#the credits are stupidly long too

[ftmsimonriley]

im obsessed with how in the original mw 2, shepherd's death was The finale. it was a big deal. you kill shepherd after he had betrayed the entire 141 and hunted down the rest of them while they were still looking for makarov.

and then in the mw3 reboot, it's a fucking after-credits scene so insignificant that everyone who i talk to about it forgot or didn't even know that price shot shepherd

#they fucked up so much #the credits are stupidly long too #im sure none of this would've happened if they had been given another year instead of releasing it LESS than a year after mwii #sorry i know. old news. this is just incredibly funny to me #call of duty #cod mwiii

[murdrdocs]

venus fly

description. the pollen that sprayed in LUKE CASTELLAN's face earlier this morning has some really weird effects. not that he's complaining.

a continuation of this drabble

includes. sex pollen SUGGESTIVE CONTENT 18+, accidental drugging, loser!luke, best friend!reader, demeter!reader, implied oral (f and m receiving), slightly perv!luke, aftercare almost nonexistent

wc: 4.5k+

a/n: the long awaited sex pollen fic. title from venus fly by grimes. no explicit smut ahead. artwork credit unknown.

Your shirt is fitting you really well. 

Your lips are moving, you’re saying something to Luke, he assumes it’s likely at least a little bit important, but he can only focus on how well your shirt is fitting. 

Tight enough over your bust—Luke figures you’re wearing a sports bra for capture the flag today since he sees no bra lines, but the bra creates a nice shape for your tits, so he doesn’t need the lines to entertain him. 

“Did you get a new shirt?”

You stop whatever you were saying to look down at your chest. You scoff, crossing your arms over your chest as you fix Luke with a look of disappointment. 

“Wha–? It’s an older one. All of my others were dirty.” Your bosom is covered, but Luke is still staring. It’s like he cannot peel his eyes away. Though, he hasn’t tried. At least, not until you scold him. 

“Will you stop ogling me while I’m trying to talk to you?” 

His reply is earnest. “Wait, shit, yeah. ‘m sorry I don't know what's going on…” 

You stare at him, your eyebrows furrowed and your lips parted. Luke can’t help but fix his eyes there next. You’re wearing chapstick, or maybe lip gloss. Something spread over your lips that creates a nice sheen that makes him want to lick it off like icing on a treat. 

“It’s okay …” Your words aren’t that convincing but you drop your arms and start speaking again. This time, Luke takes in at least a dozen words. 

Really, he should have known what was wrong with him. The same way he should have known that eventually, his insistent nosiness would come back to bite him in the rear. 

You’d always warned him of such, telling him that “it’s charming until it’s not”, when you would boot him out of the greenhouse. (Truthfully, Luke had codependency issues but if he never really admitted it to himself, then he wouldn’t have to admit it to you, either.)

You were spending more time in the greenhouse lately. Which has never been a problem for Luke. But your newest project, something completely unknown to Luke as it was apparently a Demeter kid only project, was taking away his time with you. You could barely spare a half hour to go by the lake. You traded chores with one of your siblings for more time in the greenhouse, leaving Luke to work with someone not nearly as entertaining as you. 

The only time he got to really see you was early in the morning and late at night. And if he was losing his time to something else—or, gods forbid, someone else—he wanted to know what it was. 

So right when you were leaving the greenhouse early that morning, Luke snuck in after you. He searched around, trying to find evidence of you anywhere, and when he did find it, he found his demise there, too.

Sitting next to your favorite pen was a potted plant. It resembled a venus fly trap, but immensely bigger. There were a cluster of them, some with large flowers growing out of the opened mouths. Luke stupidly had the urge to provoke the plant, driven by the desire to see them in action. 

He took your favorite pen, and gently stuck it inside of the mouth. 

When a puff of yellow smoke hit him square in the face, he hadn’t thought much of it. 

When he stumbled out of the greenhouse with a fog in his head and dizziness, he thought it to be a single side effect. 

When he started to feel warmer than usual, he thought it to be an effect of the insistent summer heat. 

It’s not until he’s waking up on the ground that he really begins to worry. 

His eyes open and he is immediately greeted with the sun attempting to blind him. He squints and raises a hand over his face, shielding both the sun and whoever stands over him. 

When they speak, he doesn’t need his eyes to tell who he is joined by. 

“Jesus, Castellan, if you didn’t scare the shit outta me just now I would be bragging about beating you.” 

Luke groans and rolls onto his side. He’s still wearing his battle armor over his clothes and he suddenly feels uncomfortable, like everything has been made wrong or maybe like he has outgrown them. His camp shirt is too tight against his body, pressing the sweat back into his skin and not allowing for any breathing room. His shorts feel awkward in the crotch, as do his briefs. And his shoes are suffocating his feet. 

There is nothing he wants more in this moment than to peel the armor and clothes off of his body and run down to the water. But he doesn’t know if the game has ended yet, nor does he know how long he has been out. 

There are many unanswered questions he has, but the first one he starts with is, “Why are you here?” 

He hears you scoff and knows you have rolled your eyes. 

“We were sparring and you just passed out. I wasn’t just going to leave you here.” 

He finally looks at you. His eyesight has readjusted to the light from the star above, so it stings just a bit less when he peers one eye open. 

You add on, “I didn’t know if you had spontaneously died or something! And now that I know you’re fine…” You bend down and grab your helmet, situating it back on your head and standing at attention over Luke. 

He needs to stand. The last thing he remembers is fighting you and he's never lost a fight to you. In his mind, he hasn’t surrendered, and you haven’t defeated him, so he needs to stand. 

He tries to, he really does, but his knees get weak and as soon as he’s up, his head spins and he’s right back down. 

You swear just before your knees are hitting the earth and you’re kneeling beside him. 

Luke can feel you pressing the back of your hand against his forehead, he can hear you asking him a few questions, he can see your wide eyes staring into his heavy ones, but he can’t respond. He can’t do anything but worry about the bile rising in his throat, or focus on the shining water just behind you. 

He doesn’t realize that he has begun moving until the bottom of his pants feel heavy with the weight of water. 

When he’s in to his thighs, he collapses and lets the ripples wash over his body. 

You don’t follow him until after him for a few moments, and when you do, you stand still at the shoreline. You let Luke soak the heat and sweat off of his skin as best as the circumstances allow, and you only speak to him once he’s standing right in front of you in soaked clothes and wet armor. 

“What’d you take?” 

At first, he’s not playing dumb. It just takes a moment for your words to plant in his mind. Then he plays dumb. 

“Take? I don’t know what you mean.”

You don’t entertain his ditziness and instead begin making your case. 

“You’re clearly on something, Luke. You’re sweating even though it’s as cool as it usually is. Your pupils are wide and your eyes go from restless to barely open. You keep fidgeting and every few minutes you twitch. And you’re standing here, talking to me, instead of helping the red team secure another win.” 

Luke hadn’t noticed most of his symptoms. It’s not like he can notice anything other than the thoughts in his mind, especially when they give him images of your tits bouncing in his face and audible hallucinations of what you would sound like moaning his name. 

He decides then and there that capture the flag doesn’t matter. Not when he has what he wants, the true glory, right in front of him. 

He heard you, he processed your words, but the sight of your lips distracts him once more and prevents him from instantly responding. He stares instead, watching your mouth through lazy blinks. 

He doesn’t even consider responding until you tut. 

“If you don’t want to tell me, then that’s fine. I’ll go get Maria L to take care of you then.” 

Luke's eyes widen. Maria L is an excellent healer but she also has a pestering crush on Luke, one that encourages her to touch Luke with grazes that border on harassment and lack any professionalism. 

“No! Not her.” Luke would feel bad about his reaction to the girls name if he didn’t have such a one track mind. 

Your eyebrows raise to tell him to continue. He does so begrudgingly. 

He picks at his fingernails and his cuticles until dead skin peels back to reveal blood. But the sting on his thumb doesn’t compare to the dull pain residing in his groin. 

He knows that admitting the truth to you would open the possibility of criticism. His current … illness aside, you would never let him live down the day his nosiness actually reaped consequences. He briefly considers accepting defeat, walking away with his tail tucked between his legs, and taking control of the growing boner on his own. 

He might be generally inexperienced in these situations, but even he knows that his own fist wouldn’t compare to even the slightest bit of attention from you. 

He opens his mouth. “I went in the greenhouse.” 

Your eyes widen as if Luke had confessed to committing a cardinal sin, and it’s then that Luke begins to really worry about himself.

“Did you …?” You don’t even have to finish your sentence before he nods. “Luke! You fucking-“

Not really in the mood for your chastising, Luke holds one hand up.  He is able to silence you for only a second before you’re slapping his hand away. You’re yelling at him, both for trying to rudely shut you up, and for doing the one thing you told him not to do. 

He sits and listens, waiting not-so-patiently for you to tire yourself out. He thought that point would come sooner than it does, but he’s sure that at least two minutes have passed and you’re showing no signs of stopping. 

He rolls his eyes, he furrows his eyebrows, and he tries to discreetly adjust the boner in his cargos, but according to you, Luke has never been discreet a day in his life. He has never believed in your so-called ability to see right through him until your eyes pointedly drift to his crotch with his hand still attached to it. 

Your insistent rambling ends unfinished. You blink, you don’t say anything. And then:

“Oh.”

At this point, he doesn’t know what to say, so he doesn’t say anything. You fill the silence for him. 

“Oh, Luke. I told you not to go in there because …”

His eyebrows lift. “Because what?” 

You take a breath. “The plant, the Venus Fly, the pollen is an aphrodisiac.”

Luke knows what an aphrodisiac is, he isn’t dumb, but he still asks for clarification. And when you explain, he asks you to dumb it down. Even then, he blinks at you. Because you were right. His nosiness caused this. 

He’s considering pitying himself whenever you suggest the one proposed solution, the only solution the Demeter and Apollo kids have been workshopping together ever since acquiring the plant from another kid's quest. 

And when your solution comes, Luke determines that there is no way he could pity himself whenever he is in the position he’s been dreaming of for literal years.

He might not have envisioned this particular scenario, as his fantasies usually entailed the two of you alone in a bed not at Camp Half-Blood. But something about this makes him enjoy it more. Out in nature, in the open with many possibilities of being caught surrounding you both. His lips on yours, his lips surrounding yours, as he kisses you messily. 

There is something perverse about the idea of getting to fuck you out in the open, gods willing. He didn’t think it was something he would be into, but it’s all he can think about when he’s rutting against you. 

He breathes you in. “I’ve …” he takes a moment, rubbing his stiff cock against your crotch once more. He groans as he speaks. “I’ve been thinking about this for so long.” 

You hum, your hands fisting the part of the back of Luke’s shirt that isn’t covered by his armor. 

“Luke,” you start and your voice is already full of hesitance. Luke isn’t sure he wants to hear what you have to say, but he knows it would be wrong not to. He busies himself with kissing your neck and under your jaw. 

“It’s the pollen talking,” you tell him. “You’re not yourself. You’re basica-“ He bites down onto where he can feel your pulse thrumming under your skin. You gasp, loud and broken, before continuing. “You’re basically drugged.” 

Somewhere deep down Luke knows that there’s logic in your statement, there usually is logic in your statements, besides during those times where you would say whatever came to your mind in the late hours of the night. But he doesn’t care, logic be damned. 

He knows that he’s felt this way—or at least in the range of this way—for a while now. The pollen has just given him the confidence to act on his desires. 

While the pollen has given him confidence, it hasn’t given him experience. 

He sloppily kisses along your neck and jaw, not necessarily knowing what he’s doing but he knows he’s expected to suck at one point, so he does. He just wants to please. 

You don’t react much to his lips on your skin, so he lifts a hand and slides it under your shirt and armor. The chest piece doesn’t allow for much maneuvering and Luke frowns against your skin before he separates completely to pull the armor off himself. 

He knows the clasps on the metal as well as he knows clasps on his favorite pair of pants. Yet his hands fumble. Excitement and the effects of the pollen, he reasons. But his face becomes warm from something other than the two, something he would rather not fully acknowledge. Especially not when he’s about to get his dick wet in the warmth of the one person he’s wanted since he was old enough to actually understand sex. 

You ask Luke if he wants your help with your usual teasing tone, but Luke doesn’t take kindly to it. As soon as he has the chest piece off, he has your shirt following it, and then his lips are back on yours. 

If even possible, this kiss is heavier. Firmer. Meaner. 

He still doesn’t know what he’s doing, but he calls onto the one other time he’d made out with someone. He remembers how he had been instructed to use his tongue and lick into his partner's mouth (a boy from the Ares cabin who stopped coming to camp a year ago). He had been kind to Luke when he didn’t know what he was doing, but now Luke feels like he needs to prove himself. He wants to prove himself. He wants to impress you. 

What results is a clash of teeth and tongue. It’s messy, sloppy, and slobbery. 

Luke likes it that way. 

You pull away first. 

Not much has been done, but you look a mess. Your lips are coated in saliva, probably yours and Luke’s, and pride floods his chest. You look flushed, too, and Luke sincerely hopes he’ll be able to amplify the emotion on your face soon thereafter. 

“Slow down. Luke.” Your words are soft, gentle, and kind. Just like you. Just like your hands that card through his still-wet hair. 

He winces, and not from the way your fingers snag on a cluster of curls. Wrongly assuming the cause of his sound, you apologize and smooth the patch of hair down. Your hands instead slide down Luke’s shoulders and he tries not to frown at the change. 

“Sorry,” he admits. He gnaws on his bottom lip, already missing the feeling of yours, and finds himself continuing. “I haven’t really made out with anyone since …”

You nod, lips pulling up in the corners. “Theo?” Luke nods. “I know. We tell each other everything, remember?”

Not everything. 

No one else is privy to the dreams Luke has about you. He has never told you, or anyone else, about all of the times he would fist his cock and chant your name in the showers late at night. In fact, when you would ask what took him so long, he would make up a lie about taking advantage of the hot water and solitude. While it was only a white lie, it was a lie nonetheless. 

The innocent and naive look on your face as you accepted his lie by omission only made Luke’s cock harder. 

You’re staring up at him now with a look different enough, but his reaction is the same.  Your eyes hold interest, intrigue, a little bit of mischief, perhaps. You look sure of yourself, like you’ve done this and in this capacity multiple times before. But Luke knows about your experience, nearly the exact same as his save for a few details he wishes to erase. 

When you had dished on your sexual history, Luke felt jealousy stirring deep in his stomach. He had been with other people, a guy and a girl, but that was in hopes of getting his mind off of you. Meanwhile, you had been with other people out of personal interest and not self-deluded necessity. 

Either way, your experience is almost the same as Luke’s, and knowing so makes it easier for him to take the lead. 

He kisses you again but he tries to go slower. Everything in him screams for him to speed up, to take you how he pleased, but he breathes and pushes the thoughts aside. 

Taking it slow pays off when you work the armor off of Luke’s torso (without much difficulty at all), and then slide your hands under his orange shirt to rest your palms against his abs. The feeling of your skin against his is striking, even though the touch isn’t much at all. Pathetically, Luke is affected by the meaning more than the physicality. 

“What do you feel now?” You ask him after pulling away from his lips. 

Luke’s immediate reflex is to say “horny”. 

You roll your eyes and absentmindedly scratch your nails against his abs. When he keens, he figures he’s hornier than even he thought. 

“I mean other than that. Your skin is warm so I’m assuming you’re still nearing a fever, at least. Are you lightheaded? Nauseous? Anything?”

Luke feels like he’s been slapped in the face. You were asking about his symptoms like a healer. Like an Apollo kid. He couldn’t help but wonder if you were only touching him to gauge his temperature. Were you only doing this—kissing him—to keep his fever warded off? Did you even want this? 

Rationally, he knows that you would do anything to help him. You’re his best friend, after all. But he wants you to want this, otherwise it would mean nothing.  Otherwise, he wouldn’t even begin to hold a torch to your previous partners. He would be the one you laid with out of moral obligation and not interest. 

He hadn’t been feeling nauseous before, but his throat starts to construct as if preparing to trigger his gag reflex. 

He hasn’t responded and you’re looking at him inquisitively. 

“Nauseous,” he starts. “Hot. Horny. Are you only doing this to keep me from dying?” The question messily tumbles out without him noticing. 

You run your tongue over your teeth. “Yes. But there’s also personal benefits involved.” 

Usually, Luke could decipher your maze-like answers. But he’s so hot and worked up and lacking an immense amount of patience. 

“So you want to fuck me?” 

Luke doesn’t continue his work until you respond. 

“Yes, Luke. I want to fuck you.” 

He has your shirt over your head in less than a minute. The button on your shorts is undone 30 seconds after that. He has completely forgotten about your plea to go slower, but even if he did remember he wouldn’t be able to comply. 

He needs to feel you. All of you. Or else he might collapse then and there. 

His hands run over your shoulders and torso gratefully, only appearing as the opposite whenever he runs into your bra (a sports bra, as he had assumed). As soon as he has the straps pulled down, he latches his lips onto the newly revealed skin. 

Distantly, Luke thinks he would have liked to have been able to lay you back. He wants to see you laid out before him while you’re completely at his mercy. Luckily, he has learned to adapt. He has been dealt unfavorable cards in his life, and turned them into something worthy. He plans to do the same here and now. 

As he sinks to his knees, he pulls your shorts down with him. You don’t have to be told to step out of them, but as soon as you do, you’re looking down at Luke with your eyebrows raised. 

“Are you sure? I haven’t showered since yesterday and I’m really sweaty.” 

Luke doesn’t pay any mind to your words. As you’re speaking, he already has his fingers forced under the elastic fabric of your panties. 

“I’m sure.” 

He pulls the fabric down. 

“You don’t have to.” 

“I want to.” 

He pulls your leg over his shoulder, bringing your cunt straight to his face. 

He has never gotten this far with someone before, he has never even seen examples of what to do in this position. He could back out. He could set your leg back down and only get his dick wet. But you smell so good, and you’re practically glistening in the sun, and you’re staring down at him expectantly so Luke slowly leans forward, sticks his tongue out, and gets to work. 

‎

‎

By the time Luke feels even a bit satiated, the sun has started to descend to its destination below the horizon, creating a soft blue hue over the sky. 

You’re panting under him, your back and arms painted with dirt, just a bit smudged on your cheek and a few flecks of it strewn throughout your hair. Your stomach rises and falls with your breaths, drawing Luke’s attention to the fresh cum laying there. There’s some dried cum on your back, and just the smallest smudge at the corner of your lips. Luke doesn’t think much before he licks his thumb and wipes away the white crust from your mouth. 

He sits back on his haunches and sighs with his head tilted to the sky. His hands rest on his thighs with an exorbitant amount of self control, as he desperately wishes to wrap his fingers around his semi-erect cock and jerk himself to another orgasm. 

He thinks that most of the pollen has left his system by now, and at this point the desire he feels is natural. It’s the same desire he has felt for you for a while now, only amplified by the memory of what the real thing was like with you. It’s addicting. Luke truly cannot get enough, even though he has been out here with you for hours. Somewhere along the way, one of the teams won capture the flag. Luke wasn’t sure which one, but the triumphant yells in the distance alerted him of a victory. Somewhere between his third orgasm and your fourth, the conch for lunch blew off into the distance, but Luke had absolutely no concern for satisfying his physical hunger. He was too focused on the sight in front of him. 

When he brings his vision back down, you’re sitting with your legs pulled in your chest and your arms wrapped around your calves. 

“We should clean up and go have dinner,” you tell him, your voice weak and hoarse. 

Fear strikes Luke still. You’re avoiding his eyes, staring down at the dirt, and speaking in a soft voice. 

He shuffles closer to you, reaches out to touch you, and then he reconsiders. You take a deep breath, and Luke rests his hand on your elbow. 

“Okay. Are you okay? I know that was a lot.”

You look at him and Luke feels a bit better, because while your eyes are a bit distant, you don’t look upset. 

“I’ll be okay. ‘m just tired. But what about you, are you fine?” 

There is still that nagging in the back of his head, telling him to take you one more time, but his logical part knows that you wouldn’t be able to handle it. He knows that you’ve had enough. Which means he, too, has had enough. 

“I’m good.” He leans forward and presses a kiss into your hairline. He stands, pulls his boxers onto his lower half, and offers you his hand. “C’mon.” 

You let Luke help you redress and hold his hand as he leads you back to camp the back way. You two come out of the forest right by the showers, where Luke tells you to wait while he does his best to sneakily run back to the cabins. He grabs himself a change of clothes, then sneaks into the Demeter cabin where he does the same for you. 

He knows that he has just seen all of your intimate parts for hours on end, but holding your panties in his hand makes his ears redden. Blood threatens to rush down to his crotch but he fills his head with the most undesirable images until he reaches you. 

Two showers are started, you and Luke stand back to back, and Luke enters his shower. 

When the bathroom is covered in steam and you’ve both used the remnants of the hot water, you and Luke redress and reach the dining pavilion just in time for dinner. 

He falls into the routine of a caring counselor easily. He answers insistent questions about his previous whereabouts with a passing “I was sick” that earns just enough sympathy and stops the questions all together. A few times he looks across the way to see you already looking at him. Instead of dropping his eyes or teasing you with the slyest middle finger he could muster, he smiles at you just slyly enough to not raise suspicion. 

When offerings have been given, and Luke feels full in multiple ways, he finds you at the bonfire and sits with his leg flushed to yours. 

He had just begun to think that all of the pollen was out until you rested your hand on his knee and he felt a jump in his stomach. 

Goddamn it. 

#lukesworld! #luke castellan x reader #luke castellan x you #luke castellan smut #celeste writes pjo #loser!luke

[basketonthedoorstepofthefbi]

Safer to Kiss (part 2) - Spencer Reid x Fem!BAU!Reader

read part 1 here!

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!BAU!Reader

Word Count: 3236

Summary: the day after drunkenly kissing your best friend and coworker, Spencer Reid, the BAU catches a case. Lots of talking with other members of the team, general group dynamic chaos, and ✨Pining✨

Warnings: Mentions of alcohol, normal Criminal Minds violence, maybe some mild cursing? Mostly just pining teehee

A/N: thank you so much to everyone who interacted with part 1! I am so pumped about this lil series, and part 3 is already started 🙈 I love love LOVE hearing from you guys, it makes me so happy and inspired to continue writing. 🥹 also not my gif, all credit to the owner bc LOOK AT HIS LIL FACE

————

Spencer’s hands were on your hips. Spencer’s hands were on your hips. Suddenly the three glasses of wine and 2 glasses of champagne were null and void, because you felt completely sobered by the time your mouth pulled away from his. The reality of the situation hit you like a bus - you, in a drunken stupor, had stupidly, idiotically, irreversibly kissed your best friend. Right on the lips. There was no excusing it as a friendly peck on the cheek.

