#[ then i do think that there's something a little... odd going on there. it has many interesting “undertones” when she talks to them. ]

[yeyinde]

touch starved reader with an oral fixation x kidnapper!Simon who’s all punishment and no physical affection? Please Simon just a little kiss? with tongues? :( (i just wanna make out with this man while my heart aches for him)

by Allah, you people are dogs. i will write the filth as usual.

DEAD DOVE, 18+ | dubcon. kidnapping. mean!Simon. dom!Simon. masking corporal punishment as affection. kissing. size kink, size difference. some thigh riding. degradation + humiliation (verbal). non-con pet play. marking (heavyyyyyy mentions of Simon biting you like a chew toy). choking. daddy kink (but in the awful, demeaning way). manipulation. forced affection. coersion. forced/manufactured dependency. brief mention of Simon stepping on your back to hold you down so he can whip you w a cat o nine tails. yanno. the usual Friday night.

idk. there's something so hot about you, completely naked, riding Simon's clothed thigh as he holds you up by your neck. tongue out, desperate for a kiss while he just mocks you the whole time.

It's survival. 

At first.  

A means of masking the innate horror of being stripped of your agency, your autonomy, by a man you barely even know. One you met once before (fate sealed), and now—outside of your apartment complex where he was idling by the foothold, smoking a cigarette as he leaned against the brick wall, head turned. Gaze narrowed as you approached. 

Waiting for someone, you assumed, thinking nothing else about the matter. 

Nothing else, except—

He looked familiar. You think you saw him before. He was staring at you. Hadn't stopped. Hasn't said a word, either. The silence was oppressive. Heavy. Your hands fumbled with the keys. Shaking. Trembling. 

He's pretty, you thought, suddenly. In the way car wrecks can sometimes be. Jarring and awful and hideous, but—

Mesmerising. 

Macabre. And that's what he is. Everything from the mask on his face (skulls, go figure), to the absurdity in his size, his width. The way space itself seemed to move around him, bending and distorting just to let him pass. His own gravitational pull. Magnetic. You feel it tugging on you as he pulls another lungful of smoke. Another. Another.  

(like an hourglass, a timebomb, almost. you wonder what will happen when it runs out—)

He gives you the creeps. Suddenly. Unexpectedly. A visceral sense of unease curdling in the pit of your belly as he keeps staring, staring. Eyes—crystalline under the broken headlamp, washout into crushed topaz—drilling into your back, sharp enough to flay skin. Everything inside of you says to run, but your key won't fit inside the lock. Won't—

Ever. 

And hindsight has always been a bitter thing, hasn't it? Cruel in her mockery. Had you known, then, that he wasn't a workman loitering by the complex, waiting for a friend; or a low-level drug dealer casting webs into the plum hewn aether, it might have saved you. Might have. 

Maybe. Because he was there, waiting for you, all along. 

Life has a funny way of paying back good deeds. All it took for your life to crumble down around you, rubble falling off of a shaking mountain, was kindness. Was seeing a large man in the pouring rain, already drenched. Black clothing sticking to the granite contours of his body, and offering sanctum in the shape of a rusting umbrella you found at a thrift store for three dollars. 

(“here,” you said, chipper. All smiles. “i live just down the street, and you look like you need it more than i do. do you want it?”

and he—

he simply stared. stared. his eyes liquid, molten, as they carelessly dropped, roaming down the length of your body at his own leisure. leering. assessing. it was odd. weird, but—

he huffed, then. seemingly satisfied by whatever you measured up to in his head. his neck lulled back, and he gazed at you from down the crooked length of his nose, tucked neatly away under the thick band of a facial mask. skulls. how could you be so stupid? 

slowly, like he was trying not to startle a mare, his gloved hand reached out, curling thick fingers around the hilt of it. he tugged once. in your stupor, you forgot to let go. embarrassment flooded in. he huffed again, quietly amused, as you untangled your numbed fingers from the umbrella. 

in your distraction, he moved closer. smelled of ash, of mildew. sweat and stale cigarettes. there was something predatory in the way he slipped through space. a preternatural quiet. an eerie stillness. 

you hadn't realised he was there, looming, until he rasped out, “more ‘n you could ever realise, pet.”

and you're sure why you do it. did it. but your hand slips into your shopping bag, eyes widen. heart thundering in your chest. 

“are you hungry? i, uh, i just bought some apples, um—”

his eyes are lavascapes. shackles. chains. “i could eat.”)

And now—

Forced to play this strange cat and mouse of his where he treats you like soot on the bottom of his shoe, and you pretend that it's affection. Love. How godless.  

Protection, he calls it. 

("mine," he whispers, orison soft, into your ear. "ain't go' nowhere else to go, do you, pet? world's big. would eat a small thing like you up. safer here. wit' me. only me.") 

You wonder what he'd do if you told him the biggest danger here was the madness nestled inside your head, the one that sometimes made you look at him like he was your salvation instead of the warden holding the end of your leash in a firm hand. Unyielding—like everything he does. Is. 

Withholding, too. Everything must be earned. Nothing given. Nothing handed out. And you know that this is a ploy, a tactic. Subterfuge meant to chisel into your sense of self, dehumanise you. Turn you into a simpering, obedient little doll for him to play with as he wishes. You know this, and yet—

It's survival, you promise yourself as he tugs on the hook latched to your collar, testing it for weakness. Survival, when his hands—bare, bare; warmed skin against skin, you could just weep—brush over your throat, nails skimming goosebumped flesh as he wedges one, then two inside, hirsute knuckles tickling your pulse. It tightens the collar to near choking. Intentional, you know. He likes it when you beg—for air, for food, water, him. 

Vile man. Awful. 

(You want to roll on your belly at his feet.)

This cold, cruel touch lights a fire under your skin. It's been months since he's last done so. Always wearing gloves when he has to. Using paddles, belts, when you misbehave. Never his bare hand. Not anymore. 

(“m’hand is for good girls,” he slurred, words merging, meshing together, painted with exertion. He wedged his boot against the small of your back, holding you down, and cracked the end of a cat over your bare ass, thighs. Unbothered by your howls, your screams, as the whip bit into your skin. You've never so much as been hit as a child for misbehaving, and now, as an adult, you have a madman standing over you, introducing you to something called a cat o’nine tails—a favourite in the army, lovie. “bad girls,” his boot pressed down harder, heel digging into your spine. “Bad girls get the whip—”)

Bad. Bad. Because you tried to run, to leave him. He dressed you up, called you Mrs Riley, and you—

Ducked out the back door when he turned away for a second. 

Stupid. It was poor timing. A test. He set you up, measuring your loyalty to him, your commitment, and you failed. Failed. 

(“this is what ‘appens when spoiled little cunts get their way too much. they act out, don't they? bitin’ the ‘and that feeds. you'll learn soon enough, though—”)

Ghost—sir, sir (master, maker, god; you'll call him anything he wants if he touches you again)—pulls his fingers away, depriving you of his touch once more. And it's all so stupid. So fundamentally wrong, deplorable, but you follow. Needy. Whining for it in the back of your throat. 

It's been months. Months without touch. Without sensation outside of leather lashing across your thighs, your ass; harsh, gloved fingers digging into your jaw, braced against the back of your head, as you swallow down his cock in an effort to prove to him you've been good. So good. Can be good. His good girl. 

You need to touch him. Need his touch. Ache for it, for something outside of this nook he placed you inside of, denied the privilege of living upstairs with him after you tried to escape. 

You want to. Badly. Your fingers twitch. Ghost sees it. Hums. 

“Need somethin', pet?” 

Your mouth is dry. You swallow. It burns. It hurts. “Yes—”

“Yes, what?”

“Sir—”

Behind the mask he's yet to take off for you fully, only ever hitching it under his chin to devour your cunt whenever you've been good, his jaw tightens, the fabric bunching up. 

You reel back from the look of sheer displeasure etching harsh lines into the hollow gaps of his eyes. Heart thundering. Stomach churning. 

“Mas—” he cuts you off with a soft sigh. Marked with his irritation. “D—dad—”

Dad. A new one. Daddy. He didn't seem like the sort to be into this type of play, not with his sardonic, deadpan eyes. His mockery. His dessicated humour, awful and biting. You'd have sooner expected him to laugh at you—in that slow, deep hum he gives; a little chuff, full of condescension and jeer—than to get off on it. On you, kneeling between his legs with your chin braced against his palm, mouth open, tongue out, as he fucks into the tight clench of his fist, groaning as you beg daddy to give you a taste. 

It's gross. Disgusting. 

It's not done for anything else other than to humiliate you. To crush you under the heel of his boot—little bug—so that you will always know where your place is in this scenario. His little wife. Mother, mum—

He pulls on the leash, jerking you forward. Purrs, “good girl,” and then steps back, moving away from you. Cruel. Dismissive. You hate him, hate him—

(Need him so deeply. With every fibre of your being—)

You watch him as he goes, mourning the loss of his presence already, as he paces around your space, your cage. Broad shoulders barely fitting inside. Head ducking to avoid hitting his crown on the popcorn ceiling. It's strange seeing him here like this. Prowling. He usually comes when he wants you, when he needs to enact more merciless punishment on you for whatever perceived evils you committed (not greeting him with a kiss when he walked in, not letting him suffocate himself in your cunt when he had you sit on his face, not making him cum all over your face quick enough when you knew he had other engagements to get to—), or when he ruts, heavily, between your thighs, cold and detached. Seeking pleasure from your icy flesh, and giving nothing in return but white hot agony. 

Him here, idling in your presence, is revolutionary. 

“S–sir—?”

He hums, quiet. Sits in the chair as you gather the fragments of yourself littered on the ground. His mood is malleable, it seems. 

You push, fingertips sinking into the putty of his agreeable temperament. “Can I—”

You waver when his sharp eyes raze over your bare body—clothes are for good girls, after all—pupils sloshing over the edges, bleeding into midnight blue. 

Your body is a battlefield. Every inch of skin branded with his mark—pretty, thrawn rings of teeth tattooed in silver, haloed in black and red, desecrate your flesh: neck, collarbones, breasts, belly, thighs (a particular favourite of his), ass, mons; all bitten through, chewed up. It weeps when you move, has blood trickling down your skin. The cracking scabs make him coo, poor thing, all bloody fer me? and he licks at them, sucks, until only a pinkish wound in the mimesis of canines remains. 

Uprooted, turned into something new—

His chest expands when he settles his gaze on the sliver of space between your spread thighs. Concealed in tenebrous, hidden from his leering, lecherous view. He cocks his head, considers something unknown to you. His thoughts, his mind, worlds away. Untouchable. 

(only to bad girls, he’d snarled out when you asked why—)

“Testin’ my patience still?” He doesn't rip his gaze away from your cunt, speaks to it sometimes more than he speaks to you. “Thought this alone time might’a cleared your ‘ead.”

You flush. Embarrassment roiling through you. His displeasure is a palpable thing. Heavy. You hate the weight of it. 

“I need—I need you.”

Another toneless hum. “‘Course you do. Ain't got anyone else.”

He's awful. Hideous. You want to rip his tongue out of his mouth. “I—I want you. Please.”

Ghost doesn't answer. You stopped expecting him to a long time ago, his moods odd measures of ebbs and flows; passive and mild, cracking terrible, awful jokes as he strokes your back, hands riveted to your skin, and then biting and caustic the next. Pushing and pushing until you lash out, snap, so he has a reason to push you down, punished and smothered under his bulk, as he ruts into you like a beast, a man starved. Tells you it's for your own good. That you need him. Would be lost without him. 

Bludgeoning a hole into you wide enough for him to crawl inside of. Poisoning you from the inside out with the same nocuous rot that flows in his veins. 

Maybe that's been his agenda all along. Maybe. To make you want him as badly as he wanted you. Desperate, obsessive. Going so far as to follow you home, lost little mutt waiting in the shadows outside of your door until you threw him another bone. And when that didn't work, when the food stopped being enough—

He took you. Held you captive in his house deep in the wilderness. A place so endlessly green that you sometimes stare out at it—unfathomable sea of phalthos and jasper—and feel dizzy. You'll get lost out there—

just like he says. 

