#I still need a new art tag huh

[pretty-little-whorror]

kinktober - public space

ash williams x reader

wc: 3190

a/n: for the four evil dead enjoyers on this site. i promise if i was less employed i would post daily for this like the lord intended.

tags: semi-public sex, fem reader, fingering, p in v sex, safe/protected sex, work sex, fucking your coworkers, ash williams, ash williams and his cheesy ass one liners, and his cheesy ass nicknames, that’s it maybe but i’m tired of looking at this, also not like 100% proofread, like 83%

Ash Williams had been put against his fair share of unpleasantries. Having to kill his sister, dismember his girlfriend, get sent back in time and go toe to toe against evil incarnate. Throughout all that, he still stands by that working retail can easily be just as bad - if not worse - than all that. Ash had been at S-Mart longer than he had ever intended and dealt with more customer bullshit than one could imagine. However, he did manage to enjoy his time there in his own Ash-y way while he was there, meaning knocking boots with any coworker that he could talk his way into the pants of.

With most it was a one and done situation. Most employees stay new before they eventually leave. To Ash, this was the perfect situation - left no time for awkward talking after he had gotten done what he needed. His most recent example had been with Jenny from Arts and Crafts. A red headed hardbody that had stayed at S-Mart maybe three months. As her last two weeks wrapped up, yours began.

The Arts and Crafts department was mostly women, so word about who exactly Ash Williams was got around to you quick. Most of the talk was about his serial womanizing, however a few strange rumours of beheadings and murder were weaved in and out during a handful of gossip sessions between you and your colleagues. You chalked them up to a bad game of telephone given how out of pocket they seemed.

Eventually, you had your first run-in with Ash, and it went as expected. You managed to keep a professional smile and move on after each encounter, however that was not without acknowledging that you couldn’t blame any of the other girls for falling for his routine. He was far from unattractive and his charming demeanor did nothing to repel you. Regardless, you were determined to hold your own.

Your resistance had come as a surprise to Ash, who believes he’s God’s gift to women. However he was never one to back down from a challenge. The harder the hunt the bigger the trophy. Months of passive aggressive flirting and innuendoed bickering had only made him more determined. He had used whatever brain he had to find different ways to push your buttons without an immediate trip to HR. It would usually result with you giving him a playful eye roll before you continued back to whatever you had been doing. Today was no different of an example, but as you found yourself pinned up against a wall in the stock room, whatever exactly had finally gotten you where he wanted had slipped your mind.

This close, Ash’s cheap aftershave was almost intoxicating compared to its normal warning of obnoxious behavior to come. As your tongues pushed against one another, you could taste remnants of the mint gum he had just spit out.

His left hand made quick work to take off the ill fitting uniform as his metal one held you up against the wall. Your fingers made quick work of his own blue work shirt, pushing the fabric off his shoulders, leaving him in a white undershirt.

“Someone’s a little anxious, huh?” He words teased into your ear as his calloused hand snaked its up your back to unclasp your bra.

“If that’s such a problem, I’m more than okay to stop” Your hands dropped from his shoulders as you spoke, looking up at him. He moved his hand back up and grabbed your chin with a chuckle.

“Oh baby, I’ve got you just where I want.” His hot breath tickled against the side of your neck. “I’d be an idiot to let you get away now.” He brought your face up to his with a rough kiss, his hand dropping from your face to finish discarding your bra. He pushed his tongue into your mouth with a groan as he fondled your breast. His thumb rolling gently over your hardened nipple. You sighed into his kiss as he continued to play with your tit. He broke the kiss to look down at your chest, a string of saliva still connecting your mouth the his.


“Fuck sugar, you’ve got the prettiest tits I’ve ever seen.” He continued his ministrations as he used his other arm to raise you up, your legs now straddling his waist opposed to your hips. He quickly moved his face down to your chest, peppering nips over your other breast as his hand continued to roughly knead the other.

“Now we can’t let her sister have all the fun” He winked up at you before latching his mouth onto your nipple. You gasped at the action, the sensation of one hand rolling the hardened bud between his fingers and his mouth sucking and biting on the other causing your eyes to shut.

Ash reveled in your reaction, you could feel him chuckle against your skin as he continued. Your hand went to his head, fingers weaving through his black hair. He gave your tit one final, playful bite before his mouth went back to yours. His hand snaked down to your backside, giving your ass a quick squeeze before he set you down, his lips never leaving yours.