Your entire face felt hot as you pulled away, and as Spencer’s hands retracted to his own space. You felt wobbly - okay, maybe you hadn’t sobered up - and when you were once again leaning against the railing of the stairs on your apartment building’s stoop, you blinked a few times.

Spencer blinked a few times, too, as if to process what had just happened. He’d tasted like red wine, which you saw he’d only had one single glass of tonight, and spearmint gum. The combination reminded you of spring.

Your best friend tasted like spring.

Your eyes widened, buggy, as if they might pop out of your head, and you opened your mouth to say something, but no words came out.

Spencer spoke instead, with an earnest expression on his face. “Y/N-“

“Thanks for getting me home in one piece, okay, goodnight!” You rambled off, the words sliding off your tongue like they were on a luge, all blurring together into one, long megaword. You slid in behind the door and stumbled up to your unit before you could say another word.

You couldn’t believe yourself, replaying the moment on your stoop over and over as you locked the door, leaning against it and running your hand over your face. Spencer’s expression had been completely dumbfounded when you pulled away from the kiss. There was no doubt in your mind that he had been about to politely reject you, in that way that only he could do. I’m sorry, Y/N, but I think we’re better off as friends, he would say, simultaneously humiliating you and ripping your heart in half.

That’s why you’d cut him off, before he could say anything, before he could address the situation, before either of you had to acknowledge that it had actually happened.

You slept poorly that night, your anxiety getting the best of you. It was that look on Spencer’s face, how you just knew he was going to tell you in the kindest, most sensitive tone that he didn’t like that you kissed him. And your Nan’s voice ringing in your head - You’ll find someone someday, Button. You’ll be just as happy as your sister someday, Button.

You tossed and turned, and woke up with a violent hangover. All the coffee in the world was not enough to cure the aftershock of the night before.

Your stomach was in knots, a lethal combination of hangover ickies and irreversible mistake anxiety, and as you took a cab to work, you leaned your head against the seat behind you.

You flashed your badge to security and boarded the elevator to ride up to the sixth floor. The doors opened to reveal Penelope Garcia, clutching a stack of folders to her chest, waiting for you.

“Good morning, pumpkin,” Penelope flashed a smile, then grabbed you by the wrist, practically yanking you along behind her as she headed towards the conference room. Your head was pounding and while you loved Penelope with all your heart, in that moment, you wanted to throttle her. “You look horrible. We’ll discuss that later, and don’t even think about trying to internalize it and brush me off. I might not be a super magic genius psychic profiler, but I can tell when one of my love-bugs has had a wild night and I want details. Unfortunately for you, darling, you have a case. Hotch asked me to pull you directly into the conference room. Everyone’s waiting.”

Usually, when Penelope rambled on like that, you were able to keep up. In this weakened state, however, the words hit you like someone throwing putty against a wall, and it took a minute to process. You found yourself standing in front of the closed door of the conference room, with slackened posture and narrowed eyes. “Okay,” you managed to murmur before Penelope dragged you behind her, into the conference room.

You could feel the team’s eyes on you as you slumped into the empty seat. You avoided eye contact with everyone, especially Spencer, projecting to the room that you were not to be asked about your disheveled appearance and obvious headache. You spared a glance at Spencer. He looked perfect, as per freakin’ usual, with a purple button-up dress shirt and a dark tie over it. He sat up straight in his desk chair, as if last night hadn’t affected him in the slightest. You hated that.

Hotchner cleared his throat. “Let’s begin. Garcia?”

Penelope’s eyes lingered on you, fluttering from you to Spencer, and you watched as she seemed to resist the urge to say anything. “Ooookay,” she spoke, drawing the word out as she stood before the table. She used the TV remote to present the case’s info on the monitor. “We’ve got a local case today, my fine furry friends. Three men killed in three weeks,” you took a drink of the water in front of you as Penelope presented three driver’s license photos on the TV screen. “All bodies have been identified. Twenty-three-year-old Harvey Gibson, twenty-nine-year-old Kyle Moore, and twenty-eight-year-old Malcolm Greene. All three were found in alleys in downtown D.C, cause of death multiple stab wounds to the chest, stomach, and genitals.”

You choked on your water when you saw the last photo. Malcolm Greene, as in, Malcolm Greene, the guy you spoke to last night at the art gallery? You remembered spotting him from across the room, and thinking about how Spencer had said he’d gone on a date (albeit, an unsuccessful one) over the weekend, and you wanted to prove to yourself that you could be interested in other men. And then you’d gone over to Malcolm, spoke to him for an embarrassing two minutes and twelve seconds, and walked back to Spencer with a red face. And now he was dead?

Concerns about your relationship with your best friend aside, your eyes met Spencer’s across the conference table and the two of you seemed, for a moment, to fall back into your old dynamic, having a somewhat telepathic conversation with just your expressions.

That’s the guy…? Spencer seemed to say, his brows furrowed slightly.

A subtle bob of your head was how you responded. Yep, that’s him.

Spencer’s mouth formed a straight line, a mannerism that everyone around the table seemed to notice.

“Reid, Y/L/N, what’s going on?” Derek piped up, inclining his head to the side curiously. “Something you’d like to share with the class?”

Spencer’s mouth opened as if he were about to spill the beans, but he paused, seemingly deciding not to rattle off whatever he was going to say. Instead, he gestured to you.

“Spencer and I went to an art gallery after work last night,” you sighed, feeling your cheeks turn pink. “I may have… flirted, briefly, with Malcolm Greene.”

Derek let out a low whistle, and you saw Emily and JJ share an amused look. Rossi was even cracking a smirk.

Only Hotch remained as stoic as ever. “How long did you speak with him?” He asked.

“Two minutes, twelve seconds,” you and Spencer said simultaneously, and your eyes snapped to his across the table. You swallowed the lump in your throat and somehow felt your whole face turn even redder.

“Some smooth-talker you are,” Derek snickered, and you shot him a glare. Penelope, standing behind him, smacked his shoulder. “Did you get his digits that fast?”

“I don’t really see how that’s pertinent to the case,” you protested, sitting up straight and crossing your arms over your chest.

“It’s just like any other witness interview, Y/N,” Hotch reminded you calmly, shooting the rest of the team a warning glance. “Even the most minute detail could help.” He seemed to realize that you were humiliated, and that the rest of the team’s eyes on you were not helping the situation. “We can talk about it later,” he compromised.

“So, multiple stab wounds to the chest, stomach, and genitals, huh?” Rossi offered as a rough transition back to the topic at hand. Across the table, you heard Emily stifle a laugh.

“Yes, sir. All bodies were posed in a classic casket fashion, arms folded across their chests, eyes closed,” Penelope reported.

“Sign of remorse,” JJ noted, jotting it down on her pad of paper.

“Any cash missing from their wallets, or jewelry missing off their body?” Hotchner asked.

“No, sir, all wallets were found in the clothes of the victims, presumably where they had been kept untouched,” Penelope answered.

“So, not a robbery gone wrong,” Rossi concluded.

“The disposal of the bodies feels inconsistent with the cause of death,” Spencer pointed out, twirling his pen around his finger. His cadence was quick and pensive. “Multiple stab wounds to those particular areas of the body indicate intense rage at the time of the murder, disposing them in alleyways seems to be a choice of opportunity and convenience, but posing the bodies is a sign of remorse, like the UnSub suddenly realizes what he’s done and regrets it.”

“Do the victims have any friends or family in common?” You asked, crossing your ankles beneath the table.

“As far as my preliminary scans can tell, all three men were completely unrelated,” Penelope said. “The only common denominator is how they died and how their bodies were disposed of.”

“Not entirely,” Emily pointed out, standing up and using her pen as a pointer, gesturing to the three ID photos on the screen.

“Don’t these guys all look… strikingly similar?” Emily proposed. All men were white, with aquiline noses, dark hair, and dark eyes. “In fact, don’t they all look exactly like someone we know?”

You took in a sharp breath, just as Penelope let out a small gasp and Derek let out a soft chuckle. “They’re all pretty boys, like Pretty Boy,” Derek laughed.

“So our UnSub has a type,” JJ added.

Derek smirked. “The UnSub and Y/N both have a type.”

Your face turned bright red, and your jaw tensed. You felt Spencer’s eyes on you for a fleeting moment, and before you could say anything, Hotchner stepped in. “Let’s get going on this. Reid, JJ, and Morgan, I want you at the crime scene. Prentiss, Rossi, and Y/L/N, come with me to the local police precinct and interview family and friends. Garcia, too.”

There was an array of agreements murmured, and everyone began to disperse. You wanted to shake Derek by the shoulders for his little comment, especially after all the teasing you took when you realized the man you briefly spoke to last night was now dead.

You were on your way back to your desk when you felt a light touch on your elbow. When you saw it was Spencer, you bit the inside of your cheek. “Can we talk for a second?” He asked, and you shook your head.

Pointing pathetically to your desk, you responded, rather articulately, with, “The case…”

“Yeah, I know. The case. But, Y/N, we have to talk about last night,” Spencer said, looking down at you. Even though you were actually tall for a woman, Spencer still had at least four inches of height on you. Maybe five. “I mean, you just, like, escaped from me the first second that you could. Was it…?”

You furrowed your brows, confused as to what Spencer was trying to say. “Did you mean to kiss me?” He asked.

This was it. This was the out. He was giving it to you, whether he knew it or not. This was the opportunity to take it all back, to say it was a mistake. You could blame it on the wine, on your Nan’s phone call, on Malcolm - what was he gonna do, sell you out?

The chance to save your friendship with Spencer Reid was right there, and you stood there and you looked up at Spencer with your mouth open, words ready to spill out, when -

“Hey, Reid, you coming, man?”

Saved by the Morgan.

You saw Spencer’s jaw tighten, and he exhaled sharply. You were still frozen, unsure of what to say, of how to say it, so when Spencer simply frowned at you and then turned around to join Derek, you weren’t surprised.

You ran your hands over your face, still reeling, foggy from your hangover, thoroughly embarrassed from the entire situation.

“Y/N,” Rossi’s voice piped up, and you turned to see him with an arched brow. “C’mon, we gotta get going,” he gestured for you to follow him.

You sighed, your shoulders slumped, as you joined Rossi. You boarded the elevator with him, just the two of you, to head down to one of the Bureau’s black SUVs. “What’s going on with you?” Rossi asked, furrowing his brows.

In terms of group dynamics, David Rossi was like the team’s mother, in comparison to Hotchner, who was most certainly the patriarch of the BAU. You loved Rossi. He was kind, fairly level-headed, and he always stuck his neck out for the people he cared about. He also was pretty funny, and could make a killer lasagna. All those merits aside, you so did not want to talk about it.

“Not right now, Dave,” you shook your head, leaning against the wall of the elevator, running your palms down your thighs.

Rossi nodded understandingly, but you had an inkling he wasn’t about to just drop it. “I get it. Hungover, in a weird spot with Reid-“

“I’m not in a weird spot with Reid,” you corrected him, and Rossi smirked, knowing he had gotten you to crack. You shot him a (mostly) playful glare. “I had maybe a little too much to drink last night. And I maybe had, accidentally, perhaps…” you groaned, rolling your eyes at the idiocy of your actions the night before. “I kissed Spencer last night. It only lasted for, like, a minute, and right when it was over, I freaked out and went inside my apartment, and now things are just, like, weird between us. And I don’t know what to do.”

“Well, kiddo,” Rossi began, and you pursed your lips. He always hit you with a kiddo when he was about to tell you something you didn’t want to hear. “As a person who has been with many romantic partners-“

You feigned a gag.

Rossi just chuckled and continued. “I think you have to ask yourself - how do you want Spencer to react? Would you prefer to bury this and never speak of it again, or is this the catalyst you needed to finally tell him how you feel?”

You narrowed your eyes. “What do you mean, tell him how I feel?” You asked, playing dumb. Maybe Rossi was just grasping at straws.

“Oh, c’mon, kid, we’ve all seen how you look at each other. The only person who doesn’t know that you’re in love with Spencer is, well, Spencer.”

You felt your entire face flush. “You’re not serious,” you chuckled in disbelief.

Rossi looked at you and batted his eyelashes in a very feminine expression. The expression dropped and he said, “You make this lovestruck school girl expression at him at least once a day.”

“I do not!” You crossed your arms over your chest defensively, just as the elevator dinged, signaling your arrival to the Quantico lobby.

“Yeah, kid, you do. It’s pretty cute, actually. You’re like two lovesick puppies, chasing each other’s tails.”

“He does not think of me like that, Rossi,” you insisted indignantly, your voice taking a more hushed tone as the two of you walked at the same quick pace through the lobby, and outside towards the garage of Bureau vehicles.

The sun hit your face just as Rossi spoke again. “You’re such a good profiler, Y/N. How do you not see it?”

You decided not to dignify Rossi’s opinion with a response. Rather, you just shook your head and continued towards the garage to meet up with Prentiss and Garcia.

When you arrived at the police precinct, Garcia set up in the conference room, and you, Emily and Rossi each took turns interviewing the next of kin for the victims. You interviewed the mother of the first victim, Harvey Gibson.

An art student at Georgetown, steady boyfriend for three years he planned to propose to on Christmas, no criminal record, called his mother every other day. He was a good kid. Comforting his mother, walking her through all the questions the police had asked her three weeks ago — it was always a lot. But with your head already fuzzy and your mind on other Reid-related things, by the time you escorted Mrs. Gibson out of the police station and thanked her for her time, you felt heavy.

It didn’t help when the team reconvened about an hour later, sitting around a conference room at the local police station. You could tell Spencer’s eyes were floating to yours every so often, but you refused to meet them. You were working right now. You couldn’t let the revelation with Rossi distract you from your job.

Penelope took the lead, addressing the entire team. “So, our original thought of the three victims being unrelated actually has turned out to be incorrect,” she began. “Not only do all three of our victims look alike, but they all visited the same art gallery twenty-four hours prior to their murders.”

“Not the one we went to last night?” Spencer asked.

“No,” Penelope clarified. “From Emily’s discussion with Malcolm Greene’s brother, along with tracking the location of the other two victims’ cell phones prior to their deaths, we can determine that all three victims visited a different art gallery - The Restful Owl, just two blocks over from where you and Y/N went last night.”

“So, the victims all meet a certain physical description,” JJ recapped. “Brown hair, brown eyes, early-to-late twenties, and all visited The Restful Owl art gallery.”

“The gallery seems like a solid lead,” Hotch agreed. “All three victims were interested in art in some capacity - Harvey Gibson was studying art, Kyle Moore worked at an art museum, Malcolm Greene was a collector.”

“Perhaps the ruse the UnSub used was related to a particular piece or artist,” Spencer proposed, wrapping and unwrapping his fingers around his pen. “We should get the security tapes from each victim’s visit to the gallery, observe who they spoke to, how they reacted to specific pieces. Maybe the UnSub lured these men to the sites of their deaths by promising them a deal on a work, or something of the sort.”

“Good idea,” said Hotchner. “Prentiss, Morgan, follow up with the gallery. If there’s a specific person or piece all three victims stopped to interact with, I think our next step is pretty clear.”

“What’s that?” Penelope asked.

“We send in someone who just so happens to be exactly the UnSub’s type to the art gallery as bait,” Rossi concluded.

All eyes, including yours, moved across the table, landing on Spencer.

#spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #spencer reid #spencer reid x y/n #basketonthedoorstepofthefbi #criminal minds spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid self insert

[sp0o0kylights]

Someone on Twitter proposed Steve and Gareth as cousins whose family had a major falling out, and then someone else brought it up recently and long story short no idea who to credit the idea too bc you can’t search for SHIT on Twitter but it's theirs not mine. 

Anyway I wrote a lil thing as a warmup 

PART TWO

"Why don't you come sit with Hellfire?" Gareth asked, angrily leaned against the bathroom wall while Steve fixed his hair.

He'd tried not to cling since he entered high school. Tried to keep things on the downlow, least any gossipy mouths started running. 

It was so stupidly, needlessly, hard. 

 His cousin was only two years ahead of him but they'd spent the last year in different schools because of it. 

 That year, and the lack of Steve's presence in it, had grated. Now that he finally had Steve back, Gareth was loathe to play by the rules. 

"Sit with you and Eddie, "the freak" Munson? I'll pass." Steve said, but there was no bite in it. 

That, Gareth knew, was because Steve was  using Eddie as an excuse. 

"You'd like Eddie if you spent five minutes with him, King Steve." Gareth fired back on automatic. His fingers dug into his arms, as he resisted the urge to pace around the bathroom floor. 

Unspoken was all the shit that had taken place.

Steve and Nancy's breakup. The rumor mill in overdrive, first about how Jonathan Byers had taken creep shot photos of them, then about how he'd taken his shot with Nancy herself. 

The supposed cheating, the public fights, the crazy background of Jonathan's little brother being missing. 

Billy Hargrove beating Steve to a pulp. 

Now friendless, Steve had thoroughly fallen from his place at the tippy top of the social hierarchy and between his utter lack of friends and his shit tier parents, Gareth was concerned. 

"You do not want me to sit with you, Gary. I'd tell all your little friends that you're apart of the royal family." Steve turned, making an exaggerated face. "How's Munson feel about cozying up to a Prince?" 

"I'd technically be an Earl, Steve, not a prince." Gareth grumbled. 

He got an eye roll in response. "Somehow I don't think he'll care." 

"I do though." Gareth blurted out, absolutely thoughtless. 

Steve blinked at him. 

"What?" He said. 

In for a penny right?

 "I care." Gareth said, looking down and scuffing a shoe, making it squeak against the grimy tiles. "About you. You dick." 

"Wow Gary you almost sounded loving there."

For once, he ignored the jab. "I'm worried about you, man." He said it quietly, the painful truth pulled out of him almost by force. 

He knew better than anyone how few people Steve had. Knew how his dad was likely taking all the crap Steve had been involved in lately. 

Richard Harrington hadn't been the wedge that had separated his and Steve's mother, but the man hadn't done them any favors, either. 

His intolerance towards the working and lower classes, his demand for perfection, the way he looked down his nose not just on Gareth's parents but on his own wife and son…

Gareth's mom didn't tolerate it. 

Likewise, Stella Harrington didn't tolerate her sister ruining her shot at being a rich trophy wife. 

Both their sets of parents were dramatic and neither of them weren't anywhere near the concept of "good" but at least Gareth's weren't neglectful and abusive. 

Shitty absolutely, but he never worried about getting thrown out, or that his mom wouldn't acknowledge his birthday because he'd "complimented her outfit the wrong way." 

(”It's fine dude she just thought I called her ugly. It was a miscommunication. Dad said it's a good lesson about how women work."

"Casual reminder that your dad's an asshole and also how is telling your mom that she looked lovely in the sunlight telling her she's ugly?”

“It implied she wasn't lovely the rest of the time or some shit, I dunno man.”) 

The BMW was a shitty prize when compared what Steve had dealt with to receive it. 

"I'm okay." Steve said seriously. "It's almost the end of the year anyways. I can tough out having some extra alone time." 

"If you're sure…"

"Yeah man, I'm sure. Thanks though."

Then Steve pulled him into a hug and fuck their parents, who demanded they continued some stupid grudge. Gareth clung to him just as hard as he had at ten. Unsure if he'd ever be allowed to see Steve again.

#steve harringtons shitty parents #steve harrington #gareth #gareth emerson #my beloved lil side character #steve and gareth as secret cousins #SECRET COUSSSIIINS #steve whump #0o0 fanfics

[evermoreal]

it always leads to you ࿐

pairing: simon riley x reader

genre: dad’s best friend au, fluff, smut, a touch of angst

cw: smut - this is 18+ minors dni, age gap (ghost is in his 40s, reader is in her 20s), fem!reader, reader is implied to be shorter than ghost, unprotected sex (bad idea!!!!!), praise kink (excessive use of ‘good girl’), oral (m & f receiving), face-fucking (he’s gentle abt it), ummmm a man that is Not ghost makes unwanted sexual advances, small mention of blood (someone gets a cut on their forehead). please lmk if i missed anything !!!!!!

summary: coming home for the holidays is both a blessing and a curse — cheesy music, bittersweet nostalgia, and simon riley, your father’s best friend and the man you’ve had a stupidly big crush on for years.

author’s note: hiii!! um a Few things . firstly, i seldom write smut & when i do i never post it. i have put off posting this for so long bc i was so nervous — it was originally meant to be a christmas gift to u guys 😭😭 n e ways we Prevail. also i despite being Obsessed w him i’ve never written for ghost !!!! i want to do soo much more for him & the other cod men, so if u have any reqs/ideas, my asks are always open !!! love u guys soooooo much i hope i enjoy ! 💋💋

word count: 11k (sorry 😭)

credits: title is from tis the damn season by taylor swift, and the beauuuutifullll render/edit of ghost is by user dwisesz on twitter!

before you met him, you’d heard endless stories. for as long as you could remember, your father recounted tales of his friend ‘ghost’ from the army. every time he came back from deployment, there’d be something new — ghost’s snipe from 2,700 meters away, ghost making your dad laugh so hard beer came out of his nose, ghost making a new recruit cry simply by staring at them.

there were others, of course, too; gaz, who your father had quite the soft spot for; john, who quickly became your favourite when you met him a few years ago and he snuck you a sip of wine at dinner; soap, who was new to the team but had enough passion to carry an entire army on his back.

ghost, though — he was your dad’s favourite. though he claimed to be too honourable for favourites, the way your father spoke about him made it clear. a simultaneous respect and affection woven through every recounted story.

it was a shock you didn’t meet him until your freshman year of college. your father and ghost’s leave fell around the same time, and your father had invited him to stay with your family. your father never revealed much about ghost’s history, but you knew it was dark and splattered with blood. he was alone now, and though he claimed he preferred it that way, he’d accepted your father’s invitation.

from your bedroom, you’d heard the front door creak open, and without so much as a breath you were bounding down the stairs, bare feet smacking against the hardwood. your father was in the midst of putting down his bags when you threw your arms around him. “dad!”

he reciprocated immediately, pulling you tightly against him. “hi, honey. i missed you.”

as you pulled back, he patted your head, and you spotted a shadow along the floor. following it toward the still-open door, you found a broad, menacing figure, blocking most of the sunlight. he was nearly as wide as the doorway, and the top of his head just barely made it under the threshold. over his face was hidden by a black balaclava with the faint impression of a skull along the front, faded with age and use. despite the endless stories, you were immediately intimidated, and stepped closer to your father.

your dad squeezed your arm, chuckling. “lieutenant, this is my daughter.”

looking between the two of you, simon took a slow step forward, and extended his hand. his movements were careful, like you were a wild animal he didn’t want to spook.

hesitating briefly, you slipped your hand into his. the warmth of ghost’s hand bled through the gloves he wore as he squeezed yours once. “nice to meet you, sweetheart.”