As he turns your obsecration over in his head, you wait, supplicant to this man as you rest on your knees. Pretty pet with a golden collar adorned in gems. 

Fitting, you find. With his head cradled against his thick knuckles, you can't help but shiver at the way he looks shrouded in the gloaming embers of a fading twilight. Leonine. A king perfectly at ease in this thick, caliginous atmosphere.

His eyes burn, magmatic, in the low light. Vats of endless ink. Black holes that will swallow you whole if you get too close. But he's poised. Contemplative. Assessing. 

And then grips the end of the leash tight in his other hand. Tugs.  

You obey the wordless command, crawling on your hands and knees to where he's spread out on the recliner. Laxed, dripping with a careless indifference as you wander to him, resting your chin on the spread of his knee. 

Looking up, up, at him, waiting. Wanting. 

There's so much of him—a fact that has been the catalyst to your downfall the moment you saw him standing under the awning; this massive creature. Thighs wider than the width of your body. Burly forearms. Broad shoulders. He's big. Indomitable. Thick, endlessly so. But there's a give to his body. Valleys of softness hiding corded muscle. Firm, but—

Your fingers sink into the soft give of his belly when you reach out, bracing against stomach. Pulling yourself further into the bracket of his spread thighs, inching closer to him. 

He meets your reverent stare, eyes liquid along his lower lash line.

“Thought you were gonna keep me waitin’ all night,” he muses, giving another pull on the leash. It destabilises you. Your nose bumps into his sternum, and you moan at the sting. 

There's a dissonance in the back of your head. A hairline fracture in the line that keeps a degree of separation between pleasure and pain. They meet against the crack in the divide, merging into a abysmal polyphony conducted by his hand. 

He watches, amused, as you whimper, sniffing harshly against the burn. It's not bleeding, and not broken—small mercies, you suppose—and you let it simmer into a dull ache as you slowly clamber into his lap.

Ghost leans back as you settle, greedily taking in the sight of your thighs stretched wide over his leg, cunt pressed, tight, against the rough scrape of his jeans. The touch burns. He hasn't touched your pussy in weeks—

“C’mon,” he urges, hand spanning the width of your lower back. Coaxing. “Show me ‘ow good you can be.”

It's all the permission you need. Slowly, slowly, your hips start to gyrate, dragging your slit over the coarse material. The friction is agony. You need more—

He draws his other hand up, curls it around your neck, forcing your head back, back. You gasp, staring at him, dizzy, from down the slope of your nose. The clasp of the collar digs into your skin. It hurts. It's too much. 

you don't want him to stop. 

His hand is huge. It spans the entire length of your neck, thumb to your pulse, pinky grazing the hollow of your throat. It forces you to lift your chin higher just to let him fit.

He likes it, too, you know. His eyes darken as he takes in the sight of his bare hand, scarred and thick; dusted with a cropping of fine hairs along his scabbed knuckles, sitting against the whole of your throat. Swallowing you up. Can feel how much he enjoys the sheer depth between your sizes when his cock twitches, stiffening more

The look on his face is appraising, anatomising. There's a cold measure of distance in his gaze. A barren polynya. You want to cross it. Chart these untamed lands until they're deeply ingrained within your being. Cimmerian effigy burning to keep you warm. 

It's survival, you think, and arch into the palm of his hand. 

He holds you like a doll. One hand on your lower back, pressing your cunt to thigh. The other tightening around your throat. Bare skin against bare skin, and oh, you could just cry—

But this is not what you need. What you want. And he knows. He always does. Knows the inside of you like it's written down—inked on paper. Thumbs through the makeup of you, chapter by chapter, until no mystery remains. 

“Tell me what you need, pet. Beg for it.” 

“Let me—” his hands tighten, choking the air from your throat. Crushing your collar against your neck. “Lemme—kiss you, please, please—”

Tighter. Tighter. The world around you swims under a thin ocean. Phosphenes swim, untethered, in your periphery, ghosting along the curve of his shoulders. He might kill you yet. Keeping going, going, until those brittle, bird-like bones in your neck snap—

You'd let him, you think, muscles falling lax. Submissive. Just the way he says he likes even though you know he fucks you harder, touches you more, more, when you act out. Misbehave. 

“Kiss me?” He taunts, words abrasive. Strident. Scrubbing hard against your skin. “Ain't that jus’ the sweetest thing I ever ‘eard.” 

You burn, blister. “Please—”

“Reckon I ought to. Kissed your pretty cunt ‘fore I even kissed your lips, huh, pet?” 

Your chest folds over itself. Stomach knotting. Balling tight. Unease is a razor blade scraping your nerves. 

“Simon—”

“Ah, ah—” his hand tightens. Vicious. Chiding. “You ‘aven’t earned the privilege of sayin’ my name, ‘ave you? Cheeky thing. Might ‘ave to take a cane to you next.” 

“No, no, no—! I'm—”

“Sorry?” He mocks, cocking his head. Condescension drips from the corners of his eyes. 

“Please, sir—”

“Dad is gettin’ tired of this attitude of yours, pet—” his fingers dig into your skin, hard. Biting. A warning, you know. The blunt press of a blade to your jugular. But it thrums along the suture line to your desire, a wellspool of murk coiling low in your guts. You throb, cunt clenching down around nothing. Achingly empty. “Thought we got rid of it this time ‘round. Learned our lesson.”

The words are frank, prosaic. Had you any sense of self still malingering in the back of your head, you might have struck him for the blatant disrespect. But as you struggle to reach for it, pawing around in the vacuous abyss for any fragment of who you were before this, before him, you know—without any doubt—that none exists. Nothing. He’s too ingrained in your marrow, hewn into your skin. Copper sutures holding his filament within you. Cradled between your thighs, nestled in the rotting vacancy of your heart. 

He knows you. Every part—

“We did—we did, da—daddy, please—” 

It’s shallow. Muffled, like he’s trying to swallow it down, but you feel it rumble through his broad chest. A guttural sound. A groan. Drenched in pleasure, in want. So thick, you could almost taste it. 

He hides his need under a layer of derision. 

“Such a needy thing, ain't you? Desperate little slag like you wouldn't last out there, would you?” 

His hand digs into your hip, pushing you off of his thigh. Eyes skewering into the wet stain on his trousers. A huff spills out—the sound a near perfect mimicry of crushing charcoal in your hand. 

“No. You'd be eaten alive. Torn to pieces. World's too big for somethin' like you.”

Mindless, dazed, you nod. Arching into him. The leather leash snaps against your chest. “Yes, yes—”

His cock presses into your thigh, hard, fat. Your mouth waters. Drool dribbles down your chin. 

He smells of tinder when he leans in close, blood drenched words biting into your skin. “messy today, aren't you? Be lost without me. Tha’s why you wear a collar, isn't it?”

Pitifully, you nod. Eyes full of tears. Each word is a bludgeon into your resolve. Into your sense of self. 

But it earns you his affection, and his thumb presses into the corner of your mouth, unhinging your jaw until it falls open, lax. He holds you like that, mouth lax with his hand still around your neck. The other lifts away from your lips, goes to the thick band around the bridge of his nose, slips inside. 

There's no buildup to it. No lingering sense of anticipation. Practical, detached, he merely tugs it down, and lets it snap under his chin. 

Your breath is punched out of your lungs at the sight of him. Barefaced. Scarred. His nose is crooked; a jagged hook with scar tissue delineating the spots where it's been broken too many times. His lips are—

Full. 

Mangled. 

Scars run in thick slashes over them, denting the flesh in places. Burn marks line his pale flesh. Charcoal rubs into his eyes, highlighting the whites of his lashes against smeared soot. 

He's—

Pretty. 

Like a car crash. Calamity. The broken remains of a town after a hurricane, a tornado, ripped it apart. Ugly, brutal. His face looks like it's been mauled by a bear, a tiger. Scarred and hideous, and—

You shiver. His eyes drop, landing on your own lips. The soot on his brow flutters down, lands on his eyelashes when he lifts his brow up mockingly. Derision curdling an awful smirk on the corner of his mouth. Crooked. Like him. Like his teeth. His nose. His boxy jaw. His lips—

You kiss him. 

Can't help yourself, really. There's a pull. Gravitational. Magnetic. You need, need, to taste him. To quench this ache in your jaw that makes you want to wrap your tongue around something, play with it between your teeth. Soft and sweet—

Ghost's lips are plump beneath yours. The thick scar tissue is almost velveteen when it glides over your bottom lip. You moan into it, into the feeling; victory—however pyrrhic—swims like mercury in your veins. Finally. 

And he doesn't kiss you back. Doesn't make any effort to reciprocate at all, but he's not tense beneath you. Not stunned. Or reluctant. He’s pliant. Malleable. Agreeable, willing to let you devour his mouth, his taste, as much as you want. Doting. Letting you spoil yourself on him. With him.

Because you need him, don't you? 

Like the air you breathe. The food he gives you—apples, always, on rainy days; salmon and rice in a pretty bowl with your name etched into the porcelain—and the attention, the affection—

(suck my cock, pretty girl. don't make me put a gag on you—deeper, you can take it, can't you? take my fat cock all the way up inside your sweet little cunt—my pretty girl—)

—it’s all so divine. 

His hands on your body, your throat, spasm. Once. Just once. Against your leg, his cock twitches. Leaks prespend into the demin. You rut against his thigh, aching for it. Whimpering—

And then he's groaning into the kiss, snarling out your name until it wedges between your lungs, syphoned in from his scorching breath. Another brand in the shape of him. 

Ghost kisses the same way he eats—messy, sloppy; all teeth and tongue, and full pretty lips. Clumsy, like no one taught him how to properly hold his silverware and he's trying to mock what he saw on television. Brumish. A broken, contemptuous pastiche of sumptuosity. A starving dog, snarling around its plundered morsel. Protective. Possessive. 

It coils around you. Thick, smothering. 

He sucks your tongue into his mouth, catching it between his teeth. The sting brings tears to the corner of your eyes, and when you pry them open, you find him already staring at you (always, always, always—), lidded. Heavy pools of desire shaded in the brume of a winter dawn. A bonfire flickering in the distance of a whiteout. Sanctuary from the cold—

He seems to catch himself. Expression flickering. Warbling around the edges. It closes off in a blink. He pulls back. Locks into the ashlar veneer of this indifference he wears like a suit of armour. 

But you saw it. It was there. Within reach—

“Need me, don't you?” He drawls, timber a needlepoint between cruelty and desire. Sultry, low. Husky. He knows what it does to you. How he can unravel you at the seams with just his voice alone. “Need me so fuckin’ much, pet. Would be lost without me—”

“Please, Simon,” you whisper, feather-soft. Cunt throbbing, pulsing. Needy. “Please—”

The strident reprimand for using his name doesn't come. His hand tightens around your throat, unconscious. A paroxysm that has pleasure carving itself down your spine, electric. 

“Come get it, then,” he rasps, voice wrecked. Raw. Curling at the edges, thickening his accent until the words elide. 

Hand to your throat, he drags you close. Closer still. Keeps you sat pretty on his lap as he pulls you in for a bruising, hungry kiss. Tongue shoving between your teeth when you gasp.

His kisses are always hungry, but this is different. Greedy. He devours you whole. Eats you alive. His hand falls to your lower back, holding you tight to his chest.

You moan into it, fingers digging into the fabric of his shirt. Squeezing until your knuckles blanche, joints twinging in discomfort. 

After months of nothing, this alone is bliss. His taste soaking onto your tongue, drenching it in the bitter tang of sage, wheatgrass, and stale cigarettes. Intoxicating. It leaks into you, nocuous. Infects from the inside out. 

His plan coming to fruition, you think. What he sought out to do all along, ever since you wandered close to this untameable Tartarean guard, and offered yourself up to the jowls of a starving beast. 

He pulls away with a heavy breath, eyes charing around the edges; brittle briquette. 

