the sensation, reaching his own peak almost in tandem with yours.

Only once his every last drop is spent, once his groan and your whines have stopped echoing around the unfamiliar, open space, does he pull back from your neck.

And when he looks at you… God. There’s something you’re both not saying.

“Only wanna see you cry like this, baby,” he tells you, laying a long, lingering kiss to your forehead. “Never gonna let them—let anyone—lay a finger on you again.”

Your breath hitches, the words thick and sticky in your throat. The both of you are dazed, breathless, and completely wrecked. “I’m… I’m glad we met. That you—that we’re doing this.”

He raises his eyebrows, crooning a soft ‘yeah?’ as he pushes your hair from your face.

You nod. “You make all of it worth it.”

He’s appreciative when leaning in for a kiss, slipping out of you and groaning against your lips. You tangle your fingers in his damp hair, leaning up into him with every aching muscle in your body, wanting nothing more than to become a part of his whole. When he pulls away, it's only to tuck his softening length back into his briefs. He focusses on you again, leaning over to affectionately stroke your knee.

“Is it just sex for you?”

His question comes as a bit of a surprise—you’d never heard him speak so openly, so innocent and vulnerable.

You cup his face. Despite the fact that he looks like the men from earlier, carries the same guns and ammo, knows what they know, even speaks their language, he’s never seemed so separate from them, an entirely different species.

“No—at first, maybe, but now… No. Not for me.”

He eases into a soft smile, wrapping you back into your blanket before laying back, manhandling you to rest against his still-unsteady chest.

Those masterful hands comfort you in a million different ways. He plays with your hair and traces the highest points of your cheekbone. He massages your knuckles, pulls you in for little kisses, dips into the curve of your waist.

“How about you?” The question is small, even though you anticipate the answer.

He takes a second before answering. When he does, his voice is low, quiet.

“Not at all, sweetheart.” He tilts your head up, his soft, caring gaze probing into every corner of your own. “Honestly, I think it’s been more than that since the first time you said ‘go fuck yourself, Peña.’” He whistles under his breath, exaggerating his approval. “Shit was hot.”

It makes you laugh, but it's also enough to make your heart soar. Settling in to the nook of his neck, you breathe in his familiar, earthly scent, until the exhaustion of the day eventually weighs on you.

You fall asleep with a smile on your face, entertained by the fact that while you really should be a wreck, you feel perfectly at ease, wrapped in the arms of your favourite DEA agent. In fact, you can hardly remember what your kidnappers looked like—or sounded like, for that matter—succumbing to slumber, you only think of him.

—

Less than three hectic, hazy days later, you’re pulling a suitcase through the Medellín international airport. There was no sense risking it anymore—you'd have to be transferred to the States until the assholes were caught. Ambassador's orders.

Javi flanks your side, eyes peeled for any abnormalities in your surroundings.

Your heart breaks with every step you take. He comes all the way to the gate without saying a word, merely holding onto one of your bags (that he'd insisted he carry) in a white-knuckled fist.

You’re running behind. There’s not much time.

He doesn’t say he’ll call—knows he’s not that kind of man. You don’t say you’ll visit. You don’t say you’ll write.

No, all you do is lean up on your tippy toes to plant a tender, lingering kiss to his cheek. He returns the favour by cupping your face, leaning down and kissing you intently.

Too intently—as if he were memorizing the grooves in your lips.

Well, that’s what you’re doing, anyways.

Over the loudspeaker, your name is called.

“They’re paging you,” Javi translates, his breath hitting your top lip.

You pull away, doing your best not to cry.

“Thank you.”

It’s all you say—it’s all that needs to be said, really.

Thank you for showing me I matter. Thank you for teaching me patience. Thank you for saving my life three times. Thank you for wanting me. Thank you for making me wait for it. Thank you for giving me a reason to miss this place.  

Thank you for loving me. I think that's what this is.

He hears it all, stuffed and contained, overflowing from the two uttered words.

Then he smiles, that well-trained, protective cockiness spreading across his face.

“You’re welcome, cariño.”

You scoff a laugh, slowly dropping his hand and turning towards your gate.

“If I ever visit home…” he calls after you.

You pause, smiling down at the glistening floor, shaking your head. “You’ll never catch me in Texas, Peña,” you call across the traffic of rushing families and over-packed suitcases. He smiles knowingly, hands in his pockets, watching you leave. “Just lock the fuckers up so I can visit. The weather sucks back home.”

You slowly walk backwards towards the exit, ignoring a few flight-attendant-glares, not daring to break off the playful eye contact linking you to your agent.

“I’ll do it just for you, baby,” he calls, grinning like a fool.

Strange. You’d never noticed how the teasing, that snarky back and forth you’d developed together seemed to put him at ease—to relax him. All that time he'd spent, driving you to the brink of insanity... it comforted him.

And that realization was enough to make you beam.

You commit that final glimpse to memory. Javi—smiling, calm, alive, yours. It was rare enough that you felt sure it would stick.

When you finally turn to face the gate, to face your future, you don’t feel like crying anymore.

It was enough just to have met him.

Maybe—just maybe—he felt the same.