“it’s nice to meet you, um, mr ghost.” you had to crane your neck to look him in the eye.

a low, raspy chuckle rumbled from his chest, and beneath the balaclava, his eyes creased into tiny half-moons. “just simon is fine, love.”

and, really, he didn’t even give you a chance. there was no warning, no preamble. in an instant, fear ignited into something far more dangerous — attraction.

with a warm stomach, you smiled, and tried your hardest to keep it from growing too wide. “right. um. simon. yes.” you bit your cheek. “i’ve heard a lot about you.”

finally releasing your hand, he murmured, “terrible things, i assume.” his wink was quick and cheeky and certainly wasn’t meant to release a swarm of butterflies in your stomach, and yet . . .

“mostly,” you joked, and beside you, your father laughed. it was a rude awakening — ice water splashed over your silly little daydream. this man was only a few years younger than your father — in no universe would he give you a chance, and in no world should you want him to.

as quickly and as unassumingly as you could, you excused yourself, claiming you were in the middle of packing — which was mostly true. you were due on campus in less than two weeks, and if you didn’t start now, you’d leave it until the night before and end up forgetting something.

initially, you’d dreaded spending two weeks under the same roof as simon. it was a surefire plan to end up embarrassing yourself, because you’d never really been able to act normally around a crush, especially one in the shape of a 6-foot-whatever behemoth. yet, as the days went on, that dread steadily began to lift. despite your school girl crush, simon was easy to talk to. a lot of the time he was quiet, but his eyes never wavered from you, listening intently and humming where it mattered. he was fun, too — he recommended good movies, took you shopping while your father ran errands, taught you the best places to hit a man if one attacked you.

(a picture of simon, dramatically curled up in pain after you’d accidentally kicked him in the balls during a lesson now sits in your phone’s ‘favourites’ folder).

two weeks went by far too quickly, and before you knew it, your dad and simon were lugging your belongings up and into your dorm. not a single bag was left for you — you were tasked with the important duty of telling them what went where. when all was said and done, simon handed you a tiny piece of paper with a ten-digit number scrawled messily across it.

“in case you ever need me,” he explained, warm brown eyes peering at you beneath terribly long lashes. “i know your dad’s always there, but — just in case.”

then, he’d patted your head and squeezed your shoulder, murmuring a, “good luck, kid.”

and, though he was lovely to look at and talk with and exist around, you knew it would never be anything more. no matter how desperately a silly little part of you wished it. he spent time with you because he didn’t have anyone else. never had a daughter or a niece to spoil or playfight with. it was endearing, the way he interacted with you. wholesome and innocent and if that was all you’d ever get, you’d be happy.

— ∘♡༉∘ —

college was a lot. it was simultaneously the best and worst time of your life, passing by at both a snail’s and bullet’s pace. somehow, you ended up halfway through your final year. the holidays had rolled around, leaving you on a train, weaving over the tracks as you made your way back home.

in the years you’d been away, you’d kept in contact with simon. he joined your family for every holiday, and beyond that, you texted him often. sent him photos of your proudest grades, spirit days, or yummy meals. he’d even occasionally text you first, asking how your classes were going, if it was raining there like it was here, if you got home safe on the nights he knew you went out.

the landlord he’d rented his shitty apartment from ended up selling the place and simon had to relocate, finding a place only a few minutes from your dad’s. they loved to bug you, now — sending selfies and videos. to occupy themselves on their offtime, they’d opened a car repair shop together, and it only got worse.

you weren’t supposed to be home until tomorrow, but you were feeling homesick and your bags were already packed. before long, you were stepping out of a taxi, bags in hand, and ambling up to the shop.

the reception area was tiny, sweetly decorated for the holidays and playing some generic christmas station. leaning against the desk was soap, slyly flirting with the blushing woman behind it.

his eyes lit up upon seeing you. “the fuck’re you doin’ ‘ere, lass?” he questioned far too loudly. immediately, you shushed him, and he caught on. “ooh, i love surprises. they’re back in the garage, workin’ away. y’want me t’film it?”

giggling, you shook your head, accepting the quick side hug he gave you. when you slipped through the garage door — opening it bit by bit, never too quickly lest it creak, soap returned to the customer.

the garage was stocked with cars in disrepair and various parts you couldn’t name if your life depended on it. the stench of motor oil, cigar smoke, and antifreeze stung your nose as you made your way over, where simon was wheeled beneath a car, thick thighs flexed inside oil-stained jeans. your father was turned away from you, bent over a shoddy metal table table and observing an array of papers. an ancient radio sat next to them, croaking out a rock song from your childhood.

“one of these days, i’m gonna teach you to use spotify,” you called, voice bouncing off the cement walls and ceiling.

a bang proceeded your words, and in the same instant, your father turned around, exclaiming your name and wrapping you in the world’s tightest bear-hug.

“we were supposed to pick you up tomorrow!” he said, voice muffled to your ears beneath the suffocating squeeze of his arms.

“figured i’d surprise you,” you supplied, stepping back from his grasp once it loosened. immediately after, you were enveloped by simon, who stunk of grease, cheap cologne, and tobacco. you inhaled; it was lovely.

“my favourite college student,” he murmured into the top of your head. “how y’been, trouble?”

when you pulled away, a dark splotch caught your eye. a small but growing patch of blood stained the top of his balaclava, turning the black fabric a murky shade of brown.

“shit! you’re bleeding!” you yelped, stepping away from him and searching your surroundings — there wasn’t much for medical supplies in a garage.

beside you, your dad was laughing; a deep, wheezy sound. “did y’hit your head?”

simon grunted, shooting you a playful glare. “if college doesn’t work out, kid, y’ve got an easy spot on the one-four-one. you’re quiet as a mouse. scared the shit outta me.”

despite yourself, you snorted. “i’ll keep that in mind. d’you guys have any bandaids?”

“there’s some in the office. bottom drawer of my desk,” your father replied, voice tinged with amusement.

“thank you, dad. simon, come. i took a first-aid course in high school.”

obediently, simon followed, keeping just a step behind as you moved through the garage. from his table, your father called, “we’re going out for dinner tonight, don’t make plans!”

“sir yes sir!”

simon and your father’s office was a small room just off the garage. carpeted, with off-white walls and dusty blinds letting in yellowish rays of sunlight. dusty photos hung from the wall; a few of you and your father; the 141; a german shepherd simon adored.

moving to the desk, you bent over and dug through the mountain of junk in the bottom drawer. the box of bandaids was shoved into the corner, bent and creased. simon copied your movements, rounding the desk and sitting on the worn desk chair.

“d’you know if you have anything to clean it with? hydrogen peroxide, saline, any kind of antiseptic?” you questioned, opening the drawer above it, which contained only invoices and a chequebook.

humming, simon stood, moving to the cabinet and pulling out a bottle of whiskey. at the roll of your eyes, he chuckled. “it works, doesn’t it?”

“i suppose it does,” you replied, collecting the fast food napkins you’d spotted while searching for the bandaids. then, after he’d sat once more, you softy placed your fingers at the bottom of simon’s balaclava. “may i?”

whenever simon’s eyes met yours, your breath hitched. every single time. whether it was because of that stupid crush that never went away or because his gaze were simply so intense, like an entire world existed within small pools of deep brown. pulling you in, drowning you. it was impossible to look away.

again, he hummed, granting you permission. gently, you rolled the fabric up, revealing his face inch by inch. this wouldn’t be the first time you’d seen his face — he spent far too much time around you to hide it. he still wore it more often than not, though, and every time he bothered to tug it off, it was like seeing it for the first time. roman nose, full lips, the scar across his brow, the prickly dusting of facial hair along his jaw. it was a shame he hated photographs — you’d frame it if you had any less sanity.

in your distraction, the tension had grown thick, humming in the silence of the room. clearing your throat, you took the whiskey from him, turning it over in your hands. “this stuff is shit.”

his face twisted. “how the hell d’you know what whiskey tastes like?”

snorting, you uncapped the bottle, and began to soak the corner of a napkin. “y’know, riley, i’ve been legal for a while now.”

his lip twitched, forming a crooked smile. “i know. it’s hard not to. y’keep growing. every time i see you, you’re . . .”

he trailed off. placing a gentle hand on his forehead, you tilted his head backward, and began to gently wipe at the cut. “i’m what?”

imperceptibly, he shook his head, careful not to jostle you. “more of a woman.”

you barked a laugh at that, and his smile grew. “more of a woman? what does that mean? i had tits when i met you, simon.”

simon rolled his eyes. “that’s not — what i meant. you’re . . . not a kid. you’re meaner now, for one.”

resuming the cleaning of his wound, you pouted. “mean? you wound me. maybe i’m just not scared of you anymore.”

“no, you’re not mean. always been a sweetheart.” his eyes fluttered shut beneath your ministrations. “you were scared of me?”

you giggled, and placed the bloodied napkin in the trash. then, you dug out a bandaid. “no, not really. nervous, maybe. intimidated.”

“is my handsome face really so daunting?”

this time, your laugh was lacklustre — he’d hit the nail straight on the head. “you’re bigfoot in a skull mask. before you spoke, i was a bit nervous.”

“but you’re not? now?”

peeling the parchment from the back of the bandaid, you met his gaze. “no. why would i be?”

this time, it was simon that looked away. you delicately placed the band-aid over the cut, before he said, “thank you, angel.”

you smiled, and, like you were drunk of the proximity of him, placed a quick, daring kiss to the band-aid. “if i wasn’t such a generous nurse, i’d say you owe me. you’re lucky.”

simon breathed laugh, and if you didn’t know better, you’d think the tops of his cheeks were pink. clenching and unclenching his jaw, he murmured, “lucky indeed.”

— ∘♡༉∘ —

in hindsight, believing your high school friends were capable of growing up was one of your less intelligent ideas. call it boredom or stupidity, but when a few of your old friends invited you out to the bar, you were compelled to accept.

it, unsurprisingly, went dreadfully. the first half of the night was fine — the first round of shots was purchased by one of the sweeter ones. you caught up over murky-coloured cocktails, swapping stories about your new lives and reminiscing over your old ones. the alcohol warmed your skin and loosened your limbs. the night went on and the amount of patrons doubled; you recognized a lot of them from old classes or bus rides or kindergarten friendships.

a boy from high school, one that hadn’t said a single nice thing to you in the entire four years, approached you with something that was supposed to be a smirk. you were polite at first, nodding along to his slurred words, exhaling when he attempted a joke. he dragged a hand over your thigh, and when you shifted away he easily followed. you excused yourself, muttering something about using the restroom, and he took it as an invitation.

“y’like it public, huh? never took you as the type,” he garbled, sliding off the barstool and following your movements. “i like whatever you like, baby.”

“no, i — actually need to pee,” you stated, glancing around the bar for your lost friends. he stared at you for a long minute, eyes narrowing.

“mm, fine. i’ll — i’ll pull up my car, we can head back to my place.”

“no, i—” you began, eyeing his sleazy grin and glazed-over leer. “i don’t want to go home with you. i’m not interested. i’m sorry.”

it takes a few moments for him to wrap his head around your words; each one spelled out across his face as it’s processed. finally, his expression twisted into a sneer.

“should’ve fuckin’ known not to waste my time with you,” he barked, unfocused eyes glaring daggers at you. “once a whore always a whore, huh?”

the most embarrassing part of this was the tears. you didn’t let him see them — too prideful to let them fall before you muttered a “fuck you,” and escaped out the side door.

the night air was freezing, twinged with the sharp bite of early winter. without a jacket or alcohol — you’d sobered up as soon as his hand touched your leg — to warm you, you were left hugging yourself, digging your phone out of your purse.

you could have sobbed when a red battery symbol lights up the screen, before flickering back off, dead. you just might have had you not spotted a pay-phone a few meters away.

there were only a few coins in your purse. had it not been kept for just-in-case situations like these, there would be none at all. shoving a few into the coin slot, you dial the number you’d had memorized from childhood.

it rang several times, wind whistling in your other ear, before your father’s voice stated, “sorry, can’t reach the phone. leave a message.”

a choked sound left your throat. what the hell were you supposed to do? most of your friends had split off into tiny sub-groups, and you were too ashamed to ask any of them for a ride. there was the option of asking a bartender to call a cab, though the idea of that was, for no real reason, profusely embarrassing. then, you remembered the one other phone number you’d memorized.

you don’t really know why — there was no reason for you to remember it, especially over any other phone number. yet, when he’d handed you that crumbled sheet of paper, your eyes had traced over the shapes of the numbers, and for some reason committed them to memory with no further effort.

whatever the reason was, you didn’t feel like questioning it. you were merely thankful you did. with cold fingertips, you pressed the digits into the payphone.

he picked up on the fourth ring. “who’s this?” was the greeting.

“it’s me,” you replied, and you barely were able to finish saying your name before he was cutting you off.

”what’s wrong? are you alright?”

huffing a quiet laugh, you said, “‘m fine, simon. i just—” you sighed, clutching the phone tighter in your hand. “i went out with my friends, an’ i—i’m just not having a good time. i tried to call my dad, but it’s past ten, so he’s passed out. i’m sorry—”

“where are you?” he asked, and there was a rustling in the background.

there were only a few bars in town—he knew immediately where this one was. “i’m on my way, i’ll be there in ten. are you in a safe spot, sweetheart?”

“i’m in a telephone booth. my phone died.”

“of course it did. would you be willing to go in an’ ask the bartender to use the phone?”

“no.”

“alright. okay. just stay on the line with me then, okay? d’you have any extra change, in case y’run outta minutes?”

”yeah. i should be good. i’m—listen, si, i’m really sorry—”

“if i hear that word come outta y’r mouth again we’re gonna have issues,” he said, and you laughed despite yourself. “‘m glad you called. now i’ll get t’see your pretty face.”

a girlish giggle sounded from your chest, and if it weren’t so damn cold, you might’ve been embarrassed. “i hate bars.”

“y’go to the wrong ones,” he replied. “one day i’ll take you out to one of my favourites. show you a decent drink.”

“my drinks are decent,” you argued. there was a whooshing sound on the line, and you panicked. “you’re not driving your motorcycle, are you?”

“didn’t have anything else with me,” he said. “y’got a problem with my harley, trouble?”

“your harley is a death machine.”

simon chuckled. “i’ll drive slow with you.”

“you should be driving slow now.”

another laugh. “i’ll be there in three.”

“simon!” you admonished. “you said ten!”

“that was four minutes ago.”

shaking your head, you said, “your lack of self-preservation should be studied.”

in the few seconds he took to reply, your teeth clacked together, and simon swiftly asked, “are you chattering?”

your lack of response served as one on its own, and he continued, “doll, what’re you wearing in this telephone booth?”

“um,” you started, chewing your bottom lip. “a skirt.”

“and a jacket?”

“uh.”

“christ,” he swore. “your lack of self-preservation should be studied. it’s not even 5° out.”

“jackets are a lot of work to carry around in a bar,” you argued, though you knew it was fruitless. “and i wasn’t really planning on spending any time in a telephone booth.”

“y’should always prepare for the worst,” he stated. “what if i hadn’t picked up, hm?”

“you always pick up.”

for a short moment, the other line was quiet, with only the quiet whoosh of the wind brushing past the speakers. then, “yeah, i do.”

the way he said it — so tenderly, like an admission — had any response dying on your tongue. your heart felt oddly warm, and didn’t quite know what to do with yourself, curling and uncurling the phone cord around your fingers.

“‘m here, trouble,” simon said, saving you from further awkward silence. a headlight glared against the glass of the phone booth, hallowing fingerprints and rain stains. squeaking out an, “okay,” you hung up the phone with a click and stepped out.

he was off his motorcycle already, immediately tugging off his jacket and wrapping it around your shoulders before pulling you against him.

“god, you’re a fuckin’ ice cube, sweetheart,” he said. he held you like that for a while, arms wrapped so tightly around your frame that you worried you’d morph into him. not that you minded — he was warm.

afterwards, simon cupped your cheeks, tilting your head upward as he examined you, as if you were ill or injured. furrowing his brow, he asked, “were you crying?”

you attempted to look away, ashamed, but in his grip it proved futile. “not much.”

“what happened?” he asked, and there was something in his voice, laced in the low rumble of it, that sounded threatening. it wasn’t meant for you, that was clear — he’d never direct anything hostile toward you. before he had even the barest idea of who or what made you cry, he was already furious at it.

“it’s nothing.”

“tell me,” he demanded. then, softer, “please. i just — need to know.”

moving your gaze from a far-off shape in the night towards his, you were unable to keep it from him. “i—this guy. i went to high school with him.”

a spark lit his gaze. “what’d he do?”

for a few breaths, you were quiet, trying to sort the words into something only mildly wrath-inducing. “he wanted, um, to take me home. i didn’t want to. he got upset.”

the spark caught, lighting his gaze into a furious blaze. even beneath the balaclava, you could see his jaw clench. he stepped away from you and set on a warpath toward the bar.

“simon—no,” you yelped, hurrying to catch up with him. it was a difficult task—your shoes weren’t comfortable and his long legs moved swiftly. finally, you caught his leather sleeve in your grasp. “don’t. please, don’t.”

at the sound of your voice, soft and warbled, he stopped, turning to face you once more, and whatever he saw on your face had his eyes softening.

“i don’t want to deal with him any more than i already have,” you said, staring up at him. “i just—i just want to leave. can we go to your house, please? i don’t want to be alone. i don’t want to think.”

the neon bar lights cast strange shadows across your frames, illuminating you in various bright colours as you stood, gazes caught in one another. simon seemed to fight with himself for a moment, fury and something far more tender battling for authority. the latter won out; he exhaled a long breath, hand cupping the back of your head and pulling you into him once more.

“let’s go, yeah?”

you nodded, following with your arm wrapped around his as he led you to the bike. attached to the back was an extra helmet, which he placed atop your head, adjusting it with a heady stare you couldn’t meet. the helmet smelled like pine and tobacco and vanilla and simon — it was everywhere, and you blissfully drowned in it.

when it was to his satisfaction, he tugged his gloves off and pulled them over your fingers. they were large and loose on you, and they were still warm from his skin. afterward, he pulled his own helmet back on, and held a hand out, helping you onto the back of the machine. large hands adjusted your hips, manhandling you into the right position, and it took everything in you not to make some sort of embarrassing squeak.

“okay,” he murmured, bent over your shoulder. “i’m gonna sit on the front here. you’ll have your arms wrapped around my torso, okay? and you’re not gonna let go, at all. yeah?”

you nodded. “mmhmm.”

“i need to hear your words, love.”

meeting his gaze for the briefest second, you repeated, “i won’t let go.”

“good. i won’t too fast with you, but if y’need me to pullover, just let me know, yeah?”

another nod, and this time he gave you a pointed look. “i’ll let you know,” you stated, lips just barely twitching.

with a gloved hand, simon pat your helmet and mounted the bike. after the briefest moment of hesitation, you wrapped your arms around his middle. even through the leather, he was warm; you couldn’t help but burrow a bit further into him. with merely a glance at simon, it was obvious he was built — far more than any other man you knew. to feel it beneath you, though, was an entirely separate thing. he was solid and unyielding but not harsh; a thin layer of fat kept him just soft enough.

“good girl,” he praised, patting the hands you’d entwined in front of his belly. you pressed your eager grin between his shoulders.

the motorcycle rumbled beneath you, and, slowly, he eased the gas, weaving through the tightly-crammed parking lot. just as he was about to exit the lot, he asked, above the exhaust, “you alright?”

“mmhmm,” you hummed, cheek pressed against leather. then, “yes.”

with that, he accelerated onto the road, joining the late-night traffic. the wind whistled in your ears and bit at your exposed legs; you pressed yourself further against him, and his back vibrated with the sound he made in acknowledgment. above, yellowish streetlights warmed the pavement and passing cars. gas stations and markets and various homes passed by in a colourful blur.

at a red light, while you sat still, simon’s hand came down, brushing over your knuckles in slow circles. the movement was featherlight and you wondered if it was unconscious — as soon as it flicked back to green, he moved the hand back to the handles without any acknowledgment.

the ride to his place was closer than it would have been to yours. simon lived in a small, red brick townhouse, far enough from downtown to be quiet, and close enough to access it without any hassle. he could afford better, though he opted for this because ‘it was all he needed.’ a stove to cook on, quiet neighbours, and a bed to sleep in — these were his only requirements.

steering the motorcycle beside the curb, he parked it there, and leaned backward into you. “how was that?” he asked. the world seemed strangely quiet without the hum of the engine.

“fast,” you said lamely, honestly. “not as bad as i thought, but i still prefer cars. they have walls. and heat.”

simon laughed, shaking his head. the sound echoed through his shoulders, which you were still pressed against. “when i get you a jacket i’ll make sure it’s heated.”

the idea of simon purchasing you a leather jacket to ride with him more often — it made your face heat up and your cheeks ache with a restrained grin. you were barely able to get yourself under control before he was sliding off the bike and offering a hand to you. even with his help, maneuvering your way off with mostly-numb legs was a difficult task. you just barely were able to land steady-footed on the pavement. as if simon knew this, he kept a hand on the small of your back as you walked up the steps to his home.

inside, it smelled like simon. pine, english breakfast tea, and something unique to him. the only thing missing was the stench of a cigarette; you knew he refused to smoke inside.

the decorations were minimal yet cozy; it was surprisingly neat. besides the pair he’d just kicked off, the shoes were lined up along the wall. you’d been inside very few times, and never long enough to observe. in the living room, the lamp was still on, bathing the room in warmth. there was a cup of tea on the coffee table, only a few sips left. beside it was a novel you didn’t recognize, dog-eared halfway through.

every detail felt important, like a glimpse into him. had the bar not left you feeling sticky and unkempt, you could have stayed here observing for hours. yet, your shirt felt suffocating across your chest, and the nape of your neck felt sweaty despite the earlier chill.

“um,” you began ungracefully. “do you mind if i use your shower? i feel . . . icky.”

his lips twitched at your choice of words, and he nodded. “yeah. lemme show you the bathroom, sweets.”

following him up the stairs, he directed you to the bathroom, pulling two towels out of his linen-closet. then, he said, “shower’s fuckin’ complicated. too fancy. lemme get it started for you.”

you watched as he ducked in, fiddling with buttons and knobs until steam danced over the glass doors. afterward, he looked back at you, peering at your figure. “that’s not very comfortable.”

you followed his gaze, glancing over your outfit. “well, no.”

he huffed. “i’ll get y’something of mine,” he stated, and made his way toward the door. “i’ll leave it on my bed, yeah? just down the hall. if y’need anything, sweetheart, just shout. i’ll be downstairs.”

giving a soft smile, you nodded and said, “okay. thank you, simon. really.”

“no need. i’d let y’live here if it meant never going to that fuckin’ shitehole again.”

