#*shrugs helplessly*

[moonshine-nightlight]

Snapped - Part 2

Mech’s not sure why the aftermath of this mission is hitting him so hard, but he’s doing his best to calm down when Gwen’s presence shatters his control. Now it’s a count down to see if he can figure out how to put a stop to the instincts and hormones that are running wild inside him—before he does something they’ll both regret.

Science fiction, alien romance, male alien x female human

Story Status: COMPLETE

AO3: Snapped Chapter 2

[Part 1] Part 2 [Part 3] [Part 4 - NSFW]

Gwen always knows when he’s acting gruff because that’s his default attitude and when he actually needs the space, needs the quiet. She follows him silently, casually messing with her screen to make sure he doesn’t feel any pressure to talk, but he can feel her attention on him regardless.

Part of him is pleased by that, in the way he always is when he has her attention, but the growing part is more thrilled than usual, is already planning how best to prove he deserves her regard, how to convince her to keep her attention on him, only him. He presses his lips together to keep everything he wants to say trapped in his head where they belong.

Mech resists the urge to quicken his pace, determined that these ridiculous hormones not make him rush, not betray how tenuous his control feels at the moment. Usually, his grip on displaying emotions and not giving into them—no longer regulated for his people, but large displays of emotion in public is still generally considered vulgar—is solid. 

What many consider a graviel’s typical lack of emotions is merely habit and politeness these days, as they’d never managed to breed or medicate those emotions out, no matter how much the coalition had strived to. With the coalition overturned, there were plenty of graviels who choose to show their distaste for past norms by letting every stray thought show on their face, but most still played things very close to the vest when compared with the other species out here in space.

Between the common demeanor which most read as stern, the counterculture berserkers, and the intimidating vibrant red, orange, and yellow colorings most had, rumors about graviels spread far and wide from their corner of the galaxy. Sometimes it was useful—common knowledge of his unique biochemistry is what granted him the private, personal medbay that they are now heading towards. Socially though, it was often a detriment. People tended to be either intimidated or determined not to be intimidated with false shows of bravado—all of which grew tiring very quickly.

Gwen was one of the few who had been neither. Mech had been suspicious at first, expecting her casual facade to fade over time and betray which camp she belonged to. Yet it never had. Instead, one day, she’d called him out on his own attitude and how he’d been looking for fault in her reactions which she explained, in clear concise detail, were only the consequences of his, admittedly poor and suspicious, attitude. They’d both backed off that day and slowly, tentatively, come to a new understanding which had blossomed into one of the richest, most rewarding relationships he’d ever had.

And now it’s all in danger because some stupid primitive hormonal shift out of his control. Mech tries to focus on his frustration with the idea that something so stupid could mess up this precious connection instead of all the reasons to push the edges of their relationship like his instincts are whispering in his ear to do. 

The impulses are getting stronger and he knows he hasn’t hidden his relief at finally reaching the medbay from Gwen well enough judging by the way she looks at him with mounting concern. The door swishes open at his touch and for once he goes in first, instead of ushering her ahead of him. He knows he couldn’t handle her so close to him as she would need to be in order to walk by him.

Without looking back at her, he can sense her second of hesitation, her notice of this change to their normal, but he steadfastly refuses to look back. He walks over to the monitor and instantly begins calling up the diagnostic software.

Mech wishes the small medbay next to his quarters was bigger, wishes her scent wasn’t already flooding it. Humans, always giving off so many pheromones and scents, spilling their chaos everywhere. 

He loves it most of the time. He hates it right now. 

“So, now can you tell me?” Gwen asks and honestly it's a good show of her restraint that she waited until they were in private to push again. Gwen’s always been the curious sort and he doubts this is any different.

He just grunts in reply though, not sure where to even begin to explain. The noise in his head is a cacophony of sexual impulses and desires he can only ignore by single-mindedly focusing on putting together something to shut them up, even temporarily, so he can think and find a more permanent solution. He needs to create the largest hormonal dampener—without actually knocking himself out or putting his mind into a loopy haze—that he can.

He hates having to do so, hates going back to that past history of his species, but the sad truth is that many such concoctions do exist, he just needs to pick the one with the most tolerable side-effects. 

Methodically, he begins going through the cabinets as soon as he sets the database running through possibilities for treatment. He’s never been so glad he has his own medbay and that everything is in his native language so she can’t read it. He doesn’t want her to know about this weakness of his, this lapse in control. It’s too shameful, too revealing. 

“Seriously, Mech?” Gwen says, insistent and annoyed. He chances a glance in a mirrored jar to catch a glimpse her glorious form and has to swallow the venom pooling in his mouth at the sight. Her hands are on her hips—never a good sign and yet, he’s always had a soft spot for the heat of her anger. Well, perhaps soft spot is the wrong turn of phrase for what a feisty Gwen does to him. 

“What’s going on?” her tone is no-nonsense and supportive at the same time and he wants to let it all just spill out.

Every second that goes by makes it that much harder to war against his instincts. Instincts that have suddenly decided he needs to claim his mate before she is taken away, by death or rivals—by anything. The fact that she isn’t actually his mate doesn’t matter to the primal beast within. Only that he wants her to be, desperately. Only that she hasn’t rejected him, since he’s never bothered to ask when he knows the answer. Only that she cares about him enough to fool his hormones into thinking she’d be receptive. 

“Told you,” he replies, pulling down bottles and ignoring the extra layer to his voice—a deeper, throatier tone that betrays what he’s fighting so hard to control. “Personal problem.”

“Yeah, well, that’s useless,” Gwen replies, throwing her hands up. She’s not wrong—that’s sort of the point of giving an answer like that. Half the time Gwen is good at taking the hint, but if she’s actually worried then— “And I don’t see what it has to do with me. So if you’re just gonna ignore me, then I might as well go—”

“No!” He’s suddenly in front of the door out, his typically black eyes wild—glowing with orange light strong enough he can see it on her face. She freezes, finally eyeing him like the beast he’s turning into. His claws lengthening, starting to drip with venom that isn’t harmful to humans, not exactly, but still instinctive given his need to keep her here. He tries to calm down, tries to breathe, but her scent is everywhere—all of his senses heightened and trained on her. He tries another tactic, reminding himself that she’s here—she’s just worried about him, she’s not going to leave.  

“I. Apologize,” Mech grits out. “I will try to explain. Just please.” He knows she can hear the desperate edge to his voice but he can’t bring himself to reign it in, “Take it back.”

Only now Gwen isn’t showing any fear, like a sane person would at even the hint of an out-of-control graviel. It looks like she was just startled. She only looks worried—for him. “I’m sorry, Mech. You just…” she trails off and he feels himself lose some tension as she continues to stay where she is, as she makes no move to disappear. But he stays where he is and she seems to realize that. She frowns, but figures out what he’s waiting for before he has to clarify. “I’m not going anywhere,” she says clearly, meeting his eyes sincerely. “Promise.”

He feels the spines along his back and arms slowly relax—he hadn’t even realized they were up. He closes his eyes, breathes in another lungful of Gwen tinted air. His eyes are back to normal as carefully he moves back towards the bench. “I don’t mean to—” he cuts off the excuse before he can finish it. “It’s very hard to think right now. I… need…” He shakes his head, finding words to say to her that aren’t just a list of what he wants to do with her—carnally—fails. 

“Take your time,” Gwen soothes. She hops up on the med table. “Just… let me know what I can do to help.”

He pushes down the image of her spread out across the table, skirts up around her waist as he— Mech staggers to the workbench, combines the last few compounds. It spins together while he continues to work on his control. It's not working, every second that passes he can feel the strain growing. “Talk.” It takes him a second to realize he was the one who spoke, his voice still far too full of gravel. He nearly doesn’t recognize it. His eyes flick to her face and away. “Could you…just talk about something? Anything?”

Gwen picks up on his need for distraction easily. After they got over the first hurdle of their initial misunderstanding of each other, she’s been more in sync with him than anyone else he’s ever met. “Sure. Staci knows some people here—it's why we’re parked for free.”

She chatters on about their crewmates for a few minutes while the sedative mixes and he holds completely still—a rigid statue in all but substance. His thoughts try to hold onto what she’s saying, but he’s focusing on the way her voice sounds more than anything. How she would sound as he carefully coaxed her to ecstasy. 

His thoughts narrow down to, wait, wait, wait. One more moment. Just need to wait for—a small ding sounds and he can’t help but lunge for it. He doesn’t bother drinking it, taking the vial, fitting it into a syringe and plunging it into his thigh. Luckily, his aim is true and he hits the vein, even aiming through his clothes.

She gives a small yelp of surprise at the abrupt motion, the desperate way he acts. 

It doesn’t matter because he can feel it helping—cool numbness spreading slowly through his system, dampening the fever and the need to take her. The hormonal haze dissipates to something that can coexist with rational thought.

Mech breathes in and her scent no longer makes his fingers twitch with the urge to feel her. Well, no more than usual. He’s long perfected the art of ignoring those urges and he’s finally able to do so again. He feels his grip on himself tighten mentally and he slumps in relief. 

He won’t make a terrible mistake, he won’t ruin their friendship—he won’t expose himself and have her reject him, tainting their relationship irreparably. 

“What was that?” Gwen’s voice shakes as she asks and he realizes just how much effort she must have been putting into making it seem like everything was fine. Because she’s not anymore. Her honey brown eyes are wide with worry and concern. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

“I will be,” Mech’s voice is still rather rough, but he sounds more like himself. “I’m sorry for worrying you. I…” He reaches up to run his fingers through his thick hair. “I seem to be suffering under the effects of some abrupt and intense internal chemistry problems.”

She seems relieved to see him acting more like himself, that he’s speaking in full sentences with more of his usual precision, but her eyes narrow as she considers him. “Something happened back there, didn’t it?” Gwen asks shrewdly.

“Yes,” he admits, not bothering to ask when she mean—there’s no point in trying to deny that. “No idea why, but it did. Let’s just say after generations of my people controlling themselves chemically, that it’s left us with an unpredictable element to our biology. Even though we’ve stopped and are trying to recover from that sort of…repression, it’s not an exact science. Flare ups happen.”

“Right,” Gwen says slowly. He knows she’s always paying attention to what he reveals about himself—there’s a certain intent look she gets in her eyes. Not to mention what research she might have done beyond what he lets slip. Hopefully she knows enough not to press too much. That he can say just enough to weather this storm without her finding out the exact nature of the ‘flare up’. “And that’s what that was?”

“What it is,” he corrected because it's important she not completely let her guard down. “I only slowed the reaction down with that shot.” He grunts as he pulls out a heavy metal case—it contains all the rarer substances from his home planet. “Now that I can think, I need to figure out how to stop it and flush out my system.”

“What does this all have to do with me?”

He freezes for a second before he goes back to cataloging what he has at his disposal. Leave it to his clever human to ask the right question. “My instincts are in turmoil right now,” he settles on. “Having you here—it helps.”

“Why?” she asks, tilting her head to the side. A cheeky grin spreads across her face as her legs swing lightly against the table, as Gwen starts to relax the longer he acts like himself again. “Because I’m your favorite?”

Mech barks a laugh at the echo of his thought from earlier on her lips. “Exactly.” Then the mirth slides from his face. “The idea of letting you out of my sight, where something might happen to you is… Unbearable. Even more than usual.”

Gwen’s face softens and her hand twitches as if to reach out to him. It settles back in her lap, evidently she remembers what he had done earlier to avoid said touch. “Mech, I’m fine. You’re fine. We’re all fine now.”

“I know,” Mech says gruffly, feeling like a child after a nightmare, upset even though he knows it's over and unable to believe in current safety despite every evidence that it is. “I know. Just, indulge me.”

“Of course,” Gwen says graciously—obviously not completely understanding the nuts and bolts of the situation, but seeing enough. As always. “Anything more helpful I can do though? You know me, I hate to sit around on my hands.”

