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50cal-fullauto-astarion · 9 months

Text

to leave the blood stay in the veins

monster!könig x f!rcursed!reader (no use of 'y/n') 6.6k words NSFW!

DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT‼️CW: extremely NSFW, descriptions of gore, implied consumption of human flesh by a non-human monster, mention of necrotic curse, monsterfucking, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, knotting (no omegaverse), outdoor sex, ambiguous ending, pre-established relationship, 0% proofread, könig and reader are both fucking unhinged.

Day 01 of the Haunted Hoedown Challenge by @/inklore

taboo au (monsterfucking) + "i'll be your dirty little secret, if that's what you're into." + oh no i'm dating the town serial killer

There is a beast in the woods, and it leaves so little meat on the bone that not even carrion birds find value in the corpses it leaves behind.

It’s a strange town in the foothills of the Austrian Alps, full of little sicknesses hiding in the corners, and you learned them well when you moved here. No one goes past the treeline at night. Hardly anyone is outside of home if they can help it. Tourists are the beast’s fodder.

Your boyfriend thinks it’s funny.

König, under his ever-present hood–a not altogether uncommon sight in your town, people come here when they have something to hide, something they are uncomfortable with or find hideous in themselves, and he has given an unimaginable amount for you out of love–laughs, sharp in the tooth.

“Anyone dumb enough to head into the trees is dumb enough to die,” he teases, but there is an arrogance and a contempt swimming deep in his bloodshot blue eyes.

“That’s coldblooded, but not wrong,” you tell him, from behind your own mask. Plain thing, blank in expression, modeled from the one from Eyes Without A Face. It covers the ravages of a curse, numb necrosis slowly spreading up your face through the years. “I still want you to get me a gun.”

“What’s a gun going to do against a thing like that?” he asks, tilting his head, the hood bagging off the curled horns that start at his temples and sweep back over his ears. “Something like that, you need silver. I’ll get you a knife. Big one. Nice and fucking sharp, Schatzi.”

The knife isn’t a comfort when the beast begins to hunt in town. It stalks from house to house, preying on people in their beds, their living rooms, their bathtubs–there is no rhyme or reason, not a whit of discernable pattern.

Only teeth-gouged bones and viscera ground into wall, tile, and carpet alike. Your neighbor falls victim, and you watch the police from your window, flinching when a veteran officer stumbles out into the fall-frosted grass to vomit, sobbing and pulling his hair.

“It got Emil,” you say, still watching through your sheer curtains.

König nearly cackles from your bed, lounging as he visits. “Good. Emil was a piece of shit. Depperte Fut.”

You glance at him from the corner of your eye, over your shoulder, before returning back to the circus in the yard next door. “‘Stupid cunt’ is a pretty strong insult. He was an asshole, but I don’t think he deserved to die like that,” you mumble.

“You don’t know all that much about your neighbors, Schatzi.”

You begin to rock side-to-side on your hips, the enormous silver blade König gifted you turning over and over in your hands, the point digging lightly into your palm.

It’s insane, the way you begin to tell yourself that you’ve seen König’s face nearly everyday for the last two years—you can see it right now. He lies on your bed, pointed teeth gleaming under his split philtrum in the soft yellow light of the bedside lamp and the red-blue flash of the cruisers. You know there is a man under the hood, however odd and satyr-seeming.

And yet. And yet.

The blade digs a little too deep, drawing a curse-blackened bead of blood. König’s eyes burn into the back of your neck, and you can only guess his horizontal pupils dilate into black holes.

Just quit your job. I’ll take care of you.

It’s a simple enough promise, and one you know König will keep, but not one you’re willing to make. You have few shreds of independence, hard-bought through years of fighting back against misfortunes and setbacks, and, no matter the depths with which you love him, you’re not willing to trade your shit wage on faith for love of a man. It doesn’t matter how helplessly besotted he is.

It’s this molar-cracking grit that delivers you right to the beast. Because you were forced to pick up an extra half shift at the hotel to fold towels behind the front desk, because you needed the money, because you wanted to pay back your beautiful, bloodthirsty boyfriend for the ridiculous blade he begat you.

The god forsaken thing lumbers down a deserted street, blocks from your little rental, and something fucking horrendous seizes you. It’s enormous, walking on cloven hooves and back-bent legs. Its arms are too fucking long, clawed, jagged. And worst is the skull, bleached white and glowing like a beacon in the dark, an enormous rack of brutally sharp horns dripping trinkets of bone and gold that glints in the street lamp it approaches.

A horrible fact hits you. It’s not lumbering, it’s wandering. Putting a massive, craggy hand on fences and peering into houses, taking its time, evaluating. You swear you can almost hear it humming.

You don’t know when your hand found the handle of the silver blade strapped to your belt under your coat, but the leather on the grip bites your palm with the force of your grip, a nauseous, cold sweat terror tearing apart your ability to think.

It’s a primal fear, one that makes you want to protect your soft, vulnerable neck, even if the blood that warms it runs venomous.

It’s a bad choice, but there are no good ones. When the beast lifts its head and scents the air, skull snapping your direction and shaking its grisly trophies, you run. You snap the huge blade off your hip and drop into a dead sprint, cutting between yards, trying to escape the horrendous bellow that reverberates through the bony chambers of the monster’s skull.

Choosing to run instead of freezing maybe bought you a few extra minutes before death decided it was time to seize your pulse in reclamation, and it hurts. The physical exertion it takes to bomb through the last stretches of suburbia before the forest closes in feels like you are breaking every bit of your body by forced choice, listening to that awful fucking thing chase after you.

Your blade makes a slicing sound cutting through the air at your side, the monster’s hooves pound the dirt as it digs in and chases after you, but, good god, it doesn’t sound like it’s even trying.

You don’t dare look back, pushing your body past agony, your lungs shredding in your chest. You’ve never moved this fast, you’ve never run this hard for this long. Your body is TV static—hissing, popping, distant—and, insanely, the urge to cry drills into your eye sockets.

You’re going to die. You’re going to die. You’re going to fucking die, stupidly and dumbly and pointlessly, because you wanted to pay your boyfriend a stupid sum of fucking money, for a stupid fucking knife that he bought you on a stupid fucking joke.

Two meters from the second worst decision of your life, the monster snaps out, rough hand between your shoulder blades, crashing you into the goddamned dirt. Your eyebrow splits on a tree root, your eyes roll in the back of your head, your hand stays manically tight on the blade, slicing your other arm.

“Schaaaatzi,” the miserable fucking thing hisses, pressing that same hand between your shoulder blades, pinning you into the freezing dirt.

Oh, god, no, it has König’s voice. It’s—it’s not him, but it has his voice, thin and washed out as low-hung fog, but you would know that voice. In hell, in high water, in the dirt with a massive, bark-rough hand grinding your skin raw through your coat—you - know - his - voice.

Furiously, you slash the blade over your head, behind your back, screaming and digging your feet in the dirt. For a brief second, as you hack at the wood of the monster’s hand and wrist, you’re even able to push yourself off the ground by mere inches. The beast growls and shoves you back down twice as hard, knocking the wind out of you, spasming your hand open. The knife drops, and you begin to blindly try digging and dragging yourself away.

“Stop…hurting…me,” the beast lows, still in your boyfriend’s voice, and you imagine a bathtub full of gnawed bones, a living room with scattered body parts, your kitchen smeared with blood like cave wall art, and you start to scream as loud as your lungs will allow, your mask filling with dirt in your horrendous and futile bid to escape. Bloody murder bellows, filled with rage, wanting to kill and consume and conflagrate.

If König is dead, you will take your pound of flesh. You will either die fighting, or win, and you will hack apart this freak-fuck’s corpse to burn in your woodstove to warm your home. You’ll mount its fucking skull on your front door, so anything else in these woods will know you won’t hesitate to make trophies of them either.

Bone, warm to the touch, presses against the back of your head. When it breathes, the air is as hot as exhaust, almost scalding your back. “Schatzi,” it bids you slowly once again.

“I’LL KILL YOU!” it rips your throat raw to shriek it, reaching back and almost dislocating your arms to rip at anything you can. Your hands fall on the dressings attached to its horns, you tear off a vertebra, and a gold wedding band, and a bracelet of rave kandi in plastic beads. “IF YOU HURT HIM, I’LL YOU FUCKING KILL YOU!”

The head presses harder, driving your face into the dirt. There is something desperate in the pressure. It spits all at once, grating and wide in a voice you know better than your own, “You pissed off a fucking witch, because you ran out of riddles to tell her, when she was ransoming you to your arshloch grandmother. She never paid. That’s why you were cursed—no one gave a fuck. But I gave her my face for you, to stop it halfway, better than fucking nothing.”

Your rage freezes immediately, your chest heaving under the weight it presses down on you.

No one knows that. Only König. He’s the only person who would know about his lonely and quiet climb up to the Scottish highlands. Besides you, and the witch, König is the only one who would know why his human face was distorted, malformed, made animalistic.

“Lee?” you pant, unleashing part of his first name, the only one he ever tolerates. And, fuck, instantly the pressure pulls away, the skull rubbing against your back to soothe it.

“It’s me, Schatzi,” the slow voice promises, nuzzling you. There’s rustling above you that you don’t dare turn to see. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

A tinkling piece of jewelry lowers in front of your eyes, and you can see that it dangles from an enormous, ligneous finger. You’re being shown a sterling silver charm bracelet. You’re being shown your bracelet, the one you thought you had lost months ago.

Your hand shoots out, wrapping around the finger, the peeling bark shearing off under your grip. You find instantly that you can pull yourself up on your hip, sitting, caged and protected under the beast’s massive body—under König’s massive body.

He shifts back onto his digitagrade haunches, holding himself over you, still offering your bracelet. He shudders at your touch on his hand, and you imagine that he may’ve never been handled with kindness in this shape. Which makes a certain amount of sense. Because he fucking kills and eats people.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” you snap, staring dead into the hollow sockets of his eyes. He shifts uncomfortably, turning his head. “Why—you have me so fucked up—what have you been thinking—?”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, do you have to—”

“Yes, I have to, fucker.” It’s impossible to wrap your head around the magnitude of what a simple secret and a silver bracelet has done to your understanding of the world. A complete unraveling—upheaval, utterly.

You take the bracelet from his finger, on which it fits like a ring, and push it into your wrist, sitting up on your knees and grabbing him by the underside of his jaw. Though it puts you in his blind spot, staring dead center at the sinus dimples between his eyes, it feels like you have a mote of power over him.

(If he were asked, he would say the power you hold over him could corrupt, absolutely. He would badly like you to ask someday.)

“Why are you—what are you? Have you always been like this? Or was this new, with the fucking witch? Are—Jesus Christ—why are—the monster isn’t supposed to come into town, why are you in TOWN?” you run off at the mouth, words stalling and crashing and fusing together as your thoughts overwhelm just how quickly you can speak.

And up from that impossibly deep throat–simultaneously from the center of your brain, and from all around you all at once–crawls König’s pitchy hyena-laugh, edged, always, with cruelty. He butts the jagged end of his nasal cavities into your stomach, catching on the threads of your sweater.

“Leshy, Schatzi, say it for me.”

Your hands pull his jaw closer, digging the bone into your stomach, wondering if he can feel the pressure of your deep breathing. Oh, fuck, you could crack. This is your König. You start to wonder how many of his perverse buttons you can hit, the part of you that felt shame for your attraction to what the world discarded as ‘ugly’ long ago removed from your emotional bank.

“Leshy,” you say, really leaning into the word, saying it deep in your chest. One of your hands travels the long length to the hinge of his jaw, gripping tight, directing his head to turn so you can meet one of his empty eyes. “Answer my fucking questions.”

The laugh doesn’t come this time. In its place is a near-violent whole-body shudder that wracks through you.

“Old! Alwaaays been this way,” and even in the strange disconnect of his voice from his physical form, you can tell his arousal is eating away at him in big bites–clipping his speech, broiling his brain with body heat, “can’t remember ever being young, haa-haa. And why do you think I’m hunting in town?”

Another trap, a stupid pop quiz, wanting to test your knowledge of him, or a gotcha! to check your observations and what you had missed.

Your hands get tighter, and you pull his jaw open, marveling at the sharp grooves ground into his teeth, like nightmarish, ivory rook pieces, tall and straight in the dry sockets. His chest begins to heave, his breath fogging into steaming clouds over your hands, and, remarkably, it smells like nothing at all apart from pin needles and snow.

You’d thought you’d smell decaying flesh or rotten blood. The only blood you can smell comes from your own busted brow and sliced arm, crusting black on your skin and in the fabric of your sweater as it coagulates.

“If I was working on a hunter’s instincts, I would say that Schladming has become too good at keeping people out of the forests. Even during daylight hours. It cuts down on prey,” you say, ice cold and clean as a slit throat. Your eyes flick back up to the socket, surrounded by the feeling that those glass-blue eyes of his humanoid form are drilling into you. He’s waiting for you to hit the hook. “But I’m working on your logic.”

“Oh, yeeaah,” he drawls, his hips shifting, and you feel as if he would bite his lips in anticipation now, if he could.

“Oh, yeeaah,” you echo him, “the logic of a fucking crazy asshole.” He feels like a huge grin, hands on his muscular, bunched, and flexing thighs. That detail is not lost on you. “You’re hunting in town because you’re pissed off. You reached a limit, and you got tired of sitting on your fucking reaction.”

You swear to god he moans a little. Just softly. It could be a breath, but you know him too well to dismiss it out of hand.

“That’s good, Schatzi. I like that. I like that you figured that out,” he says, definitely panting in rhythm now, his fogging breath giving away the rhythm secondary. “People are looking at you too much. I don’t fucking like it when they look at you too much.”

That’s a sudden thought that had not occurred to you, and you lash yourself silently because it hadn’t. König has always been possessive of you. Jealous. Protective. And he held grudges in ways that could spark blood feuds and successive generations of death.

Like a curse.

It’s a testament to how fucking cracked and perfectly matched the two of you are that you start laughing, stroking his orbital bones in big, pleased pats, kissing the bridge of his nose.

“Schatzi, please,” he groans, pressing into you insistently. “Promise you won’t tell. Promise me.”

“Why the fuck would I tell?” you laugh, losing track of your faculties, your very sense. What does it matter? What does it all even mean? You’ve found a man that loves you so deeply and truly and twistedly that he slaughters those who desire or deign you. You’ve found, and fallen in love with a man that would sell his face to save as much of yours as he could. “Who the fuck would I tell?”

The slope of his shoulders relaxes, and he moves closer to you, once again shielding you with the massive bulk of his body, warming you in the cold air. Tucked under his chin, you can study the soft suede-like material of his body, how the bark covering his arms gives way to a ruff of dense, double-layered fur around his shoulders and his long, muscular neck.

The rest of the muscle on him is horrendously hard, flexed like steel cabling under a layer of fat. There is something about this body that reminds you of the shape of the human one so well–long legs, a nipped waist, and flat hips built to strut and rock, all of it buttressing a broad set of shoulders.