He made quick work of his belt, tossing it to the floor as he finished shrugging off his shirt. As soon as you heard the cloth hit the floor, his hands were on you again, discarding your pants into the growing pile of garments to the side of you. In a moment, he had you up again, straddling his waist. His mouth quickly found its way to your neck, nipping and sucking dark spots into your flesh. You sighed and lolled your head to the side, allowing him further access.

“Baby…” He whispered, his hot breath centimeters away from your ear. “Can you grab my wallet, hm?”

You giggled at the request and rolled your eyes. Understanding the request your arm snaked around to his back, snatching the wallet from his back pocket.

“Well forgive me for bothering princess,” he teased. “My hands are otherwise occupied”

“Hand” you corrected with a playful grin. In response, you felt his metal appendage pinch your ass. You gasped and slapped his arm as his mouth went back to your neck.

“That hurt, jackass!” You scolded as you felt his mouth curl into a smile against your skin.

“Well,” He raised his face back up to yours. He quickly closed the distance between you and brought your lips together. You felt his left hand sneak under the hem of your panties, slowly sneaking up to your core. “If that’s such a problem…”

You sighed as his fingers ghosted over your entrance, picking up your slick on his fingertips, at the same time, his thumb pressed against your swollen clit.

“…I’m more than okay to stop.” He pushed his index finger into your cunt as he repeated your earlier threat. You let out a breathy moan as he pushed his finger in to the knuckle.

“But I’m pretty sure you don’t want that” His voice was low in your ear. Your eyes shut as his middle finger joined the other.

“Fuck…” You murmured as his fingers worked to stretch you out.

“Shit, baby…” He breathed out as he began to curl his fingers against your walls, his thumb beginning to work small circles on your clit. “You’re so fucking wet for me, aren’t ya”

You bit your lip and nodded, your breath getting caught in your throat. Ash chuckled and shook his head.

“I think I want you to say it, baby” His mouth returned to your neck as the pace of his fingers became rougher. You didn’t speak, groaning in response instead, partially annoyed but mostly too lost in the feeling of his fingers inside you to care. You felt him like up a third finger outside your entrance and you arched your back towards him out of instinct.

“You gotta say it first, sugar, gotta tell me whose got you all hot and bothered”

You whined and opened your eyes, pleading up at him. “You, Ash. You….please” you rutted yourself against his hand as you spoke. He looked down at you with lust blown eyes.

“Good girl,” He whispered into your ear as his pushed in a third digit. You moaned at the feeling, his fingers immediately working on curling against that one, perfect spot and working with the pressured movements of his thumb against your clit. You felt the familiar building pressure in your belly as his hand worked to bring you to your climax.

“Now, how about you finish fetching that love glove out, hm?” You sighed. Your shaky hand meeting your other that held his wallet. You looked down, fingering through cards and cash until you pulled out the golden foil. You quickly dropped the leather wallet to the ground to join the other discarded garments.

“Ash…” You let out a whine as he withdrew his fingers to grab the condom. You looked up at him and pouted. He chuckled, glowing in the fact he’s taken your bratty demeanor away and replaced it with desperate begging.

“Oh, just give me a minute, doll face.” He winked as he undid his fly, pulling his pants down enough to allow his hardened dick out of its confines. You were, well you didn’t want to say impressed, but surprised he had the anatomy to match his attitude. You must have been taking a moment too long to look as Ash whistled to get you attention.

“My eyes are up here, sugar pot.” You rolled your own as he went to get the condom out of its wrapper. Before he would tear the foil, you snatched it out of his hand. Deciding to make a show of it, you tore the gold wrapper with you teeth while another hand began to stroke his member. Rolling the leaking beads of precum down his shaft with feathered strokes. You pulled the condom from the wrapper entirely and slowly rolled it down his cock.

“Atta girl,” Ash’s head tilted back with a sigh, he once again brought your lips down to his for a sloppy kiss. You gave him a few more lazy strokes before he adjusted how he held you against the wall in order to line himself up with your entrance. You breathe out a sigh l as the fat bulge of his head finds your swollen, wet hole. Out of instinct, arch into him, desperate him to satisfy your clenching body.

His lips reunite with the side of neck with an amused chuckle. “You’re so needy, hm?” He teased between peppered kissed towards the crook of your neck, teasingly pushing himself against your entrance.