That sends a spike of heat through him. He can think of a number of ways she could help him out, no hands required. His eyes flare and he tries to breathe through the sudden impulse. 

This sedative isn’t gonna buy him nearly as much time as he thought.

“Mech…” She notices his reaction, no matter how quickly he’d clamped down on it, because of course she does. Sliding down from the table, she reaches out to him—obviously having decided it's worth the risk. Normally her touch calms him, but he knows it won’t right now so he ducks out of the way, putting a cart between them. 

“Sorry,” he says, a pang of guilt at her hurt expression. “It's complicated. You can’t touch me. Would make it worse.”

Her face screws up in confusion. “Why?”

“Just will. Need to balance all the, the factors,” Mech turns back to the computer and feeds it a drop of blood, the brief stick of pain helping. “Territorial instincts can be contradictory. Need you close, but not too close or other…” The computer beeps and his heart sinks as he reads the report. A rare condition, with minimal case studies and all reports of this happening have been with mated couples, not unmated ones. Well, there’d been one who’s mate had died a month prior. He did not survive the imbalance.

Mech slams his fist into the desk in frustration. A flask on the counter jolts wildly in reaction and starts to tip over. Mech reaches out a hand to stop its fall at the same time Gwen does. Her hand lands on the back of his. His hand instantly flexed at the feel of her soft skin against his own, as the nerve endings zip with pleasure at the touch of the one he desires.

The flask gives a short whining creak before it shatters under the pressure he’s exerting on it. Cursing again, Mech pulls Gwen back, his tail looping around her elbow to tug her away from the glass as he lunges for a towel. 

He ignores her squawk of protest at his actions and focuses on the fact that glass could hurt her so as to ignore the feel of her under his tail. 

It’s only when he’s cleaned it all up in record time that her voice finally breaks through. “Mech! You’re bleeding. Let go of me,” she gives a short tug to where his tails is looped around her arm, “and let me help. I know how to act around a little broken glass.”

He blinks down at the towel he’d been using to see some streaks of dark blue staining it. With a grunt, he drops it down the disposal shoot and grabs a roll of bandages. As he sprays the shallow cut across his palm with disinfectant, he tries with the rest of his focus to convince his own tail to unwrap from Gwen’s arm. Even after he’s secured a neat bandage to the cut he still can’t even feel, he’s not made any progress in releasing her.

“Mech?” Gwen’s voice has a tremble he hates in it. “Will you say something? You’re…just look at me, please?”

He’s never been able to refuse her before, not really, and there’s no chance of him doing so like this. He sets down the roll of linen and turns to look at her.

Her eyes widen at the glow in his own, the shame in his eyes must be obvious at how he’s lost control of this reaction too, just like his thrice cursed disobedient tail. “Mech, I thought… This still seems pretty bad,” she settles on. “And, I’ve gotta be real, you’re confusing the hell out of me. First you don’t want me to leave, but then you don’t want me too close. Now you won’t let me go.”

Mech’s hand shakes for a second before he grips the edge of the counter so the tremor is disguised. He knows he’s being a contradictory bastard. “I—Am I hurting you?”

“What? Of course not,” Gwen replies, sincere confusion in her face helps some of the shame at his brazen actions, but it also encourages him. His tail’s hold loosens but the amount of skin it’s covering grows as the tail lengthens. Gwen twitches a little at the move, before she ignores it to keep her gaze fixed on him. “But I don’t get it and I can’t help if you keep being so vague. Please, just drop the pride for a minute and talk to me. We can pretend it never happened, but you know you work better with someone to talk at. I don’t even care if you go over my head with the terminology. But stop trying to pretend this isn’t happening and that you have to solve it on your own.”

Mech closes his eyes because she’s so right, damn it all. He often can’t make sense of his own thoughts unless he talks aloud. Gwen’s his best sounding board and she asks just the right questions that let him make the necessary connections needed to solve problems. This isn’t any different, but it has to be, because he can’t tell her. He’ll lose her for good if she finds out what he wants. And, for all its his hormones dialing everything so far beyond usual, he does want her. More than anything he’s ever craved in his life.

But what choice does he have? How closely can he walk that line with his body turned against him like this?

“Alright, alright,” he gives in. “I’ll try to explain.” 

[Part 3]

#my writing #story: snapped #snapped #alien #scifi #science fiction #alien romance #osha compliant #3rd POV #mech #gwen #heat #mech's really giving it his all #but we know he can't last #what sort of fic would this be if that was the case? #this middle part got long so now its gonna b a total of 4 parts #work is still very busy so we'll see what my timeline will be #my hope is still to finish this by end of the month #but -shrugs helplessly- #let me know what you think!

[reactionimagesdaily]

Maybe you can help me. I've been looking for a certain reaction image of a puppet. The puppet kinda looks like it belongs on Fraggle Rock but I don't see it on any of the promotional materials. He has red feathered hair and a kinda confused or bewildered expression. I've tried searching for puppet reaction image but all I get is that Brazilian monkey one

Ight I gave the interwebs a good scour but I honestly have no idea if I found the one you're looking for xDD

I mean, I guess I found some that might fit?

Also it sounded like a couple of the Muppets, so...

If none of these help, then I open the floor to any other submissions, and hope you find what you're looking for! <3

#So sorry you waited so long for an answer that's probably a damp squib T_T #honestly I really gave this one a good try but the truth is my puppet-related knowledge is limited #and I've never heard of or seen a reaction image quite like the one you described #so... [shrugs helplessly] #not a pic #someone asked me a thing! #ask mood: image request

[hyperionswrath-a]

[ silence ] or [ halt ] :3 >;3c

[ silence ] — your muse forces my muse to be quiet  && [ halt ] — your muse edges/denies my muse their orgasm

Cool, white linen sheets under writhing limbs, breath coming rapidly, making the red-dusted chest rise and fall visibly. The air is thick with the scent of sweat, and aftershave, and the faint hint of something like poppies. The window is open, lily-white curtains softly flowing in the occasional breeze coming in, causing shivers to run over pale skin, shuddering ever so slightly. His hands wander with purpose, again and again, unpredictable and yet always finding just the right spot, applying pressure where it is most welcomed, most needed, but never lingering long enough to truly bring relief. Lips roam all the same, exploring slowly, gently. It is worship, his mouth speaking a prayer all of its own on this makeshift altar, no words needed to give praise. An occasional bite, skin caught between teeth just enough to leave a mark, to paint blossoms of blushed red along the neck, atop of shoulders, before he allows the tip of his tongue to taste, following the thin line painted by one of many scars. A moment he lingers when he reaches the chest, emerald eyes taking in the sight of what must be the remainder of the ice spell hitting the other. A lifetime ago. Yesterday. Tomorrow. Time has lost all meaning right now as he leans in and places his lips, gifting what nobody before ever received - a kiss so gentle, so genuine it seems he wishes to erase the mark on the other one. If only it were that simple.

One hand found its goal meanwhile, calloused tips of his fingers playfully circling, feeling the wet result of what must have been hours by now, allowing to brush down the entire length before giving one measured, generous squeeze... and releasing again when a whimper sounds, loud enough to give Seifer pause as he props up on one elbow, looming over the brunet beneath him, bringing his other hand up. His thumb grazes slowly over trembling lips, a hushing sound weaving through the air between them as he remains, watching the expression on that face with its red-dusted cheeks. “Shhh… not quite yet, princess. I want you to remember this forever…” Voice thick with arousal of his own, a small, slightly devilish smile flickers over his features before he slowly applies pressure with his thumb. “Open your mouth…” he whispers, gently pressing further until the tip of his thumb can softly brush over the other’s tongue, simultaneously silencing him. Watching breathlessly, what once was a hard and unforgiving expression has been replaced by admiration, Seifer seemingly wanting to take in every reaction, each hitched breath, to remember it all forever just the same. How alike and yet different they were. Now, with all barriers removed, both their bodies showed the result of battles fought much too soon in their lives, leaving scars either by accident or, as it was in the blond’s case, by intent. Drinking in the sight beneath him, his free hand tickles down the side of the other male, finally resting on his hip, teasingly close to where it is wanted most, but remaining too far to truly have any effect other than to multiply the sensation whenever his fingers fan out a little.

#lionfated #[ sinday ] #⦗ 𝖍𝖔𝖒𝖊𝖈𝖔𝖒𝖎𝖓𝖌 ⦘ #[ just. //gestures vaguely// who needs a verse and timeline on sinday anyway AMIRITE ] #[ also don't ask me he gets kind of flowery in his descriptions whenever he's intimate with Squall?? ] #[ //shrugs helplessly ] #[ cut for length and suggestive content ]

[femonologue]

Many years ago, I was wandering around downtown Ottawa with my best friend. We ran into a friend of his who offered us some hash (it sucked), then said there was a really good house party nearby if we wanted to go. We were like, yeah, sure. So that's how we ended up at some completely fucking random person's house.

I look around to ask if my friend knows anyone here and he's simply gone, as is his friend. And this isn't some red solo cup hangout; this is a party. There's people counting out pills on the kitchen counter. I am clearly neither as cool nor as drug-savvy as the kitchen people, so I back away and instead wander aimlessly into the living room, which seems to give off more of a chill vibe.

A bunch of people are seated in a circle on the floor. One of them is fiddling with a big wad of newspaper or something. A really cute grunge girl with piercings and tattoos scoots aside to make room for me, so I sit down.

"What's that," I ask her, gesturing at the newspaper wad.

She gets a really big smile on her face. You know the smile. It's the I'm About To Watch This Innocent Soul Get High As Fuck smile. "You've never smoked a tulip?"

"What's a tulip?" I ask.

"It's like if a joint was also a bong," she replies. "You gotta try it."

"Alright," I reply, a little uncertainly. This will not be my first encounter with weed. I am more comfortable with the janky newspaper bong than I am with whatever the fuck is going on in the kitchen. Besides, this girl is really cute and I would like to have a friend here now that my existing friend has turned into vapor or been transported to the Upside-Down or whatever the hell happened to him.

I watch as one person holds the newspaper joint-bong upright and holds a lighter over the top while another gets beneath it, tilting their head back to take a puff. Apparently smoking this Cheech & Chong monstrosity is a two-person job.

"Oh," I say, looking at the fist-sized knob at the top of the wonky newspaper joint. "Yeah, it does kinda look like a tulip." Grunge girl smiles at me.

I watch as the tulip is passed around the circle, along with the lighter, and hits are cooperatively taken. It reaches grunge girl, who takes a huge puff and holds it for an extended moment before exhaling an impressive blast of smoke. She smiles expectantly and holds the tulip up for me, preparing to spark the gigantic meteor of dank that makes up its tip. By this point I have completely forgotten about my missing friend. I only care about making a good impression on grunge girl. I tilt my head back and hit the tulip like a smokestack.

It is the following morning. I am sleeping between a couch and a wall. I'm not positive that this is the same house I was just in. My memories are gone. Someone is yelling at me: "dude! Dude! Wake up, dude!"

I sit up. My mouth tastes like cigarettes. I do not smoke cigarettes. "Wha," I ask the yelling man, who I am quite confident I have never met before in my life.

"We're going on a quest," he tells me, gravely. "You have to come with us."

I look around. Neither my friend nor his friend are anywhere in sight. I also do not see grunge girl anywhere. I shrug helplessly. "Okay."

We embark from this house. I learn that the destination of this quest is Tim Horton's. This is a relief to me, as coffee and a donut sounds really fucking good right now. Somehow, the route to Tim Horton's takes us past the Governor-General's residence, which everyone else in the group loudly heckles on the way past. I do not know what the Governor-General has done to raise their ire, nor do I particularly care. I trudge along with my hands in my pockets, pleased to note that I still have my wallet, phone, and keys. I fervently wish that I could remember anything about last night. Maybe I talked to grunge girl. Maybe she's why my mouth tastes like cigarettes. The tulip tasted nothing like cigarettes.