“it wasn’t that bad of a bar.”

he gave you a dead-pan stare. “shite. hole.”

amused, you rolled your eyes, and pushed the door shut. on the other side, you heard a chuckle — the smile that bloomed on your face at the sound was unbidden.

it’d be a lie to say it didn’t feel strange to strip in simon’s house. the fact that only a few walls stood between you sent a strange thrill through you. it was in your best interest to ignore it — your heart and body had incredibly inappropriate reactions to the man, and tonight they seemed to be at an all time high.

he was being kind, nothing else.

once your clothes were peeled off and discarded on the tiled floor, you stepped into the shower. immediately, the warmth enveloped you, melting the tension out of your muscles and washing it away.

simon didn’t have much of a selection when it came to soaps. you were thankful he had a decent face wash, though — at least there were no three-in-ones.

the body wash smelled lovely — that dizzying, woodsy scent native to simon danced alongside the steam in the bathroom as you lathered it across your skin. though it was tempting to stay for longer, you didn’t want to waste too much of his water. you stepped out, and wrapped a shockingly soft towel around your abdomen.

the house was quiet when you stepped out of the restroom, clothes collected in your hands as you padded toward simon’s bedroom. this was the one room you hadn’t yet seen, though you could have predicted quite a bit of it. neat, minimal decorations. a king-sized bed because anything smaller wouldn’t fit him. folded atop were joggers and a sweatshirt.

it wasn’t a surprise you had to roll up the pant legs until they were ridiculously cuffed at the bottom. the sight of yourself in the mirror made you snort; you were drowning in simon’s clothes. butterflies swarmed your tummy, too—you were in his clothes, like you belonged to him. the train of thought was dangerous, you quickly looked away.

exiting his bedroom, you heard a quiet, continuous popping sound. padding down the stairs, you followed it into the kitchen where simon stood, collecting a bit of butter and a salt shaker.

though your steps were quiet, simon’s eyes were on you before you even stepped inside the room. his gaze swept your figure, dwarfed in his clothes, lingering just long enough for you to catch it before he was shifting it away, jaw twitching beneath his balaclava.

after a moment too long, he said, “hey, trouble.” his voice was low. “making popcorn. there’s tea.” he gestured with his chin to the counter where two mugs sat, one of which you’d gifted to him nearly three years ago now. a black cat was painted on the front, a grumpy expression wrinkling it’s little face (“it reminds me of you,” you’d said). in a significantly less interesting mug was your tea, several shades lighter than his black.

“thank you,” you murmured against the lip of the glass, wincing slightly when a sip burned your tongue.

“do you—” he began, taking the popcorn out of the microwave and pouring it into a bowl. “how’s a movie sound?”

you grinned. “it sounds lovely.”

“there’re dvds in the cupboard out there,” he explained, sifting the butter and salt through the popcorn. “take your pick.”

a snort. “why am i not surprised you still use dvds?”

simon raised a brow. “i spend half my life in barracks. netflix is a scam, love.”

“sure,” you said, grinning impishly. “grandpa.”

despite your teasing, his movie collection was vast. a lot of them you hadn’t heard of, though you picked out a familiar one, presenting him with your choice when he joined you in the living room.

“diehard, hm?” he gave a crooked smile. “tis the season, i suppose. you have good taste, sweetheart.”

“i know,” you stated proudly. “but you should keep complimenting me.”

simon huffed a laugh, and placed the disc in the dvd player. “i already feed your ego too much.”

making yourself comfortable on his couch, you agreed, “you really do.” then, when he procured a blanket and draped it across your lap, you snorted. “this isn’t helping.”

placing the popcorn between you, simon tugged off his balaclava and shoved a few pieces in his mouth, saying, “sorry, sweets. can’t help it.” his smile was lopsided and boyish, charming. the tv flickered on, basking the room in a blueish glow, before simon clicked ‘play’ on the movie.

together, you watched the opening scenes of the movie. a few jokes were muttered back and forth, but, other than that and the sounds of the film, it was quiet. the popcorn was delicious, lathered in an unhealthy amount of butter and salt, you shovelled it into your mouth.

the tea, too, was lovely. warm and sweet, and, combined with the comfort of simon’s presence, you were sleepily lulling back into the plush couch. with low eyelids, you tried to make yourself comfortable, manoeuvring your body this way and that. huffing, you stared down at the couch, searching for a decent position, when you spotted simon’s lap.

all muscled and soft, he’d make the perfect pillow. would he mind? you sincerely doubted he would. it was innocent, after all. you simply wanted to relax. the only one it might be awkward for was you, and if you could get past your stupid crush for a single hour, it’d be perfect.

after one more moment of doubt, you stretched yourself out and hesitantly laid your head on simon’s lap. beneath you, he tensed for a moment, and you just about thought you’d fucked everything up before he relaxed back into the couch. a large hand made a home on your back, running soothingly up and down your spine.

laying against simon like this — it was so peaceful. your mind hushed to a low hum as you nestled further into him, eyes trained on the screen. his fingers trailed upward, tracing a pattern on the nape of your neck and returning south.

the movie was entertaining, though you felt yourself slipping into sleep. occasionally, simon’s fingers would slip over a ticklish slip of skin, and you’d shiver, causing him to exhale a chuckle.

slowly, as your mind quieted, so did the sound of the film, until it was an unintelligible mumble. the world started and ended with simon’s thighs beneath your cheek, and his hand against your shoulders.

against your eyelids, the screen was bright, lighting them up uncomfortably. huffing sleepily, you pressed your face into simon’s lap, burrowing further in an attempt to make yourself comfortable. beneath you, something firm prodded against your cheek, and at once you were very awake.

simon, suddenly, stiffened. the hand on your back halted, fingers hovering over your skin before dropping away completely. “oh, fuck—christ, sweetheart, i’m so sorry. i’ll drive you home, okay? or—i’ll call a cab, if you’d rather that—”

“simon.” the word was firm enough to catch his attention, quieting him if only for a moment. your mind swam—a mess of confusion, lust, excitement, and need. when it proved too difficult to sift through, too impossible to cohere, you voiced the one word you could manage:

“please.”

despite the long-forgotten movie being your only source of light, the reaction simon had was the clearest you’d ever seen. his breath hitched, chest rising and falling rapidly. his gaze, so dilated it was almost entirely black, narrowed on your face. it darted between your features, like he was searching for some sort of hidden meaning in your words, like he didn’t quite believe you.

in retaliation, your hand, trembling only slightly, came up and grazed the too-large tent in his trousers. immediately simon’s hand gripped your wrist, squeezing his eyes shut and inhaling sharply.

“kid—” he said then, and the word was wrapped in molten heat. it was gravelly in a way you’d never heard before, a rumble in his chest. goosebumps broke out along your skin. “don’t start something you’ll regret.”

“i’m not,” you stated bravely, daringly. you adjusted your position, only to face him better, and he did not let go of your wrist. you hoped he couldn’t feel the rapid thrum of your pulse beneath his thumb. “please, simon. i want this. i’ve wanted this.”

that snagged on something in his brain; caught his attention and held it. he stared at you, intense as ever. behind his gaze was a dilemma; a war you could only see traces of. after a few suffocatingly long moments spent beneath heavy tension, something won out, and the grip on your wrist loosened.

immediately, with years of want behind your touch, you grazed your hand over his clothed length once more. the breath in your chest stuttered when you grasped it, feeling just how big he was beneath your fingers.

a sound rumbled in simon’s chest; a groan of sorts. exploratorily, you tilted your head down, holding his burning gaze as you brushed your lips over his trousers.

“fuck,” simon cursed, hand grasping the back of your skull. he didn’t push or move you at all; he simply held it there, like he couldn’t bare to not be touching you himself.

the button of his trousers was difficult to undo with shaking hands, but you managed, pulling down his fly barely seconds after. with uneven breaths, you delved beneath the band of his briefs, pulling him up and out of the fabric.

the sight of simon’s cock was enough to get you off on it’s own; too thick for one of your hands to wrap around it, long enough that it bobbed against his shirt as you stared, too entranced for embarrassment. he was uncut, and there was a mound of curly, dirty-blond hair at the base, trimmed just enough to stay out of the way. you exhaled, breath ghosting along his length. the grip simon had on you tightened

again, you looked up at him. simon’s gaze was unwavering, as if looking away was some sin he was too pious to commit. it was then, as he gazed down at you with a burning gaze, that he seemed to read something in your expression. a pleading, a search for guidance. whatever it was, it had him speaking. “go ahead, sweet girl. get y’mouth on me.”

like his words triggered some sort of instinctual response in your body, your mouth was immediately moving. you licked a long, languid stripe from base to tip, revelling in the warm, salty taste. then, your lips wrapped around the head, suckling slightly before descending another inch.

“fuck,” he cursed again, hand moving in soothing circles against the back of your skull. “good fuckin’ girl. such a good listener, aren’t you?“

the words pulled a whimper from your throat. you released his dick for the briefest moment, a string of saliva connecting you, before wrapping your lips around him again, hollowed cheeks taking as much as you could manage. the fact that it was only half was disappointing.

“christ, angel. y’mouth is — heaven. fuck.” the choked sound of his voice only emphasized his point. when you made another noise, something between a whimper and a whine, he chuckled, and said, “like me talking to you like that? telling you how good you are? fuck, y’re so sweet. my sweet girl.”

moaning against him, you attempted to take more. betrayed by your gag reflex, you pulled back, choking, eyes glistening with tears.

simon cooed, hands cupping your jaw and thumb brushing over your cheek, wiping away a tear that’d escaped. “oh, angel, y’don’t need to take so much so fast. you’re doing so well. lemme show you. is that okay? can i help you?”

swallowing the excess drool in your mouth, you nodded, and his eyes crinkled with a smile as he pressed a kiss to your forehead.

“words, love.” though his voice was soft, it was a command. “thought i taught you this already.”

“please,” you whispered. “show me how,” his face was close enough to see the thin wrinkles around his eyes, the soft dusting of a five o’clock shadow over his jaw. “wanna make you feel good.”

simon’s lips curved before they pressed against yours, all gentle and soft like you’d break if he were any rougher. it was inebriating to be treated so reverently, hands holding your jaw like you were something precious. simon made you feel like you were.

his lips moved languidly. he took control of it easily, guiding your lips with his own. he didn’t escalate it, didn’t shove his tongue into your mouth like so many other boys had. he kissed like he found pleasure in this alone.

arms tangling around his neck, you gently ran your nails over the nape of his neck, where fabric met skin. simon groaned, softly nipping at your bottom lip. you giggled.

as much as you adored this — you’d kiss simon for hours if he’d let you — you were getting impatient. you’d gotten a taste for him, and you were quickly becoming addicted.

when you pulled away, he let you, stare darting between your kiss-swollen lips and glazed-over eyes. he watched your gaze trail back down to his crotch, and chuckled quietly.

“eager thing, aren’t you?” he questioned, leaning in to press one last kiss to the corner of your mouth. “go ahead, trouble.”

you didn’t need to be told twice — keeping your head on his lap, you laid out on your belly, across the couch. his hand found your head again, and this time, he gently guided you forward, allowing your lips to find his cock once more.

“that’s it, love,” he murmured. he had you stay like that for a while, suckling contentedly on the head and lapping your tongue over his slit.

“if y’need to come up for air, tap my thigh, alright?” he instructed. you nodded, before correcting yourself, allowing him to slip from your mouth only to voice, “okay.”

simon exhaled, the sound shaking towards the end as your long laved the underside of the head. “good fuckin’ girl.”

though you’d blown guys before, this — simon — was different. something about him, his scent or the sound of his voice or simply his presence, created a haze that had your mind going cloudy. with your lips wrapped tightly around his cock, your world started and ended with simon riley.

little by little, he inched you down his cock. never too quick and never too much. in that moment, he seemed to know your body better than you. always stopping just before your gag reflex was triggered, just before your limit was reached.

“look at you, breathing outta your nose. you’re a natural.”

your breathy moan vibrated against simon’s cock; his thighs tensed, though he didn’t buck his hips or push you down. he continued his languid pace, inching you down only when you could handle it.

“so good,” he muttered. at this point you’d taken more than half of of him. breathing steadily out of your nose, you used a spare hand to grip the remaining length, pumping it in time with your mouth. “fuck. ah, angel, ‘m gonna cum if you keep tha’ up.”

spurred on, you hollowed your cheeks and took another inch, blinking away tears. his pelvis barely a few centimeters from your nose, now, and with one last deep breath, you swallowed back the rest of his cock.

“fucking christ—!” simon swore, pulling you off of him as gently as he could manage. you sputtered, coughing and sniffling as tears ran freely from your eyes.

“oh, none of that now, love,” he cooed, big hands cradling your jaw as he kissed away your tears.

“did i do something wrong?” you asked. your voice was raw.

“no, no. of course not, love. you could never do anything wrong,” he stated, pressing a lingering kiss to your hairline. then, he chuckled, warm breath ghosting along your skin. “‘m not as young as i used to be, pretty girl. ‘n if i’m finishing tonight, i want it to be in this sweet cunt.” to make his point, he cupped you over your panties, which had become embarrassingly wet over the last bit. sensitive, you whimpered, curling further into him and grinding down. “how’s that sound, hm? y’gonna let me fill y’up?”

vehemently, you nod, gripping the wrist that’d snuck up your skirt for support. “please. yeah, yeah. i want that, si.”

with shaking hands, you gripped the bottom of your top in an attempt to yank it off. swiftly, simon stopped you, one hand large enough to catch the both of yours. “mm-mm. if ‘m gonna fuck you, ‘m gonna do it proper. y’deserve better than a shitty couch, dove.”

in the next breath, you were swept up into simon’s arms, legs wrapped tightly around his torso. a high-pitched squeak escaped you and tapered into a laugh as he carried you up the stairs, towards his bedroom.

“such a gentleman,” you joked, toying with the collar of his shirt.

“i try’,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your palm when it cupped his jaw.

after closing the door behind him, simon gently dropped you on the bed. you giggled as you bounced, bracing yourself on your elbows and looking up at him. for a moment, simon stood, gaze locked on your frame, fists clenching and unclenching at his sides.

“fucking hell,” he cursed, finally. “you’re a dream.”

“a dream?” you echoed, grin simpering into a smirk. “y’been dreamin’ about me, riley?”

in a single, fluid motion, simon tugged his shirt off. he was a mass of muscle, age just barely softening his edges. tattoos ran up his arms and across most of his chest, where hair the same shade as his happy trail grew.

“‘course i have,” he answered, like it was obvious. then, he kicked off his slippers and fit himself between your legs, arms bracing himself just inches above you. “making me act like a fucking teenager again, wakin’ up to wet boxers.”

the thought of simon having wet dreams about you made your head spin. dumbly, you blinked up at him, and found yourself unimpressed with the balaclava still covering the upper-half of his face.

“can i?” you asked, voice quiet enough you wondered if he’d even be able to hear it. his small smile, though, gave him away. he nodded.

little by little, you rolled the offending material upward, revealing every mesmerizing inch of his face. tossing it to the side, you took a long moment to admire him: the long blond lashes, the sloping scars, the light spattering of freckles, his crooked nose.

“y’so pretty,” you stated, honestly. rose blossomed across his cheeks and nose, leaving you with a wide grin. simon pressed a kiss behind your ear, though you had a sneaking suspicion it was to hide his face.

“think that’s supposed t’be my line, love,” simon replied, gently nipping your throat. as you giggled, he continued downward, kisses growing sloppier as they reached your collarbones. then, he pulled back, fingers slipping over the hem of your shirt. he met your gaze for a brief second, searching for the permission you’d always give him, and tugged it off.

left in only the lacy scrap the lingerie shop deemed a bra, simon stated openly at you. this time, it was your turn to squirm, hands instinctively reaching to hide your face. easily, he caught your wrists.

“no. no. i wanna see you,” he said, squeezing your arms once. “cover your face and i stop, alright?”

huffing, you kept your hands at your side, and he twitched his lips. afterward, he smoothed large hands across your skin, over your stomach and ribs, cupping your chest. “so gorgeous.” he squeezed. “fuckin’ hate the idea of you going out in somethin’ like this when i’m not with you. no more. if y’wearin’ this, it’s for me, yeah? no one else.”

biting your lip, you nodded, not trusting your voice enough to speak. simon disagreed with your decision, seeing as he pinched your side. “no one else,” you affirmed.

“good girl.” he drew out the words, eyes trained on your chest, before he was reaching behind and unclamping your bra with his fingers. sliding it off, he tossed it haphazardly into the growing pile of clothes on his floor.

simon wasted no time in resuming his assault on your skin, leaving a kiss here and a bite there. he swirled his tongue over your tits, paying special attention to your nipples, playing with one while he had his mouth on the other. little marks littered your saliva-soaked skin when he reached the top of your skirt.

one more glance at you and he was tugging it down, along with the flimsy nylons you’d worn. swiftly, he pressed an open-mouthed kissed to your cloth-covered cunt, easily keeping your hips down when they tried to buck.

the air was cold against your soaked cunt when he peeled back the fabric, pulling it over your ankles and discarding it on the floor. as had become his habit, simon took a moment to admire you. eyes blazing and turning the skin beneath it warm. your hands fisted the blankets as you resisted the urge to cover up.

“so pretty,” he said, moving backward down the bed and climbing off it. then, he tugged you with him, earning a tiny yelp, before kneeling at the end of it. “wanted t’taste you for fucking ever. y’gonna let me, sweetheart? hm? you gonna let me taste your sweet cunt?”

nodding, you squeezed your eyes shut and breathed, “please, simon.”

his fingers, warm and steady, trailed up your thighs, pulling a shiver from you. “spread your legs a little wider for me, baby. there y’go. good.” then, slowly, they inched towards your centre, spreading you open. you didn’t have to look to know he was staring.

all at once, his tongue was on you, licking a long stripe up your folds and over your clit. you moaned embarrassingly loudly, trailing off into a long whine when he didn’t let up. your fingers knitted themselves in his blond waves, tugging as gently as you could manage. he groaned in approval, the sound vibrating through your cunt and sending your back arching.

“fuck! simon,” you yelped. his hands held your legs apart when they attempted to close, overwhelmed by pleasure.

he slipped away from your heat only to say, “keep sayin’ my name.”

whining, you pushed his head back into you, and he chuckled, resuming his ministrations on your cunt. simon was talented with his tongue — something jealous burned you at the thought of how he got so good. the thought was quickly scrubbed from your brain, though, when he flicked the tip of his tongue over your clit, circling it once, twice, before descending again.

“please,” you whined, though you didn’t know what you were asking for. his pace had slowed, now, sloppily making out with your cunt like it was something he could worship. “simon . . . ”

the pleasure was inescapable; your body was torn between grinding down on his mouth and trying to wriggle away from it. it didn’t help that he was doing it so leisurely; tongue moving languidly through your folds and over your clit like it was for his pleasure instead of yours. that thought got you off all the more.

your legs trembled, winding around simon’s head and damn near suffocating him — not that he cared. when you glanced down, he was watching you, nose shiny as it brushed against your clit. simon smirked — you could feel the movement against you.

had you been in any other state, the sound you made as you tumbled over the edge might have embarrassed you. as it was, though, you didn’t have the mind for anything other than pleasure as your back bowed off the bed and your legs tightened around simon’s skull.

he was saying something — you only understood bits of it, but it sounded like a mindless litany of praise. “there you are, there we go. so good, so fucking good.”

he paired each praise with a kiss to your cunt until you were trembling from overstimulation, just pushing past the edge of too much. simon climbed up the bed and pressed wet kisses across your face; when he licked into your mouth and you tasted yourself, you moaned.

“you’re a fuckin’ vision, sweetheart. never knew you’d cum so pretty. y’gonna let me see it again? hm? y’gonna let me fuck you, baby?”

you were nodding before the words were even out of his mouth, snaking your arms around his neck and kissing him deeply. without breaking it for longer than a few seconds, simon moved the two of you further up the bed until your head rested against his surprisingly soft pillows.

simon groaned appreciatively when your nails scraped against his skull. you grinned, and breathed, “you like pain just as much as me.”

simon chuckled, biting your chin. “maybe. when it’s you.”

“what was that you said earlier? something ‘bout feeding my ego?”

another laugh, and he joked, “i’m too far gone, now, i think. i’m just here to serve.”

“prove it.” your lips curved into a lust-drunk smile. “fuck me.”

with one last peck against your lips, simon smirked, and said, “yes ma’am.”

he leaned over you, then, tugging open the creaky drawer to his bedside table and fishing around. “shit.”

“hm?” you hummed, following his gaze to the foil packet between his fingers.

“‘s fuckin’ expired.” simon’s brow furrowed, and he brought the packet closer, squinting. you grabbed it from him, tossing it on the floor.

“i don’t care,” you said, probably stupidly, but the thought of not fucking simon right now had something foul twisting in your belly. “want you.”

running broad hands over your legs, simon gazed down at you, like your expression would say otherwise. you rolled your eyes. “i’m clean. i’m assuming you’re clean, if your condoms are expired.” simon pinched your side, and you giggled. ”please? want you to fuck me, simon.”

simon exhaled, and shook his head, smirking. “yeah?” he asked, fingers trailing over your belly. “y’want me to fuck you? cum in this little cunt?”

“yeah, yeah. please. want that.”

his lips press against yours again, hands continuing their journey downward until he was exploring your sensitive folds. you whimpered, quietly, but simon caught the sound and tutted. “i know, sweets. but i’ve gotta stretch you. don’t wanna hurt you, right? not tonight.”

lubing his fingers up with your slick, he started with his middle, circling your hole before slowly pushing inward. your earlier orgasm had relaxed you already, and he was able to add a second in no time. he explored for a moment, pumping his fingers in and out, curling them upward until he found that spongy spot that had your head rolling back in pleasure.

“there it is,” he said, and though your eyes were squeezed shut, you felt his smirk against your skin; heard it in his voice. “that feel good, pretty?”

the answering nod you gave was shaky and sudden, hands gripping onto his forearm for dear life. “fuck me, si. please—want your cock.”

“i know, i know. one more finger, how about that? then we can give you what you need.”

with a groan, you nodded, and sent him a short glare. he snorted, and muttered, “so impatient.”

“been waiting for fucking years,” you argued, though your point might’ve been lost in the quiver of your voice. “‘m allowed to be a little impatient.”

“years, hm?” his third finger prodded at your entrance. “guess i should hurry, then. poor thing.”

the way you dug your nails into his skin was both in pleasure and retaliation. three thick fingers pumped slowly in and out of you, curling in a way that had your thighs shaking.

finally, he slipped the fingers from you, the whine you gave turning into a moan when he plunged them into his mouth instead, savouring every bit of you. “so fuckin’ sweet.”

when simon’s fat tip ran through your folds, you tensed, and questioned if three fingers would really be enough. “simon . . . ”

though his voice was strained, he stopped, glancing up at you. “yeah, sweetheart?”