“Gonna be a good girl from now on? Come upstairs, be a good mum for dad? Or am I gonna ‘ave to cane this—” his hand drops, grabbing a fistful of your ass in his hand, fingers digging into the skin between your cheeks. Possessive. It cracks like a whip down your nerves. “—tight lit’le arse?”

You shake your head instantly. Quickly. “I'll be good,” you whisper into his chin, tongue flicking out to lick across his scars. The dried sweat on his skin tastes briny. Reminds you of the ocean on a brumous November evening. The incipient yawn of a ravenous hurricane gathering its lot on the shore. 

Sirens blare in the distance. Fear curdles in your guts, sits heavy like a stone. An anchor. 

“So sweet f’me,” he mutters, words deepening as his head falls back, letting you pepper kisses across the underside of his jaw. Mouthing along the constellation of scars. His voice is rumble. It shivers across your lips, tongue. Shakes the marrow in your bones. “Better stay this way, pet.”

Into his pulse, you murmur, “I think you like it better when I’m bad.” 

You can feel the snarl brimming in the back of his throat. Your ass stings with the phantom burn of when he lashed out with the whip. It drags a whimper out from deep within your chest. 

His hand tightens around your neck. A warning. “Got some guests over f’dinner tonight. Would love to finally introduce them to my sweet little wife—” deft fingers slip across the dewy skin of your folds, knuckles grazing over your drenched hole. The touch makes you squirm. “But if you’re gonna be bad, then I’ll leave you locked up down ‘ere.”

“I’ll be good,” you swear, words a hushed breath over his jugular. His finger flattens, drawls soft, slow circles around your clit. “Ah, I’ll—I’ll be so, so good, Simon—”

“Good girls deserve rewards, don’t they?” His palm flexes possessively around your throat when you nip at old scar tissue. “Maybe I’ll let you sleep in our bed tonight instead of in your dog house. We can ‘ouse together. I’ll fuck you proper—” he roughly shoves two fingers into your hole, leering when you gasp, back arching in a bow. “Know this pretty pussy has been achin’ for me, ‘asn’t it? Gonna breed it full—”

There’s static in your head, ringing in your ear. The noise distorted, pulled underwater. You think you say something, plead—no, no, no, anything but that—but his hand tightens around your throat, fingers pushing up, up into you, notching against that spot inside that makes your head swim, your vision flicker. The abyssal chasm inside of you aches, rages; its waters swell, currents frothing, slamming against the ceiling of its iron prison, and—

Simon pulls away. Fingers stilling inside of you. No friction, no relief. Hypoxia renders the world silent. Muted. Held in stasis, stagnating at the edge of a gaping precipice he holds you over, secured by the fragile curve of your neck, fine bone china. 

Phosphenes swim by. The chossy wobbles.

This distance is agony. You need to be closer, closer, to crawl inside of him, to live in the brackets of his ribs, safe and protected from the world he warns you about. Stone cold. You mewl, whine—

“Gonna be my good little wife?”

Gasping with broken lungs, you nod. Nod, nod until you’re nauseous. Dizzy. Sick—

His spit cools on your lip. Your hackles raise, body shuddering in revulsion—some primal part rears, hisses it’s infectious. Wrong. Get rid of it—

“Not gonna run?”

Slowly, you lick your lips, catching his sickness on your tongue. Swallowing it down until it sinks like a stone to the bottom of your belly. Heavy, for such a small, damning thing. 

How absurd, you think. How absolutely mad. 

Then you whisper, paperthin, “kiss me again, please, Simon—”

And he moves. Liquid in the gloam. Made more for shadows, midnight, than for golden apricity, where the light is harsh on his face, unveiling ruins and ravines; monoliths meant to be paid tribute to in the dark. Your hands lift to his jaw when he moves in, catching your lips in a bruising, biting kiss. 

His touch is searing. Owning. He isn't laying claim: no, you're already his. 

It's possessive and angry. No finesse. All slate teeth and tender tongue. They slide together in a strange game; little fawn stupidly nipping at the tiger's heel. He lets you, groaning into your mouth when you arch back, hips pushing into his fingers, taking him deeper. A pale pantomime of what's to come when he lays you on his soft bed, sweet and divine, and buries himself deep. 

It should scare you. Ought to. And maybe it does. Survival, you think, but you still pull him closer. Deeper. Because it’s bliss, you find. The world around you falling dead. Silent. Pulled into a vacuum. Teetering on the edge of a black hole, event horizon. He drags you in. 

Simon hums, pulling you closer. Touching you—soft, sweet. Palms a gyve. Shackles, chains. His fingers lift from your neck, trailing down the slope of your throat until he reaches the golden loop of your collar's hook. His gaze glides, magmatic, down to where your leash dangles between your heaving breasts.

It's almost tender when he grabs it into his fist. When he pulls, pulls—

Your back arching. His fingers slipping deeper inside your cunt. Obedient little doll.

When he lifts his eyes, the look you find is hot enough to char bone. You taste blood in the back of your throat—

Into the seam of your mouth, he purrs, “good girl.”

—and you swallow it down with a moan. 

(after all, you know better than to run from starving dogs—)

#when your kidnapper is mean and rude as hell but you've been dtf since day one: the manifesto #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #i forget where i put peoples hands sometimes and then have to go back and remind myself where everyone's at lmao #hope you enjoyedddddddddddd #i'm gonna go pour myself a glass of bleach bye #simon ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #cod #ghost #simon ghost riley #simon riley x you #ghost x you

[nereidprinc3ss]

slumber party

in which there's only one bed. fem bau!reader x spencer reid

fluff! warnings/tags: dark humor, (the word molest is used jokingly once but in my defense your honor its completely on brand for early seasons cm humor, if u cancel me u have to cancel the whole cast those are the rules, its just a joke cause reader always flirts w him aggressively, pls don't come for me i have a wife and children and three boyfriends to take care of,) mutual pining, bullying and death threats as flirting, they love each other so much and bicker like children, glasses spencer, (moans), emily and rossi are mentioned bc canon means fuck all to me, i think thats it but this is my most out of pocket duo so if i'm wrong lmk a/n: just a silly little thing that i cooked up, not a masterpiece but i think its cute!! I hope u enjoy!! lmk what you think!! looooveee youuuu

“Oh, there is no way.”

Your duffel bag hits the dingy carpet as Spencer is still closing the door behind you. 

“What? Is it—”

You give him a look over your shoulder, eyebrows raised as if to say, what are you going to do about this?

But he only manages to meet your eyes for a split second before they’re back to the singular queen bed, darting over the white sheets and pillows like he might find another mattress if he looks hard enough. 

Sharing a room with Spencer, you can handle. You've done it before. Whenever the team has to pair up at a hotel, you two are an obvious choice. And while you occasionally butt heads, mostly you adore each other and it's great.

But sharing a bed is a whole other situation.

One you were not prepared for. And evidently, neither is he.

Watching his big anxious eyes flit around the room nervously, you feel sort of bad for your reaction. You know you can be a bit… abrasive, sometimes. 

“It’s fine, I’ll just—I’ll see if I can share a bed with Emily or JJ in their room—”

Just then there’s a knock at the door. Spencer looks relieved to have something else to focus on, turning back around and quickly undoing the latch again before opening the door to reveal your favorite raven-haired SSA. Emily leans past the doorjamb, eyes immediately honing in on the awkward sleeping arrangement. 

“Oh my god! You guys too?”

“What?” You and Spencer ask at the same time. Emily raises her eyebrows at this and glances between you, but otherwise doesn’t comment. 

“Me and JJ only have the one bed. I thought it might just have been us.”

You frown. There goes your plan of sharing a room with them. 

“What about Morgan and Garcia?”

Spencer snorts.

“Something tells me Penelope wouldn’t be too torn up about it if that's the case.”

“Hotch and Rossi?”

The room goes quiet and a little chilly as the thought disturbs everyone equally. Emily frowns deeply.

“I don’t even… I can’t picture that.”

“Can we please not try to picture it?”

“Great. Okay, well. I just wanted to make sure everyone is suffering equally. Good luck, champs.”

“Thanks,” Spencer mutters dryly. Emily smiles, eyes darting between the two of you for just a moment too long, before pushing off the door frame and disappearing from sight. Once the door is closed again, a heavy silence ensues. “I’ll… I can take the floor—”

“It’s fine, Spencer. I’m not going to make you sleep on the floor. We’re both grown-ups. Besides, we like each other, right? It’ll be like a slumber party.”

“I’ve never had one,” he admits. His glasses slip further down his nose as he frowns. Your fingers itch to push them back up. 

“Then I’m happy to be your first,” you tease, facing him fully with your hand on your hip and barely resisting the urge to add, I’ll be gentle. “Do you want the shower first or can I?”

Spencer has a habit of looking you up and down like he doesn’t realize he’s doing it. Some might find it odd, but his utter lack of social graces is, lucky for him, incredibly endearing to you. 

“You can have it first,” he says, meeting your eyes again. “Just don’t do that thing where you get the entire bathroom soaking wet.”

“Aw. But I love doing that. It’s my favorite part,” you tease, scooping up your bag once more.

Twenty minutes later you’re emerging from the bathroom with damp hair, clad in loose shorts and a college hoodie. 

“Nice outfit,” Spencer says from the spinny-chair at the desk, examining your outfit choice with a scrutiny you wish you’d been prepared for. Really, you wish you’d known ahead of time you’d have a roommate and brought some alternate sleeping clothes. “I had no idea you felt so passionately about… Scooby Doo?”

“Shut up right now,” you grit, tossing your bag into the corner of the room and tugging your hoodie down over your cartoon-patterned shorts as far as you can. 

“What?” He’s laughing as he brushes past you on his way into the bathroom, bearing his own bag. “It’s a good look for you.”

Your face is burning as you choose the side of the bed furthest from the door. Springs creak underneath your weight as you sink down, sitting with your legs hanging off the side for a moment before swinging them up onto the mattress, leaning against the headboard and side-eyeing the empty space next to you. There’s really not very much of it. The bed feels even smaller than it looks. 

From the bathroom you hear the sound of the shower squeaking and starting up again—a cacophony of droplets against tile on the other side of the wall. You try not to be nervous as you imagine Spencer filling the space beside you in just a few minutes, hair wet and in pajamas. And yet you spend each second wondering if he’s almost done, wondering if the shower will finally sputter to a halt, and once it does, wondering how long it’ll be before he’s out again. It’s ridiculous how impatient you're getting—and by the time you finally watch the door knob twist you feel crazy. 

“I think that was your longest shower yet, Dr. Reid.”

The teasing affords you a moment to ogle him head to toe, taking in his choice of pajamas—tonight, familiar plaid pants and an MIT crewneck—as well as his hair which has already begun to dry. Briefly you wonder if he does that thing guys do, where they lean down and haphazardly dry their hair with a towel because they have no concern for its texture whatsoever. But you kind of doubt it, because his hair always looks so soft. 

“You were sitting here waiting for me?” He chuckles, and honestly you’d been expecting a shyer response. But you adapt quickly. 

“Maybe I was. Big spoon or little spoon?”

“Ha-ha.” He opens a drawer in the dresser and begins unpacking his clothes into it. It's a funny habit of his. You never unpack your duffel. “You took the better side of the bed.”

“Uh, yeah. I’m the woman. I get to do that.”

“Well you should know that if an intruder breaks in, I’m not fighting him off. You’d probably have a better chance than me.”

“And my chances will be even better if he’s distracted with you first.”

“So I’m just bait?” He scoffs, looking back at you. Strands of wet hair hang so prettily around his face, like the perfect frame around a work of art. You smile sweetly from your spot on the bed before playfully biting at the air in his direction. The message goes unspoken but reads loud and clear. Of course you are. You make such good bait. 

That gets a blush out of him and he has nothing else to say as he turns back to his drawer. Happily you lean back against the headboard, stretching your legs out and bouncing slightly in place. Beneath you the mattress springs groan and squeak in protest. 

“I hope you're not going to be this irritating all night.”

It's clearly lighthearted, but you promptly stop and frown at his back. 

“Call me irritating again and see where you end up sleeping tonight.”