—

All my friends tell me I should move on

I'm lying in the ocean, singing your song

Ahh

That's how you sang it

Loving you forever can't be wrong

Even though you're not here, won't move on

Ahh

That's how we played it

And there's no remedy for memory, your face is like a melody

It won't leave my head

Your soul is haunting me and telling me that everything is fine

But I wish I was dead (dead, like you)

Every time I close my eyes, it's like a dark paradise

No one compares to you

I'm scared that you won't be waiting on the other side

Every time I close my eyes, it's like a dark paradise

No one compares to you

I'm scared that you won't be waiting on the other side

All my friends ask me why I stay strong

Tell 'em when you find true love, it lives on

Ahh

That's why I stay here

And there's no remedy for memory, your face is like a melody

It won't leave my head

Your soul is haunting me and telling me that everything is fine

But I wish I was dead (dead, like you)

Every time I close my eyes, it's like a dark paradise

No one compares to you

I'm scared that you won't be waiting on the other side

Every time I close my eyes, it's like a dark paradise

No one compares to you

But there's no you, except in my dreams tonight

I don't want to wake up from this tonight

There's no relief, I see you in my sleep

And everybody's rushing me, but I can feel you touching me

There's no release, I feel you in my dreams

Telling me I'm fine

Every time I close my eyes, it's like a dark paradise

No one compares to you

I'm scared that you won't be waiting on the other side

Every time I close my eyes, it's like a dark paradise

No one compares to you

But there's no you, except in my dreams tonight

I don't want to wake up from this tonight

—

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[reidsdaisies]

ᰔᩚ — may’s criminal minds fic recs! (for 1k)

- hii! so basically if you’re reading this then i’ve hit 1k followers, woohoo! it’s honestly crazy and a little nerve wracking to me that such a big number of people know of me. this blog was originally meant to be temporary, a way to give me something to take my mind of things but like wow ive had a great time. im so grateful for everyone here. even though im still writing, i don’t feel up for doing a whole writing event rn so instead, i thought i’d comprise a list of fic/blog recommendations 🤍 i saw someone else do something this for their 1k celebration and i thought it would be a good idea, so credit to them for giving me this idea! i really hope someone can find a new favorite fic out of this <33

- if you’re uncomfortable with me putting you on this list then you can ask to be removed, no questions asked <3

- below cut is recs x

- BLOGS -

• @hotchfiles - a hotch writer/lover! atm she has an ongoing aaron x reader series, her writing literally made me feel like i was reading out an episode of the show. read it here – in nomine patris

@imagining-in-the-margins - all of the fics she’s written, i recommend them all. every fic she’s ever written is what i recommend. i have some that i read more often, but all are my favorites, she writes so beautifully and her Spencer is the best.

• @mandarinmoons - this one’s a given! not only is she my dear little moot, she’s also a very talented writer. she’s got a whole masterlist filled with fluffy and angsty spencer blurbs. check her tf out

• @mindfullycriminal - read all their fics please please read them all omg. so so good and she’s the sweetest and smartest person ever 😭

• @pathologicalreid - if you’re a dad Spencer lover then like wyd if you have not read one of margot’s fics?? do it, you won’t regret it.

• @reiderwriter - if i took the time to rec every fic of hers i enjoyed individually, i’d be here for days, though i will link some specific ones. she’s been writing primarily smut as of rn, but there is also fluff and angst on her masterlist. i advise you to scroll through it and her ao3, everything hits.

- FICS -

key: f = fluff // a = angst // h/c = hurt/comfort // s = smut

-spencer-

‘dinner time’ | h/c

- this fic is too too good and too too heartbreaking ❤️‍🩹 it involves something i hadn’t previously thought of. go read it pleeaaseee

↳ @actually-safer-to-kiss

best buds | f

- FRIENDSHIP FIC! Penelope and Spencer :( penelope really stole the show and i love her and i love the Disney movies and Penelope the and squishmallows mention!

↳ @cumulo-stratus

‘daddy handles business’ | s

- this is me coming clean and confessing im an occasional daddy kink reid fic enjoyer 😓 it’s started because of this fic, left me craving

↳ @heavenbarnes

spencer x hyper independent!reader | f

- hah, so I melted reading this! from the hocus pocus sweater down to the forehead kiss, i enjoyed every word of this.

↳ @inkdrinkerworld

post-prison spencer comforts bau!reader | h/c

- i may or may not be biased to this one since I requested it, but it was executed so well and Spencer is the sweetest of sweathearts, so considerate

↳ @mandarinmoons

‘lean on me’ | f

- CUTEST FIC AWARD GOES TO THIS FIC! spencer feels so in character and he’s just a sick lil guy who needs some comfort, doctor who, and your lap as his pillow

↳ @milla984

‘birthday meal’ | f

- this one. this one omg 🤍 reader going down the relative rabbit hole and putting in all the effort to make this birthday special for him, + plus his reaction to the surprise - adorable, heartwarming, made me all fuzzy inside

↳ @mindfullycriminal

shy!reader x spencer blurb | f

- so good, so cute! spencer is too sweet and so him in this, and reader is literally me 🥲

↳ @moonstruckme

spencer babying an oblivious bau reader | f

- this one is just like, beyond words 😭 this reader is me. i need him to baby me badly, go out of his way to help me, favor me :( THE HUG?? gosshh i need him

↳ @reiderwriter

‘come and save me now’ | s

- MD Reid makes me crazy, and this fic turned my brain to mush. I’ve read this like 10 more times since I reblogged it originally 😓 sub spence makes me go brrr

↳ @stairain

-emily-

‘mend my wounds’ | a, f

- so sweet :(

↳ @angellsell

sharing your strawberry mentos with emily | f

- this was the first emily fic i ever read and i think my brain stopped functioning from how cute it is. so well written too, i really need to read more of her emily fics 🥹

and

emily x mom!reader | f

- emily with kids! i repeat, EMILY WITH KIDS!! this was by far the cutest emily fic ive read 😭 and omg the way she interacts with Jane ☹️ all your fics are just wowww.