His metal hand gripped your hips firmly as he pushed you down onto his achingly hard cock. Your eyes slammed shut with a carnal moan as he fully sheathed himself inside of you.

“You stretch so good for me, baby” He groans as he revels in the feeling of your sex enveloping his, your soft walls like a perfect fitting glove. You roll your hips against his, drunk on the euphoria of him buried inside to the hilt.

“Fuck, Ash-“ Your head falls back, hitting the wall behind you with a thud. He drags his cock from inside you before coaxing himself back in. You whine, working your best to sink as far down as possible in tandem with his movements.

His pace starts sultry; fucking you deeply and purposefully, his thumb resting on top of your thigh as he brought you down on him until you could feel his pubes tickle against your lower belly.

Your hands found their place, one flush against his chest and the other grabbing into his shoulder; promising crescent shaped bruises to form in the following hours from where your nails dug into his flesh.

He adjusts his hold on your hips as he picks up his pace, bouncing you on his cock. “Can’t believe I can finally fuck you.” He purred in your ear, his breath hot against the shell of your ear. His left hand moves between you, his thumb dancing over your clit andhis fingers circling where he pushed into you, getting it coated with the cocktail of your wetness and his precum that dripped out of you.

His hand then raised to the underside of your chin; his thumb lifting your head as his fingers prodded against your languidly parted lips. You further opened your mouth, allowing for the gentle intrusion. Your tongue swirled around the digits as you looked up through hooded lashes into his eyes. Making a show of cleaning off his calloused fingers. If Ash had an ounce less of self control he could have finished then and there.

He instead chuckled, his stare fixated on your mouth as you sucked his fingers. “Look at you, getting all filthy for me , hm?” His pace transformed into rough and desperate thrusts, his swollen head kissing your cervix. He withdrew his fingers from your mouth, his hand meeting his other at your hips, changing the angle he pounded into you just enough for him to be fucking directly into your sweet spot. An aching moan escaped your mouth at the change; allowing anyone who was close enough an exact idea of the wanton situation you were in.

“You sound so fucking hot for me baby, but the last thing I want right now is for someone to take this pussy away from me.” Normally, your response would be to chide him for pointing out the obvious accompanied by an eye roll. However, you just bit down on your reddened bottom lip and nodded, arching down on him further, desperate for him to fuck an orgasm out of you.

Ash's thrusts became rough and desperate, his length hitting your cervix with each powerful stroke. The change in angle caused an electric surge of pleasure to shoot through your body, your stifled moans threatening an exposing volume.

His rough and quickened pace only added fuel to the fire, you could feel the intensity building, your body desperately responding to his every movement in an attempt to bring your orgasm on quicker.

You clenched around him, your walls pulsating with need as you arched your back, meeting his thrusts with fervor. The overwhelming sensations coursing through you pushed you closer to the edge.

With each unrestrained thrust, you felt the pleasure intensify, the tension coiling within you like a tightly wound spring. Your moans threatened to grow louder as you did your best to stay quiet-biting down on your lower lip hard enough to draw blood as your head lolled aside, allowing him access to return his mouth to your neck. He callously nipped and sucked at the reddened skin as your nails dug into his skin as you desperately sought release.

As the pleasure reached its peak, you let out a guttural cry, your body convulsing in the throes of your orgasm. Waves of ecstasy washed crassly over you, leaving you breathless and completely consumed by the sensation.

Ash continued to pound into you, fucking you through as you were thrown into rapture. He felt the familiar burning of his own orgasm approaching. His final thrusts were rough and desperate as he finally came, burying himself deep inside you.

As the waves of pleasure subsided, his lips trailed back to yours, taking one last opportunity to taste you.

“You think you’re okay to stand, sweet cheeks?” He asked, his voice soft as his hand trailed down to your ass, gently kneading the soft flesh as he spoke. With a nodded response from you, he slowly pulled out from you. Out of instinct, you whined at the sudden empty feeling, still drunk on the sensation of his cock stuffed into you. He chuckled at your mewl.

“Don’t worry sugar, as soon as I can fuck that tight pretty pussy of yours again, I will. That’s an Ash Williams guarantee. ” He patted your ass and you unwrapped your legs from his waist, placing a foot on the cool ground. You almost fell to the floor as you attempted to put your weight on it. Ash’s metal hand still on your waist, he was able to keep you from falling completely. He smiled, relishing the fact he had fucked you good enough you couldn’t walk.