“I just don’t see how you’re even more hyperactive than usual right now. Has anybody ever told you that you’re crepuscular?” Spencer asks, finally sliding the drawer shut and going to shut the overhead light off. Your eyes narrow. 

“Obviously nobody has told me that.”

“It means y—”

“I’m most energetic within the few hours around dusk and dawn. Contrary to your belief, Dr. Reid, other people are also capable of looking up words in a dictionary and remembering what they mean. Are you going to stand in the corner all night or are you gonna come to bed?”

“I am,” he scoffs, clearly embarrassed and shy and embarrassed of being shy. “I’m just… you look like you kick in your sleep. And hog the blankets.”

You shrug, folding your knees to your chest and hugging them quaintly. 

“I’ve never had any complaints. In fact, you should be so lucky to share a bed with me. All five star reviews, baby.” 

You toss a suggestive wink in at the end, which seems garish enough to break the tension so that Spencer can stop lingering in the corner like a sleep-paralysis demon and move to carefully take his place next to you. He almost mirrors your position, but his legs are too long to quite manage your level of compactness and so they simply fold underneath him. A few silent moments go by, in which you have the dumbest smile on your face and you keep glancing over to the side, waiting for him to be looking back at you. 

“This is already the least relaxed I have ever been in a bed.”

“Good thing we’re not going to sleep yet.”

Finally he looks at you, a casual mix of hesitance, concern, and moderate curiosity coloring his features. 

“We’re not?”

“Oh, my god, Spencer,” you snort. “I’m not gonna molest you. We have to do slumber party stuff, remember?”

He flushes again, glancing at the digital clock in his bedside table. 

“But it’s late. We should go to sleep.”

“At slumber parties you have to stay up until you literally can’t keep your eyes open anymore. Those are the rules. I don’t make them.”

Still, your insistence that you follow the international code of sleepover law goes unabided by Spencer. He simply leans over to flick off his lamp, bathing the room in darkness. 

“I appreciate the effort,” he says, and your eyes haven’t adjusted but you can hear the rustle of sheets and blankets as he gets under them, “but unfortunately we have to be awake and alert in five hours.”

“You’re no fun,” you huff, but climb under your own side of the cover and scoot down until you’re flat on your back, covered in blanket and hands folded on your sternum. 

Spencer doesn’t respond. 

It’s silent for maybe five minutes, during which your brain doesn’t slow down at all. Maybe you are crepuscular. Or slightly nocturnal. You have nothing but energy. 

In an attempt to get comfortable, you try adjusting your position.

The mattress squeaks. 

You do it again. 

Another squeak. 

A second goes by, and now you’re intentionally jostling about, squeaking the mattress as much as you can. 

“Would you stop that?” Spencer says, voice already gravelly with sleep. You manage, but you’re already devolving into a fit of giggles. “I’m going to smother you with this pillow,” he threatens, but you hear the disgruntled smile curling his words. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I’m just not in the mood to rest.”

Another moment passes. He sighs deeply. You smile into the dark. 

“What are you in the mood for?” He asks flatly, and you’ve won. 

“Tell me a secret,” you immediately demand in a hushed tone, flipping on your side to face his back. “Something you’ve never told anyone else.”

“I don’t—”

“Shh! You have to whisper it. Those are the slumber party rules.”

“I don’t have any secrets,” he whispers, clearly flustered, and to your delight, rolling to face the ceiling. “None that you’d want to hear.”

“Oh, now that’s just not true. You’re an enigma, Spencer Reid. You fascinate me.”

You’re only sort of kidding. 

“I… fascinate you?”

“Completely. You know, ever since you moved your desk across from mine I get distracted just staring at you and wondering what you’re thinking about. But you’re very… hard to read, sometimes. I think it’s because you’re a Scorpio.”

“The position of the stars at the time I was born has no bearing on my personality.”

“Fine,” you concede, still in a glorified stage whisper. “But that doesn’t mean you don’t display the archetypal Scorpio traits. You’re all brooding, mysterious. Kinda, I don't know... intense and sexy and unknowable…”

“Sexy?” He laughs, breaking the whisper rule. You grin and let it slide. You’d hoped he would catch that one. 

“Hey,” you snap, losing the smile immediately and lightly shoving against what you hope is his shoulder. “You’re supposed to be telling me a secret, damnit. I won’t let your wiles and charm distract me from getting what I want.”

“When have you ever let anything stop you from getting what you want?”

Truly, your cheeks are going to start aching with this constant back and forth between poker-faced and huge Cheshire smile. 

“Stop flirting and answer my question, Reid.”

With the amount of times you’ve made him sigh tonight he must be dizzy. You chew your lip apprehensively in the silence, picking a loose thread on your pillow. It’s so pitch black in the room, you can’t see him where he lies only a few meager inches from you. But you can feel his presence. You can feel the unexpected bass to his voice when he’s tired and speaking this lowly, which you’ve never heard before.

“All the secrets I’ve never told anyone are just… depressing.”

Your heart sinks a little at the way he swallows between words, like that in and of itself was hard to admit. Unthinkingly your hand slides into the small gap of white cotton between the two of you. 

“Not very good slumber party material, I think,” he laughs self-consciously. 

“You’d be surprised.” 

The sentiment comes quieter and more serious than you’ve been all night. If only you had the words to tell him that he can tell you anything. That you want to hold his secrets for him under lock and key. That you would never, ever do anything less than offer him kindness and support—even if it doesn’t always seem that way when you’re teasing him. 

“Do you have any secrets you’ve never told anyone else?” He murmurs eventually, so soft it could kill you. 

And you do. There are plenty of dark ones, probably not all dissimilar from those he’d elected not to share only a moment ago. 

But you don’t bring those up. 

Instead, you decide to admit to something silly. Still, it makes you nervous as you feel it coming loose in your chest. You’ve really never told anyone this, and it’s perhaps more vulnerable than you’d realized before the words were already leaving your mouth. 

“I, have…” You pause to laugh at yourself, and continue on. “I have a stuffed dragon that I take with me on every single case.”

“You do?” Spencer laughs, so loud and unexpected it almost hurts your ears, angling his head toward you. Blood rushes to your face. 

“Yes. He usually sleeps in bed with me. He’s an excellent listener and has been the origin of several of my most genius breakthroughs. You remember Gibson Cooper?”

“Family annihilator from Houston?” 

“Correct. He’s in prison because Oscar helped me make the Cook Creek Campground connection between the O’Hara and Diangelo families.”

“You have a stuffed profiler dragon named Oscar? Is he here?”

“He’s—I mean, I wasn’t expecting to share a room with someone.”

“So he’s in your bag.”

“Yes,” you seethe, “and I will not be introducing you to him. He doesn’t do well with men.”

“You are genuinely psychotic.”

You huff.

“Fine. I’m sorry I told you anything.”

You’re about to roll over onto your other side—but Spencer surprises you by catching the hand that had been outstretched in his direction. He carefully intertwines your fingers and squeezes gently. 

“You’re right. That was mean. Thank you for telling me about Oscar.” His tone is surprisingly teasing, and you’re so uncharacteristically flustered by this rare show of physicality and affection that you can’t muster an adequate comeback. Spencer doesn’t seem to mind filling your silence, though, sounding a little more solemn now. “I’m sorry I don’t have any secrets for you.”

The way his voice gets all thin and scratchy sometimes—it’s like the earnest sincerity just pours out of him. He can’t control it. He can’t be anyone other than who he is. Maybe that’s a part of why you love him so much. You wonder if he knows how much you love him. It’s not exactly a secret—anyone on the team would be able to tell as much. You’ve been relentlessly teased for the way you are with him. For your batting lashes and your lingering touches and your unabashed flirting. But beneath it all is true affection, and nobody doubts that. 

“It’s okay,” you decide with a squeeze of your own, after a moment of deliberation. “You’ll think of something. ’Cause, y’know—you’re stuck with me for at least a few more days.”

“Oh, god,” he laughs, and releases your hand, rolling over to face away from you. But you don’t mind. You’ll get lots more time to invade his personal space over the coming week or so. “Goodnight.”

“Sweet dreams,” you sing-song, turning away to face the wall with what is perhaps your biggest, stupidest smile yet.

#spencer reid #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x you #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fic #criminal minds imagine

[myfeetrcolddd]

Boundaries? Never heard of them.

Growing up with Theo had desensitized you to things, like how he was always holding your hand, or how he insisted on cuddling anytime you were to sit down on a couch together, or how he would kiss you on the cheek hello or goodbye, except the kiss was hardly on your cheek and right at the corner of your mouth.

Sure, you were aware how the relationship between the two of you was not the average one of two best friends, but you didn't really mind it. You had gotten used to it, it felt weird to even think about things between the both of you being any different.

It was only when Theo got a girlfriend did you realize things would have to change, much to your dismay, and to Theo's too apparently.

"What'd you mean I can't hold your hand anymore?" Theodore looked taken nearly offended as he said those words, his face twisting in confusion and distaste.

"Theo, you have a girlfriend now." You say, wrapping your arms around your middle uncomfortably. "We can't just hold hands all the time, or at all."

He scoffed and rolled his eyes, "Next thing I know you're going to tell me we can't cuddle during movie nights or when I sleep over."

"That's exactly what I'm trying to tell you!" You exclaim, tired from having to reiterate the same thing over and over. "And from now on we shouldn't even be sleeping in the same bed at sleep overs, if your girlfriend would even be comfortable with us having sleepovers"

"You're being ridiculous, Angel, I'm sure she wouldn't mind."

"I'm being serious, Theo, I'm setting boundaries now that you've got a girlfriend, and another thing on that list is calling me Angel." Theodore frowned harder(if that was even possible) looking taken aback by your words and down right offended.

"Boundaries? Not calling you a name I've called you since we were kids?" Theo took a step closer, which was really a problem since he had already been to close to begin with. Now he towered over you more than usual, bringing his hands up he rested them on your neck, his thumbs coming up over your jaw as he held your face close to his. His eyes were narrowed and scanning your face as though looking for something, "Has someone casted a charm on you? Maybe some potion. Either way, you're being weird and I don't like it."

"I'm being weird?! I'm not being weird!" You insisted, and you knew you should shove his hands off you, push him away or take a step back...but you couldn't bring yourself to do it. You'd always liked his touch much more than a friend should. "Y-you're the weird one! Thinking we could continue as we are while you have a girlfriend."

"Why would we change anything?" He asked, as though he was truly confused. "I like the way things are between us."

"Well I can't imagine your girlfriend likes the way things are. I'm sure that if I had a boyfriend he wouldn't like how things are." You had mumbled the last part under your breath, an after thought to your previous sentence, still Theo heard it and his confusion and annoyance turned to something darker.

"Boyfriend?" He questioned, his voice low and more gravely that usual. "What's you having a boyfriend got to do with anything? You, you don't have one do you? No boy here is good enough for you, and I wouldn't change my ways for some sleaze like him."

Theos words had been harsh, a sharp edge to them as he spoke, he'd never spoken like that before, at least not to you. It was odd, he seemed mad at the thought of you having a boyfriend, outraged even, the emotions just simmering beneath the surface.

"No, Theo, I don't have a boyfriend," He looked to deflate a little at this, relaxing slightly, "It's not like I could have gotten one anyway, everyone thought we were dating from the way we acted, and it didn't help that you practically growled at any guy that would try to come up to me." You scoff, annoyed but Theo seemed the opposite, his lips quirking up in a small smirk.

"Was that so bad though? It's not like any of them were good enough for your attention anyways." His hands slid from your neck down to your waist as he seemed to pull you closer.

"Look, we're getting off track. We need to set some boundaries." You press your hands against his chest and push him off you gently, he seems to allow this and walks back a few steps before taking a seat on the edge of your bed and staring up at you. You blushed slightly from the way he was looking at you.

Theo groaned and rolled his eyes, "I still don't see why we need those."

"Because you have a girlfriend for crying out loud!" You say, exasperated form having to repeat yourself, "How would you feel if your girlfriend, the girl you like, had a friend that was overly touchy and clingy and borderline cheating on you with him?"