↳ @luveline

-aaron-

injured!reader x aaron | f

- sweet. and. tender. the. best. man. alive

↳ @dudeitiskarev

‘the comfort of you’ | f

- im a sucker for hair braiding fics :(

↳ @em-prentiss

- jj -

dancing in the raining drabble - jj, emily | f

- need. to. dance. in. rain. with. my. baes.

↳ @ddejavvu

if you fell asleep on her (and all the other character) | f

↳ @ithebookhoarder

jj being protective of you | f

- i had read this around the time she posted it i think, but i came across it again and wow. ive never been much of a jj fan but lately ive been rethinking things and.. i need to write for her ☹️ but this is not about me, this is about this fic and ahhh. down to every detail, i love it. i think i would have cried in that situation.. nvm i definitely would have. jj going off on him, protecting ‘her girl’ !! 🥺 jj is so jj.

and

jj x autistic!reader headcanons | f

- these are extremely cute and the way that reader ends up getting more comfortable is just too good, jj u considerate sweetheart. jj helping clean r up? ☹️

↳ @sundrop-writes

- SERIES -

‘this ain’t no empty home’ | f, s (eventually)

summary: After having worked for the BAU for two years, you have seen and experienced a lot, but after a series of murders of young married couples, you’re asked to do something that you never had thought you would have to do; going undercover, as an expecting, married couple, with Spencer Reid.

- the vividness of the writing is just chef’s kiss. the detail is so good and it all works to set the scene perfectly. so excited for whenever she puts up the next part, it’s such an interesting premise <3

↳ @springtyme

august | a, s (eventually)

summary: From the moment that you met Spencer Reid, you knew that he was the love of your life. You are faced with the harsh realization of your unrequited love whenever a heart wrenching confession is dropped during a hostage situation and derails all of your fantasies.

- im so normal about this fic (im not normal at all, you will not catch me being normal about it)

↳ @strawbeerossi

[purinfelix]

force of habit ♡₊˚•.

pairing: joão félix x reader (established relationship) summary: joão has a nervous habit that comes out before games, but you're just the thing to calm his nerves warnings: none!, pure fluff w/c: 1.1k (did someone say over-writing?)

a/n: aaa first ever writing post !! wrote this because i noticed joão has a tendency to bite at his nails in a lot of clips (and also just because i never ever ever stop thinking about his hands. like ever) hope you guys like it !! <3

“João.” your voice was soft, but stern as you watched your boyfriend catch your eye in confusion. 

It wasn’t an uncommon occurrence at this point, and you’d be lying if you said it didn’t make you feel like a total hypocrite. You had an abundance of bad habits yourself. You picked at your skin when you were stressed, struggled with waking up early and could never seem to get out of leaving things until the absolute last minute. 

And somehow, being a pro football player didn’t stop your boyfriend from falling into the same trap. He got frustrated easily, would always forget to pick up after himself, and constantly ate your leftovers in the fridge no matter how often you told him not to. But one habit seemed to bother you the most: the way he would bite his nails. 

It wasn’t the act itself that bothered you really, lord knows your habits were far more irritating. Rather it was what it signified to you - that he was worried about something, bothered or annoyed at the situation at hand - that riled you up so much. And the fact he never seemed to notice he was doing it only made it worse. 

At first, when you two had first met and still fell into being smitten with one another, you hadn’t minded it. Mostly because you’d hardly noticed it, only noticing him do it occasionally. But it was only once you started dating, and seeing each other far more often, that its seriousness became apparent. 

You could give him a thousand reasons why he should stop doing it, but you knew he would hardly care, and if he did it wouldn’t be easy for him to stop doing something that seemed like second nature, which was why you made it your mission to help him.

Or try to. 

Which was what you were doing - the two of you standing across from each other in the narrow corridor leading to the locker room. The time until his next game ticked away slowly but you had yet to break your tradition of spending time together beforehand - João always insisting you were his ‘good luck charm’, as cheesy as it sounded. 

His eyes caught yours at the sound of his name, blinking cluelessly at first. Slowly though, he caught on, retreating his hands from his mouth and mumbling a quick “sorry” as he did. You sighed. 

“It’s alright, you’re that nervous for this match, hm?” you said, stepping a little closer and pocketing the phone you were holding so that you could take both his hands in yours. He nodded, breath hitching in his throat at your sudden closeness. Even though you were a couple now (officially, hard launched, announced to the public, however, you wanted to put it), he was yet to get used to your boldness when it came to things like physical affection. 

“I’ve got to prove myself today, you know?” His hands trembled slightly as you interlaced your fingers with his, giving them a soft squeeze in an attempt to steady them. 

“Don’t worry, you’ll do good as always.” You ran your thumb across the back of his hand, turning it around to get a look at his fingernails, “And remind me to file your nails when we get home.” you added, half-jokingly, half-seriously. 

He only laughed in response, but it was a weak one that signified the remnants of some last-minute nerves. His neck whipped around as he looked up and down the hallway, legs bouncing as he did, relentlessly. You were somewhat used to watching him like this, to the point you had come to find it endearing how he tried to convince everyone around him, and even himself, that he was fine - even if everything else made it obvious he wasn’t. Not like he was ever in the wrong in doing so though, as you watched the clock on the wall tick over to just less than half an hour before the match. You know being nervous only made him play worse, so you knew you’d have to come up with some way to calm him down, and do so fast. 

“You uhm-” you hesitated for a second before letting it out like a sight, “You look really good in your kit.” 