I am asked about my politics. I voice my frustrations with corporate corruption, the pay-to-win electoral system, the lack of transparency and accountability. This is met with great approval. The guy who was yelling at me claps me on the back. I get the impression that we became friends last night. I don't recognize his face. I do not know his name and he definitely does not know mine. I behave as though we're friends anyway. We are comrades on a quest.

By the time we make it to Tim Hortons, the gaggle of stoners I'm walking with have all run out of energy and/or attention span. People order snacks and break away in pairs or solo, to call for rides or plan the day's events or just vegetate and wait for the drugs to leave their systems. I look around and find that my nameless friend has also gone to the Upside-Down. As I wash the cigarette taste out of my mouth with coffee, I unsuccessfully try to remember whether I saw grunge girl smoking tobacco at any point. I remember nothing. That tulip was so fucking powerful that it instantly sent me a whole day forward in time.

Alone in the city, I try to call my best friend and get no answer. I walk to the nearest bus stop, catch a bus most of the way home, and call up my parents to ask for a ride back. They ask where my friend is. I tell them that I have no idea; we went to a house party and I don't remember anything else.

When they pick me up from the bus station, they ask me some very safe, nonspecific questions, and seem to relax when I describe what little I can remember. It isn't until years later that I realize they were probably terrified I'd gotten rufied or something, and were so relieved to learn otherwise that they didn't even bother chiding me for smoking myself unconscious in an effort to impress a strange woman. In any case, they were probably happy to find out that I did, in fact, like girls; I suspect they had been privately wondering whether I was gay.

After getting home, I finally manage to get my best friend to answer his phone. I discover that he tried the kitchen pills, spent most of the night crossing the entire city on foot, and crashed at his cousin's house. He sounds like shit. I tell him that he should have tried the tulip, instead. He fervently agrees with me.

I never see grunge girl again.

That's okay, though. She got to see a clueless stranger get fucked the entire way up on some ungodly strain of giga-weed, and I got smiled at by a cute girl, and then I got to go on a quest. Wherever grunge girl is, I hope she's happy. I hope she's smoking the fattest fucking blunt and smiling as some kid passes out behind a couch.

#I have no idea what to tag this. if you need me to tag it as something just tell me I guess

[pathologicalreid]

newly creds | S.R.

in which the BAU team wants to see your newly issued credentials

who? spencer reid x fem!BAU!reader

category: fluff

content warnings: marriage. changing your name. slightly suggestive at the end but nothing explicit.

word count: 498

a/n: first and foremost, thank you so much for 100 followers AND for almost 3k likes i am so astounded by this im just so grateful. i absolutely wrote this while i was supposed to be doing privacy law homework. very proud of the title too. also today is my birthday so legally you have to like and reblog this!!! please enjoy <3

“So, let’s see it,” Derek prodded as he leaned over your desk, obviously searching the surface of it for something.

You peered up at him, “Can I help you?”

Before he could properly answer you, Emily entered the bullpen. Her eyes found you and she hastily piled her things on her desk before joining Morgan next to yours. “Do you have it?” She asked, dark hair shining as she inspected your desk.

Obviously, you had missed some sort of memo about whatever ‘it’ is. “I have uh, half of a bagel?” You offered helplessly, gesturing to your unfinished breakfast that was waiting patiently for you on top of a napkin.

“Y/N!” Penelope called your name from the glass doors she was rushing through, “Did I miss it? I want to see!”

Spencer rounded the corner of your desk, slowly placing a mug of fresh coffee on your desk, next to your abandoned bagel. “What’s going on?” He asked, carefully bringing his cup of coffee to his mouth to take a sip.

You shrugged, “They all want to see something but won’t tell me what ‘it’ is.” You grumbled, holding out your left hand, “Is this it?” The whole team had seen your ring already, Emily, Penelope, and JJ had even helped Spencer pick it out. You wondered if maybe they all wanted to see the engagement ring with your wedding band.

“Y/N,” another voice called, you resisted the urge to bury your face in your hands as you turned to face JJ. “Did you get the envelope that was on your desk? It got delivered to me by mistake, but I kept it safe while you two were honeymooning.”

Your lips parted, “Oh!” Quickly, you realized what everyone was pestering you about. You and Spencer had just gotten back from your weeklong honeymoon. The both of you got to work first, just to find a package on your desk. Rolling your chair back slightly, you rolled your eyes, “You know, you all could’ve just said something.”

You reached into your desk drawer and pulled out your credentials before unclipping your badge from your belt loop. Handing your creds to Derek and your badge to Garcia, who squealed in excitement, you couldn’t help but smile at Spencer. “SSA Y/N Reid,” Derek said, sounding like a proud parent.

Spencer placed a hand on your shoulder, and you beamed, “I wasn’t expecting them so quickly, I don’t even have my new driver’s license yet.”

“Does this mean you’re both going to answer to Reid now?” Emily asked, smiling at the prospect of confusion.

Shaking your head, you took your badge back, “Not unless it’s a prank. Hotch actually specifically asked us not to do that.”

“Welcome back,” Rossi said, walking into the bullpen and passing your desk. “I sure hope the two of you had the same kind of fun I did on my third honeymoon,” he teased, winking as he continued up to his office.

Spencer choked on his coffee.

#spencer reid #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #aaron hotchner #derek morgan #emily prentiss #penelope garcia #jennifer jareau #david rossi #criminal minds fluff #spencer reid fluff #written by margot

[alltoowelltom]

Hear me out - cockwarming with lando while he's gaming or something 😩

oh girl- thank you for requesting x

Lando looks up from his game when you push open the door, hovering shyly in the doorway. 

“Hey,” he says, pushing off one side of his headphones. “Y’alright?”

You nod, then shake your head, shrugging helplessly.

“There’s nothing wrong, really, I just…miss you” you whisper the last two words quietly. “Are you streaming?”

He shakes his head, beckoning you over.

“No, just on with Max and some others. D’you wanna come sit with me?”

You smile at him, entering the room properly. Lando scooches his chair back slightly to make space as he pulls you down onto his lap. You rest your head in the crook of his neck, breathing in his fresh, citrusy scent. 

Lando returns to his game and you feel yourself beginning to drift off in his embrace, shifting slightly every time he curses or runs a hand through his hair when he dies in the game. 

“Y/N,” he whispers harshly, covering the mic on his headphones. “You’ve gotta stop moving on me, baby.”

“Hmm?” you hum sleepily, before feeling him pressing into the underside of your thigh. “Oh my God,” you laugh quietly. 

“You made me like this with all your wriggling!” he defends.

“Do you want me to help?” you ask cheekily, wriggling a little more just for good measure. 

“Can’t, I promised the guys I’d help with this quest and there’s no way I can keep quiet if you suck me off.” he whispers

You nod in understanding, stilling in your movements and resting your head on his shoulder again. Lando is only able to focus on his game for another minute or two before sighing, muting his mic once again. 

“Do you want to like…” he pauses, blush spreading over his cheeks and nose as he tries to find a way to propose his idea. “Like, sit on me or something? I’m going crazy like this.”

“I am sitting on you?”

“No,” he whispers, bringing one hand to stroke your thigh gently. “Like sit on me.”

You’re the one to blush next and Lando giggles, feeling the heat of your face on his neck. 

“Okay,” you whisper.

You lift yourself off him just quick enough for Lando to untie his sweatpants and push them down his thighs. He pulls you back to him immediately, lifting up the flowy skirt you happened to be wearing. 

“Just get comfy, okay baby?” he says, swiping himself through your folds a few times before letting you sink down onto his length. You bury your head back in it’s place in the crook of his shoulder and neck, shivering at the stretch and the feeling of him.

“Okay?” he checks, pressing a quick kiss to your head as you nod and he bottoms out in you.  

“You better be one thousand percent sure that you’re not streaming this, Norris.” you whisper playfully as he pushes his headphones back on, rejoining the game. 

A draft blows across his gaming room and you shiver, the cold bringing up goosebumps on your sliver of exposed back. 

Lando groans breathily at your movement and you stifle a giggle as he tries to cover it up as a cough. 

“Alright there, mate?” Max asks over the call. 

“Oh my fucking God, not this moaning bullshit again.” says Morgan. 

“Sorry guys,” Lando laughs and you shudder in delight at the vibration. “I’m not sure I can control myself today.”

#inbox #lando norris x reader #lando norris x y/n #lando norris x you #lando norris smut #lando norris fluff #formula one x reader #formula one smau #lando norris imagine #lando norris fanfic #mclaren f1 #ln4 #f1 x y/n

[lizleeships]

It is the year of our lord 2024, my iPad is cracked in two places, but you can bet your sad, escapism-fuelled 4ss I'm going to be doing more hurt-comfort sad boys *shrugs helplessly*

(plz don't repost, but do leave me a tip if you are so inclined... my iPad actually is broken and I'm saving up! )

#destiel #destiel fanart

[twi-liight]

Petty Jealousy ❣

Tav's companions cannot fathom them potentially having other friends. ❥ Astarion/reader, Astarion/Tav, but also Companions/reader. I'm a Tavrem supremacist. ❥ Contains my own personal headcanon for why the companions call them "Tav" instead of their first name, which is justification for me loopholing the eternal problem of xreader writers having to wince when they use "F/N" or "Y/N". ❥ They/them pronouns for Tav/reader!

“Look,” Astarion hisses, “look at that!” 

5 pairs of eyes land on the offender of the night (which, to their surprise, isn’t Astarion) who conversed pleasantly with the leader of their party. A half-elf with a sharp jaw, proud brow, and mirthful eyes looks extraordinarily ordinary compared to their merry band of freaks. 

“Who is that, again?” Shadowheart asks absently. “Tav suggested I rest for today instead of mapping out the Underdark with the party, and the next thing I know, they’ve brought back another little companion.” 

Astarion’s jaw twitches. He snaps out, “Companion or complication?”

Gale crosses his arms, shrugging, used to Astarion’s temper running hot then cold. “His name is Nilmorn - a luthier. Tav took an interest in his wares. He makes a living selling stringed instruments in the Underdark. Strange place to sell such things.” 

Ugh. Astarion sighs, shaking his head. Leave it to Gale to traipse over the obvious. A sharpened mind like his would surely know that this Nilmorn has no place here, if not to be a bloodbag for him to slurp on. Beyond that, what use does this pretty boy have? Nilmorn sells wares that are utterly useless to them. He’s quite boring and one-dimensional, too, a character that strays too much into the side of “moral good” for Astarion to tolerate. 

 “Yes, yes, Gale, but have you considered how strange it is that he has invited himself to our camp?” Astarion flares out his hand towards the wizard, as if handing him common sense on his palm. 

“I,” Gale begins, blinking his wet, beautiful brown eyes at Astarion, “invited myself to this journey, Astarion. I am quite hurt you forgot. I thought what we had was special!” 

“Yes, but you’re weird!” Astarion exclaims. “You’re a freak with a bomb in your body because of your situationship with Mystra! That,” Astarion points an accusatory finger in the direction of Nilmorn, in which 5 pairs of eyes look at him again, “is someone so unbelievably normal he doesn’t even have any, any…” He gestures, articulates with his hands to placate his words. 

“No dubious motives?” Shadowheart offers, a smirk coyly playing on her lips. 

“No complicated backstory?” Wyll pipes in. Astarion’s eyes flicker to him, and irritation seeps into his skin when he finds Wyll smiling wryly, as if the warlock is in on some joke he is not picking up on. “No, I don’t know, god that has let him down in some way, shape, or form?” 

“Certainly no skills for fighting.” Lae’zel, thank the gods for Lae’zel. Her smooth voice hides none of her displeasure, and those sharp, slitted eyes stare across the fire to dig daggers into Nilmorn’s back. “Useless. We have no need for string-ed instruments. Let Tav pick one, and send this half-elf on his way.” 