“i don’t—” his tip ran over your clit ”—fuck, i don’t know if you’ll fit.”

simon tsked, the hand not controlling his cock coming up to brush the hair out of your face. “don’t gimme that, sweets. you can take it, i know you can.” he kissed your jaw. “i’ll make it fit, yeah? how’s that?”

shakily, you exhaled, meeting his gaze. truly, you didn’t know if it’d wavered from your face all night. his eyes were so sure — you could do nothing but believe him. it’d fit. you nodded.

“yeah, yeah. there’s my girl.” again, his lips were on yours, tongue licking into your mouth. minty toothpaste, tea, and cigarettes overwhelmed your senses as his thick tip pushed inside, swallowing every moan you gave.

when he’d made it a few inches, simon pulled back. “how’s that?” he questioned. “y’okay, lovey? want me to keep going?”

you couldn’t nod fast enough. there was a bit of pain, but the pleasure of the stretch won out easily. tangling your hands in his hair, you yanked simon back down for a long, messy kiss. really, it was more so a clash of teeth and tongue and heavy breathing than a kiss, but you digress.

by the time simon was fully sheathed inside you, it felt like he was in your fucking lungs. he gave you as much time as you needed to adjust, though the way his fists clenched and unclenched beside your head proved how greatly he wanted to move. digging one of the legs wrapped around him further into his skin, you urged him to.

“fucking christ,” he groaned. simon dropped his head for a moment, hot breath fanning over your neck as he slowly rocked in and out. “y’so fucking tight.”

“m’not tight, you’re just huge,” you argued, a furrow in your brow. simon bit the juncture between your throat and shoulder—you giggled, the sound delirious.

propping himself up on his forearms once more, simon slowly pulled out, leaving only his tip inside of you, before swiftly thrusting back in, setting a harsh, steady pace.

little high-pitched sounds came from your chest with every thrust, cock abusing that spongy spot inside you that lit fireworks behind your eyelids. with the way you were clawing at his back, you’d be surprised if simon didn’t look like he was mauled by a wildcat tomorrow.

“so good. gripping me like a fuckin’ vice. swear it was like you were made for me,” he breathed, teeth grazing over your ear.

sense had long since left you — you only nodded, murmuring back, “for you, f’you.”

maybe the way his cock kissed your cervix would have you cursing tomorrow, maybe the way your back bowed with pleasured tension would have you hunching over in the morning — you didn’t care. right now, your world consisted of simon’s searing brown eyes and the toe-curling pleasure he supplied.

“feels so good.” your words were breathy, punctuated with a tug to his hair.

“yeah?” he questioned, smiling lopsidedly. “good. gonna fucking ruin you. you’ll never be able to take another cock without thinking of me—thinking of how good i made you feel.”

shaking your head, you whines, “no. no one else. only you.”

simon growled, thrusting especially hard as he licked and sucked at your throat. “yeah. you’re mine, aren’t you? my girl.”

“yours,” you nodded. “‘m yours, f’rever.”

simon groaned out a slew of curses, cock twitching inside of you. one hand reached down toy with your clit, making quick, slippery circles. “want you to cum again, baby. ‘m not gonna last much longer and — fuck — i need t’see it again.”

you’d already been dancing along the edge — his thick fingers and raspy words were a harsh push, leaving you dangling by one hand.

your eyes rolled back into your head, and his other hand was swiftly gripping your chin, gently shaking you. “on me, love, keep y’r eyes on me.”

with great effort, you kept your hazy gaze on his face, which was twisted in the effort to stave off his orgasm. you whimpered, and murmured, “say it again. say i’m yours. please.”

“oh, sweetheart,” he groaned, head dipping into the crook of your neck for a moment before finding your eyes again. “you’re mine, ain’t ya? my sweet girl. yeah. an’ i’m yours — always will be.”

the second the words left his mouth, you tumbled over the edge. your entire body shook, curving inward and wrapping itself around simon like it was trying to burrow inside him. in the haze of it, you heard simon shout, before warmth was spilling inside your cunt, filling you up to the fucking brim. if simon wasn’t simon, you were sure the grip you had on him would’ve broken something by now.

when you came back to, the world was quiet — soft breathing echoed through your ears, his and yours indistinguishable from each other. simon’s head was buried in your neck, the weight of him just bridging the edge of uncomfortable. it was bliss.

eventually, he rolled over, cock pulling out with an equally disgusting and enticing squelch. his spend leaked out of you, dirtying his sheets. neither of you minded, it seemed — he easily pulled you across his chest, pressing his lips to your warm forehead.

“y’with me, lovie?” his voice was barely more than a murmur.

you hummed, hand moving upward to trace over his sweat-soaked chest. “i think so.”

a quiet laugh vibrated in his chest, breath dancing across your face. you smiled in turn, crooking your neck to gaze at him. keeping in theme with the rest of the night, simon was already staring at you — his eyes seemed to shine when they found yours, and his lips curled up in a rare smile. you were met with the embarrassing urge to take a picture.

“you’re a mess,” he stated, chuckling quietly as his eyes darted across your face and body.

narrowing your eyes, you pinched his pec, and his chuckle became a laugh. “a beautiful mess, sweetheart. ‘s the prettiest you’ve ever looked, i promise.”

you rolled your eyes, and argued, “‘s your fault.” then, attempted to sit up — though his strong grip on your shoulder kept you down. simon frowned. “where d’you think you’re going?”

“i need to pee,” you stated, and he let you up with a huff. “then i need to fucking shower, again.”

simon made a sound. “how ‘bout i run you a bath, hm? lemme do the work.”

smiling softly, you glanced back at him. he took your hand that lingered on his chest and brought it to his mouth, pressing kisses over your knuckles. “that’d be lovely.”

simon stood, and when you looked over him, you smiled. hair mussed, lips swollen, skin glazed in sweat — he was just as much of a mess as you. in a single movement, simon swept you into his arms. with a yelp, you clung to him, and he carried you, bridal-style, into the bathroom.

placing you on the lip of the bathtub, simon left for only a moment to dig through his linen closet, and returned with a wash cloth. after running it under warm water in the sink, he helped you up once more and gently ran it between your legs.

afterward, while you used the restroom, simon ran the bath, using that intoxicating body-wash as bubble bath. spotting his back, which was covered in bright-red scratches, you giggled, feeling only a little bad.

“i’d say sorry for y’back, but really i look no better,” you stated. hickies and bite-marks littered your skin, decorating your neck, chest, and thighs.

snorting, simon moved to look in the mirror, eyes tracing the pinkish abrasions trailing from shoulders to spine. “i’ll wear ‘em with pride.”

once the tub had filled, steam dancing around the mound of bubbles, simon, again, helped you up. his skin was warm, and if the bath wasn’t so enticing, you’d be tempted to stay here, pressed against him.

easily, he lifted you up and into the bath, following you not long afterward. it was a shock he could fit all of his limbs in the tub, even moreso when you could fit between his legs. it was a bit squishy, but you couldn’t have traded it for anything — laying against his chest while his hands ran up and down your body. thighs, stomach, chest, arms — he touched you softly, reverently, lips pressing behind your ear.

“did you mean it?” you asked. the quiet hum of your voice seemed loud in the silence of the room.

“mean what, love?”

swallowing, you played with his fingers, and supplied, “that ‘m yours. that you’re mine.”

simon exhaled, and you could feel the small curve of his lips against the back of your neck. “i meant it.”

#( 🪻 ) — ghost. #( 🌷 ) — writing. #( 🕊️ ) — call of duty. #simon riley #simon riley x reader #ghost #ghost x reader #ghost fanfiction #simon riley fanfiction #call of duty #call of duty x reader #tf 141 x reader #141 x reader #call of duty fic #modern warfare #cod x reader #ghost x you #simon riley x you #cod x you #ghost x y/n #simon riley x y/n

[simpleeindulge]

The Beast and The Mouse

Info: fem/reader x Kid, 1st meetings, cussing and rude language, Kid in denial, Kid gets a crush, implied sexual yearning, future mature content planned.

Context: Kid develops a crush on a girl, and he can't deal with it.

Part 1.

Part 2. Me Mouse, You Bull.

Kid breathed heavily as his heart pounded in his chest. A mixture of joy and rage with hits of excitement and annoyance sparked his adrenaline to act. Kid had to give this lame example of a pirate crew some credit. It was a ballsy move to sneak attack his crew.

"Rip them apart and burn this hunk of wood!" Kid shouted over the noise of the battle. "I want this ship buried at the bottom of the ocean!"

His crew cheered out to signal that they heard his command. Kid smirked and lifted the defeated captain by his shirt.

"This is why you don't mess with real pirates." Kid sneered as the man struggled in his grip.

The sound of a bullet hitting its target nearby caught his attention, and Kid saw one of his crewmembers wounded. His flaming orange eyes narrowed, and he looked for the perpetrator. The failed pirate captain beat his hands uselessly at Kid’s grip while pleading for his life.

Growing more annoyed and bored, Kid hung the man on the handle of a knife stuck in the central mass of the ship. He then swung his metal-covered fist and punched the man’s face. The impact made cracks in the wood surrounding the man's once-intact skull.

The crushing wet sound satisfied Kid a little, but it didn't make up for how boring this fight had been. Another shot rang out, and Kidd moved his head. The wood in the mass splinters, sending pieces flying onto Kid's shoulder.

That sniper is getting brave to try a headshot, especially since he's a lousy shot, Kid thought as he turned.

The space where his crewmate had been shot was empty. In the air, Kid could get a brief whiff of her scent. This would be his mouse’s third battle, and the silly girl was actually doing fine. Kid scoffed at the mental praise and rubbed his neck as he thought of her.

This battle is nothing compared to his past ones, and this was only the beginning. The bloodshed will get to her eventually, and she will leave.

Kid had to wonder why the girl hadn't left yet but not now. Now, he had a ship to set on fire.

“Heat!” He shouted at his long-time comrade. The man cut down two fleeing enemy pirates and then looked at Kid.

“Light it up! We’re done here!”

Heat thumbs up him as Killer and Wire called the crew back to the ship. Kid didn’t bother to stick around and turned his back.

The gunshot came a third time, but Kid was ready. He used his power to repel the bullet and then used it to summon the rifle. The sniper stupidly held on to his weapon and flew towards Kid.

Kid grinned wickedly, balled up his fist, and punched the man into the sea, knocking him out.

Around him, Kid’s crew fled towards the Victoria Punk with whatever valuables they found. At least they had some decent treasure, Kid observed as he tapped his fingers on his arm. His eyes searched for the girl among the others. Usually, he would just trust that everyone on his crew made it safely back, but…

“Mouse!” Kid shouted out impatiently.

She had a name, but Kid didn't want to be too familiar with her. She couldn't possibly last another week of pillaging, killing, and whatever debaucherous acts he and his crew committed. Or once did, Kid had been cutting back on his usual "habits".

“Yes?”

Kid snapped out of his thoughts and peered down at the short girl. Her hair was pulled up, and on her right cheek was a small bandage. Over her shoulder hung her medic bag.

“Did you get everyone off the ship?” He asked gruffly.

“Anyone that needs help has been assisted.” She replied militantly.

Kid rolled his eyes and clicked his tongue. Smartass. He then noted the bandage and motioned at her cheek with his chin.

“You were careless.”

Y/N’s hand flew to the bandage to cover it.

“I was-“

"Careless!" Kid snapped.

Her eyes glanced down, and Kid could see the defiance in her body. It angered him that she wasn't understanding what he was trying to tell her.

"I can't be looking out for you! I need everyone to pull their weight in a fight!"

Y/N winced at the Kid's loud voice, which, in her defense, can be jarring when you least expect it.

However, Kid saw her wincing as something else. Weakness. Weakness was the last thing he needed on his crew, and his simmering annoyance at her flickered to rage.

"GET ON THE SHIP AND STAY OUT OF MY SIGHT!"

With one blink, Y/N had disappeared. Kid huffed and rubbed a hand over his face. What had gotten into him? How could he let his temper get so out of hand?

Why did his mood become unstable every time he talked to the girl? This was clearly on her, not him. Why hadn't he gotten rid of her? And what happened to her face that she needed a bandage?

Kid sighed and quieted his mind as Killer approached him. In the background, Heat spread his fire over the ship's deck, and Wire was busy tying up the rest of the sorry crew together.

"You okay, Captain?"

"Yeah, let's go."

Kid started to walk back to the ship as the screams of the men filled the air along with the smoke from their burning ship.

Killer followed beside him quietly and calmly. There were many reasons why Kid considered Killer to be his best bud. The main thing was that Killer didn't talk just to talk. Kid spat on the burning deck just before boarding the Victoria Punk.

"Bunch of weaklings. Couldn't bother to put up a decent fight! What fucking waste of time!" Kid mumbled to himself. Killer said nothing as he listened to his best friend. Kid walked along the deck side of his ship and opened a door.

"I mean, why bother attacking if you're just going to run when it gets difficult! You either attack and win or have some guts and die trying!" Kid went on as they kept walking.

Killer was still listening to his friend, but now he was wondering why they were heading in this direction. Kid stopped talking momentarily as the image of Y/N's bandage cheek crossed his mind. Killer waited patiently to see if he would say something else, like what was actually bothering him.

"Hey," Kid asked Killer in a low voice. "Did you see what happened to Mouse?"

Kid could see the brows raising behind the mask Killer wore and turned away as he walked.

"She has a bandage on her face," Kid explained with a hint of a growl in his voice.

"She was doing her job, Kid. Mosh got shot by that sniper you punched into the sea, and Mouse was helping him."

Kid considered Killers' words and then asked again. "But did you see what happened?"

Killer sighed, rubbed the back of his head, and said, "It doesn't matter. You already punched the guy into the sea."

Kid stopped cold, and Killer stopped with him out of curiosity. Contrary to what his rival, Trafalgar Law, thought, Kid wasn't stupid. Impulsive, egotistical, and cocky, yes, but stupid, no. He understood what Killer had implied and what had happened to Mouse. That made him think of what could have happened to her, and it angered him.

Kid had never once thought, "What if...", but ever since that damn girl joined the crew, his mind had been filled with nothing but "What if...".

His shoulders shook with anger, and Kid's steps hit the floor with a heavy sound as he started walking toward the medical ward. Killer's shoulder heaved as he sighed, then followed behind his captain.

Y/N was busy putting away supplies and restocking her medical kit. Thankfully, the battle wasn't that bad, and there were only minor injuries to treat. Most of her injured crewmates were in the mess hall drinking while the others were resting in their rooms. Still, she wanted to be prepared for the next time-

"YOU!"

Y/n hated that she squeaked at Kid's sudden outburst of anger, and she stepped back as the jar she held in her hand slipped and exploded on the ground. Kid had this annoying habit of shouting at her whenever he came near her. She guessed that it was a silly tactic to frighten her off. All it really did was stoke the flames of her own simmering temper.

Oh, god, what now? She thought as her eyes met Kid's while she focused her breathing. The last thing she wanted to do was get in a screaming match with her Captain. One, she would lose, and two, it would hurt her throat.

Y/N stood still, not wanting to step on the broken glass and spilled ointment. Her hands gripped the side of her pants as she mourned the broken jar of salve that took her three months to make. Maybe she could salvage some of it?

Kid was used to her eyes by now, and by used to them, it meant he trained himself not to look directly into her eyes. He stormed up to her and ripped off the bandage from her cheek.

"Ouch!" Y/N cried.

Her hand went to cover the mark, but Kid grabbed her wrist and gripped her chin to turn her face. The wound looked red and puffy. It was barely two inches long, but had she not been lucky, her jaw could have been shot off.

The sniper was a lousy shot, but Kid would have lost his mouse if he had more skills.

"Captain," Y/N said in a harsher tone than he was used to hearing. "Captain, please let go of my face and wrist."

Kid blinked and released Y/N from his grip. Y/N noticed that he was standing on her homemade salve. There would be no saving any of it now, and it angered her.

For the first time, she glared up from her lashes at Kid. His anger simmered down, and he took a step back. Y/N knelt down to see what, if anything, she could still save.

"Y-you," Kid started to say, then glared down at her and shouted, "You could have been shot dead today!"

This again?!

"You were careless doing your job, and you could've-"

"Well, I didn't! I didn't get shot, and I didn't die! I did my job!" She shouted back as her face snapped up at him. Her eyes brightened with anger, and Kid and to glance away before he could get lost in them like a damn fool.

Killer stayed leaning in the doorway in case he needed to jump in to defend the girl, but it looked like Kid's 'little mouse' could fend for herself. He was tempted to leave but wanted to see how this would play out.

"Are you raising your voice at me!"

"If it will get you to listen to me, then yes! Captain! I am!"

"You have some gull-"

"And you're rude! Look at my salve! You made me drop it and stomped all over it like some raging bull!"

"Are you calling me an animal!"

"Not to insult the beast, but yes, I am!" Y/N said as she stood to her feet.

Kid blustered and paced before her. He wanted to punch something. Not her, no, he could never hurt her, but he wanted to punch something hard to release everything he was feeling. That "what if..." feeling, along with his desire for Y/N, he wanted to punch it all away.

Y/N watched him carefully as she shook with frustration. She could tell he wanted to hit something. She bit her lip and clutched her fists, ready to run in case Kid decided to make her his target.

Y/n didn't think he would, but the past was something to learn from, and she didn't know him completely yet. Killer had to be by the door for a reason. Would he jump to help her out? Why did she think joining this crew would be good for her?

A better question is, why did she fall for Kid's charismatic offer? For him?

She stopped asking rhetorical questions when she saw Kid stop and raise his fist above an examination table.

''Don't you dare!" Y/N shouted in a commanding voice.

Kid flinched and felt chastised as his fist fell short. Killer snorted and felt impressed as he turned to leave. He had seen enough to know that the girl had a fair amount of sway over his short-tempered friend. She would be alright.

Kid held his fist over the table with the temptation to slam it down, but he stared at Y/N. Stared right into her beautiful, stern eyes. How strong they looked without being cold, and her lips pressed calmly together looked tantalizing to kiss till they were red and swollen.

With his mind clearly drifting, Y/n walked around her ruined salve and put her hands on his fist. Kid raised a brow as she tried to move it away from the table.

"What are you doing?" He asked with a corner of his lip turning up.

She grunted and said forcibly as she continued to push on his arm.

"I don't want you breaking anything else in the medical ward! Go, oof, break something in the mess hall, you big bull!"

Kid snorted and then laughed as Y/N kept trying to move his arm. He flexed his arm and held it steady.

"Come on, Mouse! Is that the best you can do?" Kid teased.

"I used too much of my speed strength during the battle," Y/N said, punctuating each word as she struggled.

Kid quieted, then surprised her by grabbing her by the waist.

She gasped and shrieked as Kid lifted her up and sat her on the table. Y/N may have overused her power, but she had enough to escape if needed. Only Kid shocked her again as he slammed his hands down on the table, trapping her.

Her face was close to his, and she felt her breath go still as Kid's red/orange eyes bore into her. Her heart thumped, and her spine heated with a shiver she hadn't felt in a long time. Her lips tingled, making her crave something she shouldn't.

Kid wanted to kiss her. He wanted to kiss her deeply with his tongue, tasting her while pushing her down onto the table to feel her. She would taste good, and her whimpers would be like sprinkled sugar on an already delicious treat.

It was hard not to lick his lips as he, for once, thought of what he would do. What he would do her.

"You need more training, Mouse," Kid said in a warm, gravelly voice.

"This battle, along with the other two you were in, is nothing. I have seen worse, and this was nothing."

Y/n's eyes widened, and she sucked in her bottom lip nervously. God damn, Kid didn't think she meant to do it on purpose, but he ached for her. Seeing her soft, pink lip moving like that made him ache in the worst way.

"Alright," She sighed, looking down at her lap. Kid had to shift to keep her from seeing and winced painfully at what he hid from her.

"I'll train harder, but you need to stop yelling at me for no reason."

"I have-"

"No!" Y/N said in a sharp, pleading tone. She then touched his chest, and Kid instantly calmed. "Please, Captain, you can't barge in here and scare me into dropping things! That salve is expensive and takes a long time to make."

"Fine."

Kid pushed off the table and crossed his arms. Being scolded again by this little woman made Kidd's aching lessen, but only a little.

"I'll give you the money to make it again."

"And you'll help me make it!" She added cheerfully.

When Kid tried to argue, Y/n held up her hand and explained, "So you will understand its value. It's a family recipe that helps with cuts and burns."

"I don't-"

"Please."

She gazed at him with that soft expression that warmed the blood in his heart. As he gazed at her, sitting calmly on the table with that mark on her cheek, Kid started to feel a vague sensation that had not been felt in a long time.

He looked at the ground where the salve was smeared and found a glob that looked clean enough to use. He picked part of it up with his finger and swiped it upwards on Y/N's cheek. She closed her eyes at the cold ointment touching her skin.

A small part of her wished he would kiss her, but when his hand left her face, she knew it was hopeless to wish. After all, she wasn't his type.

Part 3

@ella157 , @bdudette ,

#eustass kid x reader #eustass x reader #eustass kid x y/n #eustass kidd #eustass captain kidd #eustasscaptainkid #op kid #one piece #one piece x reader #op fanfic #one piece fanfiction #kidd one piece #x reader #eustass kid #eustass kid x you #op eustass kid #kid x reader #captain kid x reader

[cheapshrimpysheep]

Hello OP! Hope u don’t mind this request for the demon bros

So just earlier i saw the “raising a pet together” game on tiktok, and i was on a freenzy, IT’S JUST TOO CUTE 🥹 and i’m too single to have anybody to do it with me lol.

What would be their reaction when the MC got them to downloaded the app and raise the virtual pet together?

COMMENTS: Well, I didn't know about this game, so I asked Gemini (Bard) about it to find out a little more about this type of game. Long story short: I told some of my friends about this game and now we are taking care of a virtual kitten together 😊 Thank you so much for the request 😉

What I wrote is based on my little experience playing the game called Pokipet. I hope you and all enjoy 🐶🐱

CHARACTERS: Demon Brothers (Lucifer; Mammon; Leviathan; Satan; Asmodeus; Beelzebub & Belphegor)

TAGS: Fluff; GN Reader; Bullet Points

WORD COUNT: An average of 390 words per character.

CONTEXT - According to Gemini (formerly "Bard"): The "Raising a Pet Together" game is a concept where you and someone else, like a friend, family member, or significant other, work together to raise a virtual pet.

The core idea is to work together to raise a virtual pet, which can be a fun way to: Simulate pet ownership and its responsibilities. Test your teamwork and communication skills. Have a cute and engaging way to interact with someone else.

“Why would we take care of a virtual pet together if we can already do it with Cerberus?” He will ask you.

Well, maybe you just want to try it out and see how it goes.