This seemed to catch him off guard, shown by his widened eyes and the soft blush spreading across his cheeks. He leant in a little closer, towering over you upon hearing it as if daring you to say it again. Slowly, a smirk braced his face, his hands now the ones gripping yours. 

“You really think so?” He was irritating when he was like this, all cocky and suave, but it was an irritating you couldn’t ever seem to get enough of. 

“Yes, though if you ask again I might just change my mind,” you muttered, avoiding his keen eye knowing it would be difficult to let him go to his game if you did. You only turned to look down the hallway, trying your best to conceal a smirk. He let out a low chuckle at this, before craning his neck around to get a look at the clock. 

“I should probably go,” he said, but he kept his hands firmly gripped on theirs, still shaking slightly. 

“You’ll do well, don’t stress.” you assured him, smiling, “I’ll meet you after the game okay?” 

He nodded definitively, “Kiss for good luck?” he added, barely above a whisper. Thought with his eyebrows raised, brown eyes so pleading, and the feeling of his hands on yours, it was impossible for you not to give in. 

Tiptoeing to close the gap between you two, you pressed your lips to his. Almost immediately you felt his hands weave out of your grip and come up to cup your face gently, pulling you in as if silently asking for more. And it took every ounce of strength not to give in to him right there and then. 

“João! Either get a room or come on!” 

It seemed like you didn’t have to. You cursed Gavi silently under your breath as you reluctantly broke away from the kiss. 

“We’ll finish this once the games are over if I win.” He said in a rushed whisper, hands moving to catch a strand of your hair which he twirled around his finger mindlessly. 

“Mhm, once you win,” you corrected him, smile teasing as ever. You were about to turn to head back to your seat, front row, of course, João couldn’t have it any other way, before you spun around once more. Grabbing your boyfriend’s much larger hands in yours you pressed a soft kiss to his knuckle, catching him off guard for the second time that night. 

“Play good, for me okay?” you mumbled against the skin of his hand. 

“Of course, always,” he assured, pulling you in to leave one last kiss on your forehead before jogging off towards the locker room. 

Although, not before turning around to get one last look at his favourite ‘good luck charm’, completely unaware that the tremble in his hands had gone completely. 

[fxrmuladaydreams]

bad vibes (mv33)

max x doglover!reader , lando x reader (platonic)

summary: max meets your furry friend who is reluctant to accept him

note: max looks so good in that gif, also this is my first time writing for f1, pls be nice

Lando Norris was a godsend. You’d never tell him that, knowing full well that it would just go straight to his head, but he was a godsend. You’d been friends with him and a few of the other Quadrant members for a while, hanging out whenever you had free time from work. He had invited you to go to the Silverstone Grand Prix with him, eager to take you to an actual race. After organizing your schedule with work, you agreed to join him.

The Grand Prix was honestly the most fun you’d had in a while. You met Lando’s teammate Oscar, and watched the race from the McLaren garage, a headset over your ears. You were one of the first on your feet to celebrate Lando’s second place results.

The podium was pure chaos. You watched as the drivers sprayed each other with champagne. Lando’s eyes searched for yours in the crowd, grinning when he finds you standing near the front of the fence. He gives the bottle a shake, then points it at you, splashing you with the sweet bubbly liquid.

Lando then, despite your protests, dragged you to an after party to celebrate the race results. You stayed close to him at first, afraid of getting separated and being the odd one out in the tight-knit group that was attending the party. You were practically glued to his side as he introduced you to his friends, until he brought you over to meet the driver who took first place.

Max seemed happy to meet you, his eyes bright and voice loud as he tried to talk to you over the music blaring from the speakers. You congratulated him on his results, to which he thanked you and offered to get you a drink.

Lando smirked to himself, his eyes traveling between the two of you. “I’m gonna go say hi to Carlos, you don’t mind if I step away for a minute, do you?”

You both shake your heads no and watch Lando disappear into the crowd.

You spend the rest of the party sitting in a quieter corner with the Dutch driver, listening to him talk about his racing career, his karting days, anything he wants really.

Lando keeps an eye on you throughout the night, looking over in your direction to see Max using his hands to explain things to you, while you listen, occasionally nodding along, wide eager eyes looking at him.

Neither you nor Max seemed very keen on leaving one another at the end of the night. You exchanged phone numbers and blushing goodbyes as you left, joining Lando outside of the venue.

“So… fun night?”

“Shut up.”

For the next week or two, anytime someone would look at you, they’d see you starting at the phone in your hands.

It took everything in Lando to not step in and push his friends to ask each other out. He was starting to get tired of having to listen to you tell him about whatever Max had been up to, or hear Max go on and on about your latest conversation or instagram post.

Max had finally asked you out on a date after about a month of texting each other. Lando was thrilled, hoping that the two of you would stop whining to him about how much you liked each other.

It was easy to fall even harder for him after a few dates. Max was the perfect guy in your eyes. He was sweet, honest, funny, and he so obviously cared about those close to him. He took you to a bunch of different places in Monaco, secluded beaches, small cafes, anywhere the two of you could be alone and just get to know each other better.

Max was eager to get to know you better, wanting to spend as much time as his job allowed him to with you. He occasionally made comments claiming that you’d look much better sitting in the Red Bull garage than the McLaren garage, followed by asking you to join him at various races. He wanted nothing more than to be able to kiss you after winning a race.

You wanted to take the relationship slow, not quite ready to seen as “World Champion Max Verstappen’s girlfriend” to the throngs of fans he had that attended the races.

Dates with the Dutch driver had started to extend in length as well as quantity, often times ending with you spending the night with Max in his apartment.