You press your face into the ruff, pushing your fingers into it. Dear god, your hand goes deeper and deeper, and it just never seems to stop. His scent is–it’s almost familiar. He’s in there, somewhere–his musk, the metallic tang of blood seemingly sunken into his skin–but there’s so much more to it. Green, and earthy, almost like soil and moss.

A sound comes from his body, like a house settling. A deep, broad creak. The trophies on his horns rattle together, clinking like dull wind chimes. “More,” he says simply, leaving you to figure it out. Simple enough.

Your hand drops from the ruff, tracing over his convex chest, down to his stomach. Another shudder, and he pulls those big arms around your entire body, a fuller, more protective hug than you’ve ever felt.

“Schatzi–would you let me…” he breathes, a heaving sigh.

Another laugh cracks out of you, hysterical, constricted by your mask. Why not? Why shouldn’t you? You’ve always been a woman that loves monsters. You, yourself, are one. You can’t find a reason to halt your hands, nor your body, nor his desire.

In an odd show of tip-to-tail, you push the mask off your face, and kick off your boots, going for your zipper. “Yeah. Yeah, honey, come on. Show me,” you urge him, pawing at his massive waist as you struggle out of your jeans.

He groans and this obscene trill escapes his body–a low, rattling moan that travels miles through every cell of your body, his legs spreading wider. You laugh in delight and mania, watching rapt as his cock slides out of a sheath you hadn’t even caught sight of, his monstrous body a foreign land you hadn’t traveled yet, but, fuck, do you want to learn the lands well enough to call them home.

It’s heavy in your hands, a little slick, and, childishly, you almost giggle (holy shit, that is a sound that has never left your mouth in your living memory, and yet, here you are). It’s hot, hotter than you expected, and a vulnerable shade of pale, like a plant slip. Oh, and it’s elegant, almost spiraling. He huffs as you stroke the length of it, pushing your fingertips into his sheath at the base.

“I don’t think this is gonna fit,” you warn him, and it somehow feels as if you’re challenging yourself with the statement.

He takes it as a challenge for himself, though, and an aspiration to hold for you, “You are going to take all of it. I’m going to make sure.”

His massive hand comes to the back of your waist, finding your fulcrum without needing to search, pulling you off your knees to hold to beneath him. “You naked yet, or still fucking around?” he asks, breathing heavily, and you shove your jeans off the rest of the way.

“You’re being a little bitch,” you snipe, a dumb swipe at reclaiming dignity after you realize you’re so wet that it slicks your thighs, having darkened the crotch of your freshly abandoned jeans pathetically.

He throws another coarse laugh, haa-haa, shifting his massive body long, pulling you into place.

It’s on you, then, to figure out the logistics. Somehow, it just works, even through layers of physical translation. Under your hands, he reads König, loud and clear.

There’s a brief, flighty moment of terror as you rub the head of his cock between the lips of your cunt, rolling your hips to stimulate your clit against it. It is just fucking enormous, almost half again the size of his human cock. But then you grit your teeth, tipping your weight back so your shoulders rest against the dirt, bleak and unyielding ruthlessness seizing your mind.

You do not back down, you have never done it once in your life, and tonight is no different.

His head lifts, bottom jaw dropping, and he bays as you push yourself down on his length. The sound crashes into you, rocking your entire body, and the stretch burns, but you buckle down. What are the people in the houses just at the edge of suburbia thinking? Has the fucking abberation that has been slowly killing its way through their number taken to a different form of punishment? Has someone unlucky fallen to its new tastes?

It cuts your mouth into a horrid grin. If they only knew that you were no victim at all, if only they had an inkling of the fact that you are a victor. That you are the hand holding this nightmare’s collar, and he attacks for the sake of you.

Inch by inch, a slow journey, he fills you, pressing completely against your walls, body shaking with the effort it takes not to thrust fully into you. Oh, what destruction that would result in, what a wreckage that would make of your body, what lengths he would go to not ruin you in such a fashion.

“Fuck–fuck–Liebes,” he mutters, just for you, the moment he is as deep in you as he can go, most of his length still outside of what your body can handle, pleading, “I can’t–I. I have to move. Please, meine Liebes.”

“Go. Go-go-go,” you answer back, almost frantic, too full and occupied, needing motion or you might split apart into atoms. The way he answers is instant, undeniable, desperate, rocking into you as if testing waters, going faster as if he finds them warm and welcoming.

You lose yourselves to it, and your eyes threaten to roll back into your head, gripping onto the elbow of the arm suspending you, blood rushing to your head in an ache from the way you hang off him, forcing you lightheaded. Sap-like blood from where you’d hacked at him in rage drips down your arm, your waist, clinging to your skin in a way that feels permanent.

He tenses all around you, panting, clouds of steam fogging the air over your head from his pants. Words escape him, leaving nothing but animalistic grunts, the grinding of his dry, exposed teeth as your desperate pussy sucks him deeper and tighter.

You’d taught him as a human to find your g-spot, to destroy your brain with a steady climb, and he doesn’t even need to search now, every movement pressing every inch of his cock into it, and unrelenting onslaught that makes you shake and nearly drool, being fucked like a sacrifice.

König raps his other fist above your head and pulls out without warning, shaking his head and breathing roughly.

You imagine brutally grabbing him by the scruff and biting his ear–what kind of punishment would that even be, no worse than a bug bite to him, more likely than anything else–for the loss of his cock. Mostly just an impulsive fantasy, too barbaric and stupid to actually act upon, but you were thoroughly enjoying yourself, and it feels like hell to be split open against him with nothing inside you.

Breathless–and naked, sweating, and trembling in the woods–you start to sit up on your elbows, cunt throbbing. "What is it? Are you okay?" you ask, your love for him–your fear for him–overwhelming even your damnation-worthy starvation.

König, massive and so dark he's almost indistinguishable from the night apart from his skull, shakes his head again and puts up a clawed hand. Fine, the gesture says, and you’re realizing he’s beyond words now, but trying his best to communicate. Then he curls it into a loose fist and pantomimes masturbating and finishing.

"Christ!" But you’re laughing, tugging at a tuft of fur on his chest, spun out in your giddiness. It’s still him, you’ve already known, but to see it. To find him through this–this utterly new reality. "They teach you that signal in the forces?"

In his hollow sockets, twisting his body to watch you closely, he looks pleased with himself, ducking forward, bracing on his free hand to one side of your head as he nuzzles into your neck and breathes deeply.

He huffs, rough fingers running over your back, claws trailing the parts of your spine he can reach as he holds you, before he taps the side of your thigh with his other hand. At your eye level, he turns his finger in a slow loop. Roll over, maybe? It's worth a shot.

"Okay. Alright," you sigh, relieved. When you try to roll in his palm, he shakes his head and sets you down, pressing down against your body, pushing his arm under your ribs. With his other hand, he gestures a flat line on the ground. You ask, "On my stomach?"

Two knocks against the ground next to your head. Yes.

You stretch out flat over the frost-crisp grass, too hot to even register the chill against your bare skin, and König lowers with you, sliding the arm under you down to your diaphragm. With his knuckles, he taps your outer-thighs until they're drawn back together, and your breathing hitches when you understand what he intends.

With his legs on the outside of yours, he uses his free hand to run his cock up the length of your seam to tease your pussy, but he takes his sweet time with it. Impatient, you slide onto your knees with near-perfect timing, driving your entrance against his head, snarling with indignation when he bows away. "Fucker!"

He rumbles something almost humanoid, between a laugh and a gruff, trilling ‘rrrr’ you recognize as cousin to a sharp, challenging hum he makes when faced with an idiot comment in his human shape.

"Stop teasing me. I can't stand it," you try instead, turning to give him big eyes over your shoulder because you know that it works well on him.

He bends down and barely-barely nips the top of your ear, a startling move that leaves you perfectly inflamed all over again again. Greedy brat, it says to you, so pleased in the fact he is so desperately wanted.

The feeling of him inside you is extraordinary. He lubricates in this state, but you hardly need it with the nearly absurd way you’re wet, slick down your thighs. You wonder if your cunt is glimmering under the dim moon and streetlamps, because he'd said that to you once. Heilige sheiße, you have the prettiest pussy I’ve ever fucking seen, could just stare at how wet you get for me forever, he'd laughed during one delirious, marathon session of staying sunken between your legs.

He begins to rock his hips, growling quietly and pleased at the wet sounds of your of cunt squelching around him–another sound he enjoys, a marker of pride, how wet can I make my girl get–settling onto his forearm and pressing a little weight against your back.

He rests his head across your shoulders, burying his snout in your hair, breathing in hard-bought bursts of restraint.

"Yes, honey," you almost seethe, loosening your body, giving up a little of your own iron will to become just a little lost in the feeling of him. You relax your walls in a bid to take more of him, breathing tight, voice pitching up into a plea, "Yes, baby, that's perfect. That's so perfect, keep going. Just like that."

He rocks a little faster, thrusts a little deeper, breathes a little harder. The hand around your waist shifts up to your breast, but isn't dexterous enough to do more than give it an encompassing squeeze.

With your thighs pressed together, you feel as if your body can't stretch properly to take as much of him as you want (and you want all of him, every burning hot inch, fucking him so well that he cannot disappear into one of his miseries where he will not let you follow, because they all live in his head).

He ratchets back his speed, tries a new motion with his hips. He rolls instead of thrusting, a more fluid movement, brushing your insides in new ways that leave your swollen clit screaming for attention and your eyes watering. You breathe in ragged pants, fingers digging into the turf over your head, trying not to rip it with the force of your grip by the fistful.

You might cum. You might cum. You want to cum, and you might, and he's so much deeper now, panting hot as fire against your shoulders. You can feel the muscles in his abdomen clench and dance, his horns cutting the air in swipes of agitation above you, and he is so much this way. König: bigger, sometimes bloodier, but always so, so amplified.

"Honey, honey, honey," you whine in a chant under your breath, trying to ground yourself, trying to encourage him. You squeeze your thighs together for the extra stimulation, but you know you’re going to orgasm from him alone, no extra assistance needed. You’re just greedy, you just want it all, but you want him the worst.

When he pulls out this time, you snarl loud and gnash your teeth, digging your dirt-packed nails into his unyielding skin. You were full to the brim and on the wire-edge of climax, and he is so suddenly fucking gone it's almost as abrupt as violence.

"KÖNIG!" you shout, his callsign cutting from between your teeth like the desire to slit a throat, shattering the quiet around you both, reeling to find him with your burning eyes.

He collapses onto his side, cock jumping and leaking, and he whines deep in his throat, pulling at you with the flat of his hand. Your thigh, then his hip, your chest, then his–more hand signals, a story-told like a man with a sucking chest wound needing saving. He snakes his arm under you again, whining growing deeper, and you understand.

You roll, throwing your thigh over his hip, tucking tight against his chest. You give yourself one second of feeling cool air against your overheated pussy before you take him in hand and direct him home, and his deep, slick slide into you knocks the air out of your lungs like a punch to the solar plexus.

You’re only seconds away, and he can't be much farther, driving his head under yours to give you something to rest on that isn't the ground.

You don't utilize his offering, craning your neck as if you'll somehow get a glimpse of your connection from this angle–flat against him from belly to breast, resting your cheek and forehead against his heaving chest. His whine turns into a series of small, strangled howls and gasps as your voice crawls from whimpering to keening.

You’ve known you were going to cum, but you’re still somehow surprised with yourself at how quickly it's raced up, and how overwhelming it feels like it's going to be. You feel like you’re going insane.

His other arm wraps your ribs, too, squeezing you to him like you’re the only thing in the world worth keeping close, and damn him for it. You don't know why, but damn him.

"Cum, baby, cum," you instruct, gasping when you aren't clenching your teeth. You curl close to him, as close as your body will allow, spreading your legs as wide as you can. You drive back down into his thrusts, giving as much of yourself as you can, taking as much of him as you’re able.

You want it all–everything–every little bit of blood and bone that's built him into a home he offers only to you. "Cum in me. I'm ready, I want you to cum," you demand, finding it truer than true, finding yourself right on the razor-edge.

The command is all it takes. Three hard thrusts, and he's buried in you to the base, punching the wind out of your lungs, and filling you to the point of what feels like impossibility with his spend. It forces you to finish as well, lighting you up like a lightning storm, swallowing him deeper as you cum and cum like you'll never be able to stop, soaking the both of you.

You gasp a raw-throated howl, tears pricking the corners of your eyes, and you praise him as his cock kicks and kicks, emptying everything he's got to give into you.

A pressure builds inside you, beginning nearly unpleasant, until something just gives and his knot anchoring him to you feels right.

It feels special and dazzlingly intimate, and you’re boggled, again, with the knowledge you’re the only person in the world that he's ever shown himself to this way. It’s just a thing you know in your marrow, an immutable truth, like the sun setting in the west, or the cruelty of witches without their wants.

You wind down, sweating and panting and filthy in each other's arms, and you rock against him, holding him inside, clenching around him what little you can. You feel so wonderfully safe, so immaculately powerful, so stupidly, crazily, fantastically in love.

When your combined breathing evens, and the knot between you retreats, you groan when König shifts back into his human form, but only for the resituating you both have to endure.

The body against yours is familiar again, and you’re dreadfully sleepy, though you want to clean yourself and eat. You crave something raw, something bloody. You hunger the way an animal hungers after a hard fuck. His spend drips out of you now that his cock's returned to normal, and it forms a trail of cooling wet down the crease where your thigh meets your ass.

You feel lovely.

König laughs, rough and spent, tucking hair out of your face and kissing your closed eyelids. "Holy fucking shit, Schatzi," he marvels, looking at you like you are the only god that has ever mattered.

Your smile cuts sharp, and your fingers find his pulse point, tracing it thoughtfully. “You hungry? I bet you're fucking starved,” is all you say in return, eyes trailing the way his hand finds the charm bracelet newly returned to your wrist, touching it like a token.

It’s late and dark when you both manage to stumble your way back to your rental. He stays close, needy and soft, his hand on your hip, tugging you into his body when he can, careful of not knocking into the big, silver knife you’d placed back in the scabbard on your belt.

The hood is back on his head, rolled up to his nose, and his split mouth kisses against your neck and behind your ear, his eyes closed like he endures a waking dream. You, in your own filthied mask again, allow it, craning your neck to give him more room, anchoring him with an arm around his waist in return.

It is late now, and the neighborhood is silent. Again, you wonder what the quiet lives inside must be thinking–whether they think the crimes have increased into a new field of brutality, if they are fearing and wondering what body parts they will find at the treeline come dawn.

You know they will not leave the safety of their homes to investigate. They would be stupid to do something like that.

“That shower is going to feel so goddamned good,” you mutter, unlocking your door, and he nods against your skin.

“Oh, yeeaah,” he says, and the familiarity of the phrase makes you hum a laugh, shutting your eyes as you push through the threshold. "Get that blood off your skin before it stains. Your poor face, your poor arm. Poor Schatzi."

He splits off from you with a facsimile of a kiss–your masks pressing together at the mouth–and he pinches your ass before he takes off to the kitchen, his stomach growling, not even bothering to take off his boots.