This seemed to stump him, "The girl I like?" He muttered to himself, then his eyes trailed back to you and his jaw clenched. "No...no I wouldn't like that at all."

"See! That's what I mean. That's likely what your girlfriend is feeling about how we are with each other." But Theo didn't seem like he was really listening at this point.

Inside his head, a switch had flipped for him and he realized something. His eyes widening, lips parting, and cheeks heating up slightly and he turned to look up at you through his eye lashes.

"Shit." He murmured, staring at you and his pupils seemed to dilate. It was like he was seeing you in a whole new light, you were as beautiful as you ever were, the same angel he thought you were all those years ago, but now he realized it was so much more than looked with you. And he was stupid to think this was how best friends were with each other.

Really, could he be any more daft? Standing up, he stalked towards you, like a predator hunting it's prey. He didn't stop until he was closer than before, his hands cradling your head on each side and pulling you close.

His face was right above yours, your noses nearly touching and your breaths mingling. "I'm an idiot." He muttered, his eyes getting lost in yours. "A stupid and blind idiot." His forehead dropped down to yours and he closed his eyes. "And I'm sorry."

Before you could register what was going on his lips were on yours, his hands holding your head tightly against his as he kissed you. You had tried your best not to give in, but you couldn't help yourself because it was the one boy you had liked all your life, finally kissing you, and like his life depended on it at that.

So, you kissed him back, arms twining around his neck and bringing him impossibly closer. One of your hands threaded through the hair on the back of his head and you gripped it tightly and he groaned before kissing you harder.

Then, as fast as it had begun, it ended. He pulled away, cheeks blotchy and red and pupils so big you could hardly see the blue green color of his eyes. "I'm going to fix this. Then I'll be right back." He pressed a chaste kiss to your lips, "Don't leave." And then another kiss and then he was gone, your dorm door slamming shut behind him as you stood in stunned silence.

A hand lifted to your face and I gently touched your lips, you were sure you looked like a tomato, and your mind was reeling. That wasn't how things were supposed to go...at all.

#imagine #theodore nott #not edited #theo nott #theo nott x reader #theodore nott imagine #theodore nott x y/n #hogwarts #harry potter #hp fanfic #fanfic

[lovelyyandereaddictionpoint]

Fury for the Living (1) | Yandere Ghost Detective

Cypher is a prodigy detective 

Officially on the police force now he’s been a raging force for unraveling piles of cold cases across the country

He was truly a talented man

Alas aspiring detectives and veterans in the field can only speculate what gives him such amazing insight in every case

They’d never guess what the ace up his sleeve is 

One of the sole factors other than his prodigious charm that made him the amazing detective he was

He could see ghosts

Apparitions, yokais, curses—you name it

Thanks to their undead input Cypher’s been able to piece together a case with nothing but a single clue

It’s his thing

It didn’t matter if he wasn’t exactly moved by justice

Or that he often hated that he had to speak with ghosts often

There was nowhere he could really go that didn’t have ghosts and the undead chatting and whining in his ear

Except for one place

An abandoned and rotted mansion in a restricted area in the forest

Or it was 

Until he found you

“Hm, I didn’t know anyone was still coming here.”

He outwardly groaned, facepalming as he prepared for your desperate plea to be help with their ‘unfinished business’

But you didn’t 

You smiled at him before skipping back up the stairs and through the wall

For a while, he’s just glad you didn’t bother him longer going back to reading his book

But then he’s pulling at his hair as the feeling he’s been ignoring hits him full force

“So what happened to you?”

“Huh?”

“Tch, look I’ve been comin’ here every day and you never say a word. I’m tired of you being polite. Just tell me already.”

“I…actually don’t know…”

“What.” 

“I just remember waking up and being….free. I don’t remember much else.”

It isn’t odd that the undead don’t remember

But not caring about it is another

For once he’s intrigued, so after a while he pries a first name out of you 

Then he begins his search 

Finding all the records about your life or death is completely scrubbed

“I don’t know that’s awfully weird ain't it?”

Similar to him, the prodigy police chief has no idea as well

Thus a weird bud of excitement blooms 

“I’m going to solve your case!”

“Uh okay, if that makes you happy.”

So he visits so much more often 

Having to talk to you about your past 

A past you don’t remember

So he elects to bring whatever he thinks might interest you

Along with taking note of what’s in the dilapidated manor

Rotten books, old gaming systems, some form of music, paints and pens

He gets to know you pretty well

“I think Cypher if I were alive again, I’d love to spend time with you.”

“...Really?”

“Yeah, you’re a real good friend.”

You have no idea what you do to him

He thought this newfound investigation would consume his mind like all good detectives had

But instead, he was thinking of you

Standing and walking beside him like you weren’t a ghost

Cutely tilting your head when he makes a joke you don’t understand

It sends blood rushing in places it hadn’t when he found out you could touch him

Casually tapping on his exposed shoulder to reveal a secret passageway

He used to complain to himself about how far he’d have to walk to get to his little place of paradise

But now he was complaining when the station was calling him in

“Hey (Y/n)...have you ever tried leaving the manor?”

“Mmm no.”

“Why not?”

“Never a reason to.”

“Then let’s try something new.”

He’s ecstatic when you can follow him into his car and eventually his apartment

But then he’s reminded of all the annoying nuisances that he was trying to avoid

“Hey everyone! Cypher’s all pooped out maybe we can give him a break?”

As if you were an exorcist all those ghosts seemed to understand 

Letting you organize them in the room over while Cypher locks himself into the bedroom

“You’re….amazing.”

“Oh thank you? I think you’re amazing too Cypher.”

“I don’t think you understand (Y/n)...I desperately want to marry you.”

“But Cypher you know I’m dead, right?”

“I can easily change that to be with you.”

“Cypher don’t!” 

Now he’s got to fight himself about solving this case

If he gets to the bottom of your death, he’d lose you

So he might stall a bit 

At least until he finds a small bit of evidence pointing to your death from a murder

“You were…murdered?!”

“Was I? That sucks.”

You’re right it sucks

And now Cypher’s motivated with one thing

Revenge

How dare some dirtbag kill you before he got to meet you?!

Put you in any amount of pain when you so easily are the light of his?! 

He vows that whosever is the cause of your death will pay greatly 

And he’s willing to put everything on the line to solve your case

I think I smell a series coming out of this 🖤🖤🖤🖤

#yandere x reader #yandere x you #lovelyyandereaddictionpoint #yanderexrea #yandere #yanderes #yandere harem #yandere original character #yandere oc x reader #yandere oc #yandere male x reader #yandere headcanons #yandere ghost detective #yandere ghost detective x reader #yandere original characters #yandere x ghost reader

[natsukishinomiyaswife]

⋆ 𝓕𝓲𝓰𝓱𝓽𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓕𝓸𝓻 𝓐𝓯𝓯𝓮𝓬𝓽𝓲𝓸𝓷: 𝓟𝓪𝓻𝓽 𝓞𝓷𝓮 ⋆

Featuring: Cater Diamond, Ruggie Bucchi, Kalim Al-Asim

This is a series featuring the Twisted Wonderland cast and their tsums, with the tsums taking the Reader's affection from them (and their reactions to that) ♡ Enjoy! ♡

𝓒𝓪𝓽𝓮𝓻 𝓓𝓲𝓪𝓶𝓸𝓷𝓭

⋆ You were having fun spending time with Cater's tsum, going to different places for photo shoots. The tsum seemed to know the best spots, the backgrounds of your photos looking stunning as the two of you posed. The lighting was always perfect, with some filters added to really make it pop. The tsum would immediately post it to Magicam, along with a bunch of heart emojis.

⋆ Cater was alright with the attention his tsum was getting...at first. But with every new picture added to Magicam, he couldn't help how his jealousy grew, clutching his phone in his hand. When he sees your latest photo, a picture of you pressing a kiss to his tsum's cheek near a popular date spot, he decides to meet up with you, trying to be subtle as he attempts to separate you.

"Hey hey, Name! I need Cay-tsum back for a bit. Hope you don't mind~!"

⋆ He gives his tsum a look as he reaches for him, the tsum giving him a look right back as he slaps his hand away. It took Cater by surprise, his eyes widening as he watches his tsum snuggle into your arms. After a moment, his eyes narrowed, refusing to back down.

⋆ He moves until he's behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you into a hug. Your back is against his chest as he rests his head on your shoulder, giving his tsum a look as if to say, 'They may be holding you, but I'm the only one who gets to hold them' He takes his phone out, capturing a selfie that conveniently has his tsum out of the shot ♡

𝓡𝓾𝓰𝓰𝓲𝓮 𝓑𝓾𝓬𝓬𝓱𝓲

⋆ There was a game Ruggie's tsum enjoys playing with you, one that took you a while to realize. His tsum had a love of Thaumarks and Madol, a hard worker looking for any job he could get, just like his counterpart. When it comes to you though, he was a cute little thief, taking anything of yours and waiting for you to chase after him. Once you caught him, he would refuse to give it back until you gave him a kiss, moving on to take something else.

⋆ Since Ruggie was busy with his odd jobs, he hadn't noticed how close you and his tsum had gotten, his eyes widening in surprise when he sees you chase him in the courtyard. His tsum held your phone as you grabbed him, looking at him with affection as you shook your head fondly. You pressed a kiss to the tsum's forehead, his tiny tail wagging as he happily gives you your phone back.

⋆ Ruggie's eyes narrowed, watching as his tsum took something else from you, continuing your game. So, his tsum thinks he can try to take his money, and now his kisses too? Oh no, he can't let that happen, rushing to finish his work.

⋆ You were about to grab Ruggie's tsum before someone intervened, looking up to find the tsum squirming in Ruggie's hold. He laughs to himself, watching his tsum struggle as he takes back what was stolen from you. A smirk comes to his face as he acts coy, turning your item over in his hand.

"Oh, is this yours? Well, if you want it back, you'll have to pay my finder's fee"

⋆ He moves closer to you, leaning in to press his lips against yours. A smile comes to your face once you part, waiting for him to hand you your item. One of his eyebrows raise as he leans back in, laughing as your lips meet once more.

"I'm not as generous as my tsum, ya know. It'll cost you more than just one kiss if you want your stuff back, shishishi!" ♡

𝓚𝓪𝓵𝓲𝓶 𝓐𝓵-𝓐𝓼𝓲𝓶

⋆ Kalim's tsum was such a joy to be around, a little ball of energy just like his counterpart. You couldn't help but think how cute he was as he bounced for your attention, ecstatic to see you. You played with him in Scarabia, doing your best to stay out of Jamil's way as he worked.

⋆ Some of the dorm members were listening to music in the main room, the tsum practically dragging you there as you laughed. He seemed interested in dancing, his little body moving to the beat. You watched him in amusement, the tsum pausing after a moment and holding his tiny arm out, silently asking you to join him. You did your best to hold your laughter, trying to imagine how you could even dance together considering your size difference. You shook your head as you declined his offer, thanking him and letting him know you were alright with just watching.

⋆ The tsum looked disappointed for a moment before perking back up, resuming where he left off in his dance. Soon, Kalim walked through the doorway, smiling brightly as he noticed you were there.

"Ah, Name! Here you are! I was looking all over for you, ahaha!"

⋆ He makes his way over to you, wrapping his arms around you in a warm embrace. You hold him back for a moment before he leans away, moving to give you a kiss. You blink in surprise as his tsum gets between you two, pressing his face against your lips. Kalim laughs, thinking it was cute that his tsum wanted a kiss from you too. He tries again, only for his tsum to block him once more, taking the kiss for himself.

⋆ Kalim pouts before trying again, only to be met with the same fate. Your body shakes as you laugh to yourself, Kalim continuing to pout as he looks towards his tsum.

"Hey, no fair! I want a kiss too!"

⋆ His tsum jumps up at his words, pressing his face against his cheek as if to kiss him. Kalim's pout changes to a small smile as he laughs, shaking his head.

"Not from you, from Name!"