With his apartment of course came his cats. From what you’d heard, Jimmy and Sassy were constantly terrorizing Max, sometimes escaping from a window, once even locking themselves in a separate room, but nonetheless Max adored them. They were quick to warm up to you as well, taking curious steps towards you when you first met, but quickly cuddling up with you on the couch, taking claim over their new friend.

Max had yet to visit your apartment, but not for lack of trying. He’d suggest going back to your place after dates, to which you’d make an excuse to go to his instead. Truth be told, you were hiding something from him. Well, someone.

It was clear to anyone that knew him that Max was a cat person, 110%, but you on the other hand? You loved dogs. How could you not? Dogs are literally man’s best friend.

You had adopted Luna a few years ago, she was a border collie, with long white and brown fur that fluffed up around her face. She was the sweetest dog you had ever met, and was easy to settle into your apartment. You learned how to keep up with her exercise, and to give her the love that she deserved.

A part of you is nervous about Max coming over and meeting Luna, what if he hates her? What if this ruins the relationship you two have created?

Max somehow manages to convince you that the two of you should go back to your apartment instead of his. He raises a questioning brow at you when you stop at your door and take a deep breath.

“What’s wrong?” He asks.

You turn away from the door to face him. “I’m just nervous… there’s something I haven’t told you…”

“What? Are you secretly married or something?” He laughs in an attempt to cover up his own nerves.

“No, no. It’s just, you know how you have Jimmy and Sassy? Well, I have Luna…”

“Luna?”

“Luna. She’s my dog. And I know you’re a cat person, but she’s really sweet, and I think if you just give her a chance-”

Your words are cut off when Max presses his lips to yours. You can feel his lips tilt upward a little, smiling into the kiss. You’re breathless when you finally pull away from one another.

“I’m sure I’ll love her.” Almost as much as I love you.

You smile and nod.

Just like every other time you come home, Luna sprints to the door to greet you. She hops up on her hind legs, her tail wagging behind her as she nuzzles her face into wherever she can reach on you.

She stops when she catches sight of the man standing behind you. You kneel down to pet her head.

“Luna, this is Max.”

Max takes a step forward, holding his hand out for her.

“Hey Luna.”

Her tail stops moving, as she steps between the two of you, her eyes locked onto Max. She growls lowly at him, slowly moving towards him.

Max pulls his hand back, and slowly steps away.

“Luna! Stop that! Be nice!” You scold her, petting the fur on her back.

She huffs, then trots away to the kitchen.

“I don’t think she likes me very much.” Max sighs.

“No, it’s okay, she just needs to get used to you. She hated Lando at first too.” You take his hand pulling him further into your apartment.

She glares at Max while the two of you cuddle up on your couch together, never quite leaving you alone with him.

While you get ready to go to bed she watches Max make himself comfortable in your room. She doesn’t growl at him, instead settling for an intense stare down.

You fall asleep with Max’s arms wrapped around you, your head buried in the crook of his neck, but wake up to a large ball of heat next to you.

Luna somehow managed to hop up on the bed after you’d fallen asleep, and squeeze herself between you and Max, her front paws pushing on his chest, as if she’s keeping him away from you.

You scratch softly behind her ears. Her tail starts to thump slowly against your leg.

“Luna, baby,” you whisper. “I love you so much. You’re the best dog ever, but why on earth do you hate Max so much?” She tilts her head to look up at you with her big brown eyes. “I get it, he’s a cat person, he’s probably giving you bad vibes, but I really like him. Like, a lot. So it would be great if you could give him a chance…”

Luna sighs, then moves her paws away from Max. She stands up to move to the foot of the bed, then lays back down.

“You think she understands you?” Max grumbles, his voice thick with sleep.

You can feel the heat spread across your face. “Obviously.”

Max slowly moves so that he’s holding you again, glancing down at the dog at your feet.

“I really like you too by the way. A lot.” You can practically hear the smirk on his face.

“Yeah, I would hope so. Otherwise I’d have to sick my dog on you. She can be pretty intimidating.” You smile, and let sleep take hold of you again.

[xxblairexxss]

Jibber-jabber

Pairing : Mason Mount x reader

Theme : Fluff

This was so so so cute I had a blast writing it!

Your relationship with Mason wasn’t a secret amongst his fans. Two years ago, Mason asked you to be his girlfriend and a few months later, he uploaded a picture of you on his Instagram story which proved all those rumours that has been flying around to be true. His fans had found your social media way before Mason posted or confirmed anything and it was only because they saw Mason following you, a random girl with no more than 1000 followers and never missed to leave a like on every posts of yours though he never left any comments.

ynusername

Liked by masonmount and others

ynusername 🥐☕️

ynbestfriend miss uuuu

masonmmupdate you are soooo pretty

footballwagssoon mason’s gf??

rebeccaa__19 are you mason’s girlfriend? 🥹

﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎

masonmount has added to their story

12th June

ynusername has added to their story

2nd July

Even though everyone knew you were together and that you were no longer an unfamiliar face amongst the fans, you chose to keep it as private as you can. There would be an occasional pictures of you guys holding hands together or showing off your matching socks or a 2 seconds view of him in your Instagram story to which the fanpages would cut the part of the 15 seconds video and reposted it with the slow motion effect. It wasn’t because you were trying to hide anything or trying to be mysterious but it was because you wanted to use the social media platforms as your personal diary and no one stayed on one topic in their diary.