You, however, kick off your shoes, and pull together clean clothes, heading toward the bathroom in the hall, the one with the big shower, in case he decides to join you.

Sleepy and content, you listen to his boots move heavily over the kitchen tile, the sound of the fridge door hissing snickt as he pulls it open, and shoves things around in his search for food. You nearly sway up to the closed door–why is it closed, you barely manage to wonder–your eyelids lead-weighted.

It takes only one thing to make them snap open wide, your back going ramrod straight. A dark smear, curling around the knob, around the edge of the door where it seams to the jamb.

Cold grips your lungs, sending your heart galloping painfully in the cage of your ribs, wondering if it really is copper you smell, or if it is a trick of your mind. The hall is too dark to tell if the swipe on the white door is red or black–if it is blood, if it is König’s or yours.

There is a presence at your back, and enormous hands on the door on either side of your head, so fast you cannot tell if you were even able to blink before you saw his wide, scarred, and knuckle-broken limbs spreading wide across the wood.

Your hand finds the grip of the knife, looking at the brutal gouges you had hacked into his forearm earlier in the night, and you are thinking faster and harder than you ever have in your life, realizing in a terrible microsecond that you will have to make a decision–that you will have to choose what reality you are willing to live with, or that you are simply mistaken.

Either way, you are moments from learning.

“Something wrong, Schatzi?” your boyfriend’s familiar voice asks, low and raspy, hot against the nape of your neck.

The laugh in his tone is cruel, and you can’t tell whether it belongs to König, or something pretending to be him.

tag-list: @alittleposhtoad @bitchoftoji @dotcie @kastlequill @miyabilicious @moths569 @parttimeprophet @pssytrux <3

#hauntedhoedown #konig #könig #call of duty #cod mw2 #mw2 #konig mw2 #konig call of duty #konig x reader #konig smut #my work

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inkdrinkerworld · 1 year

Note

remus and autistic!reader maybe getting hot and heavy but r gets way too in their head and remus recognizes and handles it with understanding and kindness bc sometimes intimacy is v scary

one minute you're kissing remus and taking off your clothes and then the next, you're wondering if your breathing is too harsh. if you can hear the dripping of a not quite closed faucet, if remus is comfortable as he's kissing down your bare chest.

the list is endless of things that snag your attention as he slinks lower down your body.

remus notices though, when he nips the side of your hip that usually earns him a pretty gasp and looks up to find your eyes on the ceiling and he can swear he hears you counting the tiles up there.

"dove, you okay to continue?"

you wish every person on earth was like remus.

the way he asks it isn't the usual condescending way men ask it, there's no disappointment on his part that sex might not happen tonight.

the question is just there, laid out plain and without any expectations tied to it.

"um, i don't think so rem." he nods and kisses your stomach before passing you your shirt.

"is everything alright?" his hand holds your hip as he turns to you, wanting to make sure you're okay.

"i got in my own head, so i had to count the tiles."

"was it bad? or just overwhelming?"

you could kiss him silly for being so genuine.

"just overwhelming i think, but not because it doesn't feel good."

remus chuckles at how you tack on the last part with speed and kisses your cheek. "that's okay dove, i want you to know we don't ever have to do anything you don't feel like doing."

you nod, "i want to, just," you sigh. "sometimes even though i know it'll be good, it gets scary."

remus hums, pulling you closer so you're laying chest to chest. "i understand dove, any time you feel like it's getting scary i want you to just tap my hand twice okay? no matter what." he tips your chin up so you're looking him in the eyes when you say,

"of course, rem."

#remuslupin #remus lupin #remus lupin one shot #remus lupin fanfiction #remus lupin imagine #remus lupin fluff #remus lupin blurb #remus lupin drabble #remus lupin x black!reader #remus lupin x reader #remus lupin x you #remus lupin x yn #remus lupin fic #remus lupin smut #tism🤝

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kombuuuu · 10 months

Text

little bit of teasing enemies who def want to be lovers i wrote a while back but never fully fleshed into a fic

aaaaa it’s a little suggestive be warned

—

“Oh, come on.”

“What do you want me to say, asshole?” The taunt didn’t go unwarranted by Miles. Tightening his grip on your shoulder his eyes narrowing.

“Hmm…” he touched his chin with his unoccupied hand. “I don’t know, Chiquita.” The brunettes tone was light, airy. Sarcastic.

How condescending.

“Maybe if you weren’t such a self centred brat, we wouldn’t be having this—,” He paused, seemingly thinking it over, glazed eyes staring up at the sky in faux wonder.

“Disagreement?” you supplied.

He pushed you back a little harder, scarred hand flexing against your collarbone. “If that’s what you insist this is — then fine.”

The bricks of the wall were beginning to sting against your back, indented lines drawn meticulously across your skin where mortar joints touched you.

His rich accent hitting you in all the desirably wrong places.

A humoured scoff sounded from you. The nerve. “You honestly think I’m the self centred one!”

You grabbed the arm pinning you against the uncomfortable stone. Dragging it outwards and twisting your body out from underneath him. His face hitting the tiles with a sudden ‘thwack’. Hand still gripping his arm, you bent it behind his back in a hammerlock, gripping the back of his disgustingly pretty head and pushing his face harder into the bricks.

You brought up your knee to his already slightly bent over position and pressed it into his lower back. arching him sadistically, just to rub it in. Your skirt rid up slightly, checkered uniform and plain blouse disheveled and wrecked.

But good god was he a sight like this.

His head had turned the best he could with you still gripping his curls, left cheek pushed into the wall in front of him. Face flushed and breath uneven. His right arm between his own back and your dexterous hand. His other hand braced against the wall from his recent.. predicament.

Legs slightly bent whilst his back arched away from your knee. The blazer of his uniform was unbuttoned and messy. Tie loosely hanging from his exposed neck, the bright flush of his face spreading down too the very top of his neck. You taunted.

“Who was the self centred one again,”

“,brat?”

#໒꒰՞ ܸ. .ܸ՞꒱ა #across the spiderverse #miles morales #spiderman across the spiderverse #miles morales x reader #spiderverse x reader #earth 42 miles morales #miles x reader #earth 42 miles morales x reader #miles my beloved #miles morales x you #atsv miles #miles morales prowler

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fortheloveofwonderland · 4 months

Text

Me & You & Everyone We Know | Chapter 19 | S.R

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Chapter Summary - With the help of his BAU family, Spencer starts making some positive strides in bettering himself. He and Maeve have a long overdue heart to heart in which they come to a mutual understanding.

A/N - here is the penultimate chapter!

Pairing - Single Dad! Spencer Reid / Fem! Reader

Category - hurt/comfort, angst with happy ending, smut minors DNI.

Warnings - hangovers, vomit, Spencer’s bad decision making, swearing, attempted one night stand, tears, BAU team as family, serious conversations, letting go of the past and moving on, talk of pregnancies, long overdue apologies, chapter starts angsty but there is a surprising amount of fluff in this.

WC - 5.9k

Chapter 19 - We're Good

No need to hide it,

Go get what you want.

This won't be a burden if we both don't hold a grudge.

I think it's pretty plain and simple,

We gave it all we could.

It's time I wave goodbye from the window,

Let's end this like we should and say we're good.

Spencer did wake up, but not through lack of trying otherwise. When he did open his eyes, his head throbbed so wildly he felt like someone had it in a vice.

His mouth was drier than the sprawling Nevada desert he’d once called home. His limbs ached violently, his back felt as though he’d been folded in half.

He blinked a few times, trying to work out where exactly he was. He didn’t have any memory past the fourth scotch, after that everything went black.

He was staring at a white surface, possibly a wall or a door which was no more than a foot in front of him, the surface beneath his face was cool and hard, certainly not a pillow.

He’d been laying on his side so he forced himself onto his back and tried to figure out if he knew the ceiling he was now staring up.

It was white with a nondescript light bulb hanging in the centre. A little way to the left there was a large water stain he thought he recognised.

He blinked at it, trying to pull a memory to the front of his fractured brain. Lily was two. Splashing in the bathtub. She threw her little body down so violently in the water she had sent a tidal wave crashing through the entire bathroom.

Spencer had been soaked from his head to his toes. They’d had to replace the old floorboards for porcelain tiles. The kind of cool, hard tiles beneath his back. On the ceiling had been left a large water mark.

He rolled his head to the other side and saw the bathtub next to him. At the very least he’d made it home.

He inhaled deeply before slowly exhaling and pushing himself into a seating position. He groaned, holding his head in his hands.

He’d been hungover plenty of times before but not like this. This felt like the end of the goddamn world.

The toilet seat was up and he could just about see the vomit pooled in the bottom of the bowl. He pulled a face and dragged himself towards it on his hands and knees, shut the lid and flushed it.

Using the toilet cistern he got to his feet, wobbling as he did so. He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror, his hair a complete mess and little flecks of vomit in the corners of his mouth.

He ran the faucet and washed his face with cold water. Not having the effort to brush his teeth right now, instead he grabbed the bottle of mouthwash and swilled an ample amount around his mouth before spitting it out in the sink.

Looking back at himself in the mirror he noticed now he was shirtless. He frowned, closing one eye in an attempt to aid his pounding head. He let his open eye fall down his body to see he was in fact completely naked.

He shook his head, turning to the open bathroom door. He found his clothes in a haphazard trail along the landing leading to his bedroom.

His bedroom, yes, a bed that’s what he needed. A couple of hours of decent sleep should help cure this rotten hangover.

He stumbled through the door, ready to collapse but stopped short when he saw there was already a figure in his bed.

She was awake, staring at him with a combination of annoyance and frustration. Spencer frowned at her, still wobbling on his feet.

“Uh,” he scratched the back of his neck. “I’m sorry but who the fuck are you?”

“Wow,” she scoffed indignantly. “Just wow.”

Spencer watched through bleary eyes as she got out of bed and started throwing her clothes back on, huffing periodically. He tried to remember where he’d met her, who she was and how she had ended up in his bed but his memory failed him. Once she was dressed again she turned to him and folded her arms across her chest.

“First you can’t get it up and now you don’t even remember me? You’re a charmer.” She rolled her eyes.

“We didn’t sleep together?” He closed one eye again as the room started to spin.

“No,” she huffed again. “You must have drank too much, couldn’t get hard.”

“Of course I couldn’t.” He sighed. “That tracks. Please see yourself out.”

With that he collapsed in a heap on the bed, burying his face into the pillow. He heard her scoff and then her footsteps getting further away. After a minute he heard the front door open and close.

He closed his eyes without protest, not allowing himself to think about how royally he fell off the wagon last night. Maybe he’d never get sober, perhaps he wasn’t able to function without alcohol.

Maybe his kids would be better off living with their mother full time and leaving Spencer to spiral into alcoholism.

Thankfully his brain shut off for long enough to enable him to fall asleep, laying on his front on top of the covers whilst nuzzling the pillow.

When he woke up again, it was with a start, as though he’d been shocked by an electric current. His eyes shot open and his heart was rampantly hammering against his ribcage.

He immediately rolled over in bed, squinting against the onslaught of light through the open curtains. A silhouette stood in the window but he couldn’t work out who or what it was.

“Oh Jesus Christ, Reid,” the voice groaned. “Cover yourself up, please?”

Spencer looked down at his body, still naked and exposed to whoever was in his bedroom. Without much contemplation he pulled the sheet over his lower half and attempted to sit up in the bed.

The shadowy figure got closer and he half thought he was imagining it. He’d lived with his demon so long that maybe they were now coming to life.

When the haze cleared, Emily Prentiss’s face appeared through the fog and she sat down on the edge of the mattress.

“Emily?” He croaked. “What are you doing here? How did you get in?”

“I knocked for like twenty minutes, called you multiple times. I tried the door and it was unlocked so I let myself in.” She shrugged. “By the way, I found your dog shut in the kitchen. He’d almost worn a hole in the door from scratching.”

“Ah shit, I must have forgotten he was in there.” He rubbed his eyes with his palms.

“I thought Tara went with you to a meeting last night?” Emily asked, concern lacing her words.

“She did.” He nodded.

“So what happened? Clearly you’re hungover.”

“After the meeting I went and irreparably fucked up my life.” He pulled a face, pushed his hair back from his eyes.

“What does that mean?” Emily frowned.

“It means I went to see Y/N. I slept with her and then I told her I didn’t really love her and that I only told her that to get her into bed.” He sighed with a shake of his head. “Pretty good night, right?”

“Oh Spence,” she placed her hand on his bare shoulder. His skin was hot and blanched. “You really aren’t yourself lately.”

“No kidding,” he scoffed. “Emily I am utterly lost. I am out at sea with no life raft and I can’t see the fucking shore.”

“You put your feelings over what happened with Maeve on the backburner for so long, it was inevitably going to catch up on you. You met someone, you started to fall for her and then you were reminded of the last time that happened to you. You were reminded of what Maeve did and how much that broke you.” She whispered, gently squeezing his shoulder.

“I’m going to lose my kids if I can’t sort my shit out.” He seemingly ignored her, changing the subject. “Emily, I cannot lose my girls. It will destroy me.”

“You’re not going to lose them.” She gave him one of those looks that always made him feel like she knew something he didn’t. It was hard not to believe her when she looked at him like that.

“How do you know that?” He sighed.

“Because I know you,” she shrugged. “Because you would go to the ends of the earth for Daisy and Lily, you would do anything for them. You raised Daisy whilst working one of the most demanding jobs there is. You raised Lily while your wife was cheating on you. You have raised them both this past year practically alone and they are two of the best kids I have ever met. You are the best dad I have ever met.

You have sacrificed so much for your daughter’s, things much harder than giving up drinking. You’ve got this, Reid, for that I have absolutely no doubt. You will stop drinking, last night was the last drink you ever have, do you understand me? You will go to meetings, you will let me and the rest of the team help you. You will lean on us the way every single one of us has leaned on you at some point in our lives. We’re family Spencer, you aren’t going through this alone.”

His bottom lip quivered and soon a few tears rolled from his eyes and down his cheeks. Sometimes he forgot that they were family. He sometimes thought just because he’d left the BAU he wasn’t a part of that anymore. But family was stronger than that.

“I love you, you know that right?” He sniffed. “I don’t say it enough but I love all of you.”

“That’s the beauty of family,” she smiled. “We already know.”

“I think I’d like to shower and then maybe go to a meeting.” He rolled his lip between his teeth. “Would you come with me?”

“Of course I will,” Emily nodded. “On one condition.”

“What’s that?” He frowned sceptically at her.

“You let me call the rest of the team. I think this is something we should all be together for.”

“Ok.” He nodded. “Ok.”

“I’m proud of you.” Emily smiled as she stood up.

“Don’t be yet, give me a few weeks of sobriety first.” He inhaled, waiting for Emily to leave but she didn’t seem as though she planned on going anywhere. “Uh, Emily?”

“Yes Reid?”

“If you want me to get up you’re going to need to turn around or something. Unless you want another eye full.”

“Oh shit, yeah, sorry.” She laughed awkwardly, turning towards the door. “I’ll wait for you downstairs.”

Spencer slipped out of the bed, ignoring the pounding in his head, just as Emily opened his bedroom door.