“Of course everything would be fine. The two of us would be its caretakers. How could anything go if not perfectly?” he sighs and chuckles “Fine. If you really want to do this, then I can accommodate your whims.”

According to Lucifer's traditional Devildom profile, when asked "Cats or Dogs" he answers "Cerberus". So he would choose to take care of a dog and name it Cerberus.

Whenever you open the app to take care of the little virtual Cerberus, Lucifer has already taken care of everything. Feed it? He already did. Give it a bath? He already did it. Pet it? The happiness bar is already maxed out, but you can still do it.

You would probably do more of the decorating of the room and give it clothes and accessories. He'll probably be stupidly good at the minigames and earn a lot of money so you can spend it freely on those things.

Whenever he has a lot of work and opens the app as if it were another of his responsibilities and sees that the virtual Cerebrus is fed and well taken care of by you, he will smile in relief. It's so wonderful to have another person he can rely on and share responsibilities with. You're so good at taking the weight off his shoulders and making him feel at ease.

He will definitely try to use this game to convince you to take care of the real Cerebrus with him instead of a virtual pet.

If the app has a chat and, at night, you both open the app at the same time to put your pet to bed:

Lucifer: Good evening (Y/N)

Lucifer: Are you here to put Cerberus to bed too?

Lucifer: What a pleasant coincidence.

The two of you cuddle your pet until it falls asleep.

Lucifer: Now, you should go to sleep too.

Lucifer: The same applies to me.

Lucifer: But now I want to fall asleep with you by my side.

Lucifer: Come to my room.

Lucifer: I can cuddle you until you fall asleep too.

Lucifer: If what you want is to sleep, of course.

“Raising a pet together?! Do you think I have money to support a pet? I can barely stay out of debt!” Mammon panics and speaks as if you were talking about a child.

But then you explain that it's a virtual pet, on your D.D.D.s.

“Oh...” He blushes a lot. “W-why didn't you say that from the beginning, you dummy?” He thinks for a second and then smiles widely. “Well, if it's free, I guess we can try it.”

According to Mammon's traditional Devildom profile, when asked "Cats or Dogs"  he answers "Cats". If you were surprised, so was I. For a name? Maybe Goldie, like his credit card. A yellow kitten named Goldie.

He'll blush a little when he thinks that you're taking care of a pet together, like a real close couple.

You are the one who will take care of Goldie the most. Giving it food and bath. And there will be many times when you almost don't have the money for it because Mammon will spend it all on toys, clothes and decoration. Even though it's a virtual pet, he will spoil it.

In terms of the pet's needs, he will probably just play with it. And give it treats. He will try to do the minigames to earn more money, but regardless of whether he is good at these minigames or not, he will continue to spend more money than he can earn.

But despite everything, he will try to be as helpful as possible and genuinely try to take care of Goldie so you don't have to do all the work. Sometimes he will even surprise you by taking really ood care of it.

If the app has a chat and, at night, you both open the app at the same time to put your pet to bed:

Mammoney: Oi! What are ya doin' here?

Mammoney: Oh. Ya here to put Goldie to bed too?

Mammoney: Ok. You can do it tonight

You cuddle your pet until it falls asleep.

Mammoney: Aww look at our baby~

Mammoney: PET! I MEAN PET!

Mammoney: hey... if you're still not sleepy either

Mammoney: why don't ya come to my room?

Mammoney: I always feel more relaxed with you by my side

Mammoney: Maybe we can help each other sleep?

Mammoney: Or... do something else if ya want...

“A VIRTUAL PET TO TAKE CARE OF TOGETHER?!?!” Levi is overjoyed with the idea! His eyes were sparkling! You don't need to say anything else, he's already downloading the app. Could this be a test to find out if you would be good parents to a real pet? Or maybe... No! NO LEVI! TOO EARLY!! One step at a time.

According to Levi's traditional Devildom profile, when asked "Cats or Dogs"  he answers "Henry". But since he could only choose between dog and cat, he would probably choose dog, because cats are known to eat fish.

For a name? “Maybe Henry 3.0?” He starts to suggest “Hum... no... Ah! Can I try something?” he writes a name that is accepted and shows it to you so you can confirm or deny the suggestion, with his cheeks slightly flushed. Henry <3 When he sees you smile in confirmation, his smile and enthusiasm only increase.

He's a dedicated gamer, so you don't have to worry about anything at all! He will get so many coins that you will practically be rich in that game. And he will buy everything. EVERYTHING! Decoration, food, toys, clothes, accessories, literally everything that is possible to buy in the game. And you can do whatever you want.

If you show that you would like to contribute more to your pet's care, he will apologize and promise to play less so you can have the opportunity to take care of Henry <3 too. But of course he will continue to open the app almost constantly, even if it's just to see you taking care of Henry <3.

Don't be surprised if he one day shows up with a Henry <3 plush so that the two of you can cuddle your baby whenever you want.

If the app has a chat and, at night, you both open the app at the same time to put your pet to bed:

L3V1: HEYYYYY ^.^

L3V1: Are you here to put Henry <3 to bed too?

L3V1: Let’s do it together!

The two of you cuddle your pet until it falls asleep.

L3V1: Hey... um... are you sleepy?

L3V1: The thing is I'm not sleepy yet

L3V1: Actually I'm now wide awake

L3V1: Could you keep me company for a little while?

L3V1: You know, I always feel sleepier when I'm with you

L3V1: I feel safe and calm

L3V1: If by chance you also feel this way about me

L3V1: Would you like to keep each other company in my room?

L3V1: But it could also be in yours

L3V1: Or not. It's okay if you don't want to

Take care of a virtual pet together? Where one of the options is a cat? Sign him up! And since he can't have a real pet cat, this is the best thing you could have propose to him! (*cough* besides marriage *cough*)

We don't even need the Devildom profile for this one, do we?

For a name? Probably the name of one of his favorite writers. Or... how about the name of one of your (you two) favorite writers? Christopher from Christopher Peugeot ;)

He's not that much into games, but since we're talking about taking care of a kitten, he can reach your level of experience. Or at least he will try. And to do this, he will do two things: 1st - Ask you for help. Which will make you two learn together how the game works. And 2nd - Do a lot of research on the internet about the best ways to play and the best strategies to get lots of coins so that your cat doesn't lack any care.

That game will be one of the main apps on his D.D.D. In addition to apps about books and the chat where he talks to you and the others.

Maybe he'll even find a way to change the background on his phone to a screen shot of your virtual pet.

If the app has a chat and, at night, you both open the app at the same time to put your pet to bed:

stn: Hello.

stn: I see you're here to put Christopher to bed as well.

stn: Why don't we do the honors together?

The two of you cuddle your pet until it falls asleep.

stn: Now we both should go to sleep too.

stn: If you are having trouble falling asleep, you can come to my room.

stn: I will be happy to read with you until you fall asleep.

stn: Your company will also help me rest.

stn: So feel free to come see me.

“Take care of a virtual pet together? That sounds so cute! Oh, but it's not as demanding as taking care of a real pet, is it? I'm not ready for that kind of commitment. I still need my ME time.~”

According to Asmo's traditional Devildom profile, when asked "Cats or Dogs" he answers "Me <3". But you need to choose between a dog and a cat. So you suggest a cat.In real life, cats are generally not as dependent as dogs. And, lets say that they are more likely to take "beauty more seriously" than a dog.

For a name? “OH! Can it be Asmodeus II? Pretty pleeeeease~”

You will be Asmodeus II's main caretaker. Since Asmo will be more interested in spoiling it with toys, clothes and affection. And if he wants to buy something and doesn't have coins for it, he'll try to convince you to play more mini-games to get more coins for him to spend. “Ow, don't be mad at me hon. It's for our little baby. What if I spoil you in real life as a thanks~?”

When he tells his followers about this new virtual pet, eventually, more and more fans will ask him to tell them more and more about how it's going. Which mean that your pet will end up becoming part of his content. But it also ends up making Asmo pay more attention and care for it more.

And don't be surprised if, for a person who didn't want to commit to a pet, he ends up being the one trying to convince you to get a real pet. After all, if a virtual pet is already so good, imagine how much better a real pet would be! How cute would that be! And how much more engagement and new followers his social media would have! But despite this last one, what he really wants is to share a new love with you.

If the app has a chat and, at night, you both open the app at the same time to put your pet to bed:

AsmoBaby: Hey hon~ <3

AsmoBaby: I just wanted to come put our baby to bed~

AsmoBaby: Sorry for always being you the one to do this

AsmoBaby: What if you let me do this tonight? ;)

He cuddles your pet until it falls asleep.

AsmoBaby: Awwww! IT’S SO CUTE!

AsmoBaby: I have to take a screenshot to show my followers!

AsmoBaby: Give me a second~

AsmoBaby: I could see this cute little thing sleeping for hours~

AsmoBaby: But we both need our beauty sleep

AsmoBaby: Oh, that gives me an idea!

AsmoBaby: Why don't you come to my room?

AsmoBaby: We can do our nighttime beauty routines together

AsmoBaby: And we can sleep together if you want to stay with me

AsmoBaby: You deserve some spoiling for taking such good care of our baby <3

“A virtual pet?” Beel wouldn't understand the proposal well at first. “Isn't the point of having a pet to have a true companion by your side? You know, to take care of each other and play together?”

You tell him yes, but that it's just a little experience for you to share. Seeing how much you really want to do that with him, he will smile. “Okay, if you really want it that much, I'll take care of a pet with you. It'll be fun. Anything with you is.”

According to Beel's traditional Devildom profile, when asked "Cats or Dogs" he answers "Dogs". So, a dog will be.

For a name? You're asking a lot of him. Could you choose one for him? But try to keep it from being a food-related name, this will make Beel hungry. (And in the worst possible scenario, he wanting to bite your virtual pet. This is before he becomes attached to it)

He won't care much about aesthetics, you can take care of that if you want. You are free to dress your pet and get it as many toys as you want. Beel will be more interested in feeding it well and exercising.

In terms of playing mini-games to get coins, it would be very balanced, none of you would get many more coins than the other. Unless you're crazy about those mini-games. In that case, you would get more coins than Beel.

You also shouldn't be surprised when he starts talking about the two of you getting a real dog as a pet. Yes, it's true that Lucifer has Cerberus and that he would let you take care of him from time to time, but Beel wants a puppy of both of you. He wants to have a little furry baby with you.

If the app has a chat and, at night, you both open the app at the same time to put your pet to bed:

Beelzeburger: Hey

Beelzeburger: You're also here to put our dog to bed?

Beelzeburger: Being here with you makes me very happy

Beelzeburger: We can do this together

The two of you cuddle your pet until it falls asleep.

Beelzeburger: I'm going to get a snack before going to bed

Beelzeburger: Do you want one too?

Beelzeburger: We can have a midnight snack together

Beelzeburger: I'm going to the kitchen now

Beelzeburger: Do you want to meet me there?

Beelzeburger: Or do you want me to bring a snack to your room?

Beelzeburger: Oh wait!

Beelzeburger: I can eat your snack on the way

Beelzeburger: Sorry, it would be better if you come meet me in the kitchen

“A virtual pet? Well, it's not as demanding as having a real pet. And it would be fun to take care of a pet with you. Okay, we can do it.”

According to Belphie's traditional Devildom profile, when asked "Cats or Dogs" he answers "Dogs". So, a dog will be.

For a name? Well, Belphie would have a little idea. “You know, Beel has always reminded me of a happy dog, especially when he smiles. Ha ha. What do you think about calling it Beel?” That and when you two talk about your pet without giving context, the reactions of the brothers would be fun to watch.

You'll probably realize that taking care of that pet with Belphie is a rollercoaster. One moment he takes care of all the pet's needs and even buys one or two little things for it. And the next, the pet has all its needs at a minimum and needs a lot of care. Those last one usually happens because Belphie has fallen asleep and has been sleeping for a long time. But apart from those times, your care would be quite balanced.

You would probably be more in charge of playing the mini-games to earn coins. That's because Belphie doesn't really like to have that much work, although he tries to do it from time to time so it doesn't always have to be you.

He wouldn't start trying to convince you to get a real pet. Especially a dog. Because he knows it would be a responsibility he's not prepared for and he knows it would end up giving you more work and he doesn't want that. That virtual pet is perfect. At least for now.

If the app has a chat and, at night, you both open the app at the same time to put your pet to bed:

Belphie: Hi

Belphie: You're here too

Belphie: Do you want to put it to sleep?

Belphie: Be my guest :)

You cuddle your pet until it falls asleep.

Belphie: Thanks <3

Belphie: Hey, since you're still awake too

Belphie: Come join me

Belphie: Let's cuddle until we fall asleep

Belphie: I always sleep better when I'm with you

Belphie: I also have the best dreams

Belphie: Come sleep with me~

If you dropped in here out of the blue and want to read more from me, you can find it in my pinned post: INDEX

#1000 followers #1K followers #1000 followers milestone #1K followers milestone #1000 followers celebration #1K followers celebration #Obey Me #obey me shall we date #obey me imagines #obey me one master to rule them all #obey me fluff #obey me x reader #obey me headcanons #obey me requests #requests #obey me Lucifer #obey me Lucifer x Reader #obey me Mammon #obey me Mammon x Reader #obey me Leviathan #obey me Leviathan x Reader #obey me Levi #obey me Levi x Reader #obey me Satan #obey me Satan x Reader #obey me Asmodeus #obey me Asmodeus x Reader #obey me Asmo #obey me Asmo x Reader #obey me Beelzebub

[s1m0nth3swag]

Leon S. Kennedy Scenarios

Some sweet and short Leon Scenarios, all inspired by the wonderful @leonw4nter who sent me some of her ideas (gen love you for that)

Three scenarios in this one, all fluffy and cute because Leon deserves happiness, and I will be the one giving it to him !!!

Info about the scenario at the start of each one

[Leon says he isn't hungry, then proceeds to steal your food | Was intended for Death Island Leon, but honestly, I think it'd fit better for Vendetta]

You glare at your boyfriend of a year as you shovel food onto your plate. There was a usual way of going about this. Leon would say he wasn't hungry, that he'd eaten at work, and that you shouldn't make a serving for him as well. Each time, you'd stupidly trust his words, which would inevitably end in him casually helping himself to steal parts of your food, all under the disguise of suddenly being just a little bit hungry. This time, you were prepared. You had prepared a second serving and were ready to defend your food with your life.

You trotted to the couch of your shared apartment, flopped down on it, and swiftly put the TV on. Leon followed after you wordlessly, and you just instinctively knew he was up to something. He always was. He sat beside you, rested his head on your shoulder sweetly - you immediately held your food up as his hand shot out. “You said you aren't hungry!” You huffed, rolling your eyes as you scooted away from the other defensively. “Oh come on, that was so long ago. I just want a little taste!” Leon almost pouts, though the mischievous sparkle in his eyes instantly betrays him. “Fuck off! Get some yourself. There's still more in the kitchen!” You respond, kicking him playfully as he tries to get closer. He puts on his best expression of betrayal, trying to make you feel sorry for him. “That's all the way back there! I've already sat down. It ain't fair!” He exclaims. “Come on, just a little bit, please.” He pleads, resting his head on your knee as he stares up at you. He almost looks like a dog begging for food now. “No, get your lazy ass up and get it yourself.” You simply say, rolling your eyes as you casually continue eating.

Leon stares you down the entire time, waiting for the moment that his usual food manipulation tactic works - you stubbornly stand your ground, though. Each time he opens his mouth to complain once again, you simply shush him and tell him the exact placement of the rest of the food in the kitchen. After you finally set your plate down on the small table beside the couch, Leon huffs as he moves to sprawl himself on top of you. “You're awful.” He pouts, snuggling his face against the side of your neck. “Just get your own food, love. Ain't that hard.” You chuckle and run your fingers through his hair, feeling his following sigh as the air hits your neck. His arms wrap around you tightly as he snuggles further against you. “Isn't fair.” He mumbles. “You're supposed to share with me and shit.” You giggle. “I made you a second serving. You could've taken that, just saying.” Leon doesn't answer, too stubborn to do so as he rests on top of you.

“Next time.” He mutters after a while as you feel him smirk against your neck. “Sure.” You laugh softly. “Next time.”

[Matching Pyjamas with Death Island Leon]

Even though Leon grumbles about being too old for childish things like this, you know that deep down he is more than thrilled as you present him the clothes you had ordered. A set of matching hello kitty pyjamas that you had bought on a whim - you definitely needed to learn how to not spend your money on the most random things (the fact that you had used Leons credit card was a minor issue for that plan though). He looked at you, sighing as he watched how excited you were. “Please Lee, you only gotta wear them this once I swear!” You begged, and you swore it was visible that his facade crumbled down. “Fine, fine. This once.” He gives in, grabbing his set from your hands swiftly. “No pictures, no laughing or I swear you'll regret.” Leon then adds, slightly glaring at you because he knew for a fact that you had taken pictures of him sleeping before - in your defense, the way he cuddled up to you during the night was just too adorable. You quickly nodded, though, even if you planned on breaking that unspoken promise. You were pretty sure Leon knew that already.

He insisted on changing in the bathroom, something about it being a surprise - he probably just wanted to stare at himself in the mirror and rethink all his life choices. You hummed excitedly, patiently waiting as you sat on the side of your shared bed. The second he stepped out you grinned widely, giggling as he came to stand in front of you. “Happy?” He asked, answered by you snaking your arms around him while nodding. “Extremely so.” You sigh, resting your head against the soft fabric of the sleep shirt. “Good. Can we sleep now?” He grumbles, his cheeks ever so slightly flushed. You knew he enjoyed this more than he wanted to let show. “Nuh uh! Gotta take pictures first!” You smile, and Leon groans as he realises that he'd be in for a longer night than he had planned.

[Re2 Leon being head over heels for you (and getting made fun of for it) No Outbreak!]

Leon can't help but grin widely at the text you've sent him, almost like he has to read it over and over again to have it imprinted on his brain or he'll die. He's taking his lunch break right now, nestled into one of the break rooms chairs. You've agreed to come see him and get him something to eat, because he totally forgot his food at home - he definitely didn't not take it on purpose so you'd have to come save him.

The two of you had only been dating for a month or so, but Leon already dreamed of a wedding and waking up next to you every morning - which had happened only once up until now. It had been a stormy day, and during the evening it only got worse, which led to you simply staying over. Leon still got that tingly feeling in his stomach when he remembered how cute you had looked with your bed hair. If he wasn't such a gentleman, or if he wasn't so shy about it, he wouldn't have let you go the whole day. He giggles as he looks back through old messages - he especially likes the outfit checks you sometimes send him, he can't help but grin at the pictures and videos, his cheeks flushing as he thinks about how wonderful you look, no matter what you wear. He comes across the one where you stayed home for a day, and he swears his heart bursts with how adorable you look in your pajamas.

Leon knows he's getting weird looks from his workmates, but he really doesn't care. He's in love, he's allowed to be a little giggly and blushy, even if the others don't agree. Chris looks over his shoulder briefly, sighing a soft “simp”, and Leon shoots him a glare before lighting up at the sight of you walking into the break room. He immediately jumps from his seat, moving to give you a hug. “Missed you, Baby.” He mumbles, face snuggled against your hair, taking in the soft scent of your shampoo. “Can't have missed them much when you're on your phone the entire time looking at their pictures.” Chris speaks, and Leon would be mad at that, if you weren't giggling as hugging him back. “Brought you some snacks.” You hum, and Leon's heart practically stops in his chest with how cute you are - as if he hadn't been the one to tell you to get him food.

Moments later, he sits at the table again, you on his lap, because he insisted that the chairs would be too uncomfortable for you. He munches on one of the sweet treats you had brought him while you spoke about your day so far, Leon was definitely the happiest guy alive right now. He places soft kisses on your neck and jaw every now and then, smiling at you. He'd definitely die happy if it was by your side.

#leon vendetta #re2 leon #leon x reader #leon resident evil #leon s kennedy #leon kennedy #leon death island #resident evil #resident evil x reader #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy x reader

[osaemu]

ミ★ quick learner 🜸

pairing: student! gojo x reader

summary: to you, chemistry means two things – the worst subject on earth and the best feeling ever. satoru somehow teaches you both.

word count: ~2.0k

notes: suggestive. modern au. mentions of organic chemistry. making out. guest appearance by geto. gojo calls you 'smart girl' at one point. rushed. barely proofread. written while i was half asleep. like always, reblogs are very very appreciated.

a/n: i genuinely don't know how i feel about this one... there are parts i like and parts i don't like (that i was too lazy to fix) and it's kinda just stitched together ... lmk what you think in the comments pretty pls 💞

"question four – what's the difference between molarity and molality?"

"wait, those are two different things?"

since you and satoru had both procrastinated studying for your impending chemistry test, you found yourselves at the library long past midnight. 

it was an accident – when you had decided to study in the library instead of at home, you hadn't anticipated running into anyone you knew. but of course, satoru gojo, the charismatic guy in your english class, was here too. 

you wouldn't say that the two of you were close – acquaintances was a better word. satoru and you knew of each other and were on friendly terms, but until now you had never really taken the time to talk alone.

but hey, just because you didn't know the guy that well didn't mean you were about to turn down a free study partner. especially one as attractive as satoru, although it was admittedly a bit distracting when you were trying to focus on your work.

it wasn't his fault – his long, white lashes were just naturally mesmerizing. and his eyes? breathtaking. even in the dim light of the library, his eyes shone like crystals. you didn't even want to start thinking about his hands, his jawline, and certainly not his body, otherwise you'd be studying something else the whole night – him and his stupidly attractive self.

after a ton of mental self-chiding, you finally manage to get your priorities straight and actually try to study, but what started as a study session gradually turned into a tutoring session when you two realized that one of you needed a lot more help than the other.

and to your dismay, that was you.

"you really thought molarity and molality were the same thing?" satoru scoffs, shamelessly grinning. "y'know, it's really a miracle you have an A in the class. you don't deserve it."

"shut up," you reply, knowing only too well that he was right. the only reason you were able to maintain a good grade in this stupid chemistry class was because the teacher offered a ridiculous amount of extra credit.

but unfortunately, you couldn't float on that boat for much longer. your grade was still slowly slipping, from a 95 to a 93 to what was now a flat 90, and your pride wouldn't let that number fall any further.

satoru laughs and shakes his head, running a hand through his white hair. "c'mon, at least tell me what molarity is."

"uhh, that's moles per liter, right?"

he nods and twirls a pen in between his fingers. "yeah, that's right. now what's molality?"

"how should i know? i don't pay attention in class," you groan, resting your head in your palm.

satoru rolls his eyes, and you take a moment to appreciate how gorgeous they are. they were a color somewhere in between cerulean and ocean blue, further enhanced by his long white lashes.

your admiration quickly fades to indignation when satoru clicks his tongue and starts rattling off some dictionary definition of molality.