Knowing exactly what had made his lips curl into such a shit-eating grin, you flicked your eyes up.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” You bent down to pick up your long discarded clothes, the cool metal of his hand still on your waist. “They just fell asleep is all.”

“Whatever you say, baby” He winked, turning his attention to disposing of the used rubber, rolling it off his softened cock; careful not to make a mess. He found some garbage to toss it in and pulled his pants back up over his crotch. You cringed at the thought of whoever had to take out that trash later tonight.

“What time are you out tonight?”

The question came as a surprise to you. You raised a brow as you worked to put your pants back on.

“Six…” You responded, unsure of the intent of his question. He wasn’t gonna wine and dine you - or whatever the Ash equivalent is that was - certainly. You had never heard any report of him attempting anything along the lines of that with anyone before. “What time is it anyway?”

He turned his wrist over, looking at the watch face. “Ten after.”

“Oh,” You raised your brows, surprised you had been…occupied, long enough to round out your shift.

“You?”

“I’m out at eight.”

“Oh, well okay”

The dialogue was shallow as you finished reassembling your work clothes.

You turned to him; “Why..?”

Ash looked at you with a cheeky grin, raising his eyes from his watch just enough to look up and meet your eyes.

"We should grab some drinks after work, have a bit of fun. I'll buy, I'm feeling generous tonight."

“And here I’ve been told chivalry is dead” Your put your shirt back over your head in time with the sarcastic response.

"I promise you, my intentions are anything but chivalrous when I tell you I'll be paying." He said with a grin and tacky wink. You decided to roll your eyes playfully opposed to wasting your words.

"I can take that as a maybe?" Ash asked. "Don't disappoint me, darlin'."

“Yeah yeah fine, whatever. Where?” You folded your arms across your chest, waiting for his reply.

"The Elk, we can sit at the bar, talk all flirty like." Ash said suggestively. "Nothing better than a bottle of whiskey on the table and a pretty lady beside it."

“Just pick me up after your shift, yeah?”

"After my shift," He confirmed with a smirk. "But just so I know, that's a yes then?"

“Deduce that one yourself, jackass.” You walked away with a smirk, not sure if volunteering more of your time with Ash would pan out in your favor.

#ash williams x reader #ash williams #evil dead #ash williams smut #kinktober #bruce campbell #horror #ash vs evil dead #army of darkness #80s horror #ashy slashy #evil dead 2 #the evil dead #slasher fandom #slashers x reader #ghostface #slasher smut #i hate tagging #grr #smut #call of duty #cod mw2 #ghost cod #dead by daylight #dbd survivor #dbd x reader

[byuntrash101]

okay here are my thoughts: softdom!hongjoong finds out about you thinking his tattoos are hot so he decides to get more of them and every time he fucks while maintaining eye contact, you break your gaze to stare at his tattoos, finding the movement of ink on his skin fascinating

tags: gentle dom!joong, joong with tats (necessary warning), unprotected sex (don't try this at home), praising, pet names (baby, pretty, sweetheart), light teasing and begging, sweet love making </3, creampie

hongjoong knew you liked his tattoos but when he revealed the brand new and healed ink he got right under his chin he didn't expect he would take less then 10 minutes to get you all hot bothered, ready for him. patiently waiting for him on his bed.

he was hovering above you. his hands placed at each side of your face when on gently brushed over your heated cheek.

he rubs his tip against your folds, coating his lengh with your slick as your whimper from the friction and squirm, yearning for more. you haven't seen him in a hit minute since he's always working and you can't stand the teasing right now. You want him and you want him now.

"joongie~" you whine, shy eyes looking at him as heat rushes to your cheeks.

"yes pretty?' he asks, tone as innocent as could be but the sly smirk pulling at his lips gives him away. you squirm under him as he chuckles bringing his blazing hot tip to your clit, applying some pressure to the attention deprived bundle of nerves; which makes you stay still immediatly, afraid of losing friction.

"say what you want my sweetheart" hongjoong purs in your ear, eyes urging you to voice your demands.