Another figure stood on the other side, eyes quickly flicking from Emily to Spencer and his naked form.

“Oh jeez!” Luke rapidly put his hand up to cover his eyes. “What the fuck have I walked in on?”

“Did my house have a revolving door fitted without my knowledge?” Spencer cupped his crotch in his hands. “Where do you people keep coming from?”

“I thought we were taking Taco to the park.” Luke groaned.

“Change of plan, Alvez.” Emily laughed at his obvious discomfort. “Let’s go put the kettle on and I’ll explain everything.”

***

An hour later the BAU team had gathered and sat in the back row of the community hall while Spencer took to the stage.

Gathering the troops had been an easy feat. After Emily had told Luke the whole story over coffee she’d sent a text to Penelope simply stating: Spencer SOS and the address of the community centre.

As expected, Garcia had rallied the rest of them and they all met outside of the building in downtown DC.

Emily was closest to the aisle, JJ next to her who was clutching her hand for dear life. Penelope on JJ’s other side was getting the same treatment.

Luke was next to Penelope, his arm around his girlfriend's shoulder. Matt was next to him offering Luke the occasional glance and gentle smile.

To Matt’s left was Tara who drummed her fingers on her thigh until Rossi, on her other side, placed his hand on top of hers to still her.

Seven of the members of the BAU family sat and watched their eighth member awkwardly stand at the podium, take a deep breath and speak.

“I’m Spencer Reid,” he paused briefly to close his eyes for a second or two and then open them again. “And I’m an alcoholic.”

***

Two days later Spencer opened his front door to be assaulted by his daughters throwing themselves at him.

He was clear headed, forty eight hours sober and feeling surprisingly good.

Ok, maybe good was a stretch. He felt fine, average at best. But having his girls home and the grip in which they held him made him feel on top of the world.

“Daddy!” Lily screeched, burying into his shirt. “I missed you!”

“I missed you too dad.” Daisy sighed in content as she spoke.

“You have no idea how much I’ve missed you two.” He squeezed them tightly, relishing in having them back.

He glanced at Maeve who was standing on the steps behind them, hands in her pockets. Bobby was in his car on the drive.

“Can we talk?” Maeve mouthed at him so the girls wouldn’t hear. He nodded in reply.

“Girls, I think Taco has missed you nearly as much as I have. I think he’s in the yard, why don’t you go find him.” He placed a kiss on both of their heads as they let him go and rushed past him inside the house, screaming the dog's name. “I would invite you inside but I’ve spent most of the last few days packing for the move and the house is a disaster.”

“It’s fine,” Maeve smiled, keeping her hands in her pockets as she sat down on the front step, Spencer doing the same. “The girls said you were moving.”

“It’s time I think. I’m not sure I ever really liked this house.” He chuckled.

“Oh I’m sure you never liked this house.” Maeve laughed too.

“It served a purpose, but it’s time to move on.” He nodded with a wistful smile. “So how was California? The girls seemed like they had a great time.”

“They did, it was so nice to spend that much time with them.” She narrowed her eyes on him, he could see her trying to read him. “How was your week?”

“My week?” He pulled a face. “It was…eventful. Enlightening maybe.”

“You look…tired.” Her eyebrows furrowed a little.

“That’s one word for it.” He exhaled. “I’ve been struggling if truth be told. For a long time. But I’m making some changes, I’m trying.”

“Oh yeah?” Her lip twitched at the corner.

“Yeah,” he nodded. “I’m starting to see things from another perspective. I pushed you away. I was never what you needed me to be.”

“Maybe, but it still doesn’t excuse what I did.” Maeve shook her head sadly.

“It doesn’t. But I think I’m starting to understand. I need you to know I’m sorry for everything I’ve said and done since our separation.” It looked like it pained him a little to admit as much.

“I need to tell you something.” She sighed, rolling her lip between her teeth.

“Did you forget I was a profiler for many years? Not to mention the fact that I know you inside out, even after all this time.” He cocked an eyebrow at her.

“What?”

“Maeve, I knew the second you got out of the car.” He whispered, eyes welled with tears.

She swallowed thickly, feeling her own eyes brimming.

“The girls don’t know yet.” She sniffed.

“They’re going to be thrilled. Lily’s always wanted a little brother or sister. And you always did want that boy.” A tear crept from his eye but he made no attempt to brush it away.

“There is one more thing.” Maeve sniffed again.

“You’ve had your hands in your pockets since you got here.” Spencer shrugged. “Let me see it, Maeve.”

Maeve closed her eyes as a few of her own tears escaped. She removed her hands from her pockets and brandished the large, diamond ring on her finger.

“Wow,” Spencer croaked, a couple more tears rolling from his eyes. “I’m…happy for you.”

“How much did it pain you to say that?” Maeve laughed through her tears and Spencer couldn’t help but do the same.

“Only a little.” He shrugged.

“He makes me happy.” Maeve nodded, swallowing again.

“And I didn’t.” Spencer sighed.

“Don’t say that.” She reached for him, grasping his hand in her own. “Of course you made me happy. I did love you Spencer. We were just never fated to have a happy ending.”

“I’m starting to think I’m not fated to any kind of happy ending.” He huffed.

“I think you already found it but for whatever reason you pushed her away.” Maeve squeezed his hand.

“Who called you?” He rolled his eyes, knowing this had the BAU all over it.

“Rossi, he’s the only one who doesn’t hate me.”

“They don’t hate you.” He shook his head. “I’m starting to think I might hate Rossi though.”

“Blasphemy.” Maeve laughed. “He’s worried about you, they all are. I’m worried about you.”

“I told her I didn’t love her. I told her I lied to her just to get her into bed. I said some horrible things to her. I told her that I couldn’t risk the girls getting hurt again and she accused me of being a coward. She was right.” More tears fell from his eyes. “The truth is I don’t think I can take another hit, I’m barely holding it together. Isn’t it easier to just be alone than risk that kind of pain?”

“Look Spencer,” Maeve gripped his hand tighter. “I think it’s better to have someone. Even if it hurts. Even if it’s the most painful thing you have to do. Even if it’s the most painful thing you ever have to do. I think it’s better to have someone.”

“Jesus,” Spencer choked on a sob. “Stop making me like you.”

“You don’t like me, you love me.” She chuckled.

“Isn’t that a painful truth?” He laughed too.

“You misunderstand me. You love me,” she repeated, letting go of his hand and getting to her feet. “But you’re not in love with me. Not anymore. You called me the love of your life but we both know that’s not true.”

“Isn’t it?” He frowned up at her.

“No,” she smiled with a shake of her head. “We had a great relationship for the most part Spencer. I loved you, I was in love with you. But we weren't the loves of each other's lives.”

“Because yours is Bobby.” He stood up.

Maeve placed her hands on her stomach, not yet showing signs of the life growing inside of her, her ring glistening in the sunlight.

“And Y/N is yours.” She shrugged.

“I’m not so sure.” He shook his head. “But thanks anyway.”

“You’re going to be ok, you have to believe that.”

“I’m trying. Like I said, I’m making changes.” He chewed on the inside of his cheek. “In that vein, I, uh, spoke to my lawyer yesterday. We started drawing up a new custody agreement.”

“New? As in…” she frowned at him.

“The girls will spend one week with me, one week with you. We’ll switch out the holidays every year. It’s still a work in progress but if it's something you would be interested in…” he trailed off and suddenly Maeve was throwing herself into his arms, with so much force he almost fell over.

He tentatively wrapped his arms around her, accidentally inhaling her shampoo. He thought it might cause him to crumble. But it didn’t.

The smell didn’t breed the kind of sad nostalgia of someone who lost his wife to another man. It was a comforting smell, a familiar smell. It was a reminder that he’d loved this woman but no longer felt that way about her.

The simple smell ignited a hope within him that he and Maeve would one day be able to be friends. If they weren’t already.

“Are you serious?” She squeezed him tightly.

“Yeah, I think it would do us all good.” He stroked her back.

“Thank you, Spencer. You have no idea what that means to me.” She sniffed, pulling back a little so she could look at him.

His hands found her face, cupping her cheeks delicately and brushing away her tears.

“I’ve got a pretty good idea.” He smiled at her. “Are we going to be ok?”

“I think for the first time in a long time, we might well be.” She smiled back.

“Truce?”

“Truce.” She agreed.

“You should get back to your future husband.” Spencer leaned in and placed the softest kiss on her cheek before letting her go, both physically and metaphorically.

“A part of me will always love you, Spencer Reid.”

“I should hope so.” He teased. “Now get out of here before you make me cry again.”

“See you soon, yeah?” She spoke as she walked backwards down the stairs.

“I hope so. I really do.” He nodded, watching her go.

It was funny really, he’d never realised the extent of the weight of his hatred towards Maeve until he finally decided to let it go.

As he watched her happily slip into the car and kiss Bobby while toying with the new ring on her finger, Spencer felt lighter than he had done in years.

He was happy for Maeve and Bobby and their future child, really genuinely happy for them.

Maybe one day he’d find that kind of happiness. But for now he was content spending his time with his two girls.

***

Spencer focused the next few weeks on his daughter’s and his own rocky mental health. He went to therapy twice a week, took his medication every day and he hadn't had a sip of alcohol in nineteen days.

The girls spent the week after they arrived back from California with him and they took trips to the park, museums and everywhere in between. The second week he let them spend with Maeve even though the new custody agreement wasn’t finalised, he didn’t see the point in waiting.

And the girls loved spending more time with their mom, even Daisy.

While they were at their mom's, Spencer continued packing up the house, going on long walks and seeing his friend’s when he could to help distract himself from the need to drink.

Or the need to call you.

He’d almost called you over a dozen times but every time he went to, he called Emily instead. When he was craving alcohol he called Tara and when he wanted to boot his dog in the face he called Luke.

He knew there weren’t enough apologies in the world to make up for what he’d said to you and the way he’d treated you and it wasn’t fair of him to keep dragging you into his messy life. He loved you, but he needed to let you go.

Maybe one day, once the dust settled and he had a handle on his problems then the two of you might find your way back to each other. If it was meant to be, it would be.

But for now he needed to focus on himself and the girls. Everything else had to wait.

The day Daisy and Lily were coming back to Spencer’s for the next week, he met Maeve and his daughters in the park.

The girls were having a picnic with their mom while Bobby was at work, Daisy laying on her front, head in her phone, most likely texting Cam. Lily was playing with her new favourite stuffed toy, a surfing otter she had gotten in California.

The girls didn’t know he would be joining them, the four of them hadn’t done anything together since Maeve left. She saw him approach them and smiled at him.

“Hey girls, look who it is.” She nudged them both by their shoulders.

Lily looked up wide eyed from her otter while Daisy took a second or two longer to tear herself away from her phone. His eldest sat up and frowned at him while his youngest grinned the brightest smile in his direction.

“Daddy!” Lily squealed.

“Dad? What are you doing here?”

“Seemed like a nice day for a picnic.” He shrugged as he got closer, slowly lowering himself down to the blanket on the grass, next to Maeve, giving her a smile.

“Nope,” Daisy suddenly shook her head. “Nuh uh.”

“What?” Maeve frowned at her daughter.

“You two are not getting back together. No way, please god.” The teenager sounded incredulous.

“What on earth would make you think that?” Spencer chuckled, rolling his eyes.

“I have not once seen the two of you smile at each other since you split up.” She was frowning at them.

Lily simply looked between them in confusion.

“We are most certainly not getting back together.” Maeve laughed.

“Yeah, never gonna happen.” Spencer chuckled too.

“Oh thank god.” Daisy breathed a sigh of relief.

“Would it really be the end of the world if your parents got back together?” Maeve was still laughing.

“Yes.” She pulled a face. “I love you guys but you are so much better apart.”

“I mean, I can’t say I disagree.” Spencer shrugged.

“Same here.” Maeve nodded. “And you know Bobby and I are getting married.”

“I’m going to be a bridesmaid!” Lily cheered.

“I was just making sure you hadn’t changed your mind.”

“You don’t need to worry, your mom and I are pretty set on this whole divorce thing.” Spencer insisted.

“Well something is going on.” Daisy’s gaze shifted between her parents.

“I do have something to tell you and I wanted your dad to be here when I did.” Maeve instinctively placed her hand on her belly. “Daisy, Lily, you’re going to get a little brother or sister.”

Lily’s whole face lit up and she started rocking back and forth where she sat.

“I won’t be the little one anymore?” She beamed.

“No sweetheart you won’t.” Maeve ruffled her hair.

“Can I have a brother? I don’t want another sister.” She wrinkled her nose.

“Uh, it doesn’t work like that I’m afraid.” Maeve laughed. “Daisy, do you have anything to say?”

“Not that I can say in front of her.” Daisy shot her sister a look.

“Why?” Lily whined.

“Because you’re a baby.” Daisy hissed.

“I am not!”

Maeve and Spencer exchanged a curious look, unsure of what their eldest wanted to say. Spencer sighed before turning to Lily.

“Lil, why don’t you go play on the jungle gym? I’ll be right over.” He asked her softly.

She pulled a face like she might argue but then she huffed and reluctantly stood up.

“Fine,” she sassed him. “But I am not a baby.”

Spencer and Maeve watched her run off towards the jungle gym before turning back to Daisy who had her arms folded and was glaring at them in frustration.

“You guys are the worst.” She spat.

“Excuse me, young lady?” Spencer frowned at her.

“What exactly have we done to earn us that title?” Maeve added.

“You guys slept together?” She hissed, eyes wide. “You’re having another kid but you aren’t getting back together? And you’re marrying Bobby?”

Maeve and Spencer started to laugh out of nowhere, seeing their daughter’s error. Daisy frowned at them while they chuckled heartily.

“Oh pumpkin,” Spencer shook his head. “This is not my baby.”

“We maybe should have said you’d be having a half brother or sister.” Maeve giggled.

“Also I don’t love that you know how babies are made.” Spencer pulled a face.

“I’m fourteen, dad.” Daisy rolled her eyes. “Pretty sure you knew where babies came from when you were fourteen.”

“I had an IQ of one hundred and sixty one when I was fourteen, of course I knew where babies came from.” He clucked.

“So to confirm,” Daisy frowned again. “You did not sleep with-”

“Please don’t say it again.” Maeve cut her off. “No Daisy, we did not. Bobby is the father of my baby, not your dad.”

“Gross so you slept with Bobby.” Daisy pulled a disgusted face.

“Can this conversation please be over now?” Maeve asked no one in particular.

“I’ve got a kid to see about a jungle gym,” Spencer pushed himself up to his feet. “Have fun.”

Spencer left them, heading towards where Lily was hanging from the jungle gym, swinging herself back and forth. He came close to her and placed his hands on her hips and she dropped into his arms.

She wrapped her legs around his waist and arms around his neck while he held her by her thighs. She smiled brightly at him.

“Are you ok, pumpkin? You’re happy about all of this? You’re mom marrying Bobby and having a little brother or sister?” He started carrying her towards the swing set.

“I think so.” She nodded, but she had a curious expression on her face.