Yes. Yes. Astarion nods eagerly.

“Hmmm. I almost envy his mundaneity,” Karlach adds,  “but I mean, he’s not that bad, Astari. Man’s just trying to make the world a better place, one string at a time.” 

Astarion almost throws up. He looks to the other companions helplessly. “Darlings. Please tell me you are not going to let Karlach get away with saying something so putridly motivational.” 

Karlach tosses her head back and cackles, much to Astarion's chagrin.

“Something is obviously bothering you,” Shadowheart states bluntly. Her green eyes watch his expression carefully in the firelight; she finds something there, but does not say it outright. With an exhale through her nose, as if it is painful for her to attempt a conversation with him, Shadowheart decides to throw him a bone: “Are you jealous?” 

He does not catch the bone. The bone slams right into his head as he stares at Shadowheart, slack-jawed and scandalized. Him? Jealous? “You must be joking.”

“Aw,” Shadowheart croons, another one of her insufferable smirks toying on her lips, “you are.” 

If he had mindflayer powers beyond reading her reprehensible surface-level thoughts, he would make Shadowheart’s head explode. Or something. 

He must establish his dignity in the group once more. He cannot handle more of this, especially not with Wyll grinning so wide, not self-aware enough that if he did not have a sexy demon controlling his life because he didn’t read the terms of conditions of a motherfucking contract, Astarion would bully him more.

“That is not the point here. Look,” he says. “I am just saying that our Tav is desirable in every way. Physically, we can all agree that Tav is attractive. Yes?” 

Yes. They all nod their heads. 

“Tav is a little strange, but they are our leader, and they got us this far somehow. Who knew caring about other people could go a long way.” 

Yes. They all nod their heads, except Wyll and Karlach, who look amongst the group with sheer disappointment on their faces. “Gods,” Karlach groans into her hand, “we– we need to unpack that later, gang. That’s just really sad.” 

“Lastly, Tav is strong. Strong enough to split apart the mountains and the sky, I imagine.” Strong enough to bury Cazador into the ground, hopefully. “Strong enough to face a god unwaveringly. Strong enough to persevere. Strong enough to be kind, despite everything. Despite what they think, they are charismatic, and they are the entire package. The only person who does not know of their value is Tav themselves.” 

They watch Tav’s lips quirk into a smile as Nilmorn holds a lyre out for them upon his smooth hands. Smooth, no sign of scars, no sign of complications. Just so unbearably mundane. Unbearably good. Unbearably kind. 

Unbearably unaware of their true nature.

Nilmorn does not know why they nicknamed them Tav, despite their name being [F/N]. Their unstoppable quench to loot everything and anything set back their timeline by weeks, no doubt. Reaching into barrels, reaching into the pockets of bandits, reaching into damn silk cocoons, reaching into whatever their curious little hands can salvage. It annoyed Astarion at first, but then Tav would find all of these weapons and armors and foods and coins and books. Normalcies and luxuries that made camp life feel less of a drab and more exciting. 

The gleaming, golden dagger at his side? They found it. The boots, the armor, the enchanted rings and necklaces they either found, bartered, or killed for their companions. Thus - Tav, short for tavara, the word meaning wares and merchandise; a clever little nickname Gale came up for their leader who is too good for all of them combined. 

“Any other party could whisk them away, you know,” Astarion says. “Tav could find a party of good, decent people, unlike any of us, without the mess and complication and hurt we cause them, and leave. Remember, my dears. It is not us who is irreplaceable. It is Tav.” 

How long would Tav tolerate him? Not long, he thinks. Long enough until he has expended his use for them, surely, but not forever. That's why anyone who wants Tav beyond sex or strength is a threat. If he hadn’t seduced his way into their heart, he wouldn’t be here where he stands, with a group of people who make him feel a little less alone. 

No doubt he would be in a cage on the back of a covered wagon that belongs to that disgusting gyr, Gandrel, his chain to Cazador growing shorter and shorter.

Silence. Tense and still. They watch as Tav laughs lightly, eyes alighting with amusement as Nilmorn cracks another joke. 

"You should meet my other companions," they hear Nilmorn offer, "I just know they would love to have you."

Revelation slams into each and every one of them like a magic missile.

“He’s not that funny,” Shadowheart mutters. She bends down, hands gripping tightly around the handle of her mace. “I don’t know why they are laughing that hard.”

“He can try to leave with his head on his shoulders,” snarls Lae’zel, “just say the word, Astarion.” 

Excellent. 

“What-” Wyll turns to Gale and Karlach. “We should stop them, shouldn’t we? There are no implications of this man trying to steal Tav away, he's just being nice, you worthless cunts! This is not fair to him!” 

“We’re in the Underdark, aren’t we? Super deep. Doubt anyone who cares for him will come looking for him.” 

“Karlach!” 

“Astute observation! To make this all a little easier on us, I can most certainly put this man to sleep.” 

“Gale?!” 

“Go on, Lae’zel,” Astarion grins wickedly, “attack!”

“Oh, hells,” Wyll stumbles back, then turns quickly to the other direction towards Halsin. “Halsin! Halsin - they’re trying to murder someone again!” 

❥ Additional links: kofi | ao3

#baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #astarion x reader #astarion x you #gale x reader #gale x you #shadowheart x reader #shadowheart x you #lae'zel x reader #lae'zel x you #karlach x reader #karlach x you #bg3 x reader #bg3 x you #baldur's gate 3 x reader #baldur's gate 3 x you #poor nilmorn. just wanted to sell his lil instruments. dies because he smiles too prettily

[pshaven]

hi !! can I request afab reader putting medicine on jake’s cold sore in the practice room and the members teasing him about it? reader is bending down holding his chin and he hugs her waist while still sitting 🤭 you can start it however you’d like~

thank you! <3

THIS IS SOOCCUTEE idk if u wanted this nsfw but ill make it suggestive for you hehe<33

jake running around the practice room while squealing like a little girl was the last thing you expected to see when you opened the door to surprise him and the rest of the members.

“jake! please, sit still!” heeseung complains, already sounding exasperated like they’ve been at this for over an hour (it’s definitely been only fifteen minutes). jake is practically wailing, eyes squeezed shut as he runs in circles, all the members just laying and sitting on the floor as they watch him.

“y/n? hey! what’re you doing here?” sunghoon greets, purposefully raising his voice a bit louder so that jake could hear, stopping his temper tantrum at immediate effect. he stops in his tracks, eyes wide open as his head snaps towards the door to find you.

“y/n! please help me! these monsters are torturing me," he pouts exaggeratedly, arms wide open for a hug as he runs at you. ever the dramatic, and you've hung out long with jake enough to know that he's talking about his ulcers. "awwe," you coo at him, ruffling his hair like a puppy as he engulfs you in a hug.

"please do something about him, y/n. he won't let us put the medication on," jay sighs, swiping through his phone as he's more than done with jake's dramatic antics. you tilt your head curiously, having to push jake away from you before you walk over to the designated chair that was meant for jake to sit on in the first place.

you shrug, "i don't know exactly how i could help? i don't know how to put the medicine on him," you say, but the staff is desperate to get jake to stay still so they do their best to show you how to do it. you're still a bit unsure, not wanting to accidentally hurt jake (despite the fact it's going to hurt either way), so you ask the staff if maybe your presence is enough to let jake sit still.

"noooo, want y/n to do it," jake frowns, lower lip pouting out, causing you to roll your eyes at his childishness. "quit acting like such a baby, now sit," you point to the chair in front of you, and jake grins like he's got what he wanted.

"yes ma'am!" he plops down on the chair, manspreading so there's space for you between his thighs. you sigh, taking the tube from the staff before turning back to the boy in front of you. "do i need to tie your hands back or something?" you ask jokingly when you notice his fingers twitching a bit, but his eyes widen slightly and you don't miss it.

"uh- no? no! i can just, umm..." jake looks around helplessly until the idea of grabbing onto your thighs to help him resist from jumping up in his seat comes to his mind. "nope, got my own restraint right here!" he gives you a boyish grin before both his hands wrap around your thighs, giving them a slight squeeze that you hope only you can notice and not the other members and staff around you.

you furrow your brows together, giving him your best behave stare, but he only closes his eyes and opens his mouth slightly for you. to get him back, you decide to tease him a bit. your freehand grabs onto his bottom jaw harshly, forcing his mouth more open and his eyes blink open in surprise at your sudden action.

the fact that you look like you're staring more at his lips rather than the mouth sore is getting him more worked up and distracted than he anticipated, the hands on your thighs squeezing tighter and you begin to feel his fingernails pressing.

you slowly spray the medicine onto his mouth sore, holding his jaw tight so he can't budge or move away, and even though jake winces a bit through it, followed by some whines that made your stomach swirl a bit and your head woozy, the staff and members all cheered around the two of you.

"oh thank god, y/n you are our savior!" heeseung exclaims, standing up from the floor and giving you a quick hug to express his gratitude. "but i think jake has another problem you might need to fix..." he whispers in your ear, and when he pulls away he tilts his head towards jake's lap -- he popped a boner.

perhaps jake liked pain more than he led on, and maybe you'll just have to indulge with him later.

#enhypen smut #enhypen x reader #jake x reader #jaeyun x reader #jake smut #jaeyun smut #sim jake #sim jaeyun #jake fluff #jaeyun fluff #enhypen fluff #enhypen imagines #enhypen fanfic

[emmyrosee]

hi emmy i really like your writings ✨🎠❣️ can i please request sukuna with a clumsy reader that seems to be accident-prone. and one time she denies his help and says she can take care of her own well being and then the next second she just get injured like pretty bad she just cries on sukuna because it hurts and embarrassing for her. thank youuu so muchh if you really write this request ✨🙏🎠🤍

I LOVE CLUMSY READERS ☹️🫶🏻

—

“You’re going to fall.”

Sukuna watches from a respectful distance as you step from the chair onto the countertop, the griddle up there seemingly farther away every time he puts it there. “Please, for the love of all things unholy, let me help you.”

“No, no,” you say dramatically. “You always tease me for falling, always make fun of me for needing help, don’t act high and mighty now that you think I might need help.”

“Can you not use your thinking skills to figure out that I’m teasing you when I say stuff like that?” He says, watching as your body sways softly from the height. “Oh my god, please get down.”

“Sukuna im fine,” you laugh. Your hands reach up to grab the door handle, and when you can’t open it to full capacity, you try to take a step back to open it, only to forget exactly how high up you were, and you slip.

He moves like a bullet to catch you, but your knee slams into the countertop that originally held you, and you sink your teeth into your lip as Sukuna awkwardly cradles your body against his chest, save for your now throbbing knee which dangles helplessly. Tears well in your eyes as searing pain blooms from your bone, and you can’t look up at him, no, because you’ll cry. You’ll burst into tears right now and sob in pain and embarrassment, from him being right and holy shit did you fracture your knee what the hell-

“Are you okay?” He asks, looking down at you expectantly. His voice is unusually low, probably to try and keep you comforted, but all it does is make you screw your eyes shut and try to fight off the line of tears that bubble and slip down your cheeks. “Shit, baby, let me-“

“I’m fine!” You hiss, struggling in his grasp. The minute you move your leg, however, the shooting daggers of pain make you whimper in agony. “I’m fine. Let me go.”

“No,” he snaps. “You’re fucking hurt. Don’t be fucking stubborn.”

He hulks your body up and onto the countertop, the action having you choke out a sob from the pain and shame coursing through you. He gingerly takes your leg in his hands, testing the way it bends and how your cries pitch in distress as he handles it one way or another. With a click of his tongue he spins on his heel to make his way to the freezer and grab a bag of frozen veggies.