"please joong I want y-aaah"' you say in one breath not even able to finish your sentence before your taunting boyfriend pushes himself inside you. the way you walls stretch around him has you pushing your head into the soft pillow, the pleasure ripping a dragged out moan out of your mouth.

your boyfriend knows you so well and you have been missing him so much that in a matter of minutes you find yourself flirting with the edge already.

and so of course he notices when your eyes slip from his own to focus in the brand new tattoo under his chin. you just can't help it. the way the art piece dances on his skin everytime his adam appel bobbles in his throat, the way it moves when he grunts and moans. it mesmerizes you. you have no choice but to look

as you moan and pant become louder hongjoong doesn't dare to peel his eyes off you for a second. he wants to see you coming undone around his cock, he wants to see you slipping into madness right under him, pledging yourself to him and him only forever until the end of time.

"like my new tattoo baby?" he teases again, knowing damn well the answer.

but your mind is too far gone to play coy again.

"yesss" you say throught gritted teeth, pleasure rising again as he acknowledged you.

"such a good girl for me" he says bringing one of his hands to draw tight circles on your swollen and eager clit. immediately you arche your back, pushing your hips further into him.

"please joong i'm almost there" you cry.

"want me to get more?" he says disregarding your last sentence.

At this point you can only nod frantically as you clench around him tighter then ever, fisting the sheets at each side of your face.

"how about next time i'll get your name tattooed? huh? you'd like that?"

"yessss" you whine, closer than ever, completely losing your sanity at the idea of having your name forever imprinted on your boyfriend's perfect skin. "pleasee joongie"

"cum. cum for me baby" he grants you.

you didn't need more to come undone around him and at the end of his expert fingers. he brought you to delirous summits as you shuddered under him and your walls flutered around him eventually taking him with you as your strong grip tipped him over the edge, delivering copious amount of burning hot cum inside you, your name hanging from swollen lips.

he rolled next to you careful to keep himself locked deep inside of you, his inked arms snaking around your waist and pulling you into his warm embrace.

"i'll make an appointment with the tattoo artist tomorrow"

#hongjoong smut #ateez smut #ateez fanfic #ateez #ateez hongjoong #ateez hard thoughts #ateez hard hours #hongjoong x reader #hongjoong hard hours #hongjoong hard thoughts

[hunnieknight]

Ello! Hope youre having a good day!

I don't know if you accept request. If you don't its fine to not do this request. But if you do then, what's Yandere!Soulmate! Aether, Bennett, and Xiao's reaction to seeing reader with the same soulmate mark as them or just having a confirmation that reader is their soulmate in general?

Anyways hope youre having a good day! ^^

"The fate sealed our destiny" (+Art)

General yandere, possesive behaviour, murder and blood (on Xiao), slight angst and misunderstanding (Bennett)

Soulmate AU where you got their constellation mark on your body

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Aether

Context (You are a resident in a nation)

He first saw it when you offered snacks for them as a gratitude for saving your hometown. The wrapper had a constellation mark that is awfully similar to his. Paimon brought it up like a clueless little one she is, when it clicked, both of you guys' faces went red.

He always try to spend a time with you between his heroic work and commissions, he HAS to. He already looking hard for his sister to the point this soulmate thing never crossed his mind, now that you are here, he won't ever lose you.

Usually when you guys are together Paimon will always do the talking. But when it is just the 2 of you, he will look confident and taking a lead in conversation but never forgetting to ask your opinion. It is often just you listening to his heroic adventure whilst eating your goodies.

He will give you the Realm Dispatch so you can visit his teapot. Oh? Did you stare at a flower too loong during a walk? It is in the teapot now. Hm? You like to read books? Oh wow look at this mini library he made. You want to pet the wild animals? Look at all these tamed animals he brought in!

He will asked you to tag along during his adventure. Of course, he will ensuring your safety, even as far teaching you on self-defense. Although in his head you should never touch a weapon, it is his job. He really wanted to make a new memory with you together. The whole world is too big to be explored just by him and Paimon, another companion isn't bad right? You just need to be his supporter, that's all.

If you reject his request on go out adventure. NO No no no no no no, you will not reject me, you cant stay here, please follow me, please be with me, i cant lose you, you will never leave me, i will take care of you. I promise. I promise. You are mine. MINE. It seems his teapot will be your new home....

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Bennett

(soft yandere) | Context : You are part of the adventure guild

You and Bennett have been friends, working together on commission. You both work and fit perfectly like a glove. As an adventurer, you both have been busy. Topic about soulmate never been crossed in all of your conversation. You enjoy Bennett's companion so you don't really care about it. Him, on the other hand, absolute smitten over you. He does not care at all if you don't have HIS mark. He will still love you either way, for now let him enjoy this moment.