“What are you thinking?” He used one arm to hold her, his free hand brushing her unruly hair back off her face.

“If mommy marries Bobby, does that mean he’s my daddy now?” She pouted. “Because I don’t want him to be my daddy. I want you to be my daddy.”

Spencer’s heart wrenched at the mere thought of his kids calling someone else daddy. He grinded his teeth for a moment as he lowered her onto the swing and dropped to his knees in front of her.

“Lily, I will always be your daddy, ok? Nothing is ever going to change that. When Bobby marries your mom he becomes your step-dad, but you don’t have to call him that, you can keep on calling him Bobby. I will be your daddy for the rest of your life, pumpkin. Promise.” He used his index finger to poke the end of her nose and she giggled.

“Ok!” She nodded bouncily. “That’s good because you’re the best daddy in the whole wide world and I wouldn’t want another one.”

He closed his eyes for a few beats, trying to force the tears back.

“And you are the best daughter in the whole wide world, you and Daisy. And I wouldn’t want another one of either of you.” He smiled at her.

Lily gripped the chains of the swing and leaned closer to her father, placing a rather sloppy kiss on his own nose.

“I love you daddy.” She beamed.

“I love you too, pumpkin. You have no idea how much.”

***

Waiting outside of the theatre he checked his watch again and huffed out a breath. The movie should have finished fifteen minutes ago, at least that’s what she’d told him.

He didn’t like this one bit. He didn’t like his daughter going on dates, he didn’t like being made to wait fifteen minutes after a movie finished because Daisy and Cam were doing god knows what. He didn’t like anything about this.

He looked at his watch again, wondering how much time could pass before it was appropriate to go in and look for her. When he glanced back up a set of sparkling blue eyes were staring at him.

“When I was their age, my ex-husband and I would stay behind after the movie finished and make out.” Blair shrugged, sidling closer.

“Wow, I did not need that image in my head, thank you.” Spencer rolled his eyes.

“They’re fourteen, Spencer. They are most definitely making out in there.” Blair laughed.

Spencer pulled a face, looking a little like a moody child being told he couldn’t have ice cream for dinner.

“I was in college by the time I was fourteen and everyone was significantly older than me. Is it normal to be making out at that age?”

“Very,” Blair nodded, leaning against the wall of the theatre next to him. “You really did not have a normal childhood did you?”

“I did not.” He sighed. “I didn’t kiss a girl for the first time until I was twenty one.”

A silence passed between them, the awkwardness of this situation washing over them like a wave. Spencer stuffed his hands in his pockets and rolled his lip between his teeth.

“You didn’t call.” Blair finally broke it, her eyes turned down.

“I specifically remember you telling me not to.” Spencer shrugged.

“Unless you were choosing me.” She nodded. “So you chose then?”

Spencer nodded slowly, inhaling a sharp breath before letting it out through his nose.

“I did.” He caught her eye. “I chose my girls. I chose me.”

“Good for you.” She offered him a half smile.

“I’m sorry for the way things ended. I did intend to call but every time I went to I thought you wouldn’t want to hear from me. I figured with our kids dating it was inevitable we’d run into each other at some point.”

“Did you mean to cringe when you said our kids were dating?” Her smile grew.

“No, that was entirely involuntary. It has nothing to do with Cameron, he seems like a really good kid. I just hate that my daughter is old enough to date.” He laughed.

“And make out with boys.”

“Ok, you have to stop that.” He shook his head, causing Blair to giggle.

Just then the front door of the theatre opened and Daisy and Cameron emerged, hand in hand. The sight made Spencer’s stomach coil into knots and his chest tightened painfully.

And he did not miss his daughter's kiss-swollen lips.

Oh good god, I can’t deal with this.

Blair nudged him in the arm as he was staring awkwardly at them and he desperately tried to push past it and not dwell on the fact his daughter was making out with boys in movie theatres.

Daisy and Cameron joined them, hands still interlocked.

“How was the movie?” Spencer asked, trying to keep the emotion from his voice.

The teens exchanged a look, smirking at each other.

“It was good.” Cameron shrugged.

“Really good.” Daisy agreed.

Spencer pulled a face, wanting the ground to swallow him whole. Once upon a time he would have snatched Daisy away from him, forbade her from seeing him.

He was growing. Or at least he was trying to.

“Can we all go get ice cream?” Daisy asked, looking between them.

“The four of us?” Blair frowned a little.

“Yeah.” Daisy shrugged.

Blair looked at him with a questioning expression and Spencer sighed.

“Seems super awkward. Count me in.” He agreed.

Daisy let go of Cameron’s hand and he and his mother started walking. Spencer hung back with his daughter and eyed her curiously.

“I swear if this is some kind of parent trap…”

“Dad, trust me when I say I do not want you dating my boyfriend's mom.” Daisy scoffed before walking off, catching up with Cameron and slipping her hand back in his.

Spencer didn’t move for a moment or two, simply staring at their entwined hands and ruminating on his daughter’s words.

“Boyfriend?” He grimaced. “My daughter has a boyfriend.”

@foxy-eva @kbakery @chrissyflo3 @simxican @aysixdy @givemeth @loonalockley @shamlessfangirl-3 @derekm24 @pinkiceee-prose @werewolfbansheelove @mindbelova @hades-disappointment-child @weirdothatwritess

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

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thefrontofmymind · 1 year

Text

surprise? (matty healy x reader drabble)

a/n: this is just a little idea i had, something to tide you all over while i keep working on Might As Well. xxx

SYNOPSIS: you find a ring in Matty's belongings, spoiling a pretty big surprise he had planned

WC: 499

All you were doing was trying to help Matty out. He’d just gotten back from tour and collapsed into bed in the middle of the night. Now at a normal time for a person to be awake, he was still not even stirring as you began a day of housework around him–you checked he was still alive, he was breathing.

You wiped down counters and bathroom tile, you dusted every surface, as well as the intricate details of all Matty’s awards that sat on the shelf in your living room. There was just one last thing to make the place completely spotless, his suitcase at the door of your bedroom, practically burning a hole in your thoughts. You thought you should wait for Matty to sort out his clothes to go in the laundry–what was clean, what wasn’t–but you knew him best by now to know that this job was mostly guesswork for him, so it was easier to just throw it all into the wash and ask for forgiveness later.

You dragged the suitcase into your small laundry room–not easily, he’d packed for over a month away and you know he had to pay extra for heavier luggage on all the flights he took. You opened it and quickly began sorting and organising all his clothes–mostly wrinkled button-ups and socks that you were sure there was an odd number of.

As you pulled out a pair of trousers–plain black, like most of the one Matty owned–you felt something in the front right pocket, some kind of cube. You got your hand on it, it felt soft, like velvet.

A box; red, and velvet like you thought. You opened it and tears sprung to your eyes and your breath caught in your throat. The most beautiful diamond ring you’d ever seen–a blue gem, a sapphire, probably, surrounded by a cluster of small white diamonds on a golden band. You stared at it for a good couple of minutes, just sitting on the floor surrounded by clothes. You didn’t even hear Matty groggily trudge around the house looking for you.

“You weren’t supposed to see that,” he said, standing in the doorway. He just about gave you a heart attack.

“I’m sorry…” You couldn’t fight the smile on your face and the layer of tears coating your eyes was getting thicker and thicker.

“I had this whole surprise planned and I was going to ask you all romantically…” He quietly chuckled while kneeling down next to you. “Do you like it, at least? I can get another one if you don’t, anything you want.”

“No! No, I love it,” you reassured him. “It’s gorgeous…”

“Good.” He smiled. “Spent months finding the perfect one…”

“Well it is perfect…” You answered. “So can I wear it now that I’ve found it?”

“No way in hell!” He laughed. “I still have the plan! You just have to wait!”

“Well how long, hmm?”

“I’m gonna wait extra long now just to make you squirm…”

#matty healy x reader #matty healy imagine #matty healy blurb #matty healy fluff

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molly-ghuleh · 10 months

Note

Hi pretty, i want "i think i deserve a kiss" for the prompts with Cardinal Copia, pretty please ? i love you, you're amazing!!!

Kiss Prompts: "I think I deserve a kiss"

Cardinal Copia x reader

SFW! Contains: assistant trope, overworked trope, sickeningly sweet fluff, pining, suggestive if you squint, the titties and beer mug

Thank you for requesting my lovely!!! <3

Kiss prompts

The Cardinal's office is bathed in soft light from his various mismatched lamps. The Sun had set hours ago, but there was an important deadline that had caught up with the two of you. You, as the Cardinal's Clergy assistant, dutifully sit at your little desk in the corner of his office as Copia hunches over his own in the center of the room.

"What time is it?" You ask softly. You're sure it must be past midnight by now. This damned budget report from Papa's most recent tour is due on Sister Imperator's desk by the morning, and that woman wakes up unfathomably early.

Copia pulls up his cassock sleeve to glance at his watch. "It is, eh, twenty-three past midnight," he says. His voice is gravelly with the lack of sleep.

The two of you had been awake since six that morning with the sole intention of compiling every expense report under the Ministry's roof. Receipts, invoices, and account statements litter Copia's desk. He dictates each total to you and you type away on your laptop, entering the data into a mile-long spreadsheet that makes your computer run hotter than the fires of Hell.

Judging by the way Copia runs his fingers through his hair, there's still a ways to go--you'd learned to read his body language during your tenure as his assistant. You sigh and stand from your chair. Your back pops in a concerning manner, but you're far past caring. "Time for another pot of coffee?" You offer. Even if he says no, you'll make one for yourself if only to stretch your legs.

"You are far too good to me," Copia utters softly, looking up at you. His hair falls over his forehead from how often he'd ruffled it in frustration. His biretta had long since been discarded. The top few buttons of his cassock are undone, making him look delightfully unkempt.

You want to run your fingers through his hair.

"Maybe I just like coffee," you tease back, lips quirking with the sarcasm. Being tired makes you sassy. It's something that the Cardinal has said he likes about you. It makes working late more fun, he'd said, and that phrase had fuelled your hopeless little crush for months.

He simply huffs a laugh through his nose and you exit his office, mugs in hand, your slippers (which you kept under your desk for nights like these) scuffing along the tile of the dark corridor. The kitchens are a short walk from the Clergy's office wing. You're surprised there isn't a groove carved into the floor tracing your path from Copia's office to the coffee pot with how much caffeine the two of you manage to consume.

Despite late nights like these, the work is rewarding. You're on good terms with most of the Upper Clergy (you never know where you stand with Sister on any given day), you have special privileges to the Clergy break room, and you get to spend your days with Cardinal Copia, pining after him like some lovesick teenager.

At least you have your hand.

You rinse out the used mugs while the new pot of coffee brews. You prepare yours how you like, and make his with the attention to detail of a coffee shop barista who subsists on tips alone. Copia likes it lukewarm and sickeningly sweet. He would prefer a latte of course, but you don't have the time nor the energy to make one, so he'll have to settle for half-coffee-half-creamer and an unholy amount of sugar. Still, you smile, because you know exactly what he'll say when you place the mug in front of him, and you know exactly which witty retort you'll think in your head.

You make your way back to his office, bumping the heavy wooden door open with your hip while you hold one mug in each hand. His favorite is a plain white ceramic mug with the words 'rat dad' in bold black letters--a gift you'd given him after a year of working as his assistant. Your mug is a hand-me-down from him, his second-favorite, which says 'titties and beer' and which you're pretty sure Terzo had given him as a joke.

"Here," you say softly as you place his mug in an open space on his desk.

Copia sighs in relief and looks up at you. "I don't deserve you, tesoro," he says. He immediately takes a sip of the coffee and hums.

And your witty retort: "Yes, well, I think I deserve a kiss," you think as you turn to move towards your own desk.

The sound of Copia sputtering and coughing behind you makes you jump. Your tongue tingles with the sensation of recent words. They practically echo in the relative silence of his office, and immediately you realize your mistake. Your heart plummets.

You get sassy when you're tired, but you also tend to say what you're thinking.

"You, eh, you-- what?" Copia stutters. You can barely bring yourself to look at him out of sheer embarrassment.

"N-nothing!" You respond, too quickly and too high-pitched. He'd heard you, and you know he heard you, and he knows that you know.

You sit in your desk chair and pretend nothing happened. The monitor of your laptop does nothing to hide your deep blush or the line between your brows.

Copia's office is silent for a few moments, until his chair squeaks in the familiar sound of him standing. You brace yourself to be reprimanded, to be told that it is wholly inappropriate to say such things in front of your boss, or to be fired completely. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Instead, you see the deep red of Copia's cassock at the edge of your little desk, and he clears his throat. You swallow dryly and meet his gaze, absolutely mortified. A bead of nervous sweat rolls down the back of your neck. Stupid, stupid--

"I- I think you may be right, tesoro," Copia says, his voice shaking slightly. His lips quirk up at the corners which makes his mustache twitch. "We have, eh... danced around it for too long, yes?"

Oh, sweet Lucifer take me now.

Copia braces his hands on your desk and leans forward, bringing his face inches away from your own. You can feel his warm breath ghost over your lips. "I think you are long overdue for a kiss, dolce. Many, in fact."

Before you can say anything, he places his lips so sweetly against yours. His mustache tickles your top lip and his nose bumps against yours, but it doesn't matter. You're kissing him, and it's real, and it feels good. Where your heart had sunk before, it practically leaps out of your chest, hammering against your sternum. You lean into the kiss.

Copia pulls away far too soon and you chase his lips, but your cursed desk gets in the way. Instead you stare at him dumbly. Are you drooling? You might be drooling.

"The budget report, tesoro," Copia gently reminds you. Right. The budget report. "But, I plan to kiss you again and again once it is done, si? You, eh... deserve it."

#cardinal copia #copia #copia x reader #cardinal copia x reader #ghost #writing prompts #kiss prompts #ghost band x reader #papa emeritus x reader #papa emeritus iv #papa emeritus iv x reader #the band ghost #ghost bc #ghost band #baelzbu

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writeroutoftime · 1 year

Text

a secret language

pairing: 1940s!bucky barnes x fem!reader

summary: flower shop au - when bucky stumbles across your little flower shop, you're enamored. too bad he keeps coming in to buy flowers for his mystery women (using the prompts "you aren't over her, are you?/not even close")

warnings: none, just tooth-rotting fluff :)

words: 2k

a/n: a very very late entry for @ghostofskywalker's writing challenge from last year lol. when I saw the prompts for this challenge this was the first thought that came to mind. but life and writer's block gets in the way. now I know it’s not actually going on anymore but I just wanted to get this out, better late than never right? plus, I'm so excited for my first flower shop au! please enjoy!!

oOoOo

Tucked away from the hustle and bustle of New York City was a cozy flower shop, hidden in plain sight on the streets of Brooklyn. Most New Yorkers buzzed past the faded, yellow building without a second glance, too caught up in their own mind to notice. Those who did take the time to venture in, however, found a beautiful secret garden in the heart of a concrete city. A warm and cozy oasis for those that crossed the threshold. Who would have thought your life would have changed so drastically with one fateful customer?

oOoOo

The bell above the door jingled merrily followed by the thud of hurried footsteps. "I'll be with you in just a moment." you shouted over your shoulder, placing the finishing touches on the bouquet in front of you.