You had been staying at Mason’s house a lot this month as he tried to sort out his contract which meant he wasn’t at home that much so you would occasionally treat yourself on a solo date where you would took a stroll near the park or got yourself a coffee at the new coffee shop you came across. It was therapeutic sometimes to spend time with yourself.

But today, it was different. Mason asked you out to buy some stuffs at a department store. You told Mason that you wanted to do a vlog and that he didn’t have to be in it. He didn’t mind, of course but what he didn’t knew was that it wasn’t actually a vlog.

You already had your phone recording when you did your makeup earlier so as you talked thorough all the products that you were using, you decided to talk about the plan as well but in a whispering tone now. Not that Mason could hear but just to be safe. “So, we’re going out and I wanted to prank him. I’m gonna chatter about 20 random topics I could think about at one time and none of it are gonna make any sense. I’m not sure how he’s gonna react because he never gets annoyed with me so…”

“Babe, you ready?”

“Yeah!”

﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎

“So, I went to this one bakery the other day, yeah?”

Mason had his hand on your thigh, like he always did whenever he drives and nodded to your question. Your phone was propped against something on the car dash to record both you and Mason. You had asked him once again if he wanted to be in the camera and he said of course he wanted to be seen in the camera with his girlfriend.

“And I asked the worker which one was the best-selling and she said it was pain au chocolat but they had a new menu that made them won the— Oh! Do you know the history of pain au chocolat?”

Mason blinked, trying to catch up with you before shaking his head. “No, I don’t know but babe, what about the new menu?”

“Mase, listen! So August Zang..”

“Wait, who’s Zang?”

“The one who brought pain au chocolat to France! This is why you should listen.”

“Okay, baby, I’m listening.”

“Oh! And there was this cute dog that passed by—”

“Was it Zang’s dog?”

“….what? Mase…” You gave in and cackled at his question. “That doesn’t even make any sense!”

“Oh, yeah, tell me about it, princess.” He pinched on his furrowed brows, didn’t find this whole thing funny, in fact, it was kinda stressing him out but were you gonna stop? Not yet, of course so you continued.

“Then I felt like getting a green tea but there was a stranger that walked past me and the smell of coffee from the one that she was holding— the new menu was something to do with cranberry I think.”

“Okay, babe, are you okay?” He teared his eyes away from the road as the traffic light turned red and placed his hand on the side of your face.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Do you…want me to stop talking?” You leaned into his touch and trailed off.

“No, no. Keep talking. The topics are kinda complicated but I’ll manage. So, you were talking about the dog, yeah? No? Was it the coffee? Cranberry? Zang? Which one do you want start with?”

“I want to talk about the street art I saw…” You forlornly returned his gaze.

“Okay, I don’t mind adding one more topic. Let’s take it slow, okay? What about the street art?” Mason stroked his thumb against your jawline and took your hand in his. To him, you looked the most adorable when you talked. He had a hard time catching up, sure but he didn’t mind. The sight of you blabbering, the way you bit your lips to think off the next topic, the way your hands moved randomly with every words you said. He sworn he wouldn’t trade this moment with anything else. He was listening attentively but he also couldn’t stop gazing at you full of admiration. His precious girl.

To you, he didn’t look annoyed, didn’t look irritated. Of course, you wouldn’t be able to read his mind but the public could be the one to decide on that when you posted the video on your Tiktok.

[ivestas]

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

what is most precious to you?

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

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

Word count: 1.5k

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

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

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

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

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

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

You snorted. “No, I’d sleep at 9.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thanks?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So you just did that: focus on them. 

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

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

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

You did just that—retreat. 

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

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

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

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

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

You lifted the arm, examining the wound. 

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

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

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

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

“Lass—“

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

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

Don’t. Stop.

I’m not weak. Don’t—I’m not weak! 

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

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

A hand rested on the top of your shoulder.

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

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

You expected—wanted—him to berate you. 

But he didn’t. He was kind. 

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

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

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

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

“Cutting herself?” Ghost said bluntly. 

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

Ghost ignored him. “They fresh or old?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Gimme your arm, kid.” 

You opened your mouth.

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

Shamefully, you lifted your arm slowly. 

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

Ghost opened the kit haphazardly with another hand. 

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

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

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

You nodded. 

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

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

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

“What are you living for?” 

“Mmmm.... For tomorrow’s pint.” 

You laughed. 

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

“Yeah?” 

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

They care.  

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

They really care. 

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

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

AO3

Masterlist

Requests are open

[chosobeee]

𝓕𝓪𝓵𝓵𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓐𝓼𝓵𝓮𝓮𝓹 𝓞𝓷 𝓗𝓲𝓶 ♡

Pairing: Itadori Yuji x GN!Reader

Word Count: 883

Warnings: Just a lot of fluff, very self indulgent. Yuji is SMITTEN. Mostly proofread, but there could still be mistakes.

A/N: I will be making more of these for different characters, but I got a little carried away with this one and now it's 2 in the morning, so go me :D This is my first post in a VERY long time, so please be nice, I know it's no where near perfect. Regardless, I hope you all enjoy! xx

- You guys probably stayed up too late binge watching each other’s favorite movies together.

- Yuji was very immersed in the movie you picked out. He would occasionally turn to you to say something or ask questions about it to make sure he was getting everything right. He cares about your hyper fixations, okay?

- He also loves to try and predict what’s gonna happen—and he’s very good at it. It takes everything in you to keep a straight face when he guesses things correctly, because you don’t want to ruin the surprise. Though the excitement of watching him react to your favorite pieces of media is hard enough to control as it is. 