“You don’t listen to me,” he snarls. “What, you think because I tease you, you’ve gotta go risk your fucking life to prove a point?” He presses the bag of vegetables on your knee, the pressure making you wheeze and the chill shocking your nerves. Despite his words, he shushes you softly at your distress and uses his free arm to pull you against his chest.

“You stand on chairs all the time,” you whimper, and you hear him scoff.

“Yeah, because I don’t give a fuck if I fall. You just got seriously hurt, don’t you know how scary that was? For both of us? For fucks sake, what if you cracked your skull!”

You sniffle against him and shrug at his worries, and he clicks his tongue with a sigh. “I care about you, baby. Don’t do stupid shit like that, okay?” When you nod against him, he chuckles softly, “my stupid, clumsy brat.”

“Shut up.”

#sukuna #sukuna fluff #sukuna x reader #sukuna x reader fluff #sukuna x gn!reader #sukuna imagine #sukuna jjk #sukuna ryomen #sukuna ryomen fluff #sukuna ryomen x reader #sukuna ryomen x reader fluff #sukuna ryomen x gn!reader #sukuna ryomen imagine #sukuna ryomen jjk #jjk #jjk fluff #jjk imagine #jjk x reader #jjk x reader fluff #jjk x gn!reader #jjk x gender neutral reader #jjk x y/n #jjk x yn #jjk x you

[tteokdoroki]

*ੈ🌩️‧₊˚— overstimulation + seishiro nagi.

૮ ͈>◡< ͈ა warnings — smut, minors dni 18+, characters aged up to 20s, male masturbation, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, big cum shots, fantasies, aftercare, afab!reader, pro player!nagi - hello id like to thank @irideaels for letting me rant abt this a few days ago so !!!! enjoy !!! + not beta read btw lol

oh because … nagi who cums until he physically can’t anymore when he’s jerking off.

one hand tweaking his nipples from under his tight black shirt he couldn’t be bothered to shrug off and the other fisting his cock glossed in layers of hot cum and precum — soiling the palm of his hand with its viscosity.

seishiro’s cheeks tint pink with exertion, sweat beading at his hairline like jewels on a necklace as his back arches off the bed and his hips rise with fluid and steady thrusts into his closed fist. he only works hard for things that he wants, and what he wants is an orgasm. more than one. poor sei, all frustrated because he won’t stop until he’s satisfied or until the burn of frustration from not having you with him ceases to exist.

he tucks his face into his shoulder, lips pouty and bitten until they’re a shade darker than the pink that they usually are — nagi running his thumb back and forth, back and forth through the seedy tip of his angry red cockhead just like you would. it’s a nice feeling, especially when he’s so sensitive. it makes his eyelashes flutter against his shirt and an impatient whine reverberate in the depths of his throat because he needs you, he misses you.

everything is too hot, his dick between his stick and shiny cum covered thighs. nagi’s skin to the touch. the sex tainted air in the room. in order to cool off, sei takes his shirt between rows of pearly white teeth that are gritted to hold his moans and if he closes his eyes tight enough — he can use the wet slap of his hand around his aching, twitching cock to picture you above him and riding him the way he likes..

he imagines the squelch of your precious cunt around him, squeezing himself like you would when you sink down on his thick and lengthy shaft — he starts slow and lazy but the more nagi pictures you bouncing away in his lap, circling your clit to the pace of his whimpers and whines the more he speeds up. mercilessly pounding his own fist, sending droplets of his precum and remainders of his precious orgasms flying about the place and messing up his sheets.

“ngh…hah, angel please. please.” he gasps airily to no one in particular — using the veil of the darkness surrounding him to picture you better. there’s a blistering burn in seishiro’s lower spine like he’s about to bust again and his thighs twitch apart on instinct as if to make room for it all, his second hand shooting between them to squeeze and tug on his large breeder’s balls. he wants you so bad, it makes him cry as he rolls his hips higher and higher. “g’na make me cum. w’na cum…please!”

nagi whispers your name into the night, his hips stuttering as the chord holding back his release snaps in his lower tummy. greyish-brownish eyes roll back into his skull as he helplessly drools from his babbling mouth. one, two, three — he gives a few more shallow pumps to his sore cock, ropes of hot white shooting over his glistening abs and milky chest, seeping into his salt slicked skin. nagi is dizzy, he’s cum, what? three or four times now? he’s lost count, he’s too tired but it’s still not enough to get rid of the white hot need he feels for you.

there’s mess upon mess as seishiro starts himself up again — languidly jerking off with his movements easily guided by the slickness of his last orgasm as lube. this time he thinks of you cleaning him up, sucking bruising marks against the creamy flesh of his thick thighs where only he can see them. you’d kitten lick your way up his cock, take him into your warm pretty mouth and suck on him like your life depends on it.

he can practically hear the way you’d gag on it, spit on it, palm what you can’t swallow down with your dainty little fingers while you moan around him. it drives nagi up the wall. he’s blushing and crying, stroking himself hard and fast and he feels like his hand might drop off — but he’s almost there. dopamine shoots across his brain as sei imagines you taking his release down your throat, how you’d whine around him, complain about just how much he cums even though you both know that you like it.

without realising, his fingers speed up again — thumb circling his tip in tight movements. he switches to using both hands instead of just one, wildly fucking up into his make-shift pussy as if it were yours or your mouth. hot tears sting a path down seishiro’s cheeks in exhaustion and frustration, but this’ll be it. this will be the one to sedate his hunger.

“oh fuck,” nagi’s shakily chokes back a sob, clenching around his own chubby cock, wetting his lips, writhing against the wet bed sheets and blankets below. “oh angel! hah, hah, haaaah!” his hips have a mind of their own while they desperately chase after his high like he would after a goal on the pitch and before nagi knows it. he’s cumming once again. blinding ecstasy rolls over his body in large waves, drowning him, suffocating him. he feels like he can’t breathe as if you’ve stolen all the air from his lungs. blood rushes through sei’s ears and wracks his entire body in a fit of the shakes.

he cums so hard, brilliantly and beautifully — his large cum shot hitting his face and dropping down to his heaving chest while he pants and comes back down. he knows he won’t be able to stay conscious for much longer, blindly reaching for his phone with messy hands to snap pictures of his ruined cock and pink flushed face to send to you.

sei baby ♡ - 10:45PM: came so much 4 u angel. come home soon

sei baby ♡ - 10:47PM: (2 attachments.png)

in fact, nagi’s orgasm and the aftershocks of it are is so big that he quite literally passes out after messaging you, giving into his tiredness. finally being able to relax.

and when he comes to, you’re there, dressed in his clothes — cleaning up nagi’s sensitive spots and all his mess with a damp wash cloth so tenderly, a proud smile on your face as you brush back his sweaty and snowy white hair. “you did so well for me, sei,” you whisper, kissing his tear stained cheeks as if he might shatter if you do. “go back to sleep.”

“mngh… thank you, love you angel…” he manages before drifting off.

“love you too, my handsome boy.”

#blue lock x reader #blue lock smut #bllk x reader #bllk smut #nagi x reader #nagi smut #nagi x you #blue lock x you #bllk x you #nagi seishiro x reader #nagi seishiro smut #nagi seishiro x you #seishiro nagi smut #seishiro nagi x reader #bllk thirst #blue lock thirst #nagi seishiro imagines #seishiro nagi x you #✧ ₊˚੭ — writing #tteokdoroki

[nrnyx]

Prompt: Can’t go wrong with a body swap scenario 

Thank you @imtryingandtired for the prompt! I hope you enjoy!

“Scott, we have a problem!” 

Scott's eyebrows did a thing that would have made Derek proud. “What? A bigger problem than the fact your body swapped with Derek.”

“I gotta pee,” Stiles rushed to say as he hopped from foot to foot. 

Scott's puppy face scrunched up with a mix of confusion and concern. “Why is that a problem? Does Derek have like a… medical condition? Does it burn or -”

“What, no! No!” Stiles cut in with a furious wave of his surprisingly soft but equally masculine hands. He lowered Derek’s voice even more so those in the next room wouldn’t hear him. “I just - what do I do, man? I have to, like, take it out and…”

“You mean you haven’t yet?” Scott asked in genuine surprise. 

“Of course, I haven’t, dumbass! What do you take me for? I would never take advantage of anyone's so very hot, like insanely hot and tempting body - temporarily mine or not.”

Scott threw up his hands in surrender. “Sorry! I’m sorry, I just - you haven't even looked?”

“No!” Stiles exclaimed, stomping Derek’s foot. “Help me!”

Scott looked around as if an answer was hiding somewhere. “I - I don’t know man, maybe asked Derek?”

“Ask Derek what?” Came Stiles's voice even though it wasn’t Stiles speaking. “What have you been doing to my body, Stiles?” It was amazing how Derek managed to make Stiles's eyebrows move in ways Stiles had never managed himself. He didn’t know his face could scowl like that. He didn’t know he had the muscles for it. 

Stiles, who was in Derek’s amazing body right now, closed his gorgeous eyes in defeat. Derek seriously had the longest eyelashes. He was never going to hear the end of this. 

Scott began to chuckle uncomfortably as he rubbed the back of his neck helplessly and waved a hand at Stiles. “That’s the problem he won’t do anything to it.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Derek asked, crossing Stiles’s arms over his chest. It was so weird seeing Derek’s expressions on Stiles's face, although the stance was missing its usual impact due to the severe lack of big, beefy muscles to back it up.

Stiles pinched the bridge of - Derek’s perfectly symmetrical nose and decided just to bite the bullet or risk worse embarrassment if he didn’t figure out his dilemma soon. “I have to pee.”

Derek’s - Stiles's eyebrows nearly shot into his hairline. “So go pee.” 

Stiles felt Derek’s all too tempting mouth fall open with his own shock. “I - I mean… it doesn’t bother you?” 

Stiles watched his own slender shoulders shrug, although Derek couldn’t meet his eyes. “I’m more worried about the state of my bladder, to be honest. How long have you been holding it?” 

Stiles felt Derek’s cute ears go red in embarrassment, and wasn’t that a weird feeling? Now, not only did he know what Derek looked like when he blushed, but he knew how it felt as his adorable ears grew warm. “A while, I guess. I was trying to respect boundaries. I mean… I wasn’t sure - have you?” 

Stiles now knew what he looked like when he blushed. Was it always so obvious? 

“Oh,” Stiles said, feeling himself turn even redder, and he wondered if it was as visible on Derek’s darker skin as it was on his own pale skin. So Derek had touched his… Stiles couldn’t think about that right now, but it figured the first time another hand, even though it was technically his very familiar hand, had been on his dick, he wouldn’t be there to experience it. 

This was such a weird situation. 

It wasn’t like Stiles had anything to be embarrassed about. He was rather… endowed. It was sort of a thing he was known for, a rumor that followed him around school, even though he was still a virgin, so no one but the guys in the locker room could confirm it. 

Derek cleared his throat uncomfortably. “I didn’t realize it would be an issue. I’m sorry if I overstepped -“

“No! No!” Stiles protested before Derek could feel bad about it. If a guy had to pee, he had to pee. “I don’t have a problem with it. You’ve got full permission to do whatever you want with my body,” Stiles joked, trying to break the weird tension. He knew how much consent meant to Derek, which was why he’d been so hesitant in the first place. “I just thought that you might have an issue with me, uh… handling it.”

Derek just looked at him. “If you need permission, then this is me saying you can pee.” 

Stiles breathed a sigh as Derek’s big, broad, amazing shoulders sagged in relief. “Oh, thank god, do you maybe want to come help?”

“Are you asking me to hold it for you? With your hands?” Derek deadpanned, and did Stiles really look that bitchy when he was being sarcastic? He could see why people always felt the urge to hit him.

“I - I Just mean, do you?”

Derek looked at him with exasperation. “Stiles, go pee!” 

Stiles jumped into action. “Yeah, okay, do you like… want to come with -” 

“Stiles!” 