⋆ The tsum looks at him in understanding, moving to sit on your shoulder. You look down at him before focusing back on Kalim, cupping one of his cheeks in your hand. He smiles before leaning in, his lips finally meeting yours. You don't mention how the tsum gave you a kiss as well, pressing his face against your cheek ♡

𝓣𝓱𝓪𝓷𝓴 𝔂𝓸𝓾! ♡

#♡.sheep writes #♡.twst #♡.cater diamond #♡.ruggie bucchi #♡.kalim al asim #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #cater diamond #ruggie bucchi #kalim al asim #cater diamond x reader #ruggie bucchi x reader #ruggie bucci x reader #kalim al asim x reader #cater x reader #ruggie x reader #kalim x reader

[redrose10]

Just something fluffy I’ve been thinking about…

“Oh wow, those are absolute beautiful!”, you exclaimed setting the grocery bags down on the counter. Walking over to get a better look at the large bouquet of tulips you couldn’t help but smile.

“You made a great choice. Tulips are my favorite flower too.”

Your best friend Yoongi walked over, “Yeah the florist did a great job.”

“So I got all the ingredients for the dinner. Luckily it’s pretty simple to make so we should be done in plenty of time for your date tonight.”, you said as you began pulling out the items.

When your best friend told you that he was planning on asking out this girl he really liked and he really wanted you to help him put together the perfect date you just couldn’t say no. Even if hearing that he was going to ask someone out that wasn’t you did cause your heart to hurt a little.

Yoongi had told you that this mystery girl loved tulips and since your favorite flower also happened to be tulips he had asked you to pick out a bouquet. Which you were happy to do.

Then he asked you to help him cook her favorite dinner for the occasion. You thought it was a little odd that his date also happened to love chicken alfredo and double fudge brownies just like you because what are the odds? You were just glad that it was a dish you were well versed in making so you knew she was going to love it.

The brownies were in the oven and the sauce was coming together so while you had a few minutes you encouraged Yoongi to go get dressed.

As he stood in front of you holding up two shirt options so you can help him pick which one looks best with his black dress pants,

“No I think the black shirt looks better. I’ve always told you that you look great in all black.”, you’d replied not noticing the blush creep up his cheeks.

“Put on some of that cologne you have. You know that really expensive Versace one. It smells so good.”, you shouted as he ran back to his room to finish getting ready.

You were finishing up the table setting when Yoongi finally returned. After setting the last wine glass down you looked up loosing your breath for a moment. Your crush on Yoongi has grown exponentially the last year. You never meant for it to be that way, but some things just happen. Seeing him look this handsome, putting this much effort into a date for another woman pained you, but also made you fall a little more in love with him. But you were determined to pushed that all aside just so he could be happy.

“How do I look?”, he asked spinning to give you a 360 view.

He had been working out more recently and it definitely showed by the way the fabric clung to his torso and biceps. The dress pants were tailored perfectly showing off his slim legs. He’d gotten away from wearing earrings lately but you noticed the two hoops you’d given him for Christmas two years ago. And he did put on a little of that cologne you loved. He looked like the man of your dreams.

“Like a chiseled statue of a Greek God carved by Michelangelo himself.”, you quipped.

“Wow Y/N you’re so weird.”, he snorted.

“But seriously, do you think it’s too much? I want her to like it.”

You put on your best fake smile, “You look great Yoongi. She’s going to think you look very handsome.”

The pasta finished boiling so you added it to the sauce and topped it with a little more cheese. The brownies were cooling on the rack and you reminded Yoongi about the vanilla ice cream in the freezer that you thought would be a nice touch.

“What time is she supposed to get here?”, you asked.

“Umm 7:00.”

You glanced at the clock and noticed it was flashing 6:58.

“Yoongi why didn’t you say something?! She’s gonna be here any minute and I don’t think she’s going to be happy to see me here.”, you said frantically running around trying to grab your things.

As you ran towards the door Yoongi followed close behind.

“Remember not to let the brownies cool in the pan too much or they might sink. And remember the ice cream.”

“Y/N”, he whispered.

“Oh and slice the chicken before adding it to the pasta. It looks nicer and will be easier to eat.”

“Y/N…”

“And show her the flowers when she first gets here. It’ll be a nice surprise. Remember to tell her she looks pretty too.”

“Y/N…”

“And most of all text me afterwards and let me know how it goes.”, you’d said finally getting your shoe on that you had been struggling with.

“Y/N wait!”, Yoongi finally shouted.

Turning around you looked surprised, “What? Yoongi I have to go before she get here.”

He chucked to himself, “Y/N, you can’t seriously be this oblivious?”

“What do you mean?”, you asked confused.

He walked over standing just a few inches away from you, “Y/N I had you get tulips that YOU picked out. They’re YOUR favorite flower. I had you help me cook YOUR favorite meal. I bought YOUR favorite bottle of wine. I had you help me pick out an outfit that YOU would like. I wore the cologne YOU like. I mean I thought I was being obvious but I guess not.”

Looking around the room it did kind of make sense. They were all things that were your favorites, but you were so hung up on the fact that you never thought Yoongi would ever like you that way so you really thought he had a date with someone else.”

You chuckled, “I mean I did notice some similarities, but I didn’t think you’d ever actually like me like that so I thought it was all one big coincidence.”

Yoongi took your hands into his. His thumb lightly running over a small burn you got from the brownie pan, “Y/N, I like you a lot. I have for a really long time. I just didn’t know how to tell you. I guess I was just hoping you’d get the hint. I’d really like to ask you to be an official couple.”

“You’re so adorable.”, you chuckled as you watched him nervously stare at the floor.

“Yes, of course. I’d love that.”, you smiled reaching over and placing a kiss on his lips.

As Yoongi served you the dinner you suddenly had a realization, “So you had me plan our first date and also go to the grocery store and help cook and I had to pick out my own flowers?”

Yoongi nervously scratched the back of his neck, “Yeah um both my smartest and dumbest decision. But at least I know you’ll like everything.”

“Wow you’re definitely doing all of the dishes.”, you laughed.

He leaned over giving you another kiss, “Already planned on it babe.”

#bts #yoongi fanfic #yoongi x reader #min yoongi #bts fanfic #yoongi fic #yoongi x y/n #yoongi fluff #bts fluff #bts yoongi #yoongi #bts x reader #bts crack

[anonymous-dentist]

Bagi's first day at work consists of paperwork, more paperwork, and even more paperwork. She spills her tea all over her papers (oh, nooooo, how horrible...) and has to redo them all. She refuses a fresh cup of tea from one of the other detectives, a tall man with a terrible mustache that she thinks might be into her.

Unfortunately for him, she's already taken.

Just after noon, she checks her phone. No new messages. Great.

She turns her phone off and stares at her lockscreen for just a second too long before getting back to work on her forms.

Today, since it's her first day at the station, she's filling out the HR paperwork that the HR manager didn't get to during their meeting. Nothing too important, just...

'Next of kin:' is the next spot on the form. Bagi stares at it for a long, long while. Her parents are in Brazil. She and Tina aren't married yet. Empanada is a little girl. And her brother is-

"Oh, not you again," the uniform cop at the front desk groans. "I already told you, man, I can't do anything about the ice cream man until he actually does something."

Bagi halfway turns in her seat to see who the uniform is talking to, and she's briefly taken aback because wow. Who the fuck are these guys supposed to be?

There are two men standing in front of the front desk. One, tall, looks normal enough. Bagi can smell the wolf on him from where she is across the room, but she isn't too worried. He doesn't seem the violent type; he looks more confused than anything.

The other man looks like he's going to strangle the uniform. His clothes are wrinkled and his hair is a mess and his eyes are bloodshot. He's looking down at the uniform like he's about to tear the poor guy apart, and, what, over an ice cream man?

He smells of blood. Another daywalker, probably. What are the odds?

"Okay," he slowly says, clearly frustrated, "first off, it has done something. But we aren't here about that."

The other man chimes in with a much more welcoming expression: "Hi! He's right. We're here for the files on the deaths of those dead guys. Uh..."

He looks at the daywalker for help.

The daywalker supplies, "I'm the private detective."

Hmm.

"I know," the uniform flatly says. "I wish you weren't. Hold on, let me get them for you."

He stands and leaves for the filing room, leaving the two men alone at the front.

Bagi turns back to her papers, but she keeps listening in. Just in case. (The daywalker is giving her weird vibes, okay?)

"Do you really think this has something to do with Mariana?" the wolf quietly asks. "I mean... he isn't dead."

"Not yet," the daywalker replies, just as quiet. "If we can figure out how Dan and Luzu died, then we might be able to save Mariana and- and we'll be able to stop the killer."

He was going to say someone else. That stammer was not uncertainty.

The dead men's names ring a bell. Bagi remembers hearing about the case when she and Tina were still moving into the city. No updates on it in months, not since this Luzu guy's body was found, but this must be the private detective the police department has brought in to help.

For some reason.

Bagi really doesn't get it; how incompetent are the actual detectives in this city? (Not so incompetent now that they've hired her, but still!)

It is kind of alarming that the daywalker seems to think that the killer has kidnapped two people, but Bagi doubts they're actually being held hostage. They're probably dead, unfortunately, because this case is as cold and dead as she is. Nobody's found the bodies yet, that's all.

The wolf huffs out a breath of laughter through his nose.

"You know," he says, still quiet, "when we first met, I didn't think I'd be solving crimes with you."

"Oh? What did you think we'd be doing?"

It's teasing. Suddenly, Bagi thinks of Tina, and her chest hurts with yearning. Tina...

"Oh, you know," the wolf hums. "Hiking, camping... chilling..."

"What, we don't chill?"

"We could chill more, that's all I'm saying."

The daywalker laughs. "Fine, fine! We'll chill after this!"

"No, after this, we're going to the party."

"Yeah, for, like, ten minutes. We have work to do."

"Work isn't chilling!"

"But it's fun work!"

"What the fuck? This is a murder!"

"He might not be dead!"

Bagi rolls her eyes. Boys...

She stares down at her paper.

'Next of kin:'

"Cellbit, here you go," the uniform says as he comes back out from the file room. "Please don't come back when I'm on duty."

"Fuck you, man," the wolf sniffs. "Come on, gatinho."

They leave, still bickering, but Bagi isn't really paying attention anymore. Not really. Not at all.

Cellbit, huh? What a coincidence. Same name as her brother.

Wherever he is.

-

Or: A Breaking Dawn Interlude.

#monster au fic #a.d.'s fics i suppose #a.d.'s fics i suppose. #HAPPY BIRTHDAY BREAKING DAWN! #New chapter as soon as I'm up to writing it

[holylulusworld]

His kind of romance (2)

Summary: Lloyd is something else.

Pairing: Lloyd Hansen x fem!Reader

Warnings: nudes, dick pics, fun, implied oral

Catch up here: His kind of romance

Lloyd is on a mission. Again. It seems like that going on missions is all Lloyd has in mind lately. Sometimes you’ve got the feeling that he takes every chance to be away from you.

He’s been away for the better of three weeks and you feel lonely and are in the mood of teasing the shit out of your boyfriend. Eating breakfast alone in the kitchen only reminds you of his absence.

You get your phone out to mess with Lloyd. Grabbing a peach and some raisins you walk out of the kitchen, leaving the dirty dishes on the counter. Lloyd would get all pouty because you didn’t clean the dishes, but he’s not around to torture with his mustache all night long…

“Fuck, cupcake,” Lloyd’s eyes grow wide looking at the pictures you send to him. He can’t see your face, or the rest of your body. Only one of your boobs. “You want to get me hard, huh?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Lloyd,” you coo into the phone. “I only sent you a few pictures because I felt lonely.”

“You feel lonely, huh?” His voice is a little rougher now. “How lonely? Do you want me to send you something nice too?”

“What do you have for me?” You hold back a chuckle when he purrs into the phone. “Something nice? Maybe you want to snap a picture of your food.”

“I got something real nice for you,” he whispers lowly. “Give me a second.” You snicker when you hear Lloyd curse loudly. You can hear him stroke his cock, and you know, he wants to send you a dick pic. “Oh baby, this is perfect for you.”

“I can hardly wait, Lloyd baby,” you coo and giggle playfully. “Show me what you’ve got for me. I’m so lonely.”