- About an hour into the third movie of the night, you started to feel your eyes grow heavy and your breathing even out. You became less reactive to the movie and more focused on trying to stay awake. You really didn't want this night to end just yet. 

- Yuji didn’t really seem to notice this, as his attention was fixed on the screen, his brows furrowed and mouth slightly parted. You would’ve chuckled at him if it weren’t for how tired you’ve become. 

- Sleep slowly but surely creeping up, you burned the image of his adorable concentration face deep into your mind to cherish it forever. If only you had the energy to snap a real photo, but this will have to do.

- Finally, your eyes closed for the final time that night, your body deciding that it was indeed bed time. 

- Yuji felt a warm weight fall against his bicep, and with a soft sound of surprise, turned to see you had fallen asleep on him. His heart suddenly swelled with adoration as he looked over your sleeping figure. He nearly stopped breathing, almost terrified to wake you. 

- It took EVERYTHING in this man to hold back his cute aggression. I mean, look at you! All snuggled up against him, breathing softly between parted lips, cheek smushed against his arm. 

- His face grew hot and he took a few deep breaths to calm himself. No matter how much he wants to give you the biggest hug and squeeze, he could just never disturb your peace like that. 

- With how tense things have been getting in the world of sorcerers, it was becoming a rare sight to see you like this. Fully relaxed, heart and mind free of any fear or worry. It brought a little tear to his eye. 

- He already made it his life’s mission to protect you, but moments like these really cement that. He wants to keep you like this, undisturbed and at true peace with the world—with him. He'll continue to fight like hell for that to happen.

- A new ache in Yuji’s upper back snaps him out of his thoughts, and a new worry takes hold.

- What does he do now? Does he stay here? Or should he carry you to your bed so you can sleep properly? 

- If you stayed here on the couch with him, Gojo would surely find you guys in the morning and you would never hear the end of it. Not to mention you would probably be a bit sore when you woke. 

- But if he took you to your bed he risked waking you and he wouldn’t be able to sleep by your side. The thought makes him pout a bit.

- The decision was so small but seemed so huge to him in that moment. Poor guy nearly panicked, thinking a little too hard. Steam practically rolled out of his ears, going over the pros and cons of each choice.

- You shifted a little in your sleep, and his breath hitched in his throat, watching, waiting. But you didn’t wake, eyes firmly closed shut, still breathing slow and steady. Your face twitched a little bit as you let out a content noise, to which Yuji smiled.

- Ultimately though, he decided to stay out here with you. He could deal with Gojo’s teasing, as he already does every day. Plus he could easily just figure out a way to turn Gojo's teasing to Megumi. He just really wants to stay by your side tonight, feeling extra clingy and affectionate.

- He maneuvered you carefully so your head was on his chest, and your body immediately adjusted accordingly. You balled some of his sweatshirt in your hand and nuzzled your head deeper into his warmth. He laid back as far as he could manage, arms wrapping around you and squeezing lightly. His thumb traced absentminded circles on your shoulder.

- Though his heart was nearly pounding out of his chest, you didn’t seem to notice as you began to snore lightly. Heat crept up his neck as he held back a squeal of adoration, bottom lip jutting out, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment. 

- See? You don’t even have to try and he folds for you. He always has and always will.

- Yuji feels so at peace with you. And knowing you feel safe enough to fall asleep around him, letting your guard down completely--it makes him feel a strange sense of pride. 

- He doesn’t think he’ll ever get over the fact that you chose him. He’s thankful every single day that he not only gets to know you, but gets to be the one you’re closest to. The giddiness probably won’t ever go away. And you feel the same. 

- After a while of fawning over you, he felt sleep begin to carry him away, too. 

- With a smile on his face and you wrapped in his arms, he fell into his slumber, waiting to wake up to your beautiful face in the morning—something he hopes he can do every morning for a long, long time. 

[meadowscarlet]

freak in you ━━━ eddie munson.

pairings: eddie munson x fem!cheerleader!reader

summary: having a secret relationship with you, a popular and beautiful cheerleader, makes it difficult for eddie, the well-known freak, to maintain the secrecy of your relationship especially when you're flaunting your short cheerleading skirt, looking both hot and adorable at the same time which drives eddie slightly insane and causes him to lose control of himself.

warnings: nsfw, eddie is down bad for the reader, vaginal fingering, praise kink, skirt kink (does that even exist? lol) uses of pet names, cursing and dry humping.

author’s note: i honestly don’t know why i wrote this but enjoy i guess. do not copy, post on another site, translate or claim any of my works as your own or you will be reported! nav.

Eddie first met you in middle school. You were the most beautiful girl he had ever seen, in his eyes, and he was easily infatuated. He remembered how he would memorize the side of your face, annotating your delicacy, and how sometimes when he was bored in class he would do some sketches about you, always admiring. He would have felt like a stalker by the back of the class—always admiring and nothing else.

You wouldn’t notice him anyway. Eddie has always been in the background; he would sit in the farthest corner of the classroom, away from everyone, and eat lunch with his freakish friends as the popular guys taunted and threw shit at their meal while everyone laughed at them. Eddie was used to everyone taunting and insulting him, so he didn't mind.

In short, Eddie gives no fucks.

Obviously, at first, it bothered him, but all of a sudden, he realized that nobody—who is an asshole in his book—was worth caring about. Everyone but you. Even though you were a pretty little thing, Eddie had learnt not to judge a book by its cover and he was still leery of you. He wasn't surprised that your reputation as a popular girl from middle school continued into high school, but he always assumed that you were just like everyone else.