"y'know, you'd know more if you weren't on your phone the whole time in class," he says dryly. 

you groan again and lean back in your chair. "it's just so boringgg," you whine, pushing the chemistry worksheet away. "forget it, i'll just guess on the test tomorrow. it usually works."

as you start to sweep your pencils and papers into your bag, satoru grabs your wrist and gets you to meet his ocean-blue eyes. "i'll feel bad if you do badly because i didn't help you enough."

his grip on your wrist is firm but gentle as he leans a millimeter closer. "let me help you, yeah?"

after a beat of silence, you nod and look away. his glacial eyes are piercing in the kind of way that makes you think he can see right through you, and you don't like the feeling of being readable.

"so, am i gonna have to force you to pay attention or will you do it yourself?"

the question catches you off guard. something about the way he asks it makes it very clear that it's a genuine question – either you can try and make yourself focus or he can make you.

you don't quite know what the latter means, but it sounds more fun, so that's what you pick.

and that's how you ended up on his lap, hair wrapped around his fingers as he quizzed you from behind. 

satoru had somehow motivated you to actually try and study by rewarding you with a kiss for every question you got right. had the offer come from anyone else, you would've called them a creep, but satoru was attractive and he knew it. on top of that, he wasn't afraid to use his good looks to get what he wanted, which, in this case, was for you to do good on tomorrow's test.

"avogadro's number?"

"umm, 6.022 x 10 to the 23rd?"

satoru nods and kisses the side of your face, lips trailing over your jawline as his eyes flick back to where he'd scribbled a couple practice questions.

"how many bonds can hydrogen form?"

"one."

this time, his lips touch your neck, and it takes every ounce of self-restraint in your body to hold back the embarrassing sound you can feel at the bottom of your throat.

"last question, how many bonds can carbon form?"

this time, your voice comes out breathier than you expected. "four, right?"

"smart girl." 

and now, for the first time this night, he gives you a quick kiss on the lips. he doesn't linger and he doesn't give you any chance to savor the taste of his lips – one second his mouth is pressed to yours, the next it's moving with words you don't quite absorb.

he rifles through a couple papers and makes a face. "actually, my bad, there's more. not much," he quickly adds when he sees you groan. "just some stuff we didn't cover completely at the beginning."

"you're the worst."

"you'd fail without me."

"maybe, but at least i'd be happier."

despite your playful jabs, the truth that studying with satoru was a lot more bearable than studying by yourself, and it was also a lot easier to stay awake. before you knew it, two hours came and went, and you were practically an expert on everything that could possibly be on the test tomorrow.

and when you're finally able to confidently tell satoru the difference between molarity and molality, that's when he turns you around on his lap to face him and presses his lips to yours again, and this time, he doesn't pull away.

"you're a quick learner, aren't you?" satoru mumbles against your lips. he pulls back for a second to get some air before grabbing your chin and leaning in for more. "yeah, i wonder what else i could teach you. you wanna find out, pretty?"

you're not entirely sure when the studying ended and the making out started, but you certianly do know when the making out ended. 

before you could reply to satoru's rather suggestive question, a message blared from the speakers around the library and interrupted whatever you two had going on.

" it is now closing time. all remaining students, please return to your residential places immediately."

satoru chuckles and nudges you off of his lap before standing up and stretching. "well, it's almost 3, we should get some rest." 

"yeah, that's probably smart."

"of course it is. i'm smart."

"yeah yeah," you mumble after a second when no better retort comes to mind. probably because he was telling the truth – satoru was smart, and he knew it. 

"well, i'll see you tomorrow," he says, sweeping the remainder of his stuff into his backpack before slinging it over his shoulder. "good luck on the test, you'll do great."

you smile and zip up your own backpack before heading towards the exit on the other side of the library, his words buzzing around your head and the memory of his mouth fresh on your lips the whole way home.

"satoru, satoru! guess what i got on my test!"

after you made your way home from the library last night, you slept like a rock. barely a minute after you tiredly stumbled into your oh-so welcoming bed, you were out. 

despite only getting around five or six hours of sleep, you felt pretty damn good the next morning as you sat down to take your chemistry exam. and that good feeling stayed with you the whole test, and when you finished, you were able to confidently set your paper on your teacher's desk.

well, as confidently as anyone could set a piece of paper down anyways.

but now it was lunchtime, and a soft chiming sound from your phone signaled that the test was score and put into your grade. your hands shook slightly as you tapped the notification, but to your delight, a 97 lit up your screen.

and of course, who else could you credit with this besides satoru? so you walked over to where you'd seen him hang around during lunch and called out his name, but you really hadn't anticipated company.

"ah, satoru, who's this?" the dark-haired boy beside satoru asked, voice light with interest. "have you been seeing someone and not telling me about it?"

satoru laughs and shoves the guy's shoulder before turning to you and grinning. "sorry 'bout him. yeah, what was your score?"

he has a lollipop in his mouth, and as he raises an eyebrow at you, you feel yourself grin as you proudly say "a ninety seven! my grade went up to the mid-ninties, too!"

"smart girl. knew you could do it," satoru says, a lopsided smile spreading across his face.

"it's only 'cause of you," you say, a bit sheepishly. "without your help, i wouldn't've been able to do that."

satoru exhales a laugh and reaches out to ruffle your hair. he looks like he's about to say something before the other guy clears his throat.

"sorry to interrupt your... moment, but the lunch line is starting to grow and my patience is starting to shrink. satoru, you coming?" 

"yeah, give me a sec, suguru." 

satoru looks back down at you, sunglasses resting on the tip of his nose and cerulean eyes flashing in the sunlight. "looks like i gotta go."

you nod and wave him off. "yeah, i'll see you around, i guess. thanks so much for the help, really. i owe you one."

satoru grins and pulls the lollipop out of his mouth. still looking at you intently, he runs his tongue over the lollipop one last time before sticking in your mouth.

"you wanna pay me back for tutoring you last night?" satoru asks, smirking at the surprised look on your face. "drop by my place tonight. i'll teach you something else this time."

he leans in and gives you a quick, sugary kiss before turning away and walking in the direction geto left in, leaving you with nothing but a tingling sensation in your lips and a promise to see you soon.

satoru laughs to himself as he walks away, waving one hand back at you without bothering to turn around. when he catches up to suguru, the latter notices the wide smirk satoru dons and asks about it.

"oh, it's nothing. just looking forward to tonight."

you were, too.

a/n: if i wrote smut i'd write a pt 2 to this. maybe one day idk

i'm probably going to get back to writing some more angst after i finish the last of my requests. i miss writing fics that make people cry /hj

if you haven't already, check out some of my other jjk fics in my masterlist (below!)

anyways thank u vvv much for reading, reblogs are always very appreciated 💞

masterlist

#ミ★ khoi writes #ミ★ jujutsu kaisen #jjk x reader #jjk fluff #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen fluff #jujutsu kaisen x reader #satoru gojo #gojo satoru #gojo x reader #gojo x you #gojo fluff #gojo fanfic #gojo imagine #gojo oneshot #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x you #satoru #satoru x reader #jjk gojo #satoru gojo x reader #satoru gojo x you #satoru gojo x y/n #satoru gojo fluff

[ruewrote]

𝑜𝑝𝑝𝑜𝑠𝑖𝑡𝑒𝑠 𝑎𝑡𝑡𝑟𝑎𝑐𝑡.

PAIRING: s6!lipgallagher x inexperienced!fem!reader WARNINGS: none GENRE: fluff SONG INSPIRATION: the spins by mac miller WORD COUNT: 463 REQUESTED: yes

navigation | inbox

it's not a lie that you've never had to struggle for the majority of your life, whether that be through money or popularity. but where you did lack was experience, yeah being a straight A student was cool and all but since you were the centre of attention all the time it was difficult to do any wrong.

so as you got to college you thought that'd all change. something you didn't think of is where to start. hm well that was until you met lip gallagher.

it definitely helped that the two of you worked together to help out in professor youens class as it got you extra credit and also didn't hurt to make a new friend.

"you've gotta be shitting me? nothin'? not even accidentally slipped a tube of that gloss you're always wearing?" he questioned, leaning in closer eyeing you suspiciously.

rolling your eyes as you nudged his shoulder with your own, "no! is it really that hard to believe?"

"i guess not," he brings the cigarette to his lips taking a long drag, "i guess i shouldn't be since you are a goodie two shoes." blowing the rest of the smoke out of your direction.

"i am not a goodie two shoes!" you muttered as your eyes fell down to your shoes that were kicking at the rubble beneath them.

"yeah, yeah okay! so what was the last 'bad' thing you did?"

looking up at him through your lashes, genuinely trying to think of something, anything. sighing knowing that he was right.

the first thing you could think to do was lunge and grab the burning cigarette out of his hand, bringing it to your lips, stupidly inhaling way too much which made you burst out into a coughing fit.

lips eyes widened before sitting beside you, moving your hair out of your face whilst gently patting your back.

"you really shouldn't over do it on your first time, sweetheart."

your eyes all red and watery as you looked up at him, "a bit too late for that."

from then on the two of you were inseparable, him showing you how to live your life instead of just surviving it. whether that be from sillily ding dong ditching peoples houses to him showing you how to kiss (maybe a bit too much)

when you weren't creating chaos you were either laid up in your dorms watching movies on your laptop or were at the gallaghers house buying everyone pizza making them all happy.

even though you hadn't been friends for very long you and lip just fit together, you never thought that you would find someone that you would click with so easily. nevermind him being the complete opposite to you.

you wouldn't want it any other way.

@diorrfairy hope this was as good as you wanted it to be :))

© ruewrote.

#lip gallagher #lip gallagher x reader #lip gallagher oneshots #lip gallagher imagines #lip gallagher fanfics #shameless #shameless x reader #shameless oneshots #shameless imagines #shameless fanfics #jeremy allen white #jeremy allen white x reader #jeremy allen white oneshots #jeremy allen white imagines #jeremy allen white fanfics #x reader #oneshots #imagines #fanfics #ruewrote

[nyahchan]

Childe's Dear Roomate

Modern AU Childe x fem!faceless pornstar streamer reader 18+

TW:mentiones of toys, voyeurism (?) , modern au childe,daddy kink, squirting,

I think you can guess the rest of the tags

This is inspired by a fic I read but I can't find it anymore so idk who to give credits

:readmore: (this shi never works)

Every waking moment

Every hour at work

It all felt irritating

He could only grow restless till his working hours were up and he could leave

Childe's favourite activity of the day was going home, not to relax, not to eat, not to sleep, but to watch his favourite streamer, oh how cute she was! hiding her face with a mask, wearing a wig for extra caution, all while showing her beautiful and gorgeous body to the entire world for money, playing with herself for ___$ , Cumming on the stream for ___$, using various toys for ___$,Moaning a certain viewer's name for special donations and oh so much more! Childe could only feel aroused and angry everytime your stream started, you were showing your lovely body and doing such unholy things in front of so many perverts like himself just for money, he could easily give you the money you need! Just thinking about having you by his side, fucking you every waking moment, giving you the money that you oh so badly need to be doing such things on the internet was enough to make him cum all over his screen as he watched your stream on his computer.

Everything was perfect as usual except for one thing, he had a new roommate now, ugh so annoying, although he didn't need to have a roommate as he had a very high paying job, he oh so stupidly agreed to it one night a few days ago while he was rewatching a few of his favourite streamer's streams, agreeing in the heat of the moment as he was annoyed that someone was calling him asking if she could be his roommate for external and internal reasons for a few days, childe kept thinking about kicking his annoying roommate out but figured it's only for a few days so he didn't even bother looking at his new roommate's face, and with that in mind he kept watching his darling streamer when he realized something, her background was different today and she was telling her viewers how she was at a different place for some internal reasons and to not pay attention to it but childe kept thinking about it over and over again... It looks familiar... Too familiar... Childe kept looking at the background till it clicked in his head, he grinned evilly and immediately dashed to his new roommate's room and behold! His darling was right in front of him, completely naked, a dildo inside her sopping pussy, her face covered with a mask, wearing a wig, her eyes widened as childe barged in. He on the other hand,wasted no time in unbuckling his already loose pants, only in his underwear from the waist down now, wearing a mask himself and going near the screen where she was sitting, "hey guys, today you're gonna see your favorite streamer get fucked by an actual cock instead of this fake tiny little dildo" childe said as he yanked the dildo out with so much force, it caused you to whimper out loudly, still shocked from the turn of events "this will be her last stream so gonna make it a special one ya see" "don't even need to pay today, just watch and see how good I fuck my darling unlike you disgusting perverts, savour this moment in your heart" he says to the screen as he quickly takes his pants off, revealing his long and girthy member ", your eyes widen "w-wait, w-what do you mean my last steam?!" You say all confused "darling, ya think I'm gonna let these animals look at you any longer now that I've found out you're my roommate~ don't worry daddy's gonna pay for everything, no need to do such degenerate things for money anymore, daddy's gonna wife ya up"

and with that, he starts aligning himself against your dripping pussy, you can only whimper in protest, he starts slowly entering you until he bottoms out, hissing at you walls tightening around him "although you just had a dildo shoved in ya, it appears you're still too tight for daddy's cock, never had an actual girthy cock before did ya?" He says smugly as he starts violently thrusting in and out of you, you start moaning loudly, lost in the pleasure, no one has ever fucked you think good before, your eyes roll back in your head as your tongue falls out of your mouth as you stop caring about how your screen is filling up with hundreds of messages , either praising you or degrading you as they talk in detail how they're jerking off right now to you,as you're getting fucked into oblivion, childe on the otherhand could feel his blood rushing to his dick even more as he saw all the comments popping on the screen, a feeling of possessiveness fills him up as he starts thrusting faster and faster while growling to show the world who you belong to now, your walls start tightening around his cock as you feel the knot in your stomach about to snap, but something feels different, very different "i-i think I need to pee, I-i feel strange" you whimper out "then piss on my cock" he grunts as he feels your walls tightening even more, and as if on command, you squirt all over his chest, your back arching as your head falls back, childe's eyes widen at the scene in front of him and he starts smirking mischievously at this new revelation "my my, it looks like someone just squirted~" he chuckles,your eyes quickly widen but he gives you a reassuring smile to indicate this is not something to be ashamed of and thrusts into you sloppily a few more times to help you through your high before cumming inside your pussy himself, you whimper out at the feeling of being filled to the brim by his seed.

Childe quickly ends the stream and places you onto his lap to let you rest up as he coos praises into your ear "no more showing the world your gorgeous body m-kay?I'll give you as much money you need, let's be permanent roommates" he says as he slips the mask off of your face and his as well, then snags the wig off of your head for more air "you look stunning, you know that right? Looked so good when you squirted,it's a shame the mask covered your face, wanted to fully see that tongue sticking out,maybe next time" he says as he brushes some hair off of your face, you might have just found a new sugar daddy, except you're probably gonna be living with him.... And might just become a parent in the process..

#modern childe #childe smut #childe x reader smut #childe x reader #tartagalia smut #tartaglia x reader smut #tartaglia x reader #genshin smut #genshin impact #smut #ajax x reader

[ghcstao3]

based on the addition of this because i think it’s silly

-

It didn’t look my different from the other tapes, and that’s about as far as Ghost’s defence goes.

Dated and labelled accordingly as is every other tape in the box Ghost had unearthed while digging through his old things, he hardly thinks to be deterred by something titled Tommy’s wedding—it sounds perfectly normal, a happy glimpse into a life Ghost misses dearly from time to time, and he doesn’t see why he shouldn’t show Soap what had been recorded of a great memory.

The tapes were the only way Soap would ever get to know the Riley family, and Ghost supposes the wedding would be the perfect captured moment.

Except, whoever penned the label on the VHS thought it’d be real funny to betray the organization system just to play some practical joke on whoever decided to put the tape into the player more than a decade down the line.

Normally, Ghost might blame Tommy—but once the incriminating footage begins to play, the fault is obviously on Beth, because no one else would have ever had the need to see this tape in particular.

Soap immediately curls back into Ghost’s side as he returns to the couch, content to watch as he had all the other tapes Ghost had decided to show—a gentle fondness is inscribed into his expression as grainy chatter fills the space, a soft smile on his lips as a camera is shakily—and stealthily—set up in one of Tommy’s old mate’s living rooms.

Ghost frowns. Because distantly he recognizes the scene as Tommy’s stag, and not at all the wedding.

Though, he supposes, to lend credit—the precursor, ceremony, and reception could very well all just be mashed onto one tape. It’s what Ghost presumes, anyway, until he hears playful jeering and the clunky click of someone pressing play on a CD player.

It happens too fast, and realization comes much too slow as Tommy and a younger Simon appear just off-centre of the screen, entirely unaware of the camera pointed at them. Simon hears the first notes of the song and scrambles for the remote—only to find that Soap is holding it out of his reach, a mischievous glint in his eyes as he seems to come to some sort of revelation, too.

Ghost narrows his eyes. Commands, voice low, “Pause it, Johnny.”

Soap grins. “Don’t think so.”

It’s too late, anyhow.

Ghost is well and truly fucked as the Spice Girls’ Wannabe filters through his TV’s speakers. He’s never been so mortified.

He wishes he could melt into the couch along with his shame, watching his brother and younger self dance to the song in the same way they’d choreographed when the thing first came out. As stupidly drunk as they were at the time of the video playing on screen, Ghost is surprised they remembered any of it at all.

Any being too much, of course.

Soap only pauses when the song comes to an end, looking to Ghost expectantly, biting his cheek to surely keep from bursting into laughter then and there.

Ghost refuses to look him in the eye.

“We were pissed,” Ghost grumbles. “Bachelor party.”

“You still remember the dance?” Soap goads.

Ghost turns to glare at him. “Johnny.”

“What?” Soap’s face twitches. “Just a question. Of which you didn’t answer.”

Ghost folds his arms petulantly across his chest. How he wishes Beth were still around so he could get revenge for this embarrassing incident. Beyond embarrassing, really.

“No, I don’t.” Yes, he does. “A word of this to anyone and you’re dead, Tav.”

“Aw.” Soap folds back into Ghost’s side, and Ghost could never deny the way he softens, even if just a bit. Soap trails a palm from Ghost’s bicep to his forearm, almost soothing if his only intention wasn’t to tease. “You don’t mean tha’.”

“I do,” Ghost insists, but really, he’s always been a bad liar.

Soap shakes his head. “Nah,” he sighs. “But… I won’t tell anyone, swear. So long as I get to see you do that dance—otherwise this tape is getting rewound and shipped to Gaz with the VCR.”

“Are you blackmailing me?”

“Mhm,” Soap hums. “But only out of love, see.”

Ghost rolls his eyes. He plucks the remote from Soap’s hand and presses stop, not wanting to risk any more condemning footage appear. Perhaps he’ll have to start going through these tapes by himself first, from now on.

“Well, out of love I’ll let you live. How’s that?”

Soap smiles up at him, reaching up an arm to pat Ghost’s cheek twice. “Might be able to convince me.”

Ghost huffs. Convince he must, then.

He knows Beth and Tommy would’ve found this hilarious, the pricks.

In another life, he supposes.

#scheduled #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #soapghost #ghost x soap #ghostsoap #ghoap #writing

[beomcookies]

soobin as your cute co-worker barista

“ coworker!soobin x reader, shy soobin, mutual pinning, both are oblivious, fluff, lower case intended on written parts”

: ̗̀➛ smau + written parts

masterlist

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

soobin knew he wasn't the type to make the move, and to be completely honest everyone knew it damn well too. sure, he had your number and what it takes is to just send a text asking to go on a date, if only things were that easy. he knew he's messed up when his crush on you only grew after getting to know you more.

you sat on a near by chair, waiting for soobin while he cleaned up the tables, it was closing time. few weeks has passed since soobin started working at the café, and during those past weeks things has been awkward and so. you and soobin were still distant, though you guys have been walking back to the station together every night after your shift, no words were uttered.

it was like a routine for you both, you would wait to go back together while he would clean up and change back into his casual clothings after the shift.

"wanna stop by the convenience store?" you spoke, not expecting him to agree. it's not that you hated him or thought he hated you. but this would probably be your very first decent conversation that is not about work after the first few interactions you guys had when he first came.

you were surprised when you heard the word "sure" left from his mouth. yes, he wasn't a cold person to disagree but it wasn't so common that he held a conversation with you. his eyes never met yours whenever you guys had a conversation and there wasn't a lot either. but this time, for once, soobin looked up to interlock his eyes with yours and oh you swore you were melting right then and there. you were definitely, helplessly in love.

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

soobin didn't know how it started or where it started. it went from him not being able to talk to you, messing up things everytime you're near and heart thumping so loud that he couldn't even focus to now having your own little hangout spot, walking home together every night and laughing about who knows what with you.

he watched as you talked about your day, staring down at your pink tinted lips thinking about what it would feel like to connect them with his own. little did he know you've thought about it too. many times even.

everyone could see how smitten he is by you. maybe it's the way he gently tucks your hair back behind your ear whenever it falls, or maybe it's the way he stares at you interacting with male customers that are a little too friendly while sending small glares in their way, it could also be the way his eyes light up whenever you went near him, giving him a smile and a thumbs up.

"just ask her out man, she likes you for sure" your another co-worker, a close friend of soobin, beomgyu would say whenever he starts ranting about you. "how do you know?" soobin would reply with a shake from his head, questioning the person about how do they know that you liked him back in disbelief, while beomgyu let out a long sigh.

it went the same for you, people telling to just asked him out. but you would always refuse, denying the fact that he likes you back and shutting down every encouragement to confess to him. and the cycle went on with you guys being oblivious about each other's feelings, deep down you both knew that you both were just stupid, stupidly in love. hiding the feelings for each other as if they weren't obvious from the start.

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

bonus!+

✎ © all rights reserved to me. please do not copy / repost or translate my work without my permission or full credit. reblogs are appreciated.

#txt smau #txt texts #txt fluff #txt x reader #txt x you #soobin #soobin x reader #soobin x you #soobin fluff #soobin imagines #soobin texts #soobin smau

[opbackgrounds]

(I'm feeling this is a unfair ask because you barely started Post-Timeskip {or even Marineford} but I need to ask) (If you already answered a question similar to this one, please point me towards it)

Devil Fruits vs Haki

What, on your opinion, are the strengths and weaknessess of each as power systems and how do they compare to each other?

I don’t really like how haki has been implemented. I understand why it exists, and for a story like One Piece there’s value in willpower being a literal super power, but it’s taken away some of the creative fun of the fights. Like, the Straw Hats wouldn’t have needed to team up to take down Oars if a couple people in the crew have armament. Nightmare Luffy doesn’t happen post time skip, and with enough haki the monster trio would be able to resist Perona’s fruit, and it’s things like that that are half the fun of the fights.