“Wait…just a sec,” he groans loudly. “Fuck, I miss your sweet cunt…wish you were here to take my big…fuck…”

You cover your mouth to suppress a giggle. Before you speak again, you take a deep breath.

“I wish you were here too, baby.”

“Have a look, cupcake, and tell me what you think,” he rumbles your name and clicks send.

A few seconds later you receive three pictures of his dick. You grin and laugh as he asks you what you think again.

“Baby,” you try not to laugh. “I thought you got that I miss you.”

“I know you miss me and sent you something nice for another lonely night.”

“Well…” You giggle. “Why are you sending me pictures of a worm?”

Lloyd makes an odd noise. He curses into this phone before you hear him fling something across the room.

“A worm? Did you just call my dick a worm? I hope you know; you won’t sit properly for a month after I’m done with you. How dare you send me a boob pic and get me going…”

“Aw, baby. That was a peach and a raisin,” you snicker before you hang up the phone. That’s what he gets for leaving you alone for so long.

“CUPCAKE!” Lloyd singsongs. He walks around the living room, calling your name. “I know you are here. Come out and face your punishment like a good girl.”

You remain silent. All you gotta do is to hide long enough for Lloyd to calm down. If he’s well-fed and had a nice glass of wine, he’ll forget you called his glorious cock a worm.

“I bought that nice mustache shampoo to make my mustache soft and nice for you, baby cakes,” he taunts you. “It will feel so good when I tease your clit with it. Come out and you will cum tonight. Hide, and I’ll edge you until you beg me to eat that sweet cunt.”

You whimper.

“I heard that cupcake. Come out, come out!” He moves closer to your position. “Come on, let’s play throne and queen. My mustache is waiting to go for a ride.”

You poke your head out from under his desk and batt your eyelashes. “Will you show me your worm too…?”

#His kind of romance (2) #lloyd hansen x reader #lloyd hansen #lloyd hansen x you #lloyd hansen x y/n #lloyd hansen x fem!reader #x reader #female reader

[yuri-is-online]

Do you think the nonhuman yutus suspect their parent was abused?

In my personal HC non humans in TW "Mark" their spouse. The mark usually becomes a scar (like for beastmen it's a bite mark) so that it's permanent on their partner. To someone in TW it's not odd to see a person that's been marked, but I imagine a person from yuu's world would suspect some kind of abuse.

I wonder how yutu would take it once they're in TW and learn about the culture 🤔

Hmmm. My understanding of mating bites is that typically they are done on the back of the neck, though I can see someone like the twins going for one of the sides. Abusers do get creative with where they hit people sometimes, but a single scar resembling a bite mark on the back of the neck isn't something I think most people would pick up on as a sign of abuse no. They might assume Yuu was bitten by a dog or another wild animal at some point though! I know a person who has a scar from a dog bite on their scalp and around their neck, but then again that is from when they were a child.

As for how Yutu would react to learning about the culture, that's something that would excite him. All of the Yutus, especially the beasty ones, felt extremely out of place growing up so getting to learn about those little things about his dad's culture helps him to feel more secure in himself. Even if he has a bit of a laugh at the concept of certain things at first.

#<3 asks #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #future kid au #cw physical abuse

[blacklegsanjiii]

Some hcs about ASL x S! Of course, if you don't mind

• Even if the ASL brothers loved food, I think they just noticed how hard cooking was after seeing Sanji cook. How some recipes need hours and hours, how even a little mistake can spoil all the food, how that don't matter how good you are cooking, accidents still happen and Sanji end up with some cuts and burns. Sometimes Sanji even needing to put bandages in his hands.

• I believe most times ASL and Garp go at Baratie, the restaurant is closed or Zeff closes it when they arrive. So they never saw all the chaos that Baratie is on common days. I can perfectly see a time where the restaurant docks at Foosha and ASL go see their boyfriend, but Baratie is open and he's working. So they sit and don't have other option than just wait. It's crazy for them how Sanji manages to go between being a waiter and a cook, take down various customer orders and remember what food go at what table, carry twenty-odd dishes at once, and still having just a fifteen minutes break.

• This hc is more for Fem!Sanji, but I believe that Sanji was taught that she should be a lady, always with a smile and sweet personality. And while she IS this way naturally, she isn't just this. So I believe that, after Germa, she would still hide half of herself as a way to protect her. The more you knows her, the more she shows all of her. And I can see Sanji freely acting like a little shit while with ASL because she trusts them, even more after dating. They don't notice this until someone point this, maybe Makino, and after noticing they just start to help her show who she is in full.

ASL x S has taken over this blog in veins similar to when Warlord!Sanji first happened which is fine by me. Get this man some love!

I feel like if Sanji was dating them when he was learning how to butcher things they would see him constantly with bandages on his hands. Burns from morons not telling him hot pans as well as his own dumb mistakes. Sanji shows them some basic recipes and how to cook more effectively on a fire and burning himself. He stares dejectedly at the fire and with an 'et tu, brute' attitude as he continues on like nothing bad happened. Sanji fucks something up and sighs as he apologizes at the inedibility of it but his boyfriends scarf it down regardless. Sanji is used to his boyfriends forgoing taste for edibility on more than one occasion unless Sanji absolutely demands they do not eat something for fear of poisoning them all.

One time The Baratie is docked on Foosha with normal business hours, not closing due to the boyfriends or Garp coming to eat, ASL go to surprise their boyfriend but instead find an absolute shitshow of a rush. Waiters are scrambling and there's a lot of yelling from the back kitchen and those who know ASL tell them they don't have time for them today. Sanji will be out if he's awake after close. There's just too much happening and not enough staff and they're fucking swamped. Then Sanji joins in on waiting tables because there's not enough waiters and he's going back and forth in a chef coat from waiting tables to cooking and he's so loud. The way he yells 'behind', 'to your left/right' 'hot' with a projection they've only ever heard from Garp of all people is rattling. They sit and watch through the rush until close and join in on cleaning up, mostly Sabo makes Ace and Luffy join in because they've never cleaned a day in their life but the staff is grateful and Zeff does make them something to eat with the staff of Baratie. Of course everyone is so wiped out that Ace carries Sanji to his room and he's out before they're even halfway there. Sabo and Ace are debating on getting Sanji changed when Luffy just lays on top of him and falls asleep making it impossible to change their boyfriend, so of course they pile on top as well.

Okay now Fem!Sanji being a shit. This has to be accurate. Being raised a princess and then as Zeff's daughter has to make perfectly lady like but also...look at the men she's around on the Baratie. She's pulled some shit and always gets away with it because she's Zeff's darling daughter, she would never do anything like choke Patty with his own socks, never! ASL know what she's like though, she's a gremlin like them, not as feral but definitely a gremlin. Makino has definitely seen the attitude shift from when Zeff is gone and she's free and clear to not have to worry about getting in trouble for getting dirty and acting like a child. She's free with them. Makino probably brings it up to them at some point, the way Sanji morphs from Zeff's princess to jungle gremlin like them, she's absolutely fond of the girl and it's clear in her voice, but they pay closer attention after that, or at least try to. Sanji doesn't like getting dirty or bugs but she loves climbing and swimming in the river and doing dumb shit with her boyfriends. Maybe they try to get her to be more brash and open, but she's still theirs. Always will be.

#black leg sanji #monkey d. luffy #portgas d ace #revolutionary sabo #vinsmoke sanji #fire fist ace #sabo one piece #asl+s #they all date!sanji #answers

[froggibus]

Hi! I was wondering if I can request venture dating a sugar mommy? It can just be dating hc’s 😋 (maybe throw in some nsfw ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

Sugar Mommy - Venture

Pairing: Sloan Cameron x fem! reader (reader uses fem pronouns + has a pussy---non NSFW part can be read as gn ^~^)

Genre: fluff headcanons, NSFW below the cut (MDNI)

CW: sugar mommy, established relationship, reader is RICH rich here, can be read as AMAB! Venture or AFAB! (w the strap), oral (f! receiving), begging, thigh riding, mention of sex toys, switch! Venture, praise, face sitting, overstim, i make one (1) bad joke

hey hi i definitely went a little overboard with the nsfw here but it was just such a fun thing to write! still (slowly) working through my requests & some summer content. in the spirit of that: what's your favorite thing to do in summer? mine is definitely roller skating, or reading a book on the beach ^~^

have summer fic ideas? come vote in our summer solstice poll & send in your ideas, thirsts & suggestions to my inbox!

they are very hesitant at first to let you spoil them

of course they enjoy it, but they don’t want to take advantage of you

it takes a lot of gentle coaxing (and probably showing them your bank account) for them to warm up to the idea

they hardly ever ask you for things either

they have their own money to buy themselves things, and they don’t care much for fancy clothes or elaborate jewellery

you learn very quickly that the way to their heart is more through gestures than gadgets

the first time you pay their rent, they definitely call you in a panic

“I went to go pay my rent and they said it’s already been paid, do you think they made a mistake?”

“I paid it”

“You HUH?”

tried to pay you back before accepting you’d just buy them something else extravagant

you’re always browsing online auctions to see any rare rocks or artifacts being resold

nothing makes Sloan happier than being gifted with a long lost artifact

they’ll admire it for days until they return it to where it rightfully belongs

whenever they want to go on a new dig, or search for something new, you’re first in line to help fund it

equipment, travel arrangements—you’re paying for it all

Sloan is always very flustered when you spoil them, especially if it’s something big/expensive

they’ll always grant you an awkward, excited ‘thank you’ and spend the next few hours brainstorming how they’ll make it up to you

maybe they’ll attempt to cook you dinner, or gift you with an arrangement of fresh flowers and pretty crystals

or they’ll bury their face between your legs and spend hours eating you like you’re their last meal

Sloan will NEVER admit it, but they’re secretly turned on by you flexing your wallet on them

they’ll come to you all flustered and get down on their knees and beg you to let them touch you

call them Dumbledore cause they’re a head master

the odd time they do want you to buy something for them, they’re not afraid to show you just how much they want it

they’ll climb right into your lap and grind on your thigh, whimpering in your ear while they tell you exactly what they want

or bring out their toys and show you just how needy they are (though their face always burns with shame at first)

will beg you to sit on their face and tell them how good they are

on days where they feel bolder, they don’t beg at all

they’ll fuck you relentlessly until you’re sore and so overstimulated you can hardly speak

with each thrust they tell you just how badly they want you to fund their newest project

when they’re finally satisfied with your sorry, fucked out state, they’ll help clean you up before happily taking your credit card

overwatch masterlist | masterlist

(if you enjoy content like this, interactions go a long way! comments, likes & rbs are always greatly appreciated ^-^ !!)

#overwatch #overwatch 2 #ow2 #overwatch x reader #ow #overwatch x you #overwatch fic #xreader #x you #venture smut #venture overwatch #venture ow2 #venture x reader #sloan cameron #overwatch venture #venture x you #sloan cameron x reader #sloan cameron x you #froggi after dark

[cleminthewriter]

Angel Au By Wyverns

Hi Clemin here, this is an au of the Sitcom Au where everything is the same but Alex is an Angel by @wyvnspng, but they were unable to post it to tumblr so they asked me if i could.

Notes from Wyverns:

"This is an AU of the Sitcom AU! Very vague and brief mention of domestic violence at the start. Clyde just thinks about it in a paragraph. Skip the second paragraph if that makes you uncomfortable.

I quickly skimmed through it so sorry if there’s spelling or grammatical errors!"

------

Humans are a really odd species. Clyde knows this quite well. They’re weak, and tasty, and they like to live in big groups. You’d think that they’d all go extinct by now, but they’re thriving.

Despite their weakness, humans are cruel. They’re mean, even to their own kind. Sometimes they’re mean to their own partners, which confuses Clyde. It could never be cruel to its partner, so it doesn’t understand. Maybe it never will.

Clyde has been around humans for a long time. It has seen many different humans in its lifetime, many of which it has eaten. It has spent many hours of its life watching the short-lived creatures live lives of their own.