Eddie hasn’t always been the wisest so he assumed wrong. Despite your notoriety, you proved him wrong by treating him with nothing but gentleness. When you caught Eddie staring at you in class, you would smile at him (which was embarrassing for Eddie, but hey, at least you didn't look at him oddly) or you would even continue to ask how his day was; you were never mean or a complete ass to him, and that made Eddie even more smitten with you, if that's possible.

Eddie was often caught off guard by you, which in some way led to your bond. Many people found it odd that you were friends with Eddie the “freak,” believing that he would have a negative influence on you, but you weren't bothered and kept your friendship with him. You were an angel that managed to captivate everyone with your lovely demeanor and beauty, preventing them from being able to dislike you.

In contrast to your beauty and other qualities, Eddie really admired your resolve to be with him. He recalled how you occasionally skipped cheerleading practices so you could see him at his trailer and listen to him play his guitar. Something about the way you value him beyond all others. Feelings first surfaced when your relationship became so strong that Eddie realized he had always wanted to be with you.

He didn't envision you to feel the same way about him. He didn't hate it—he fucking loved it—but he was anxious about you because many people detested him and his entire being. You might have passed into opposition to the hatred they directed at him, but you persisted. You showed him that the feelings you had for him were similar to his feelings for you. So it all began when your mutual feelings of lust, love, and trust began to blossom.

You both agreed to keep it a secret for a while.

Eddie thought it was a good idea.

Until it wasn’t.

Being forced to pretend as though Eddie wouldn't fuck you senseless in your short, skimpy skirt that taunted him each and every time you had to wear it for practice was getting boring. Your smooth, exposed legs—which would look great wrapped around his hips—just made you appear so gorgeous. He could already picture it, and it was enough for him given how hard he already was.

Eddie drew you to his room, his hands firm on your waist and ass, the instant you entered his trailer after practice, calling him with your soothing voice that did wonders for his already crazed head. As Eddie gripped your ass and fumbled with the ends of your skirt while grunting in satisfaction, you gasped in surprise and brought your hands to land against his chest.

“Eddie?”

“Do you fucking realize what you're doing to me?” He brought you to him as you fell on his lap, gasping, and he sighed as he settled on his bed.

Eddie's hands tightened around your waist, sending chills down your spine as you felt how hard his dick was already under your clothed pussy, and you suddenly felt a surge of pleasure and uncertainty. As you squirmed on his lap while you were strangling him, you became aware of what you were doing.

“Yeah,” he breathed out, guiding your hips back and forth against him. “Keep doing that, sweetheart.”

You held onto Eddie's shoulders as he spread his legs out farther and caressed your ass under your skirt with his hand–which were cold and his rings sent shivers on your skin–as you became unexpectedly needy. You liked the sudden pleasure you were experiencing as he bucked his hips against you, which caused you to whimper softly.

He says blearily, “Fuck, sweetheart,” and grabs your jawline with his other hand, forcing you to look into his eyes as he gives you a full-mouth kiss. He then delicately sucked on your bottom lip and continued to caress your ass until it reached your covered pussy, which is throbbing between his thighs.

Eddie brushed his lips to yours and murmured, “I want this off,” gesturing to your underwear as he ran his cool fingers over your clothed slit, making you moan softly.

Eddie stopped you almost too abruptly when you started taking off your skirt, saying in a voice that was almost dark with need, “No, leave the skirt on.”

At first, you didn't understand, but as soon as you noticed the thick layer of hunger in Eddie's eyes, you did. He was usually touchy whenever you wore your cheer skirt, as you remembered. Eddie is overcome with desire, something about the way the fabric rides up to your impeccable thighs catches his attention when you sit down or the way it reveals your silky legs.

He carried you by the hips to turn you around until your back was firmly pressed on his chest as soon as you hurriedly removed your underwear. Eddie's finger immediately stroked your folds before entering without a warning, making you moan in surprise. You could feel how you tensed when Eddie added another finger, and you could feel the coldness of his rings as it added pressure as he swirled his fingers within your clit.

He tenderly nibbled your shoulder and said, “God, you're so wet.” The sensation of his hot breath against your ear made you whine. “My pretty girl is wearing her pretty little skirt. You're fucking driving me crazy.”

Eddie was completely enthralled with you since you were so stunning. The way you grinded yourself against his fingers, letting your juices stain his fingers and rings, was so pleasant. Your face scrunched up in pleasure as his fingers moved quickly against your cunt. And the noises you produced were far better to those provided by guitar strings. Shit, Eddie never once complained despite being utterly consumed by you.

You were so tight and Eddie could feel your walls tightening around his fingers. His need for you was so intensely sparked by your arousal that he worked on his fingers more fast to make you moan in a way that was mesmerizing to his ears. Your skirt riding up to your thighs caught Eddie's attention; you appeared to be like a goddess writhing on his thighs.

“Yeah, just like that sweetheart,” Eddie said, nibbling your earlobe. “You’re doing so good. C’mon, come on my fingers, pretty girl.”

And as you came undone on Eddie's fingers, you let out a loud moan as you sensed your climax approaching.

“Eddie?” you breathed out, face flushed adorably.

“Yes, sweetheart?”

“What—what was that all about?”

“Your skirt,” Eddie said, almost breathless. “It drives me crazy.”

Your lips quirked upward as you turned your head to face him and gave him a peck on his lips. “I’ll make sure to always come here after my cheer practices.”

“You’re teasing me,” he deadpanned.

“Maybe,” you grinned.

Eddie said, almost serious, his eyes roving around you with wanton hunger, his other hand stroking your inner thigh. “Next time it'll be my dick instead of my fingers.”