#sterek fanart #sterek #stiles stilinski #derek hale #sterek au #sterek fanfiction #sterek fanfic #eternal sterek #derek x stiles #stiles x derek #sterek crack #sterek fic #sterek edit #sterek fics #sterek is eternal #sterek prompt

[tropes-and-tales]

Good Girl

Day 2:  Dry humping (Bob Floyd x F!Reader)

(For the 2023 Kinktober event that I created on my own because I am boring and basic and am trying to keep it simple this year...found here!) 

CW:  Idiots in love; praise kink; smut (dry humping; outercourse; whatever the youths call it now - clothed grinding and such); 18+ only.

Word Count:  2996

AN:  This is loosely related to the very loosely-formed Seresin cousin mini-series, found here. It was requested for Kinktober by @justreblogginfics!)

You and Bob continue your little dance for months.

You know the man likes you.  Every time you fly into town to visit your cousin Jake, Bob is always nearby, staring at you on the sly like a lovesick puppy.  He’s always just at the edge of the group gatherings—nights at the Hard Deck, parties at Nat’s house, afternoons at the beach—and you always feel those big blue eyes tracking your movements.

Everyone else notices it.  Harvard and Yale corner you at the Hard Deck, ask if you’ve noticed that you have an admirer.  Nat pulls you aside at her barbeque and obliquely gives you a rundown of Bob’s numerous good traits.  Only Jake holds his tongue, but you catch him narrowing his eyes at the WSO enough that you realize even your cousin—your cousin with his penchant for being self-centered, the handsome narcissist with the blinding smile—has noticed Bob’s crush too.

Bob never makes a move.

Nights at the Hard Deck when you blatantly lament being single.  The party at Bob’s house where you stayed behind to help him clean up.  The little touches you chance:  brushing your hand against his, a light hand on his shoulder, friendly hugs…they are an invitation, but he doesn’t pick up on it.

It’s Rooster who clues you in.  The man takes your hand one night at the bar and tugs you outside where the ocean crashes along the shore in the darkness.  In the dim light, you can just make out the man as he peers down at you.

“I know what you’re doing,” he says.  “But you’re going about it all wrong.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

You catch the white of his eyes as he rolls them.  “C’mon.  It’s obvious you like Bob, but you gotta make the move if you’re interested.  You gotta be blatant with him.  He won’t get it otherwise.”

“Why not?”  Your stomach twists unpleasantly; you wonder if perhaps you’ve misread the situation.  Maybe Bob has a crush, but maybe it’s just a crush, and maybe there’s someone else he loves and this is just a passing bit of madness—

“Guy’s a brilliant wizzo, but he’s clueless with women.”

Now you roll your eyes at Rooster, and he chuckles at the gesture.  

“I’m serious!” he continues, and he holds his hands up, helpless.  “I think he misread a situation once with a girl when he was younger, and I think it scared him off of making the first move.”

“That’s a terrible excuse.  I got food poisoning from bad tacos once but I still eat tacos.”

Rooster chuckles again.  “Yeah, but you women can be devastating when you reject us.  I think poor Baby on Board was crushed before and now he’s just a pining little asshole, staring at you from across the bar.”  

You shrug helplessly and glance back into the Hard Deck:  you can see Bob in profile, and you get the impression that he’s just turned away, that he didn’t want to get caught watching you.  Watching you and Rooster together, chatting outside, laughing outside.  You feel a wave of sympathy for what Bob must be thinking—that you’re flirting with Rooster, that maybe Bob has missed his chance.

You turn back to the pilot.  You square your shoulders.  “Okay, I hear you.  I’ll be the brave one.”  A beat as anxiety blooms in your chest, makes your ribcage feel a fraction tighter, makes it just a bit harder to draw a full breath.  “And you’re sure he likes me?  You aren’t misreading this somehow?  I don’t want to look like an idiot, Bradshaw.”

He laughs outright, and he hooks an arm around your neck to pull you into a friendly hug.  

“Ah, kid, he loves you.  You make the first move, he’ll probably go ring shopping next weekend,” he says, and he lays a smacking kiss on the side of your head before releasing you, shoving you gently back towards the bar.

-----

You may be confident, but that confidence doesn’t always extend into your romantic life.  Still, you decide to be brave.

You make the first move.

When you go back into the Hard Deck, you notice that Bob seems quieter than usual, and you guess that he saw the hug, the friendly kiss between you and Rooster.  You guess that he is drawing incorrect conclusions about what he thinks he saw, and you hate to think of him suffering needlessly.

You sidle up to him, and you feel another wave of tenderness towards the man when he turns to look at you—still with that soft smile on his face, a glimmer of hope in his eyes despite what he must be thinking.

“It’s too noisy in here,” you say close to his ear.  “I was going to take a walk on the beach.  Do you want to join me?”

The hope in his eyes turns blatant.  “Really?”

“Yeah.  You wanna go?  C’mon.”  You don’t give him a chance to stammer his way out of it; you thread your arm through his and tug him towards the door, and he follows you without any resistance. 

You catch Rooster’s eye, then Nat’s as you leave.  The former tips you a knowing wink.  The latter gives you a nod, and she lifts her glass in a salute.

You don’t release him until you’re at the water’s edge, and you bend down to untie your sneakers and peel out of your socks.  He hesitates a beat then joins you, and he rolls up the pants to his uniform so that his shins are bare.

The two of you walk along the shore in silence for a bit.  It’s one of the things you like best about Bob—how he lacks the braggadocio to always talk, to always fill up every bit of silence with the sound of his own voice.  You know he’s perhaps more shy than the average person, but he doesn’t seem undone by it.  He seems comfortable just to be himself:  quieter than most, willing to sit back and watch.  

Case in point:  you hold your shoes and socks in one hand, and you take his hand with your free one.  Maybe he’s nervous, but his palm is warm and dry, not sweaty or twitchy.  If he’s nervous, it’s not obvious.

And he breaks the silence, after a while.

“Growing up in the Midwest, I never even saw the ocean until I enlisted,” he says.  

“Same,” you reply.  “I mean, growing up in Texas, we went to Galveston a few times, but that was technically the Gulf, not the ocean.”

“You like it?”

You feel the water lapping around your ankles, the give of the sand underneath your soles.  “I do,” you admit.  “There’s something really peaceful about it, and I love poking around at low tide and looking for sea glass.”

He glances at you, and you can hear the teasing in his voice when he replies, “I’m gonna tell Hangman that his cousin only visits him because he’s stationed along the coast.”

The words slip out of your mouth before you even realize you’re saying them.  “Maybe I only visit Jake because I like one of his coworkers.”

The light-hearted feeling of the moment deflates; Bob goes silent.  He takes a beat to reply, and when he does, his voice sounds strained.

“Bradley.”  It comes out curt, two quick syllables.  A statement, not a question.

You shake your head, let out a grumble of disagreement.  Up ahead, you can see the outline of a lifeguard station, painted white and rising ghostly out of the night.  You want to sit with him and finally talk with him, so you tug his hand and lead him there.  The two of you sit on the steps, side by side, hips touching and facing the ocean.

“Not Bradley,” you tell him as you pick up the thread of the conversation.  

“I saw you tonight—”

You shake your head again, cut him off.  “He wanted to talk to me,” you tell Bob.  “About you.”

You feel him go rigid beside you, and he huffs out a frustrated breath.  If there was more light, you’d see the furious blush that breaks out across his face, but it’s dark enough that you can only guess at his embarrassment.

And now that you’ve opened the Pandora’s box, you can hardly take it back, so you plunge forward.  Usually confident, you’re glad for the darkness too—you hope it hides your shaky hands, your inability to turn and meet his eyeline.

“I think you’re great, Bobby.  Honestly.  I thought you were handsome the moment I met you, but then I got to know you, and you’re quiet but you’re funny and sweet, and I was giving all these signs that I was into you, but nothing…I mean, I like you a lot and it’s just…”  You trail off, lose your words like an idiot.  You hadn’t enough time to rehearse this in your head; you just grabbed him at the Hard Deck and dragged him out here, and now you’re fumbling it completely.  You drop your head and swipe your sweaty palms along the sides of your shorts, and you take a deep breath—

You hear his soft “hey,” and then a split second later you feel his warm hand on your face, tilting your head up and turning you to face him, but nothing on earth could prepare you for the way Bob Floyd kisses:  gentle but firm, only a bit hesitant.  His lips are soft, and he breathes out a quiet groan when you reach up and lay your own hand along the side of his neck.

Your thoughts go fuzzy.  Your concentration—all the words you were fumbling to say—is shot, but when you try to break the kiss to finish what you were saying, Bob shakes his head faintly and mumbles against you lips.

“I know,” he says, and you can hear his accent breaking through.  “I know, honey.  Me too.”

Then he kisses you again, firmer this time, and a moment later, when he runs the tip of his tongue along the seam of your mouth, you open yourself to him, allow him to taste you.  You taste him too, and Bob Floyd tastes like the grenadine-laced Coke he nurses each night at the Hard Deck, never much of a drinker even on the rowdiest night.

If nothing could prepare you for the way he kisses, then certainly nothing could prepare you for how sweetly dominant he is, how perfectly he walks the line between gentlemanly and not.  Your clumsy confession must have given him the wherewithal to take charge, and you’re surprised when he puts a hand on your waist and gently urges you to turn towards him…then how he just as gently urges you to climb onto his lap.

It doesn’t take much urging, you find.  You’ve been ravenous for months for this exact moment, and you had thought it’d never come.  You break away long enough to study his face—this close, and with the faint light of the half-moon in the sky above you, you can see his wide blue eyes, his parted lips as he gazes back at you.  You don’t see any hesitancy in his expression at all, but then he breathes out, “please, honey” and he squeezes your waist, so you clamber onto him with no grace whatsoever, but neither of you care because the moment you’re settled on him, you bend your head to kiss him again.

As it turns out, maybe Bob was just as ravenous for this moment too.  He puts his other hand on your waist too, draws you closer to him, and you can feel the nudge and brush of his growing erection against your inner thigh.  He makes a strangled, pained sort of groan in the back of his throat the first time you touch him there, and his hands spasm on your waist, grip you tighter before he schools himself and apologizes.

You break the kiss, slow the moment down.  You cup his face between your palms and hold him steady, tilt his face up towards yours.

“Bobby, why didn’t you ever say anything?” you whisper.  

He shakes his head against your hold and offers you a rueful grin.  “Didn’t think you were interested.”

You snort and press a light kiss to his forehead, then another few to his cheeks, the tip of his nose.  You can feel how flushed he is under your lips.  

“You think I just randomly hang back at parties to help the host clean up?” you tease.  You shift your head, whisper the words in his ear, and you note how he squirms under you.  He’s growing harder, even at your playful kisses.

“Just thought…ah, just thought y-you were bein’ nice.”  His accent comes out stronger, and his hands squeeze you tighter again before he loosens his grip.  “You’re always so…so nice to everyone.”

“I’m nicest to you,” you point out.  You kiss a trail along the line of his neck, and he tilts his head to grant you the space.  At his pulse point, you can feel his heartbeat thundering away there, so you bare your teeth and nip him—not enough to hurt or even sting, but he groans out “shit, honey” and wraps a strong arm around your waist, hauls you right up against where he’s straining against his uniform for you.  His other hand finds the back of your neck, and he draws you to him, kisses you breathless as he guides you against him, sets a steady, rocking motion against him.

It's too much:  the way his clothed erection hits you just right, how he pushes you back and forth, over and over, until you are so wet that you’re certain you’ve soaked through your panties and your shorts.  Everything feels sensitive, swollen, but he keeps guiding you, lifts his own hips in time to the rhythm he sets.  It’s too much but it’s not nearly enough, and you wish you’d known how this entire evening was going to unravel because you would have just taken him home instead—

“This good?” he asks.  His face is tucked against your neck; you’re a fraction higher than him, perched in his lap, and he works his mouth almost lazily against your neck, your throat, the underside of your jaw.  He has one arm around your waist, holding you tight to him, but his other hand settles against your ass, kneads you there, digs his fingertips into the fat of your ass like he wants to own you.