On the other hand, it can be fun to see a character dig deeper into a system that theoretically anyone could master, like Zoro and Luffy during Wano or Luffy on WCI. That’s when it’s at its best, I think, when the powers are clearly defined and the reader knows what limit needs to be overcome. Many of the more basic fights with Haki feel wishy washy and ill defined. Like, Vergo is a master at armament, but what does that actually mean? Everyone shits on the power levels during Water 7, but at least then you knew the difference between Lucci and Fukuro. If someone is wearing armor and the armor breaks, I have a good idea of how strong the other guy is. The same can’t be said when Law was able to slice Vergo in half. And when every other person in the New World has some flavor of haki, it feels much less special in comparison.

Devil Fruits are limited only by Oda’s creativity, and there have been enough near copies or bad implementation of Devil Fruits to show that even he has his limits. And to be fair, there are some powers that are so stupidly broken that without haki they’d be basically unstoppable. Thats on Oda, too, as he’s the one who sets the limits in the first place.

Power creep is incredibly hard to manage and to Oda’s credit he’s done better than a lot of other long running series balancing his system, but it’s not perfect. I’m not sure there’s an answer that would satisfy everyone, but I think to start I would have made haki rarer than it is.

#sarc talks

[honeym4rk]

skinship - kisses

in a relationship where your boyfriend finds physical affection rather awkward, you’d best believe it would’ve taken some time for him to warm up to the idea of skinship- skin to skin, a hand on his, cheeks crashing together as close as possible. but the patience comes at a good cost- mark has several ways to close the distance between you.

previous (lightswitch)

summary: it shouldn't be this hard to go about kissing mark.

-

something you never expected at the start of your relationship was mark’s initial hesitance to kiss you.

of course, naturally, it takes some time for two people to cross their own boundaries of comfort, to enter, invade, and conquer another’s territory of personal space. some people forego this careful caution in a budding relationship, and dive right into one another. neither you or mark are some people. 

and it’s not that you think mark is particularly bold: you know he isn’t very upfront and confident in expressing his feelings for you. you’ve known this from the very start, when his friends had to literally push him to ask you out, and the very awkward first conversation you had. you know he can get a bit shy, but part of you always thought, that every now and then, he’d have bursts of the courage that he has when he’s on stage. mark can definitely be suave, and cool, and charming, but mostly when he’s in his element and knows exactly what he’s doing.

right now, in this moment, he has no idea what he’s doing.

the credits of the Jumanji: Welcome to the Jungle are starting to roll, and you’re stuck frozen in the burrow you’ve made in the fold of the sofa, head resting on his shoulder as his arm is wrapped loosely around your side. it’s been holding you like this since the halfway point of the movie- you didn’t notice, but he let out a sigh of relief and satisfaction when he succeeded in placing it there. he stretched, arms going as high as they possibly could, before his limb wandered and found its way pulling you closer to him. cliche, he knows, but a win for him nonetheless. he had to hold back his grin when you leaned into his body.

at first, you could feel his fingers ghosting the frayed threads of your jean shorts, like his wrist was stiff and his hand was afraid to open up so his palm would make full contact with the skin of your thigh. but as the movie progressed, and he constantly broke into his cute, little, hearty giggle that somehow sent his entire body into motion, his hand started to ease, fingers drumming on your supple skin, drawing circles on it, accidentally hitting it when he laughs a bit too hard.

he gulps, and breathes, “wow, that movie was not as bad as i thought it was.”

“yeah, it was pretty good.” neither of you make an effort to move out of the position. a slight shift could mean this rare moment of comforting proximity that you waited so long for would vanish in an instant, like a bubble popping after floating around in glee. so you force your head to continue facing the screen, eyes boring into the tiny, white words that are scrolling away. 

before you know it, even the credits have finally come to a close, and your eyes are fixated on the next netflix recommendation, Jumanji: The Next Level that’s about to play in 5, 4, 3, 2, 

your head snaps up to turn, still balanced on the ball of his shoulder. when you face him, you’re staring right at him. he does that stupidly attractive thing where he turns his head towards you before his eyes land on yours, and your eyes are now locked on his. you bite your lip to ease just a little bit of your restlessness, and this movement causes his eyes to dart to your lips for just a split second. 

he gulps again.

screw it, you’re gonna have to say something.

“are you gonna kiss me?” oh my god. not that. stupid, stupid, self-sabotage.

his hand flies away from your leg, retreating back to him so he can make huge, sporadic gestures that speak for his panic and awkwardness.

“uhhh, i-” his hand is rubbing at his nose, and though it’s dark and his head is turned away from you once again, the light from the television lets you see the pink tint that begins to dust his cheeks. “i mean, if you, if you, um, want me to,”

you don’t know why you find this so cute- you literally felt just as awkward as he does a second ago, but seeing him freak out somehow fortifies you to prod at him a little more. besides, you realise that if you don’t make a move now, after at least a month and a half of going out with him, mark’s probably never going to. 

your face scrunches up into a chuckle and you don’t take your eyes off him- “well, do you want to?”

“i mean, i-i totally do want to,” his hand is on his chest, and it comes down as he points at you with his thumb, “i’m just really scared that you- don’t? i don’t know,” mark leans forward from the couch to run his fingers through his hair, and you tug at his shirt sleeve multiple times to pull him back.

“i do, mark, i really do.”

“um, okay! great. cool,” he squeaks out, and his movements to almost close the gap between your faces are so mechanic, and panic settles onto his mind and his features, “oh, but i, uh, sorry if i’m a bad kisser or anything, i don’t really get much uh, practice in this, haha.”

you have to turn your face away to hold back a giggle at this cute, shy mess of a boy, before you finally compose yourself, and let one hand gently cup the side of his jaw, and reassuring, “it’s fine. sorry if i’m no good either.”

you smile, and plant the briefest kiss on the corner of his mouth. then you let go. 

“now, how was that?” 

“t-that wasn’t even a kiss!” 

“really?” you laugh, bringing your legs up onto the couch to kneel and face him completely. this time, you hold both of his cheeks in both of your hands before closing your eyes and pressing your lips on his, for a while longer now, and you’re just about to pull away when you feel fingertips ghosting up your jaw, and feel him tilt his head so that his mouth fits perfectly in the crevices of yours. 

“what about now?”

“better.”

he shifts his body to fully face you too, and your mouths meld together just a few more times, and the feeling of his fingers gripping at you, lips chasing after yours, drowns out the background noise of kevin hart bickering with dwayne johnson. you’re melted into this moment, and you don’t want it to end.

-

another thing you never really expected from mark was- well, his fear of sudden pecks, those that catch him off-guard, those that come when he least expects them to. they don’t give him any time to react, or prepare, or take a breath so he doesn’t combust when your lips touch his skin.

you’ve made out a few times with him so far in the couple of times you’ve seen him since that very night, and so you thought that he’d appreciate the quick, little kisses, but you probably shouldn’t have assumed.

he’s getting ready to leave your apartment after another movie night, and just before he walks out the door, he hugs you goodbye, and before he can pull back, you sneak a kiss on the tiny corner of his mouth that’s turned up into a smile. or at least, you try to.

he flings himself out of your grasp, head jerking back so fast and hard that you almost tumble into him from the momentum, and both of you stare in complete shock at one another.

“oh, ummm, sorrysorrysorry, haha, awwwkwaaaard!” your hands fly to the air in surrender as if you’ve been caught red-handed, and your feet take slow, tiny steps away from him.

“that’s my bad, oh my god i’m sorry,” your words are drowned out by his, and every cell in you is cringing from embarrassment and from worry and fear that you’ve done something wrong, something you shouldn't have done, did you go too far? are you stupid for thinking that would be okay?

“sorry, i, uh, i think it’s like, muscle memory to move away because haechan and the guys, well, mostly haechan, always tries to do that kinda thing. i-it’s not you! i swear! you’re great! haechan, not so, you know what i mean? like i wanna kiss you too but in that moment my body prepared for fight or flight, you know? oh my god i’m so sorry.” he’s doing that thing with his gestures again, frantically waving his hands to ensure you visually comprehend that it’s not your fault.

this revelation comes like a knife slicing through the tension that once was, and you hide your face behind your hands in relief, giggling at the stark weirdness of it all, but you also can’t shake off the tinge of sadness from the rejection. it wasn’t directed towards you, you know, but you just can’t help but feel a little taken aback by what happened. 

he grabs your wrists, pulling you towards him, and encouraging you to try again.

“okay, go on. i’m ready now. sorry. just not used to this.” his cheeks are a deep shade of red, and his eyebrows furrowed in concern.

you’re smiling throughout the entire, brief, kiss goodbye.

nearly six months have passed, and you try to give him a peck every now and then, just to see if he still retracts in fear, and you can see him tense up every time you try. 

so you stop. 

the last time you’d tried was right before he left for tour, and in your endless contemplation of your relationship (you had way too much time on your hands not to fall down the rabbit hole of thinking), you come to the conclusion that maybe it’s just something you don’t have to do to mark. with mark, for mark. besides, there are other ways to express your love for him anyways- he doesn’t cringe when you run your fingers through his hair, or when you wrap your arms around him in a bear hug from behind. probably because he doesn’t mind when his friends do it too. and it’s not like you can’t kiss him entirely, you just have to make sure he’s fully aware of the sparks that are about to fly when your lips touch, instead of the little zaps of static that come when he least expects them to, the ones that he shies away from.

-

it’s been a week since he’s returned. a week since your suffering has finally come to an end, a week since the longing that filled your entire being to the brim finally drained out when your body collided into his when you embraced after what felt like an eternity. it took everything in you not to jump at him when you saw him at your door, so instead of fighting against your growing excitement, you run straight into his arms, hopping as his hands link together to prop you up. 

it’s hard not to tear up- the sight of mark in the flesh is overwhelming and sensational and you’re burying your face into his neck, hands playing with the hair at his nape. what used to be short, clipped ends that pricked at your fingers have now grown into something like a mullet- you remember when you saw photos of him online the other day and started crying because it was a reminder of just how much time was passing without him around. you’re crying, now, too, and mark starts to giggle you can hear just how tired he is from the grogginess of his voice- “aw, babe, are you crying?” 

“no.” he tries to nudge at you so you can pull your head back, but you stick to him like a koala wrapped around a tree until he lets go of your legs and tries to tickle you.

“awwwww, nooo! you’re making me want to cry too!” he whines, and you wipe your tears away on the sleeve of your sweater before finally looking up at his face through your glossy eyes. his face has changed, too. his eyebags are puffy, his cheeks are sunken in the slightest bit, and his jawline is more prominent than you remember it to be. his face feels just a little smaller in your hands when you hold him, and you’re staring, wondering if it’s been so long that you’ve simply forgotten the tactile sense of touching him, feeling him.

before this can spur any more tears from escaping, you’re sent into overdrive, since he crashes his lips into yours. the initial shock flickers out and you take in the jolts of electricity coming at you, the storm of repressed zeal and yearning unleashing between the two of you. it’s been so long and yet you can still remember how mark kisses- when he turns his head to nip at more of you, his arms link around your shoulders, and then the next time one hand cups your face, his thumb trailing up and down your jaw, and eventually his mouth strays away from yours, and he plants kisses all over your face, trailing down to your neck, and then… he doesn’t have to tell you he missed you for you to know.

you’ve seen him almost everyday since he’s come back- he likes to come over just to catch up on sleep in your room as you study. just so you can spend a little more time in your day with one another. there have been more cuddles, more back massages (you even gave him one this time), more sitting in his lap, and he even tries to pick up the skill of braiding your hair. so far, you’ve stuck to your resolution of not stealing pecks out of the blue- so the only thing there isn’t more of is kisses. it’s good, you think- you let him initiate and then you return, so you’re sure you don’t have to take him by surprise.

tonight, you’re in the middle of submitting an assignment, when you hear your phone ping from across the room. then it pings, again and again, in succession, and you’re about to go over and read the messages before it blows up into a full phone-call, the marimba ringtone blaring through the speakers. 

it’s johnny, and in the split second before you answer the phone, you can only assume the worst has happened- you know mark’s with him, they had a company dinner to celebrate the end of their tour- what, did he get into an accident? did he pass out? did he-

“hello? y/n?” there’s a sense of urgency in his voice, and the curiosity is really starting to eat you alive.

“hey, john, what’s up? is everything okay?” you hear a groan in the background, and it turns into a long, howl-like wail that subsides into sob.

“yeah, uh, not really. you heard that? that’s uh, it’s mark. i think he’s had too much to drink, and it’s not like he’s never gotten drunk before, he’s definitely had more before, but i’ve never seen him this, uh-”

“is that y/n?!” you can hear mark hiccup, “y/n! baaaaaaby babe y/n!” he’s still crying, and you’re so worried. mark hasn’t really expressed much sadness ever since he returned, and most of the time he’s very frank with his emotions- so if he was ever sad about anything, you’d think you would’ve heard about it by now.

you can hear someone else shushing him, and johnny continues- “i think he really wants to see you right now, so can we just drop him off at yours? you can just text me your address, i don’t think he’s in a state of mind to give directions right now.” the sobbing is still ongoing, albeit a tiny bit more muted than it was before.

“um, yeah. of course. i’ll send it to you. is.. is he alright? what happened?” 

“well, i’m not very sure, actually. he was fine at the start, and then started to get all giggly like he normally does when he’s had a few glasses, and then he had a tiny bit more, and got all sappy. and now we’re uh, we’re here. he does keep mentioning that he misses you, though. which i don’t get- since i’m pretty sure he spent the entire week with you, so….”

“right….okay. thanks johnny. has he like, thrown up or anything?”

“uhh, nope. don’t think so. hopefully he doesn’t. or hopefully he does. he’ll probably feel better after.” 

“yeah. you can call me when you get here, i’ll buzz you in. see you!” 

you hang up, and are left alone only with the many questions you have, and wow, you’ve never felt more nervous in your entire life. not when you did that interview for a scholarship, or when you had your finals, or when you drove for the first time. this imminent fear is much more terrifying- especially because you were under the presumption that you knew exactly what was happening. in everything else you feared the unknown, the uncertainty of it all, but this, you feel like you were supposed to know- you thought there was nothing between you and mark, thought he was just as transparent as you had been with him.

this week had been complete bliss for you, having him in close proximity again. you’re treasuring every moment with him much more now, holding everything right to your heart, actively storing every scene of him in your hippocampus for later viewing. what could’ve gone wrong? was that not enough? what’s changed? you can only wander around your apartment as your mind runs wild. is he stressed? is this some cathartic release? does he suddenly hate what he’s doing? 

the wait is painfully long- almost making the four months without mark cease to nothing, and you try everything not to think about him. you submit the assignment, you try to beat your record on minesweeper, you watch a couple of youtube videos but lose interest, and text a close friend for emotional support. before the soul-crushing impatience can actually kill you, you hear the ringing on your intercom, and you’ve never pressed the accept button so fast. 

you don’t even wait for them to ring your doorbell. that would just cause more delay. you open the door right away, and peek outside, and the lift doors burst open and mark’s whines reverberates along the tight corridor. johnny’s carrying him piggyback, and the sight of him like this makes you so, incredibly sad- it pulls at your heartstrings and you feel suffocated by the tightening hold that it has on you. if he wasn’t so upset, maybe you would’ve laughed at how cute and snug he looks stuck onto johnny’s back.

mark’s face morphs into a giddy smile when he sees you, letting out a garbled call for you, and you greet johnny as he slips his shoes off to carry him into the living room and plop him onto the couch. you begin to untie his shoe-laces so you can get his shoes off, and you sigh, “thanks so much for your help johnny. do you need anything? need a glass of water… or?” 

“no, i’m good. taeil’s waiting downstairs, anyway.” 

you walk him to the door with mark’s shoes, placing them right at the entrance. “right. well, um, thanks again! hope you guys get back safe. i’ll see you around.” 

“yup, see you. hope he’ll be okay.”

the door is shut, and you can finally focus all your attention on the boy that’s caused you so much concern in the past thirty minutes. you sit right by his head on the couch, and when you try to get rid of the denim jacket he’s wearing, he stirs.

“baaabe?”

“hey, markie. what’s got you all upset?” you kneel on the floor so you can slip the jacket right off of him, and his swollen, tear-filled eyes are following you as you move. when you get close enough, you’re taken aback because he smooches you, missing your lips completely, and the sweet, gentle kiss lands on your chin. 

it’s the first time he’s ever done that- first time he’s ever gone in for a kiss without you looking- and you have to sit and blink to try and figure out if you’re imagining things.

his hand reaches out for you, lips still puckered as he tries again and again to kiss you anywhere on your face, and as intriguing as it is, it’s more concerning since it’s mark. your mark- the one that didn’t really seem to like it when you did this, the one who pretty much repelled away from any of the sudden pecks you gave him. 

you sweep his hair to the side, and before you can even try asking again, his hand falls limp, and he drawls, “you don’t wanna ki-kiss me anymore.” tears are starting to well in his eyes again, and you have to force yourself not to give up on how confusing this entire situation is.

“what? babe, who told you that?” you’re chuckling, but trying not to, because he’s literally about to cry ohmygodwhat. 

“yoooooou,” he whines, “you haven’t kissed me since i, i got back!”

you brush a tiny droplet from his eye with the pad of your thumb, and then go back to stroking his hair. you try not to show your incredulity, but it’s a little hard when you have absolutely no idea what he’s talking about. “but i have! we even kissed yesterday, mark! remember?” 

“yeaaah we kissed! but i kissed you.” he’s so funny- even as his eyes are closed and he faces the ceiling, he still has to point at himself and then at you when he says this, and then he pauses and continues, “you haven’t tried to kiss me since i left. like, reeeaaally tried. and i can’t figure out whhhhhy.” 

oh. what? 

“well, markie, right now i don’t really wanna kiss you since you’re kinda stinky,” you try to joke, but his eyes shut even tighter and he’s about to burst into tears again, “noooooo! i’ll go brush my teeth-”

“but didn’t you say you’re not used to it? i didn’t wanna make you uncomfortable. you didn’t seem to like it very much.”

“but i diiiiiid! i missed you so much when i was away,” a hiccup. “and then i felt so sad,” another hiccup. “because i remembered how sad you got the first time,” and another hiccup. “and then when i got back i was soooo excited for you to do it, so i could do it back to you, and you never did.” his mouth turns into a pout, and his nose sniffles.

this is what he was upset about? no way. there is no way he got so sad because you decided not to kiss him out of the blue anymore. it makes your heart swell in confusion- because, what the hell, mark is just, for the lack of a better word, so darn cute. you can’t believe that this, out of everything you could’ve had a miscommunication about, is what he was hiding from you. 

“awwww, i’m sorry babe. i really thought you didn’t want me to.” you coo, and lean in closer to press your lips to his forehead. “look! i’ll give you sooo many right now!” you kiss him all over his face, and the corners of his mouth turn up into a smile, and he starts to giggle, complaining that it tickles. 

“but why didn’t you tell me? i would’ve done it if you’d asked.” you begin to trace your finger all over his features, stopping at his nose to boop at it. 

he heaves out a sigh, and you can tell he is a mere minute away from dozing off to sleep with how slowly he speaks, “i dunno, it just seemed silly to tell you. but this, it’s probably even sillier.” 

you pinch at his nose. “yeah, i’m glad you know, mark.” 

you know you once said that a small peck on the lips didn’t mean much to you, but right now, it’s your favourite way of showing him you care. just the thought of both of you unknowingly reciprocating the exact same yearning for each other is so amusing, and it gives you butterflies to know just how similar you are to one another. it’s more than simple skin on skin- it’s when two lines, so parallel and alike, tend towards one another and meet in an oblique. and though these lines have to part afterwards, they curve, bend, and loop to find their way back. you’ve never believed in infinity- it’s stupid to think that anyone or anything is completely limitless- but in this moment you can only wish for your lines to join and travel endlessly.

when you return with a face towel to wipe his dried tears and snot away, you give him your sweetest, last kiss goodnight.

-

a/n: ahhhhh lol sorry for taking a while for this update (if anyone's been waiting hahahah) i was busy with exams and decided to finally take a break to finish writing this! i've started to realise that every time i start writing i feel so accomplished, and then by the time i get to the end i just feel like the end product is disappointing aaghdaghag lol

#mark fluff #mark au #mark oneshot #mark blurb #mark imagine #mark fanfic #mark lee #mark lee au #mark lee fluff #nct 127 #nct dream #nct au #nct fluff #nct blurb #nct oneshot #mark angst #nct angst #mark imagines #haechan #i mean #he's kinda mentioned #idk #nct #nct fanfic

[ash-asteroid]

Hi, I redesigned the season 7 causal fits + Roxy

Redesigns

Og (based Roxy's off of this outfit)

Feel free to do whatever if the designs (just don't take the art without asking.) And if you make fanart or anything I'd like credit and maybe tell me because I'd love to see it 👀

Anyway

Gonna ramble on the designs I did for a bit because I feel like it. Sorry for bad writing. I don't write often and can't put my thoughts into words.

Aisha- I wanted that sporty girl vibe and found sporty clothing with a sports jacket. I think she's slays in it. Didn't change her hair because I liked how it was.

Stella- Wasn't sure what vibe I wanted, so I just looked up "leo outfits" on pintrest. Stuff like this popped up everywhere, and I think it would be nice if Stella wore something other than dresses and skirts. Because as the queen of fashion, she can and will rock everything. I accidentally made her hair more wavy because I'm used to drawing wavy hair. But maybe it's just a change of pace for her.

Bloom- Okay, so I might have based this Bloom off Unicorn of War's Bloom. So she's a tired artist. Wearing more comfy than fashionable clothes.Flora- Not much to say. I just wanted Flora in a big dress because she deserves it. Cottagecore Flora vibes.

Musa- For Musa, I based her outfit off of Chinese street fashion because, in my opinion, it fits her. I also changed her main color of the designs from blue and pinks back to red. Because I think she works better in reds.

Tecna- First, I wanted to change Tecna's hair. Since Believix she's had the same hairstyle minus a few differences. So I just made it shorter, because we need a least one girl without stupidly long hair. I losely based her outfit off a business causal vibe. She has a T in her jacket for Tecna/Technology (She thinks it's neat).

Roxy- Roxy is a little different from her usual vibe. But I wanted to call back to the school uniforms in Roxy because she would be in her 3rd year of Alfea at this point. So it would make the most sense for her to wear it. So I gave her more of an academia vibe but tried giving it Roxy's vibe. I made her hair a little redder because she looked too much like Tecna.

Hi, thanks for reading my rambles. I did this because I accidentally rewriting some of season 7 causally in my head. And sometime after Halloween, I'll share my thoughts in a big post, hopefully. It's not a full rewrite, mainly the transformations. And a little on the villains and charcter arcs.

#winx aisha #winx stella #winx bloom #winx flora #winx musa #winx tecna #winx roxy #winx #winx club #winx season 7 #winx club season 7 #winx redesign #wimx club redesign