Finally satisfied, you turned to face your newest customer and found your breath drawn from your body. The slight crack of electricity in the air didn’t escape your notice. Shiny blue eyes met your own and a lopsided smile graced your sight. In that moment, you were thankful for the counter between you to hide the slight shake of your knees. You quickly gathered your bearings and wiped your hands against your apron, offering a soft smile to the man in front of you.

“Hello. How may I help you today?”

“Hi, doll.” he spoke as his foot bounced nervously against the tiled floor. "I'm, uh, looking for some flowers for my Ma. You see it's her birthday today and I, uh, kinda -"

"Forgot?" you filled in, hiding your smile as best as you could. The man in front of you hung his head sheepishly at your words but nodded his head. "Well, you've come to the right place." you gestured to the bouquets of flowers around the shop. "What kind of flowers does your mother like?"

The man’s brows furrowed, and his mouth opened like he was going to say something, but simply grasped for straws instead. "The...pink ones?"

It was at that moment you couldn’t help but burst out laughing, despite your best efforts at professionalism. “What?” the man asked, flushing slightly, though he laughed along with you.

“I’m sorry, but the pink ones? I’ll take it you don’t know much about flowers, do you?” you asked.

“You caught me, doll.” he smirked. “Mind helpin’ a fella out?” he asked, flashing you another charming grin.

Holding up one finger, you turned your back once more and began to create a simple, yet beautiful bouquet. Buzzing around your shop you grabbed some orchids, a few peonies, tied together with a touch of baby’s breath. Gently wrapping the flowers in brown paper, you smiled proudly at your creation before turning back to the eagerly waiting man.

“Violia!” you presented, holding out the bouquet, waiting to see his reaction.

The man took the bouquet carefully from your hands and looked at you with a dazzling smile. “These are just wonderful. Much better than the “pink ones” I suggested.”

“You’ve got orchids for love, peonies for honor, and some baby’s breath to tie it all together.” you explained, pointing out each flower as you went.

“Well, I’ll be. I had no idea that flowers could have so much meaning, but I’m glad I had such a pretty teacher to introduce me.” he flirted. “How much for the bouquet?”

Though he seemed to be like a heartbreaker, there was something about his tone that seemed rather genuine, you named your price. “Discounted for a first-time costumer, in exchange for your name, of course.” you giggled.

Rather taken aback by your charm, the stranger answered. “James, but most people call me Bucky. And you are?”

“y/n.” you answered softly, silently repeating his name over and over in your head.

Grinning like the Chesire Cat, Bucky took hold of his bouquet, offered you a wink, and headed out the door, throwing a “See ya, ‘round, y/n.” over his shoulder.

You decided you quite liked the way your name sounded on his lips.

The next day proved to be rather quiet, only the occasional customer every few hours. Broom in hand, you spent some time tidying up the shop when Bucky burst through your door, a grateful smile on his face. “Hey there, doll. Just wanted to say that my Ma loved the flowers, so thank you again for saving me.”

Bashfully, you looked at the floor then up at Bucky. “Well, it’s my job and my pleasure. Glad I could help bring your mother some joy on her special day.”

There was a small silence that followed as Bucky took in your shop and all the flowers that sprouted from every corner. He opened his mouth to speak, closed it, looked rather disappointed, and tried again. “So, uh, you mentioned all these flowers having meaning. What would you recommend getting a gal you’re trying to impress?” he asked, and your heart fell to the floor.

Of course, this handsome stranger would already have his eyes on someone. They were probably sweet and lovely and knew how to flirt with handsome men. As best you could, you swallowed the hurt and pushed forward. “Well, you could go with roses, but that’s a bit cliché and you may be coming on too strong. You could also go with sunflowers for loyalty.” you suggested.

“Then I’ll have one of your finest sunflowers.” Bucky decided, leaning against the counter with a smile as he watched you flitter about the shop preparing his order. “Thanks, doll.” he said when you handed him the flower.

As he turned to walk out the door, you watched Bucky pause for a moment as though he was thinking, but ultimately kept going. Leaving you only with the jingle of the bell and the ache of your heart.

oOoOo

This was a pattern that continued for the next few weeks. Every Thursday during lunch, you looked forward to seeing Bucky walk through your shop doors with that same cocky grin. The two of you settled into a routine that consisted of him greeting you sweetly before asking for yet another flower recommendation for Bucky’s mysterious girl.

Each week you couldn’t believe this girl had yet to accept Bucky’s advances. Was she blind or something? And you weren’t just talking about her looks. Over the weeks, you also got to know about Bucky bit by bit. You learned about his family and Steve. About his hopes, his dreams, and you knew deep down he truly was a wonderful person. And because of that, you wanted the best for him and continued to offer your suggestions.

You gave him daises for new beginnings.

Lilacs for youth.

Lilies for admiration.

Carnations for devotion.

The only flower Bucky had yet to get for this girl was roses. He told you he was waiting until he knew she would return his affection.

Each and every time, you sighed wistfully as Bucky left with his flowers, wishing you could be the one of the receiving end. Sure, you spent your entire day around flowers, but there was something so much more powerful about being gifted them by someone who cared about you.

It wasn’t until a few weeks later that everything fell into place. Lunch on Thursday came and went without Bucky gracing your shop with his presence. You tried to mask your hurt by throwing yourself into work, but you still worried and hoped he was okay. Finally, as the day was coming to an end, you heard the jingle of bells.

“Sorry I’m late, doll.” Bucky’s voice called out. “I know you’re about to close, but I was hoping you could help me out.”

Knowing you couldn’t deny him, you nodded gently and waited for his request.

“I think I’m ready to finally get those red roses.” he explained, his confidence growing.

It was like the words pierced your heart. His mystery girl must finally be ready to accept Bucky’s affection – took her long enough. Wordlessly, you forced a smile and began to gather a few red roses to make a bouquet. As much as you wished you to keep your mouth shut, curiosity got the best of you.

“So, who’s the lucky girl you keep buying flowers for?” you finally asked, not sure if your heart could take the answer. In all the weeks Bucky had come to your shop, you avoided asking about this girl, but you just needed to know.

Bucky smiled bashfully, running a hand through his hair. “She’s something special. She’s incredibly beautiful and wickedly smart. She runs her own place and is always willing to go the extra mile to help people. But I don’t think she’ll go for a guy like me.” he explained, sighing rather dreamily.

“You really aren’t over her, are you?” you asked, heart aching at the thought of Bucky continually pining after this girl, and thinking you would never get your chance.

Bucky watched you for a moment, leaning against the counter. “Not even close.”

Ready for the exchange to be over with, you finished the bouquet and presented them to Bucky. “Here you are. On the house, since it seems like such a special day.” you declared.

Bucky took the flowers from your hands and looked at them with a smile before offering them back to you. Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “Is there something wrong with them, Bucky? You don’t think she’ll like them?”

“They’re perfect.” he reassured. “I’m just giving these flowers to the girl who stole my heart.” he told you with a wicked grin.

A few moments passed as you processed his words. The reality of what Bucky said hit you, but you forced yourself to stay calm. No, he couldn’t be implying what you thought he was. Carefully you cradled the flowers and looked into Bucky’s eyes. “W-what about your mystery girl? All those flowers you bought her?” you asked, lost for words.

“Well, uh, you see, doll. It’s been you, it’s always been you. From the second time I came into your shop I wanted to ask you out, but I was too scared. So, I bought a flower instead, and was still to scared to give it to you. I thought each week I would finally have the courage, but it’s taken me until now to tell you.” he confessed, cheeks and ears-tinged pink.

Your mind thought back to all the flowers Bucky had bought from you. There truly was no mystery girl? It had been you all along? Your heart swelled at the thought and a dazzling grin broke out on your face. “Oh, Bucky. You didn’t have to go through all that trouble and buy all those flowers you never got to give.”

“Actually,” he chuckled as he placed a leather-bound journal on the counter in front of you. “I did save them to give to you. All meanings intentional.”

Setting the roses aside, you moved to grab the journal and carefully flipped through the pages. You let out a small gasp as you saw that each page contained the flowers you had sold Bucky perfectly pressed and preserved. It was like a beautiful collage of a bouquet, telling you exactly how Bucky felt.

“I asked my Ma how to press them until I could man up and give them to you.” he explained when you remained silent.

“They’re perfect.” you whispered, tears briming in your eyes. “I have to say, I was getting rather jealous of this girl you were giving all those flowers to.” you admitted.

“Hey, don’t cry, shop girl.” Bucky comforted, brushing the tears away with the pad of his thumb. “You’re the only one for me.” he said before leaning over your bouquet journal and sweetly kissed you.

Your tiny shop swelled with love and warmth even more, and you knew this was only the first of kisses and bouquets with the lovely man before you.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes imagine #marvel imagine #marvel x reader #rita writes

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uncannily-adroit · 5 months

Text

the watch

eighth doctor x gn!reader

rating: g

warnings: none

a/n: i wrote this as a little comfort drabble for myself, i haven't written properly in over a year but i'm actually really pleased with this! eight certainly needs more love too <3

"Doctor, do you want me to wash your coat?"

He looks down at himself for the first time since he stepped foot outside the TARDIS. After a lively- or deathly, almost, in this case- adventure, his green velvet frock is covered in mud. He smiles a little, happy you noticed, because he probably wouldn't have until it was too late and there was dirt everywhere. "Thank you," he murmurs to you as he slips it off his shoulders. "Just empty the pockets, please."

You nod in response and head off, taking a few twists and turns down to where the laundry room usually is, setting the coat down on top of the washing machine to dig around in the nooks and crannies. You pull out his sonic screwdriver first- you set it aside to take back to him once you're done. Then a half-eaten paper bag of jelly babies. You swipe one- maybe two... maybe three, because that's the magic number. Then a yoyo, some lock picks, a spare TARDIS key in a funky shape on a ridiculously long chain, and lastly, a silver fob watch.

Something about it catches your attention. It's rather unassuming, honestly, a plain little thing, but you decide to open it anyways. The watch face is also pretty normal, but the noise that comes out of it isn't. Instead of ticking, you hear a tinkling sort of noise, like wind chimes. A pleasant chill runs down your spine, soothed in a deep way by it.

The Doctor's already made tea, yours waiting next to the comfy red chair, and he's preparing to start doing a bit of work on the TARDIS, making a move to grab his sonic screwdriver. He pats himself lightly multiple times, trying to find it, before he remembers he'd given you his coat. That makes him realize how long you've been gone. He figures you're wandering around one of the closets again; he found you one time practically submerged in a box of old scarves, happy as could be. He heads off in the direction of the laundry room, opting to check there first.

He finds you laying on the floor, thankfully with nothing wrong with you. Next to your ear lays his fob watch, open and playing its little songs. He can't help the smile that crosses his face. "What are you doing?"

"Vibing," you respond. "It's so pretty..."

He lets out a laugh on a breath and walks across the tile, settling himself on his back beside you. You look over at him and he meets your gaze, the smile still lingering on his face. His hair's spilling in his eyes; you push it away, and he captures your hand and presses a kiss to your palm before releasing you. "Do you want to know how I got that?" He nods his head at the time piece between you two. You nod. You always want to know more about him. You could listen to him for hours, and he can talk just as long. The chiming becomes background noise as he starts his story, still laid on the floor with you, the coat and sonic forgotten on top of the washing machine.

Eventually, your back does begin to hurt. You sit up, stretch and snap crackle pop. He grins, pleased by the sight of you from behind with an arched back. He follows suit, picking up the watch. He snaps it closed, looks at it for a moment, then takes your hand and presses it into your fingers, closing them around it. "Here. I've got plenty, and this one makes you happy. I'd like you to keep it."

Your heart skips a beat, fingers tightening around the cool metal and underneath his cold fingers. "Are you sure?"

"Positive."

#dw #eighth doctor #eighth doctor x reader #eighth doctor/reader #the doctor/reader #doctor who fanfiction #doctor who x reader #doctor who x you #im a little too obsessed with something thats only on screen for like five seconds

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bookshelf-dust · 2 years

Text

kids show up, and i get no kisses.

billy hargrove x gn!reader

word count: 1,254

warnings: swearing, suggestive comments, fluffy fluff

a/n: hi!! some billy for you. this is my way of romanticizing a holiday i’m not totally over the moon for, but this is how i wish it’d be. if you don’t celebrate it, you can skip this, or imagine eating a whole bunch of stuff you like, or ignore me as a whole. this is also me encouraging byler. i hope you enjoy it!! <33

————

Billy's palm was warm where it rested on your bare thigh, callouses scratching back and forth from time to time. He'd made himself at home, his legs over yours, sticking where skin met skin. He had on those little green shorts despite the fact that it was freezing outside.

It was one of those days where neither of you had to work, and it was too cold for him to go outside. A day where he insisted on being on top of you the whole time, insisted on being all over you. Not that it bothered you. You did live together after all.

Billy was staring at the television, some rerun of something on. You thought he was paying attention, but his words told you he'd really been off thinking away.

"Are we supposed to, like, do Thanksgiving or somethin'?"

This would be your first major holiday living together, and honestly, you'd thought about it, but you weren't really sure. You certainly didn't want to go home, and that wasn't going to happen for Billy either.

You turned to look at him, light from the tv creating shadows on the slopes and plains of his face. He looked so pretty. "Do you wanna? Like eat together maybe?"

"Hm. Maybe?" Billy rubbed his nose. You reached over him to pull the chain on the lamp, room darkening from the now fully set sun. He set a hand on your back to steady you, but when you moved back he pulled you fully in his lap, setting your forearms on his shoulders.

"Did you celebrate it at home?" You questioned tentatively, swiping a thumb over his freckles and giggling lightly because of how much you liked them. He wouldn't even scold you for your fawning anymore.

"Mom cooked when I was a kid, but clearly that went to shit. Susan fucked something up on accident once and then Neil just made us go out to eat after that, or eat leftovers. I think we might've gone to like a grandparents or something when I was really young? I don't know."

"Why don't we figure something out, yeah? Pick stuff out. Maybe we could have Max over?"

Billy contemplated, dramatically taking your face in his hands. "Okay," he drawled.

————

That's how you found yourself in the grocery store, list in hand as you searched through the potatoes for some that looked promising. You found some just as Billy returned with the peas he'd wanted.

Moving to another section, you looked through the pie crusts before glancing up to ask Billy for help. You caught him in the act of racing down the aisle, body hoisted up on the cart, leg pushing him off of the tile until he reached the end cap and spun around. Clearly he was bored.

He caught your gaze, tossing his head back and laughing because you'd seen him. But you didn't mind when he got like this. Any chance for him to release some of that childhood energy was good. Deserved.

"Need somethin' baby?" He put his hands on his hips, out of breath.

"You want pumpkin or apple pie?"

"Pumpkin."

"Good. Wasn't gonna make apple anyhow."

He grinned at you, fixing the collar on his jacket, brown leather worn in from years of wear. "What else do we need? I can get whatever you want."