You start to make a joke about being surprised to find he’s an ass man, but then he dips his head, works an open-mouthed kiss right where the swell of your breasts begin.  You whine at the sensation and thread your fingers through his hair.  You hold him there, and the desire coursing through you—the sharp ache between your thighs, the prickly-hot flush across your skin—makes you feel fuzzy, light-headed.  You remember he asked you a question, so you answer him, nod hard and mumble yes, he’s making you feel good, he’s making you feel amazing, but what about him?

“Don’t worry about me.”  He nips at your collarbone, runs his tongue along the line of it, dips his tongue into the divot at the base of your throat.  “Wanna make you come, honey.”

Hearing those words come from his mouth makes your desire rachet up higher, hotter.  You grip his hair harder, whine out his name, but then he adds, “you gonna be my good girl and come for me?”

There’s no way he could have known of your praise kink, so it’s just a lucky guess, but the unexpected phrase—my good girl…fuck if it doesn’t make you cock-drunk and stupid.  No other guy really ever cracked the code of that kink for you.  A few had made half-hearted attempts when you mentioned it, but Bob Floyd stumbles over it immediately, and your mind goes blissfully blank:  yes, you want to be his good girl.  Yes, you want to come for him.  Whatever he wants.  Anything he wants.  Everything he wants.

You let go of your hold on his hair, and you cup his face again, tilt his head up so you can kiss him.  “Yes,” you whisper just before you slot your mouth over his, push your tongue against his, kiss him so deeply that you’re sharing the same breath, mapping the inside of his mouth with your tongue, memorizing every bit of him you can.  Yes, yes.  Yes to all of it.

Mind blank, your pleasure overtakes you:  you feel the heat and friction from where he sets you grinding against him, you feel the bulge of his cock hitting you perfectly, and every bit of him—his subtle cologne, the soft feel of his hair, the quiet little groans he makes, the flex of his muscles as he holds you—pushes you close to the edge.  You teeter there, you ride him faster, the seam of your shorts pressing deliciously against your swollen clit, but it’s his words that push you over.  His quietly domineering orders.

“Come for me,” he whispers, and it’s a harsh, punched-out sound that makes your stomach swoop when you hear it.  “My good, sweet girl.  Come for me.”

Your orgasm breaks around you like a wave, and Bob releases his hold on your ass to draw you closer to him, let you ride it out as you shudder against him.  Both arms wrapped around your waist as pleasure sparks outward from your core, travels up your spine and courses through your limbs until your head is swimming and he’s tucking you against him.

“That’s it,” he whispers into your hair.  “Good girl.  So fucking good for me.”

And all you can respond with is yes, yes.  Only for you, Bobby.

#bob floyd #bob floyd x reader #bob floyd imagine #robert floyd #robert floyd imagine #robert floyd x reader #top gun maverick #tropes and tales #kinktober 2023

[hiraya-rawr]

maybe we can be more than this (servant/master)

characters !! diluc, ayato

contains !! just dialogues of gn reader. angst/comfort?? i think

synopsis !! thinking about servant and master where it's so obvious you're both in love but you can't bring yourself to cross the line and it hurts him sm—

+ + +

D I L U C

He's frustrated, pacing around as you desperately try to explain.

"Master Diluc, you must understand why–"

"Just Diluc."

"But Master Diluc–"

"How many times must I tell you, (Name)?" He turns towards you, a scowl on his lips as his voice rises. He breathes heavily before his shoulders lower, relaxing, and his face changes to that of hurt.

A quiet heartache.

"How many times must I hear you call me that? We've been friends for so long. I've loved you for so long. Can't I be more than just that to you. . .?" He looks down on the ground, unable to meet your gaze.

You feel your lips part, heart aching. How could you dare?

". . . Diluc," You whisper and his eyes snap towards you, hopeful, as your hand makes its way to cup his cheek, "You are already more than just that to me."

"Then allow me to be with you." He begs quietly.

"You know why I can't." You sob, feeling his own warm hands cupping your cheeks.

"Please, (Name)."

"Don't."

"Please,"

". . . I have to go help Adelinde turn off the gas lamps. Please get some rest, Master Diluc."

+ + +

A Y A T O

"Look at this, (Name)," He states harshly, stomping into his office as you trail behind, helplessly explaining, "Look."

Ayato roughly gestures to the pile of papers on his desk. Each in beautiful stationery, stamped cleanly.

"Marriage proposals. Each and everyone of them, I've rejected. I did this for us." He turns to you, a look of hurt in his eyes.

"Lord Kamisato, you know why–"

"You didn't use to call me that. I was Ayato. I was-"

"-That was when the Kamisato household was falling apart! It's different now and you know that-!" You cut in.

"It is different! Now the Kamisato household has the power and influence. If you marry me, I will take down every obstacle in our way."

Silence. He stares at you from across the dark office, only moonlight filtering in to highlight his baby blue hair. You know he's desperate, having danced around the topic for ages, but how could you be the clan's weakness? You can see how everyone would talk— how history would talk about it.

'Such a fine bachelor yet he chose a mere servant. Is there something wrong with the clan?'

'He was seduced. Held down by a childhood friend. You can't even trust a servant.'

'The clan had only recently gained its influence, yet it's falling apart again, all because of some—'

"Ayato," You try to hold back tears. You know it's unfair to him if you use this card. "If you love me, then please— don't make me do this to the clan. Don't make me do this to you."

He looks defeated. Shoulders slumped, tired, as he brings up a hand to rest on his forehead. Looking away from you, he sighs, "Had I known it would be like this, I never would have taken you in as my servant."

character m.list || ko-fi

note !! nothing hits differently than men with everything except the love of their life *shrugs* anyway my links have been weird lately idk why so hopefully this story posts without issues

#genshin #favoniuslibrary #diluc x reader #ayato x reader #diluc #ayato #genshin impact #diluc ragnvindr #kamisato ayato #genshin x reader #genshin angst #genshin fic #diluc angst #ayato angst #genshin fanfic

[razzle-n-dazzle]

ᯓ★ "YOU PROMISED!" Adam / Angel! Reader | Drabble

ᯓ “Dad, watch out!” Charlie’s piercing scream filled the air as she reached out, trying to grab her father’s arm to drag him away from the oncoming attack. Yet she was all too late, watching in horror as an exorcist, one that utterly ignored any commands given, drove her spear through Lucifer’s back and out his chest; Missing his heart by near inches. “No!-” Lute shouted, standing injured on the rubble of the hotel with wide eyes, staring down the scene. Yet Charlie barely heard her as her ears began to ring, tears welling quickly in her eyes as she stared down at the scene, helplessly. As she watched her father helplessly look down at the spear that had been driven through his back and chest, his breath suddenly heavy as the pain hit him all at once.

There was a yell of frustration that came from the exorcist as they drew their weapon out harshly, causing Lucifer to hiss in pain, before they stabbed it right back through before he could turn to defend himself. Golden blood patterned on the ground, stained Lucifer’s clothes as the weapon was twisted and yanked back out again, accompanied with a sob. Yet, before the spear could impale the Demon Lord himself once more, Charlie had yanked her father out the way, causing the angelic weapon to dig its pointed tip into the ground; And Charlie, now kneeling next to her father trying to help him to hold his wounds, winced at the strength that kicked up sediment and rocks. Silence sat heavy in the air, Lucifer’s gasps and Adam’s struggle being the only other noises besides the sobbing, as the exorcist held onto their weapon for dear life. Charlie was sure they were about to scream out some sort of blood murder, she can see the intent shaking their very core and yet it was cut short as they were grabbed and yanked away from their weapon; Which still stood upright, buried in the rubble and gravel. “WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT?!” Exclaimed Lute, harshly grabbing onto the exorcist’s arm, tugging them once more towards as her glare pierced down at them. And all she got in response was a shaky gasp, followed by what sounded like them choking on their own tears. Charlie glanced down at her father, watching as he tried hard not to seep into the weakness. Vaggie rushed over as soon as she could, sliding down when she was close enough and ended up at Lucifer’s back. A quick conversation and panicked struggling as Charlie and Vaggie help Lucifer shrug and take off his jacket, allowing for Vaggie to tie it around his wound to keep pressure. And Charlie couldn’t help but let her eyes wonder back to Lute and the exorcist, holding in her breath as she noticed that Lute had snagged off the Angel’s mask to only stare at them in horror. And Charlie barely missed the way that Adam also stared at them, standing by the mouth of the crater, hand pressing down into his wound, as he stared; Charlie was so sure she had never seen him so pale and terrified. 

“What… what are you?” Adam’s breathless voice reached your ears, and you could feel as his eyes scanned over your face with some sort of horror, or maybe fear. Yet, all you could do was choke out a sob, your tears falling heavier down your face as Lute dropped your stolen exorcist mask, backing away from you. “You shouldn’t be down here…” She would stare, equally as horrified as Adam; Who she glanced over, making sure she hadn’t missed a memo of a meeting. Yet the way Adam slowly crept towards you, wincing in pain he tried to hide, made it apparent that she had not missed anything, “Babe, you should not BE down here.” Adam’s voice grew hostile, but you had a hint that it was more out of anger for himself; Adam always prided himself on keeping you safe with these exterminations, he also prided himself on knowing every Angel that worked on his crew… and you just happened to slip through without him noticing. He should have caught you! He should have known you would come and should have stopped you! He should have– he shouldn’t let you see him like this. Weak. “Adam,” You started, voice cracking as you stared at him, “Adam… You PROMISED you would come home and I came along just to make sure and THIS IS HOW I FIND YOU!? ADAM WE HAVE A KID!” You shouted, standing your ground as Adam paused in his tracks, staring directly at you with this wide-eyed look.

And you hope it was realization that dawned on his stupid face and nothing else. Because you sat here choking on your own tears, having stabbed the Devil himself just to try and save your own husband when he promised he wouldn’t get hurt. When he promised you he would make it back home to have dinner with your son. When he promised- “YOU PROMISED ADAM!...” “I FUCKING KNOW!” Was his only response for a second, his eyes drawing down to the ground as though he was searching for some sort of answer. You could tell he was keeping in the tears that threatened to spill, “I fucking know… I…” And yet his words fell short, hanging in the air with no explanation of the state you just found him in. With no sort of explanation of what he was possibly doing down here, getting beaten up by Lucifer himself! When he said this would be like any other normal extermination, and in and out, a quick cleaning of the damned souls. You loathed Adam for downplaying his mission, you were infuriated he would lie to you just so you wouldn’t worry, and yet all at the same time you were relieved he wasn’t lying dead in that crater. That you didn’t have to pick up his body to bring back and have to explain to your son why his father wasn’t coming home. So, no matter how much your blood was boiling, you still found yourself walking over to Adam and pausing in front of him, watching as his eyes flickered from the ground and up to you, not being able to give you an excuse. But you didn’t want an excuse, you just wanted an apology and to get your idiotic husband to a hospital before he might actually pass out from blood loss.

So, you cupped his cheeks and brought him a little closer, “I’m… mad at you, but we’re going to talk about this later. Maybe when you’re not bleeding out all over the floor okay? Let’s just… get home.” You would mutter, hoping Adam would just agree and not argue, saying his job wasn’t done and he still needed to kill some bitch. “Babe, these bitches fucking just disrespected!-” Adam would start, yet quickly hushed as you grabbed one of his wrists and began to drag him away, “Ow! Ow, Bitch! I’m injured, be more fucking gentle would you-” “It wasn’t a request Adam we’re fucking going home before you die on me!” You shouted back at him, causing Lute to pause and glance over at the others; Slightly unsure what to say as she noticed them watching you dragging off Adam like he wasn’t just killing and slaughtering them. She would take a side step before spreading her wings and quickly following Adam and you, calling for all the exorcists to fall back. Though there was a growl that escaped her lips, and she knew that this battle wasn’t over. But she also knew the battle to get Adam to the hospital had just begun, because even while literally bleeding out he wouldn’t admit he was about to pass out and die from blood loss. His ego was too inflated for that shit; But she trusted you to get him the help he needed, even if you had to force him into that hospital room.