It was the aftermath of a fight during commission, you had a large scratch on your back and Bennett automatically told you to strip so he can heal your wound properly. Before he can apologized and look away, you already turned around and strip, his gaze caught onto a beautiful constellation right between your shoulder blade. It was his constellation.

At first, he doesn't want to tell you. He will keep pretending that he never seen it. His bad luck always reminded him that living with you will make your life hell because of his misfortune. Because of that , he started to avoid you.

You were confused, after that healing moment shared between you, he started avoiding you. Although you caught a glimpse of him staring at you somewhere.

"Huh...is it..because of my constellation?"

You rubbed your back where your soulmate's mark lies. Is it a weird mark?Is that why he is avoiding you?

It hurts. It hurts. I miss you. I miss you. I miss you. But it is for the best..It is for the better . I dont want you to hurt. Im sorry. I love you. I love you. I love you. Im sorry

It was guilt that brought him back to you. Everyone in the guild asked Bennett about you. You had been looking sad lately and asking everyone if Bennett say something wrong about you so you can change . It hits him like a brick. He ran around Mondstadt searching for you, just to find you with Windwheel Asters hunched in your hands. You noticed him and walked towards him while sputtering apologizes.

"I don't know what i did wrong or what is going on and i'm sorry for not going to you sooner. But i hope this can suffice until i can apologize proper-huh?"

He didn't let you finish and hugged you. You felt your shoulder damp and a muffled "i'm sorry, i'm sorry" , confused, you just hugged him back.

After he showed you his constellation mark and his reasoning, you just chuckled which caught him off guard. Your voice...your smile.. the wrinkles in the corner of your eyes when you laugh...did...did he really trying to leave all these percious thing behind? Did he really just gonna ABANDON you? His soulmate??He gripped your hand tightly.

You are the fortune in his disastrous life. He will never ever leave you.

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Xiao

(possesive yandere) | Context :You are an apprenticer cook under YanXiao's wing)

You are a apprentice cook learning under YanXiao"s wing. You have been learning there for some times but never actually interact with Xiao. So, he suggested to cook Almond Tofu for the Yaksha living on the upper floor. You diligently followed the recipe and slowly making your way up to the floor where he suppose to be.

You called out his name, no respond. You just staring off the balcong, the wind blew around you, cold yet comforting. As you shivering, You turned around and just saw him right in front you. You gasped, trying to calm your heart down. His eyes just staring at you up and down, well, this is the first time you both see face-to face. You gave him the Almond Tofu and- huh? He is grabbing your wrist?!

His eyes gone wide as he stared at your wrist. It is your constellation mark, as much as you are proud of your mark, this is the VIGILANT YAKSHA standing in front of you grabbing your wrist. You cleared your throat to get his attention. Before you could ask, he swiftly pulled of his left glove and showed you a constella- wait...it looks like yours...huh.. w-wait.

The day ends with Verr Goldet called you to help her out. You gave him the almond tofu and just scurry off, overwhelmed. Since then, you haven't seen Xiao for the most of the time and...it seems like he is avoiding you? Whenever you tried to give him the Almond Tofu, he never shows up, but when it's Verr Goldet, he always comes in seconds. You never approach him, thinking it would be rude. So you settle with just glance at him when he is eating in the kitchen, or when you saw a glimpse on the balcony.

Yet, you also feel the same of someone staring at your back.

You told Verr Goldet about everything, she just chuckled and explained that Xiao just need time to process everything. But you started to think he might be against the Soulmate idea. Besides, you are a mortal, he is an adeptus. It will never gonna work out. He probably hates the fact that his suppose to be partner for life is a normal human bei-your thoughts cut off as you see a Qingxin on the windowsill of your bedroom.

Your training with YanXiao had come to the end. A gourmet dinner made by you was held in the kitchen. You gave your gratitude with YanXiao. With a short bow you gave your thanks to Verr Goldet and her husband for the hospitality.

"I will visit again as soon as possible!"

Verr Goldet just gave you a soft look, that felt more like a pity. Perhaps she would miss you as much as you miss her later. Ending the night, you bid goodnight to everyone and walked up the stairs to your room. You need to pack up your stuff for tomorrow journey back to the harbor.

Has it ever been this chilly in your room? Well, no matter, you just need a blanket to sleep tonight. It is been a while since you see Xiao, he didn't show up during dinner and when you passed the balcony

"Oh welI, i can bid farewell to Xiao tomorrow then"

"Why bid goodbye if you will never leave?"