He peered over your shoulder at the list, reading the things you hadn't marked off yet. "Milk, eggs, gravy. Come on sweet thing." Billy placed one hand on the cart, reaching the other out to take yours and place it on his belt so you could grab hold. "I'm on it."

————

Billy was finishing deviled eggs when there was a knock at the door followed by, "I'm coming in! Please be decent!"

You laughed over the stove where you were finishing mashed potatoes. Max entered the kitchen along with Lucas and Will.

Billy wiped his hands off. "Hi boys. Hi shitbird." You turned in time to catch their hug—short, but kind, and followed by a yank of Max's pigtail.

Will made his way over to you. "Smells good." He hugged you sweetly and then snuck a roll. Lucas followed, and then Max.

"Are we having macaroni?" She asked, hopeful.

"Your brother made it." You looked over at the timer on the counter. "It's almost done." She laughed in triumph before offering her help, which you declined, telling the three of them to do whatever.

Billy cut up the turkey into thin slices, so that it was "fall-y apart-y" the way you liked, and then the five of you sat on the floor around the coffee table in the living room to eat, the Macy's parade on in the background.

Will sat to the left of you, Billy on your right. You took this as your gateway to breach the question, knowing he recognized your home as a safe space, even though everyone knew now. You turned to him and he looked up, watery doe eyes meeting yours. But apparently, Billy was wondering the same thing as you.

"How's Mike?" He asked, looking around you, beating you to the question.

Will blushed, but smiled nonetheless. "He's good. He's really good. Finished a campaign the other night."

"Yeah? That's good."

You all drifted into varying conversations throughout your meal, Billy and Lucas talking about basketball, while you, Max, and Will critiqued the varying dance groups in the parade or talked about what they were doing on fall break.

Eventually, Billy helped you clean up while the kids set up Monopoly on the table in place of the food.

Standing in front of the fridge, rearranging the Tupperware, Billy wrapped his arms around you, snuck his warm hands under your shirt to rub at the chub of your tummy. His nails grazed your sides, making you laugh.

You shut the fridge, turning around to face him. "Something you need, Mr. Hargrove?"

His smile reached his eyes, and you reached out for his freckles again. He leaned into your touch. "Just you. And I want pie."

"'Course you do. Anything else?"

"Kisses. Kids show up, and I get no kisses, even in my own damn house. Pretty please?" He batted his lashes at you. "I've been so good today."

"Today."

He scoffed. "Rude."

You took his face in your hands and kissed him anyhow, slow and sweet, eliciting a groan from him. You pulled away, but he muttered an "Uh, uh," instead.

This time he ran his tongue along your bottom lip, before slipping it into your mouth. You pulled away this time, making him pout. "B, in case you forgot, there are minors on the premises."

He kissed your forehead. "Yeah, yeah."

Speaking of, said minors joined the two of you in the kitchen and you doled out pie to each of them. Leaving you and Billy alone again, you watched as he spooned out cool whip on either of your slices. He rubbed your nose, ridding his index finger of the creamy substance he'd gotten on it.

He used it as an excuse to lick it off, swiping his tongue over your nose. "Billy!" You giggled—exactly the reaction he'd been hoping for.

The five of you spent the rest of the afternoon talking about everything and nothing, whining over board games, and eating yourselves so full that there was no other choice but for all of you to nap in various locations, splayed out over whatever surface was around.

You couldn't have asked for anything better.

————

please let me know if you liked this! feedback is always appreciated!! comments and reblogs mean more than you know. <33

#billy hargrove #billy hargrove x reader #billy hargrove x you #billy hargrove x gn!reader #billy hargrove fic #billy hargrove fanfic #billy stranger things #billy hargrove comfort #savannah’s fics

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somewherebetweendisorder · 7 months