Home | Masterlist

ᯓ★ All posts/fanfictions posted under this blog is owned by @razzle-n-dazzle. Please do not steal, copy, or plagiarize the works! Likes, reblogs, and comments are always appreciated.

#hazbin hotel x reader #adam x reader #hazbin adam x reader #hazbin hotel #hazbin adam #hazbin hotel adam x reader #hazbin hotel adam #adam hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel lute #hazbin hotel season 1 #lute hazbin hotel #adam x you #hazbin x reader #drabble #light angst #x reader #alex brightman x reader #reader insert #gender neutral reader #gn reader

[pathologicalreid]

the space between us | S.R.

previously

The adjustment between never being home and always being home seems to take a toll on you.

who? spencer reid x fem!retired!reader category: flangst content warnings: the events of stuck between a rock and a hard place apply, briefly mentions a baby, reader trying to cope with a 180-turn in life, anxiety word count: 2.16k a/n: i meant for this to be fluff and it's definitely a tad angsty. good thing i'm obsessed with spencer and retired!reader. they'll be back.

Slowly but surely, you convinced yourself that the dark green walls of the apartment were closing in on you. Sitting up in bed, you looked at the time on your phone before quickly scrolling through the notifications, half expecting a text from Andi Swann asking you to come in.

She wouldn’t do that though, because she’s not your Unit Chief anymore, and you no longer work for the FBI.

The only text message you saw that piqued your interest was from your husband, letting you know that he was flying home.

Tossing your blanket off of your legs, you swung your legs over the edge of the bed and stood up. Hissing at the feeling of the cold hardwood floors beneath your bare feet, you wrapped your arms around yourself and made way for the kitchen. Creeping slowly on your way, you made sure to keep your footsteps light.

Gingerly, you flipped the light on, wincing as the fluorescence flooded your vision. As your eyes adjusted, you reached up to the cabinet, grabbed a cup, and set it on the counter.

“You’re sneaking around again,” a voice said from behind you.

Jumping, you put a hand over your chest and spun around, “You scared the shit out of me.” You frowned at Spencer, “I thought you were flying home. I just got your text.”

He nodded, walking into the warm light of the kitchen, “I texted you four hours ago that I was flying home from Connecticut.” His hair was messy, and he had already taken his contacts out, telling you that he had been in the bathroom – he had passed by you while you were sleeping.

Your lips tightened to form a small “o”. Leaning back against the counter, you crossed your arms in front of your chest, “How was Hartford?”

Intently, you watched Spencer as he pushed his glasses up on his nose. “It was fine, the UnSub’s in custody, we’ll build the rest of the case from Quantico.” His tone was strictly no-nonsense when he repeated himself, “You’re sneaking around again.”

Letting your arms fall to your sides, you shrugged helplessly. “I don’t do it consciously, you know?” You told him, reaching behind your back to hoist yourself up so you’re sat on the kitchen counter, legs dangling in the air.

“I know,” he said gently, stepping forward so that he was standing directly in front of you. You parted your knees so that he could stand flush with the counter, allowing for minimal space between the two of you. “The fact that you’re doing it subconsciously makes me wonder if there’s a part of you that feels like you need to be quiet in the apartment,” he murmured, reaching up and tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

You pursed your lips for a moment, thinking about an answer before you responded, “It’s late, I don’t want to bother anyone by walking too loudly.”

Based on the look in his eyes, you can tell that he doesn’t believe you, “It’s an old building, the floors are thick and well insulated. Also, the apartment below us is vacant, and you know that.” His words are borderline accusatory, and rightfully so. “Do you feel safe here?”

Surprised, your eyes flittered up to meet his, “Yes,” you answered almost instantaneously.

“Do you not feel at home here?” He asked, further pressing his agenda.

When you and Spencer decided to move in together, you were living in a studio apartment, so his place just felt like the obvious choice. At the time, you weren’t home long enough to make it home, and now it seemed like you were past the point of no return. “Can we go to bed?” You asked softly.

Spencer tenderly placed his hands on either side of your waist, “You’re deflecting. What’s so wrong that you don’t feel like you can talk to me, baby?” You should’ve known better than to answer a question with a question.

Averting your eyes, you looked up at the ceiling in hopes that the action would quell the tears that were filling your waterline. “I just feel so out of place,” you answered, emotion closing your throat.

“In the apartment?” He whispered softly.

Taking a deep, shuddering breath, you shook your head. Giving up on your dreams of stopping your tears, you bowed your head and let them fall. “In my life,” you clarified. “I thought it would be easy to just go from being an undercover agent to being at home. Maybe that was a lost cause, but I didn’t think it’d be so hard.”

Never wavering, Spencer stayed resilient with you as the dam broke, letting you lean your head on his shoulder and rubbing soothing circles on your back as you cried. “You’re going through one hell of an adjustment period right now.”

Nodding tearfully, you pressed the heels of your hands into your eyes, “I feel like I haven’t been a real person in almost ten years. I don’t know who I am without that fucking job and it’s mauling me.” Briefly, Spencer stepped away from you, filling the cup that you had gotten out with water and handing it to you. “God, I’m a disaster. I’m so sorry,” you muttered, looking down at the glass of water you’d clasped in both hands.

“You are not a disaster,” he insisted. “You’re going through an unfathomable experience and you’re not giving yourself enough leeway,” he stressed, hooking a finger beneath your chin, and lifting your head.

Everything about him seemed soft, and you felt like pieces of broken glass – flying around and damaging everything in sight. You lifted the glass in your shaky hands, bringing the lip of the cup to your own and downing half of its contents.

Spencer studied your facial expression before he spoke again, “I know exactly who you are. You are the single most selfless person I have ever met,” he told you earnestly. “You spent nine years of your life rescuing tens of thousands of people, giving up holidays and birthdays and time with loved ones for the benefit of total strangers.”

Sniffling, you shook your head, “Spence,”

“No, this is true, and I need you to listen to me,” he urged. “One time, you had gotten back from five weeks undercover and, before catching up on sleep, you went to Henry’s birthday party. Solely because you had missed it the year before.” Hesitating for a moment, he resumed singing your praises, “You’re brilliant and funny and beautiful, but I need you to stop being so magnanimous.”

You pulled back, furrowing your brows in innate confusion, “What?”

He nodded, affirming his point. “I need you to be selfish. Operate with your self-interest in mind. Use that to discover yourself. If you keep throwing pieces of yourself away in order to make the people around you happy, then you’ll never really identify your adult self.”

“I don’t know where to start,” you confessed. You were always working; the FBI was your life. “Everyone is telling me to do different things,” you murmured. Spencer wanted you to be selfish, your mother wanted you to have a baby, and every single one of your friends had offered their stress relief methods – most of them unsolicited.

The understanding in his expression made your chest ache, “I think you should talk to someone. Not me, not Garcia, definitely not your mom, but a professional. You should talk your experiences out with someone who can help you work through it, not just like you do with me. I know you hold back details when it’s with me.”

Uncertain, you tried to wrap your arms around yourself again, but Spencer didn’t let you close yourself off. “Okay,” you ventured, “I’ll look into it.”

Putting his hands up, he smiled softly at you, “That’s all I ask.” He stepped back, allowing you to get off of the counter and stand. Spencer gently ushered you into the living room, sitting down next to you on the couch.

Instinctively, you leaned into his warmth as he draped an arm over your shoulders. “I need a hobby. Something to do other than sit at home all day,” you thought aloud.

“We can look for ideas in the morning,” Spencer offered. “Maybe we can go to the store this weekend for supplies.”

Turning your head to face him, you pressed your lips into a thin white line, “Hey, Spence?”

He hummed, “Yes, love?”

“We could get a house,” you proposed. “It could be a good new start for the both of us, and we have the money,” the more you spoke about it, the more you liked the idea. A new start for the new you. Technically, the two of you were still newlyweds, it felt like something you were supposed to do. “We wouldn’t have to keep your books on the floor anymore,” you murmured, absentmindedly drawing shapes on his t-shirt with your index finger.

Your eyes flickered up to see him smiling. “We absolutely can get a house, and you won’t have to tip-toe,” he said pointedly, “it’ll be our space.”

Mirroring his smile, you adjusted slightly on the couch, “Our house.”

As you tucked your feet underneath yourself, you felt his eyes on you, “Are you sleeping alright?”

Groaning, you wiped a hand down your face, “You worry too much. We were doing so well.”

“Did you know that your coping mechanism is avoidance?” He remarked, a hint of teasing in his voice.

You rolled your eyes, “I sleep fine,” you answered simply. It was true, once you were asleep, you slept perfectly fine until the morning. It was falling asleep that you had a hard time with, lying awake and wondering if when you finally fell asleep you would be greeted by nightmares. Nightmares that you had been waiting weeks for but had yet to come. “Let’s uh… let’s call it a problem for the professional,” you faltered.

He nodded understandingly, “You just let me know if there’s anything you need, okay? Anything at all.”

Allowing your body to meld into his, you hummed, “How are you doing with all of this?”

“I sometimes wake up in the middle of the night, just to make sure you’re still breathing,” he confessed. Adjusting his glasses, he pulled you a little closer to him. “I’ve seen you more in the past six weeks than I had the previous year, and, selfishly, I’m glad that we get more time together.”

With one hand, you reached up and cupped his cheek with your palm, “I am too, love. It’s new, even though we’ve been together for years, I think we’re lucky to have something that feels new.”

He turned his head to press a kiss to the center of your palm before taking your hand in his, “I think I’m lucky to have you.”

“Sweet talker,” you teased lightly.

You nudged him gently when he went quiet. “I love having you be at home when I get home,” he whispered as if it was a secret. “I suppose I never really thought much of it because it always seemed like an unattainable fantasy.”

But now you were home when he came home. He took time off to spend with you right after you had gotten out of the hospital, but for the past six weeks, every time he walked in the door, you were around. It was almost like the two of you had entered your honeymoon phase. Although, you supposed you had, “Did anyone ask you about the party?”

Spencer chuckled, “Of course they did.”

Part of you supposed it was your penance for getting married in secret – mostly secret, everyone always seemed to forget that Rossi was there – that the BAU was insistent on giving the two of you a wedding. “I never knew profilers had such great memories,” you pondered. “No one else asks me about it.”

“They just want to make sure you’re alright before turning it into a celebration,” he explained. “For the BAU, taking a step back is a big deal,” he leaned his head to the side so that his chin was resting on the top of your head, “you know that, though.”

Nodding softly, you shut your eyes, “I don’t suppose they’d be willing to do a combo housewarming and wedding celebration.”

“Not a chance,” Spencer answered almost a bit too quickly.

You sighed in mock defeat, “We’ll just have to have a party a weekend until Garcia runs out of ideas.”

Slowly, you felt yourself falling asleep again, “Do you want to go to bed?” Spencer murmured.

There was just a moment before you hummed, “In a minute.” You pulled on the sleeves of your sweatshirt so they would cover your hands, “Hey, Spence?”

“Hm?” He said, drowsiness growing in his voice.

You tipped your head back and looked up at him, “I love being home when you get home, too.”

please remember to like, comment, and/or reblog if you enjoyed!

#criminal minds #spencer reid #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid fanfic #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #written by margot #spencer reid angst #spencer reid fluff #criminal minds angst #criminal minds fluff #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds fic #dr spencer reid #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds hurt/comfort #spencer reid hurt/comfort #spencer x retired!reader