The humans it’s watching right now are very busy. There’s lots of them, all hanging out in one of their buildings. Despite the late time, the building is loud and bright, and the humans within are filled with energy. Clyde knows that humans are diurnal, so this is just another oddity to add to the ever growing list.

Every now and then, a few humans trail out of the gathering, where they will return to their cars and leave. Clyde would hunt these ones, but it is not faster than a car, so there is little point. Boredly, it continues to wait. Hopefully soon one would decide to leave on foot…

..

Clyde is really bored. And a little hungry. Maybe it should find something else to eat. Mind made up, it climbs onto the fence of the house it was perched upon, being careful to prevent the humans gathered in the house across the street from spotting it.

It makes its way across fences, moving in random directions, just going wherever it feels like going. It avoids the buildings with humans in them, careful to remain hidden.

It continues like this for a little bit, before making its way onto a wetter fence, where it promptly slips off and lands onto the floor with a crash. It landed on its tail, and the spikes dig uncomfortably into its back.

Clyde reorients itself and sits up, flicking its tail out of its back. It’s not injured, but the onesie it stole now features holes in the back, which, excluding the ones that are supposed to be there, is unfortunate.

What is less unfortunate is that nobody was around to witness its slip up (a distant part of Clyde freaks out, but it’s far too distant to notice). It’d have to pay more attention to what it’s doing.

Clyde manoeuvres itself so that it’s standing upright, when it turns around to face the house, only it wasn’t a house that it ended up facing. Clyde almost flinched, briefly panicking thanks to the jumpscare, before a warm calmness swept over it.

Somehow a human had managed to sneak up to it, and was standing in front of it. Clyde stood there for a second, motionless, as it looked the ‘human’ up and down. Clyde had seen and eaten many humans, and it could tell that this definitely wasn’t one. They looked like one, and if Clyde didn’t know any better, it definitely would have been fooled. But there’s something off about this thing. Clyde can’t exactly pinpoint what is off about them, but it knows it’s something.

“Hello? Is everything alright?” Clyde twitched slightly as the thing talked. They seemed unsure of their words, but didn’t add anything else. Clyde wanted to open up, and let this old friend of its know what was troubling it. It wanted to ask them for help recovering its partner, because it knows that they are trustworthy, and that they can help.

Clyde feels a little freaked out, but it’s struggling to focus on that over the intense calm that seems to have swept over it. It has no idea what this thing is doing to it, let alone how they are doing whatever it is.

Clyde refuses to answer their question.

Their faces (face. They only have one. It doesn’t know why that feels wrong.) twitched, and Clyde has no idea what that means, but they offer it a hand. “Would you like to come inside? I just made a sandwich, you can have it if you’d like,” Clyde is compelled to take their hand, which it does without hesitation. It’s a little disappointed when nothing happens.

The thing leads it into the house, and Clyde follows easily, almost in a daze. It’s quickly sat down on a couch and a sandwich is placed in its claws. It takes a bite. The thing sits next to it. “You tore your outfit a little. Would it be okay if I patched it up for you?” Clyde doesn’t really care what this thing does so long as they let it go. (It feels guilty for accusing its friend of something like that.)

Clyde rotated its body slightly, continuing to just eat the sandwich. The overwhelming calmness had receded somewhat, which is significantly more comforting than when it was there. The thing behind it shuffled around a little before patching up the holes that had been torn open when it fell.

“Why are you doing this?” Clyde asked, referring to the whole situation. Why did they kidnap it? Why did they make it calm? Why did they give it a sandwich? It is so confused, and it has no answers for its questions.

“Why? Well, i’m pretty sure She wanted us to meet, but i’m not sure what She wants me to do with you? She is pretty cryptic with this stuff,” Clyde has no idea what any of that is supposed to mean. Who is She? How does She know about it? All Clyde got was more questions.

The thing moved away, and Clyde looked back at them. “All done, sorry about the falling thing,” The thing apologised, which made little sense. Was this a trap? But how could they have known that Clyde would have come that way?

“Who are you?” It shifted to that it was facing the thing, which was putting away a small box that likely contained the stuff they used to sew up Clyde's onesie.

“Oh, yeah, my name’s Alex,” They replied, sitting back onto the couch. “What about you?”

“..Clyde,” It said, moving its head to look forward again.

“Nice to meet you, Clyde,” Alex stated, “I look forward to our continued friendship.”

Clyde was convinced that this was a nightmare.

#Wyvern writing #doai #doai sitcom au #dreams of an insomniac #fanfic #I enjoyed their fic #I hope ya'll enjoy it as well

[popfizzles]

Very interested in what plink, sleepytime, and canody get up to from day to day! Do they have jobs? What’s their go to hobby?

Sleepytime and Cain are both Isle 2 carnival workers!!!

Cain Canody mans the shooting gallery. Something like a very cute pop-gun stand, maybe darts or ball-toss too? He's super high-energy, charming, and genuinely very sweet to customers! He'll give out small finger prizes to people just for trying.

You know what they say; be rootin', be tootin', and by god, be shootin', but most of all, be kind!!

I think Canody has a history with Bettigan, and were both tempted by the Devil around the same time. But where Bettigan accepted the offer in chase of riches, Canody declined and lost his best friend because of it. Bettigan probably taught him how to play poker.

Sleepytime on the other hand is probably more of an everyman around the carnival, kind of the type of intern you can put anywhere and they just do whatever you need. They can do ride operation, or janitorial services, or other miscellaneous things!

Given that they can stay awake on the job, of course.

This is of course due to the fact that during their free time at night, Sleepytime finds themselves in dark forests and deep into the Isles' mausoleums, discovering things that need to be discovered. It's a real shame that Sleepytime is so very scared of anything vaguely spooky. <:)

Plink is an odd case. They don't really have a place anywhere on Inkwell. And they look so out of place, like they don't belong in this time period at all..! They sound and act so young too, they can't be older than 10.

Plink sort of drifts from place to place, and nobody knows where they go to rest or feel safe. They don't seem to have family or people watching over them. And when asked, Plink responds in the way any child would, not really answering or giving any helpful information.

Darwin and his friends buy Plink food when they can, and keep an eye on the little jackal however possible.

Who knows what their real situation is, though.

#Cuphead #Cuphead: DDWTD #CDDWTD #CDDWTD oc #Cuphead oc #CDDWTD Sleepytime #CDDWTD Cain Canody #CDDWTD Plink #fizzles answers #artnerd1123

[canisalbus]

While the trick-or-treating comic was very cute, I cannot imagine Vasco not being a little treat kinda guy

Are you telling me he doesn't randomly buy himself candy just for the dopamine and the child-like joy? That he doesn't indulge on halloween spirit and buy spooky candy just for him and Machete?? (who barely eats it but halloween spirit comes first, practically second)

.

#I actually thought about that for quite a while before choosing to go with a simple and neutral soda can #because yes I do think Vasco is a little treat kinda guy #but the treats he goes for probably aren't straight up candy #he's into hot chocolate and sweet coffee drinks #ice cream (particularly odd and seasonal flavors) #pastries and desserts probably #I can see him being a nutella enjoyer #and if he buys actual sweets I think he'd go for chocolate bars #(not like mars bars but thin flat sheets of chocolate that you break into smaller pieces) #(do those have a specific name in english or are they both just chocolate bars?) #none of the above are very easy to share unexpectedly with unfamiliar children #like I said in majority of Europe halloween isn't widely/officially celebrated and trick-or-treating isn't customary #families with young children teens and young adults might do halloween activities on smaller scale #but a childless couple in their thirties (and living in an apartment) is unlikely to have halloween candy in reserve methinks #Machete doesn't eat that many sugary things regularly #if Vasco is having something he probably goes along with it #but his health anxiety kind of affects what foods he deems acceptable and which ones should be avoided #which is ironic because modern Machete has a history of stress smoking #as a habit that's quite a bit worse for you than having an occasional ice cream sundae #I think he managed to quit when their relationship turned serious #answered #anonymous #modern au

[araneitela]

Quick interruption: This may (somehow, still?) be a hot take, but I swear to all that is unholy and insane, I've been sitting on this salt about the TB and Kafka since like May of last year. This isn't going to be a long meta at all, but I do want to make something abundantly clear on this blog.

I know that people say the 'mommy' thing jokingly because they have the hots for her (listen, I understand the motivation, I just firmly hate the term), but I know some people actively still believe that Kafka is somehow related to the TB even if her story quest has since entirely debunked that claim and proved the opposite. Let me just, share this for a second:

(source) Can we put this to rest now, pretty please? I'm too old and too tired for this, guys.

#Before I post the reminder however #[ i also need to note that i think if any mother figure speaks to a child the way that she does to caelus and/or stelle-- ] #[ then i do think that there's something a little... odd going on there. it has many interesting “undertones” when she talks to them. ] #[ and looking at that dynamic with a familial lens has me feeling a little.. weird. ] #[ i just. i don't want to get weird surprises here! but also i didn't realize until i had to inform like a handful of people recently... ] #[ that this is /genuinely/ not a thing; guys? ] #[ the 'part of my dna' leak of forever ago was used for the /lie/ in her story quest. it is LITERALLY the lie. ] #[ and yes it has been thoroughly confirmed. i even was one of the people who double checked this. because... ] #[ you could do the '2+2' option in the second half that /verifies/ the first answer as the real answer. and i did that for this. ] #[ and others apparently have as well. people /wanted/ this confirmed or the opposite. and it's since been confirmed to have been a lie. ] #[ so they're not connected in any capacity through 'dna' or anything. ] #[ i just-- yes. i just wanted this out there. ] #[ for those who might not know. ]

[kyuala]

SOOOOOO hard to go through everyday life trying to ignore the never-ending feeling that im just irreparably fucked up and therefore should just give up on everything

#this aint exactly s******* but it aint exactly not s******* either #anyways it gets even harder when i have to live under the same roof as my brother who is so much better than me in every single conceivable #and imaginable way possible like #and i knowwww a LOT of it comes down to us having relatively similar yet wildly different lives despite being 1.5y apart and having the sam #family our entire lives like he has gone through NOTHING and i mean not a single societal issue ive had to face and endure my entire life #he's a man im a woman. he's white im black. he's straight im gay. he's skinny ive always been 'overweight'. he's always been the good #christian kid ive always had issues w faith and religion. he's never been mentally ill i was clinically depressed for nearly 8yrs of my lif #we both lost the same parent and im the only one who got pathological grief and a personality disorder out of it. he's had a great job for #the last 7yrs that now pays him 20k+ every month ive only had 3 odd jobs my entire life and 2 of those my MOTHER had to give me so i would #have SOMETHING and ive never made over 1.6k monthly n my last job was minimum wage only #he's had like 4 relationships and is nearly engaged im so traumatized + emotionally unavailable ive only ever been on 1 date my entire life #he has a good relationship w every family member we have i have Issues w like half the family. he's always been an active member of our #church i can barely listen to like 4 traditional hymns before i start losing my mind and spiraling. i think the only two ways we're pretty #much equal like socially is that we're both able bodied cis and christians but still the cis and christian thing is debatable for previousl #stated reasons so like. do yall see how much better he is doing than me in every little last area in life and how he's always gotten the #long straw when it comes to Not having to deal w certain obstacles in life. n i know its like yea idk what it actually is like to be him an #he could not be doing all that well first of all shut up. second of all if it was 1 or 2 things i'd get it but it's literally EVERYTHING #and i know bc of said things n our v different lives it's unfair to me to compare the two of us but then it begs the question: WHY #WHY did i have to go through these things. WHY do i have to deal w this. WHY did i get the short straw literally every goddamn time #WHY did i have to get THIS life like WHYYYYY why ME GOD. why have I had to put up w all this bullshit for 24 fucking years!!!!!!!!! im TIRE #and this is not me hating or resenting him i know it's not his fault and he is so good to me #but still. why was i left with these things? to live like this? #so yes i guess i do envy him a little bit. who wouldn't #mari.txt #personal #tw negative #dl #btw i do NOT mean some identities are better than others. i mean he is better and is doing better than me in life partially bc he's never #had to deal w certain social issues and obstacles that come w oppressed identities.