Text

Happy Birthday

Eddie Munson x fem!reader

Warnings: tooth-rotting fluff

~~~

Eddie let himself into your place with the subtlety of a freight train. Paper bags crinkled in his arms, heavy with goodies that he was overeager to present you with, a balloon tied to his belt loop, knocking against the doorframe and walls as he made his way towards the kitchen.

You could hear him from your room, suspicion building at the odd sounds spilling from the front of your house. Eddie had promised to keep everything lowkey for your birthday, but you were beginning to doubt his promise, eeked out of a tight-lipped smile as he held up three fingers in Scout's honor, a roguish gleam in his big umber eyes. A loud, plastic pop echoed from the kitchen, filling you with a sense of urgency to know what the hell Eddie was up to.

As you round the corner, socked feet slipping dangerously on the tile you grab for the wall, desperately trying to keep yourself from falling, eyes locking with Eddie's as horror flickers across his pretty features. Despite your best efforts to stay upright, you fall flat on your butt, wincing at the sharp pain that shoots up your tailbone, bleeding up into your lower back.

You don't bother standing as you take in Eddie's handiwork while he stands halfway between you and your small dinette, attempting not to look too pleased with himself since he knows he's in for it and is still uncertain if you're okay after your spill. A single balloon is tied in a messy bow to one of the vertical rails on the back of your chair, a cheap grocery store cake resting in the middle of the table, two plastic takeout forks stuck deep into the thick buttercream frosting, plastic wrappers tossed carelessly to the side. Eddie knows you wanted small, he heard you loud and clear whenever you cut off his birthday celebration ideas that bordered on too grandiose for your tastes, but he could do no less than this.

Two candles are clutched tightly in his fist, a grip that's no doubt too tight for the wax as he awaits your reaction. You scramble to your feet, rubbing your sore tailbone dejectedly as you shuffle over to the table. The whole spread of decor is Eddie's personal brand of haphazardness, and it brings tears to your eyes, throat constricting painfully around the sudden force of your emotion.

"Surprise?"

He says it like a question, like there's any way you could be anything but surprised, as though there is any chance in the world you will be displeased or disappointed. His hopeful features pinch at your heart, make your stomach turn somersaults, and send your brain into overdrive, allowing a few tears to slip free in the chaos of inner turmoil.

"Baby? Are you okay? Are you hurt?"

You shake your head fitfully, unable to respond, clamping a shaky hand over your chapped lips to withhold a sob. Eddie is frantically tossing the candles on the table, rushing to your side, trying to ease your hand away from your face and guide your tear blurry eyes to his.

"Y/N, talk to me, please. Did I do something? Is it too much?"

His frizzy halo of dark waves bobs as he crouches down to be eye level with you, full lips pulled into a frown, etching deep lines into his fair skin. It pains you to see him so upset, but you can't hold in the reaction. He did all this for you, went to all the work even after you told him not to bother, after you resigned yourself to another bland year of not celebrating the silly nonholiday.

"No," you finally manage to say, nearly spitting the word out, trying to suck in air, head pounding with the preliminary pulses of a tear-induced headache. "No, it's all perfect. I just-"

His expression softens, the worry lines melting like chocolate, fading to satiny plains of happiness as recognition blossoms in his eyes, comprehension settling over his features. You're happy. And the second Eddie knows that, all is well.

Sure, it's not the bright smile he had imagined as he picked out the dinosaur balloon or the bubbly laughter he yearned for at the sight of the cake, much too big for just the two of you; but you were happy nonetheless, and that's all Eddie has ever wanted for you.

"Shh, babe, I get it. It's okay, don't cry. C'mon, try the cake. Don't cry, you'll get tears on it, and nobody likes salty cake."

His reasoning is flawed, nonsensical and it pulls a frenetic laugh from your lips, a sound lined with love and madness like you can't keep any of it straight anymore. Maybe you never could, but Eddie has never minded the muddy emotions, taking it all in stride, offering his hands to cover the worst of the wounds, hiding them from prying eyes, working to heal.

"Okay. Okay, fine, let's eat the cake," you agree, shaking your head to dislodge any residual negative thoughts.

He pushes your chair in, swatting your hand away gently when you reach for the fork closest to you. "I gotta sing first, baby, don't forget."

He says it like you're silly for forgetting, like you knew it had to happen, like you've been here before when you haven't. You love him more for it, for forgetting the spat from the previous year, for forgiving your spastic behavior when it came to birthdays.

He shoves the candles into the cake with unpracticed hands, pushing a little too forcefully, mussing a glob of frosting, and smiling apologetically. The cake reads, "Happy Birthday Heather!"

"They were closed when I went so I had to get a premade one," he explains when he sees your eyes perusing the expanse of the cake, question alight in your eyes once the words sink in. You smile up at him, heart beating fast, too fast, threatening to explode with the gratitude you feel for the man across from you.

"I love it." You mean it, and his eyes crinkle at the sincerity in your voice, lips twitching in a barely contained grin.

"Good. Now quiet, let me sing."

He lights the candles with a lighter you hadn't noticed, eyes meeting yours over the tiny spread, lips parting as he begins to sing. You knew Eddie could sing, you knew of course, but the sweet sound catches you off guard, washes over you, warm and buttery, melting the last of your resolve. As the last word hangs in the air you clamor to your feet, nearly knocking your chair over as you rush around the table to his side, tapping his leg before sliding onto his lap, joining your lips.

The kiss says everything words can't. Your love and appreciation, the bitter confusion that hides inside, an apology, a thank you, whatever it is, Eddie gets it. He finally pulls away to guide your face back to the cake with gentle fingers pressed into your cheek. The candles are melting all over the cake, hot wax settling gently atop the frosting.

With a harsh puff of air, you extinguish the flames, quickly pulling the candles from the cake and using a fork to scrape off the spots of ruined frosting. Eddie digs his fork in, bringing a large bite up to your lips, the sweet smell of cake and sugary icing invading your nose.

It's sweet on your tongue, with a faint hint of vanilla and something else, new and unfamiliar but delicious all the same. When he's not looking you dip a finger into the dollops of icing adorning the edge and smear it on his nose, giggling at his aghast expression. He follows suit, quickly leaning forward to lick the mess off your cheek.

The shy smile you direct at him makes his day, and he leaves you alone after that, allowing you to eat your cake in peace. You eat until you can't possibly stomach another bite, cake mauled into an unrecognizable mess of crumbs and smears of frosting on the cardboard tray. He's positive he can feel his teeth rotting in his head from the sugar but it's worth it when you kiss him, cloying and sticky, lips skidding against each other.

"Thank you, Eddie, thank you. This was the best day ever."

"Of course, baby. Happy birthday."

#eddie munson #stranger things #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fluff

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melbrewer367 · 1 year

Text

So you want to make a recolor...

I made a quick recolor tutorial for a friend group so I thought I'd go ahead and share here too. This is just a super quick guide for how to recolor an object/cas item.

There are two types of recolors. Standalone and Overrides. Overrides will replace the item/swatches that exist in the game. Standalone recolors create an additional item with it's own swatches. This tutorial works for both kinds, you just pick which one in Step 1, and then the rest is basically the same.

This tutorial also works for pretty much all buy mode items and CAS items. Anything that is tileable...I think maybe that's what you could call it...anything that can be stretched across multiple tiles, for instance, wallpapers, flooring, roofing, fencing...these types of items require a few more steps that I will not be covering here.

Ok so you want to recolor something, you need Sims 4 Studio (S4S) and a photo editing program like photoshop (there are plenty of free alternatives out there too, like Gimp is one I know a lot of people use).

Step 1! Open up S4S and pick either "Standalone" or "Override" depending on what your end goal is. Generally, you'll probably do standalone. I usually reserve overrides for permanent world items I want to change, like changing the images on the billboards in San Myshuno, for instance.

For this, I'm going to make a standalone recolor of an object so you would make sure Standalone Recolor is selected and then click "Object."

Step 2. Find the thing you want to recolor. Across the top there's filters so you can narrow it down by pack or search keywords to help find what you're looking for. Pick your item and click "next" at the bottom. A save window is going to pop up, save your file and make sure to name it something useful that's actually identifying so you can easily find it and remove it/update it/etc in the future. If you just hover your mouse over an item, it will give you the game's name for that item.

Congrats, you've created a Sims 4 package.

Step 3. (Optional) If you want to make changes to the in game display name, description, price, or style tags...you can do that on this first screen and then just hit "Apply To All Swatches." You do not have to make changes here if you don't want to though.

Step 4. This is where the fun begins. Click on the "Texture" tab. This is where you're going to get the file that you actually need to recolor. If there's a plain white swatch, I would pick that one, otherwise, I would go with whatever the lightest and most blank swatch is to make it easier on you to recolor. You just click one of the numbered swatch boxes at the top and then in the lower section make sure you have "Texture" highlighted, in this case it is my only option, and then click "Export." Another save window will pop up, just save that texture file somewhere easy to find, it'll only be there temporarily. (Or, if you want to be really smart and you plan on recoloring many things, you should make a project folder for each thing and save your texture files and things in there so you can always come back to them later.)

Step 5. So the exact tools and steps and such will kinda vary here based on what you want to accomplish and what program you use but, the broader overall process is the same. Open your texture file in an image editing software, change the colors/patterns/etc how you want, and then save that texture file. For instance, on this one I'm just going to change that pink section to a different color by just selecting the pink area with a marquee/quick selection tool and then using the Hue/Saturation tool to change the color.

Another example, this is something James Turner did in a recent video that someone asked about, you could choose some in game frames with images, put your own screenshots onto that image, and then boom you have your screenshots in game as framed photos. You would simply add your screenshot on top of the framed image as a second layer, line it up nice and neat, and you're good to go. Here's an example of what that would look like:

That's also basically how you could quickly add patterns to something. Lay your pattern image over top of the texture, change your layer style to something like "Multiply" or "overlay" depending on the look you're going for. Either way you do these, just remember to save your final product as a .png file.

Step 6. Back to S4S! Same place you were before, except now you need to click "Import" down in that lower texture section, select your texture file you just made. While you're on this screen, you should also update the colors in the "Swatch Thumbnail" section to match your new recolor, and you can also "remove swatch" to get rid of any additional swatches you don't need. Once you're done with all of this, hit save, and then go throw that .package file into your Mods folder.

Step 7. Go in game and check out your items and then pat yourself on the back.

Now you too can be cursed with this knowledge so that every time a new item/clothing is added to the game and you think, "wow I'd really like this if it was in better swatches" you can just...make those swatches.

#the sims 4 #sims 4 #tutorial #s4s tutorial #recolors #recolor tutorial

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smurphyse · 2 years

Text

Bunny in the Kitchen

Smurph's Masterlist

Series Masterlist

Part 2 of Bunny and the Beast

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

Wordcount: 2554

Warnings: Extremely dubious consent, rough sex, dirty talk, emotional manipulation, spanking, vaginal spanking, unexpected punishments, free use elements

Summary: Bunny is a little angry at Spencer as he sleeps with other people and ignores her, but when he shows up at her place she finds he has no patience for her poor attitude.

*gif does not indicate what Bunny looks like!*

You woke up alone the next day. Spencer never came by, and you never left your house.

Working from home had its perks. You did your work at your desk in the living room, talked to your coworkers mainly over email, happily limiting your contact with the outside world. It made going grocery shopping a fun trip, made going to a clothing store an experience you actually looked forward to.

You enjoyed the little world you’d created for yourself. Your one bedroom house in the duplex you shared with Spencer was your safe haven.

It was anyways.

Since your sexcapade in the yard, you hadn’t seen Spencer… you’d heard him enough. The night after your seemingly meaningless fuck, you were lounging in bed and thinking about him when you heard the moans through the wall.

Yeah, fuck me. Oh, fuck, Spencer!

And the night after, a different voice.

Mmm, please baby don’t stop, God please don’t stop.

Then last night, a high pitched woman’s voice followed by Spencer’s.

Yes, daddy, yes!

That’s right, princess, call me daddy. I wanna hear you say it.

That had been the last straw. After the first round of moans you’d moved to the couch, and by the third day in a row of listening to him fuck other people, you were pissed off to say the least.

You tried to not let it hurt your feelings, instead focusing on work or listening to music when you had a free minute. He told you he wanted to use you, and he had… it was as simple as that. No need to get upset by it.

You put on Taylor’s Evermore album and puttered about the kitchen. You were sad and you decided to wallow a bit before going to bed… or the couch, anyways.

Wearing an oversized t-shirt, you had on a pair of black panties underneath it. They were a comfortable pair, plain and boring, a fuck you to Spencer and his faux interest in you.

Your kitchen was pretty open, and the front door to your little duplex apartment was at one end. It led directly into the living room, the open floor plan making it basically one big room where the tile met the carpet, the sliding glass doors to the backyard at the other side.

You had a nice little window over your sink that looked out into the side part of the fenced in yard, and you liked to hand wash the dishes even though you had a dishwasher just to stare at your garden while you did so. It was therapeutic.

Your lease was up in a month, and you had the opportunity to go month to month after that. You could finally afford a bigger place, but you weren't sure yet what you wanted to do, although each night you had to listen to Spencer fucking someone else through the walls you were closer to moving out.

Shaking your head, you thought to yourself, you fucking idiot, getting involved with the neighbor.

You grabbed the coffee pot from the maker and headed for the sink. As you were filling it with water, you glanced up at the window, and what you saw nearly made you drop the carafe.

"Fuck!" you yelped as you spotted Spencer's reflection in the glass.

He leaned against the opposite counter, watching you with a little smirk with his arms crossed over his chest.

"Good evening, bunny," he said sweetly, and you snapped off the faucet, turning to give him a glare.

"You scared the shit out of me!" you nearly yelled, your heart thumping wildly in your chest as to set the pot down on the counter.

Spencer chuckled, "I told you I was going to take what I want when I want it. I want you now."

You scoffed and rolled your eyes, "Couldn't find yourself a date for the night?"

Spencer's eyes turned dark and he quickly closed the space between you, his hand snapping out and gripping your jaw. You gasped as he pushed you against the counter, watching him with wide eyes as your thighs clenched without permission.

"What happened to my sweet bunny?" he asked quietly, a dangerous gleam in his gaze. "Where'd this mouth come from?"

Your chest heaved, and you gulped heavily underneath his strong fingers. His palm pressed against your throat as he held your jaw tightly.

"You can have anyone you want, and you have them all the time," you whispered nervously, "Why are you even here?"

Spencer's lip curled into a twisted smile, and he leaned in close to brush your nose with his. "I want that tight twenty-something pussy wrapped around my cock."

Said traitorous pussy clenched again, your panties rubbing against your lips as you tried to convince yourself you didn't want this. He was so much bigger than you, though, so much stronger, and you weren't sure you could say no to a man like that… not after the other day, not after the way he made you fall apart with just a few words.

But you were feeling brave, a little ornery, and after all, you were mad at him no matter how pretty he was or how wet he made you.

"Go out and find one, then."

Spencer's smile only widened, his pupils dilating, and suddenly his hand left your jaw to grip the hair at the nape of your neck. You cried out in shock as he dragged you to the ground, forcing you to your knees and pressing your face into the cold tile.

His fingers dug bruises into the back of your neck, making the old ones blossom once more from yellow to purple. His other hand tugged at his belt, and you heard it slide from his pants and clatter onto the floor.

Spencer leaned over you, his breath hot against the shell of your ear as you panted, "Why would I waste my time finding a little piece of ass when I've got one right next door?"

"My point exactly," you growled back, and he laughed.

"The mouth on you tonight, bunny…" he whispered sternly, "I'm gonna fuck you until you can't use it anymore."

You whimpered in response, your body coiling in anticipation as he pushed your shirt up over your hips. He gasped in shock, and heat rose to your cheeks as he ran his fingers over the waistband of your underwear.

"What the hell is this?"

"You wanted to fuck other people," you whined in frustration, wiggling your hips back toward him. "I had to listen-."

Spencer's hand came down sharply, suddenly, and you squeaked in pain as the force of his palm hit your clothed ass.

"Yet you kept your door unlocked, you pathetic whore," he snarled, smacking you again and forcing you harder against the tile. Tears welled in your eyes as he did it a third time, and your chest burst with a choked and surprised sob.

"I'm, I'm sorry," you cried, your hot tears flowing over the bridge of your nose, over your cheek and onto the floor. "I won't do it again, daddy!"

"Oh, don't cry, bunny," he cooed mockingly, and you whimpered anyway. "I'm not mad, I'm just disappointed."

Spencer pulled your panties down to your knees, trapping your thighs together as he settled his knees on either side. His hand slid over your back as he pushed your shirt up to your shoulders, making it arch. He dragged his palm back down your spine and over the curve of your ass, cupping it roughly before shoving it between your thighs.

He palmed your pussy, and from the angle he had you at your belly pressed against the tops of your thighs, bent like a table on your knees. Your cunt and ass, everything was exposed for him to inspect.

"I'm gonna make sure you never disobey me again," he said, and without warning his hand pulled back as he slapped your bare cunt with the flats of his fingers.

You yelped painfully, your hands scraping the tile in an attempt to grab something, anything to brace yourself. Unlike the other day you didn't have a picnic blanket to hold onto, and the only thing that had any purchase on the floor was your sweaty palms dragging along the surface.

"Count," he commanded roughly, slapping you again and making you cry out.

"T-two," you hiccuped, your tears smearing across your cheek as your face slid across the flooring, only to be dragged back by Spencer's hand on your neck.

He came down again, the flat of his palm hitting the sensitive skin of your butt with his wide hand, the stinging blossoming out across your cheeks as the blood rushed to them.

"Three!" you sobbed, your chest shaking and shuddering as you wracked with tears.

"Good girl, bunny," he soothed you, rubbing his hand along your ass and pussy. "You feel how wet you are? You liked it, didn't you?"

You sniffled as you realized he was right. Your slick spread with his probing fingers as he spread your lips and rubbed circles with his fingertip.

"It's okay, daddy wants to know how much of a slut you really are. Tell daddy you liked it," he murmured softly, and he pressed his lips to your temple.

You sighed in relief, nodding as well as you could with your face shoved down into the tile, "I loved it, daddy."

"Loved it, huh?" he asked, and you could hear the smirk on his cheeks. He slapped your ass again, nowhere near as hard, delighting in the squeak of shock that came from you.

A dark chuckle grumbled from his chest, and he took away his finger. You heard his zipper and his pants being pushed down, the ruffling of his slacks around his thighs.

The head of his cock pushed against your entrance, and you wiggled to get away from him, terrified of him pushing inside with no prep.

"I'm not gonna hurt you," he told you, but his voice had a command to it that made you still. "I'm not gonna break my toy just yet."

You whined as the blunt thickness of his dick pushed inside, stretching you painfully and beautifully as he eased his way in. Your cunt fluttered around his tip as he pulled out and pushed back in, slowly rolling his hips.

Spencer groaned as he breached you with his shaft, his nails digging into your neck as his movements picked up. Moaning softly, you braced yourself as best you could on the floor, your tears drying on your cheeks.

"This tight little hole," he grunted, splitting you open with his heavy length. His thighs trapped yours together as he bottomed out, holding onto your hip tightly and grinding against you.

You clenched around him, your dripping juices soaking the insides of your legs and making them rub together. The sensitive skin ignited you further, that coiling heat tightening deep inside you and he hadn't even started thrusting yet.

"Need you, daddy," you mewled pitifully, rocking your hips back in an attempt to feel some friction.

Spencer pulled almost all the way out, leaving your cunt empty and gaping before shoving back into you roughly. The force of his hips hitting yours pushed you forward, your nipples brushing the cool tile and making your entire body tingle from the sensation.

And then he was pounding into you, the slick sounds of your cunt clenching and sucking in his dick echoing off the walls and floor and making you moan in pleasure.

"You have no idea how often I think about this sweet pussy, bunny," Spencer groaned breathily, his strong fingers bruising you with each thrust as he pulled you off and on his cock over and over.

"I'm always open for you, daddy!" you whined, your nipples roughly brushing the ground. They were starting to hurt, but the pain was pleasure, and your body only wanted to live in each ebb and flow of ache and satisfaction. "Come use me any day, any time!"

"You say the most tantalizing things, little girl," he growled dangerously, leaning over you and biting down on your earlobe.

You groaned as the twinge of pain rocketed down your neck, going straight to your filled and sopping hole, and you began to rock back on him without him needing to pull you down on his cock.

"I'm your little fleshlight, right daddy?" you cried, and he agreed, moaning in your ear. "I'm just a little toy for you to cum in and use, use me daddy, use me all day and all night please!"

Spencer pummeled your sore pussy, his hips slapping against yours with each thrust. The backs of your thighs began to ache with each hit of his skin, but it only spurred you on.

"I need to be filled, I need to be put in my place," you gasped excitedly, the anticipation of your impending orgasm wildly approaching with each dirty word that came out of your mouth. "Just wanna be your little cumdump, wanna be yourlittlewhoredaddy!"

Spencer's animalistic groans made your eyes roll into the back of your head, your body going limp and your knees and Spencer's hand the only thing keeping you upright. Your thighs trembled under the force of his hips hitting your ass, and suddenly you were screaming, your breath hitching in time.

"Cum on my cock, you free-use slut," he snarled, the cruel names making your entire body shake and your chest turn airy and light as sweat poured from you both. "I wanna feel you cum like the whore you are."

Everything went blurry, and your eyes fluttered closed as you did as you were told. Warmth and slick flooded between your thighs as your pussy trembled and wept around his length, a cry of relief escaping your lips.

Heat rocketed across your face, ripping up your back and chest and flowing over your shoulders as a near painful orgasm tore through you. You felt Spencer's thrusts pick up, becoming harsh and sloppy, and then he buried himself deep inside you.

A choked groan erupted from his chest as hot sticky cum was pumped into your cervix, your orgasm opening up places you didn't know you had. He whimpered as he shoved himself deeper, your body growing heavy with the ropes of spend as he flooded you with his seed.

You slumped on the ground, your body shaking and shuddering as Spencer collapsed on top of you. Cum dripped down your legs, warming the cooled slick as they mingled together on your skin. His hands wrapped around you as he kissed between your shoulder blades.

You moaned weakly, your body beginning to ache as the adrenaline ebbed. Spencer's hands started to wander, rolling your sore nipples between his fingers and swiping over the sore buds.

Your pussy clenched around his soft cock, the squelching sound of your filled hole making you wince even though it turned you on again. Spencer pulled out of you and released his hold on your legs, turning you on your back.

He licked his lips as he stared at your exposed body. Your shirt was still rucked up under your armpits, and he pulled your panties the rest of the way off and tossed them behind him.

You gazed up at him through bleary eyes, smiling weakly, and he smiled back.

"Look how pretty my bunny is," he marveled as he saw your body for the first time. Spencer ran his hands up your sides before cupping your breasts, rubbing his thumbs over your aching nipples.

Your body twitched with each swipe, and you whimpered with overstimulation. Spencer clicked his teeth, and suddenly you were being picked up.

Your arms wrapped around his neck as he hoisted you up on his hip, cradling you close. He carried you toward the bedroom, stopping as he passed the couch.

"Do you sleep out here?"

You shook your head and buried your face in his neck, "I couldn't listen to you anymore."

Spencer ran a protective hand up your back, clutching you tightly to his side but carried on and brought you to your room. He set you on the bed and settled on the edge, covering you up and tucking you in.

It seemed he didn't really want to leave you, as he patted the blanket and smoothed it out far more than necessary. You reached over and covered his hand with yours, "Will you stay?"

Spencer smiled softly down at you, and with his messy hair and wrinkled clothes, you couldn't help but smile back. Those crinkles in the corners of his eyes were too beautiful for words, igniting something within you again, and you knew if he stayed you'd probably mount him and kiss him fiercely.

"I'll stay," he said, and he went to unlace his shoes but his phone rang in his pocket. Spencer groaned and pulled it out, putting it up to his ear, "This is Reid."

His free hand ran across the back of yours, featherlight touching along your skin while he listened. He seemed to age with that call, frowning slightly and nodding.

"I'll be right there."

He hung up the phone and sighed down at his lap, staring at the blank screen. You couldn't stand to see him like that, so you got to your knees and let the blanket fall away.

Digging your thumbs into his shoulder, you massaged his knotted tense muscles, a shock of delight running through you as he melted under your hands. Spencer's body relaxed, and he moaned lightly with each working of your fingers.

"You have to go," you said quietly, trying not to sound too disappointed.

Spencer reached a hand back to cover one of yours, squeezing your fingers and sighing again, "Yeah."

He turned in your arms, wrapping his hands around your waist. Burying his face in your chest, Spencer kissed your sternum through your shirt, and it sent tingles throughout your ribcage.

Spencer pushed you down onto the mattress and covered you back up, tucking you in tightly. He pressed his lips to your forehead, and you closed your eyes to burn the sensation into your memory.

He held out a finger like he was scolding you, but a smirk played across his cheeks, "No more panties, okay? Not when you're at home."

"Okay," you said shyly, your cheeks turning red. Spencer poked the tip of your nose as his eyes darkened deliciously.

"Okay, what?"

"Okay, daddy," you mewled embarrassedly now that you weren't on your knees for him and calling that name out in pleasure. "No panties when I'm at home."

"Good girl," he praised you, and you couldn't help but preen from it. He kissed your forehead again, his lips lingering for a moment before pulling away. "I'll see you in a few days, bunny. I won't be gone long."

He walked out without a backward glance, and a moment later you heard the sliding door click shut. Nuzzling under the blankets, you blushed furiously as the exhaustion began to flood over you.

He still hasn't kissed you, but maybe he would have if he'd stayed the night. You wondered how soft his lips would be against yours, if they'd slot together as perfectly as you hoped they would.

As sleep washed over you, you reveled in the lingering scent of Spencer on your sheets. Happy and content, you forgot about how he didn't say he'd stop sleeping around, and at the moment you didn't care.

Notes:

Bunny & the Beast Taglist: @elhotchner

CM Forever Tag: @simplyparker @spencerreidsmommy @hotchandspencearedilfs @gspenc @kbakery @nomajdetective @givemeth @hoshihiime @halloween-is-my-nationality @reidselle @thisiscalmanditsdoctorreid @dreatine @thebloomingeagle @fortheloveofwonderland @theforgottenwinter @parkerreidnorth

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