You don't remember the last time you went downstair of the Wangshu Inn. Since that night which suppose to be your last stay here, Xiao been keeping you inside your room. He only allows you walking around the balcony and the kitchen. When the sun is down, he will sit on your window sill or at the edge of your bed, holding your chained hand. He seems mesmerized by HIS constellation mark on your hand.

You had been asking him why he kept you here.

"You are a mortal, the world isn't kind. I need to protect you."

Yet when you pointed out that the least he can do is not avoiding you, he explained something about karmic debt and how precious you are to him. He can't fathom why are you so upset with him just protecting you. Yet, he say nothing as you hit him with pillow or sulking by hiding under blanket.

Xiao glanced at the red puddle under his feet. The moonlight gave the red crimson stain on the ground a sparkle effect. He looked at his shoes and clothes, stained with blood. As much as he like the blood of the enemy as thropy, he knew you'd hate it to see him all bloody and smell like iron.

"This is all for you, my Qingxin"

The things he will do to protect you from these people who has been looking for you. Don't you understand?They are trying to take you away from him. He had been waiting for decades for you, now that you are in his grasp hold he will protect you with all his might. The least you could do is stay with him.

#imaginedraw #yandere xiao #yandere bennett #yandere aether #yandere genshin x reader #yandere genshin #xiao x reader #bennett x reader #aether x readee

[writeshite]

Smart Cookie

Summary:

“Huh, impressive, Dr. Reid; you’re a smart cookie.” You hold a door open, and he passes through; confused, he turns back. “Smart cookie?” “Yeah, you know, clever, intelligent,” you explained, “a smart cookie.”

Pairings:

Spencer Reid x Male!Reader

Tags:

Fluff | Inaccurate Laws Probably | First Meetings | Tattooed Reader (Because I Don't See Enough Of That) |

Words: 3871

Author's Note:

Guess what I started watching 😂 but like seriously, I am loving Criminal Minds, and as you can see, Spencer has become my favorite, I just wanna wrap this man in a hug or something.

Next

“Love is friendship that has caught fire. It is quiet understanding, mutual confidence, sharing, and forgiving. It is loyalty through good and bad times. It settles for less than perfection and makes allowances for human weaknesses.” 

- Ann Landers

Spencer’s knowledge of romance could be put together in a mountain of anecdotes and books, labeled by theme, source, and moment of discovery - sexuality, unknown source, age 15, conclusion: gay panic. Practical experience, however, could be summed into a blurb on the back of a book and promptly thrown in a fire. Friendship was something far easier; he’d come to learn it later in life - with childhood peers who took pleasure in putting him through the worst of what the American high school hierarchy had to offer - and even now, in adulthood, there were times he would think that those around him much preferred his absence over his presence.

The BAU was a lot kinder than high school was. Still, there were moments when patience would run thin, tempers may flair, or the occasional reminder that now was not the time for a tangent or a pointless anecdote or ‘do you ever shut up?’ or anything else along those lines - he didn’t mind, not like he’d used to as a child, besides, more often than not, the comments came from outside the BAU. Bystanders, police, investigators - very rarely did Spencer feel the need to squeeze himself into a neat little box and present what was deemed desirable to others, at least not until now.

“Nice to meet you, Dr. Reid.”

Change was never readily accepted by the BAU; in regards to new and retiring teammates, it was met with distaste; the change came in the form of you - a recent transfer to the team - your first case with them in Seattle, Washington. An open case, the unsub would stalk their victims and gather intel on them and their lives before attacking; victims had the murder weapons clutched in their right hand and some form of personal belonging stolen by the unsub. Trophies for his collection, his victims, all graduating students from the local university - he had access to the victim’s schedules, details of their personal lives, and used tools at the scene. 

“We’ll split up,” Gideon says, “ask around the university, staff, students, and the victim’s families.”

Spencer gets paired with you, questioning the university’s Faculty of Arts, the main focus of the unsub. The Faculty of Arts focuses on creative arts, writing, philosophy, and humanities - the liberal arts - with the campus’ main library in the area. “Wow, this is fancy,” you remark. Fancy’s an understatement; the faculty entrance was grand, with a pediment and columns overhead and the university emblem on a banner at the door. With the recent deaths, fewer students had been attending classes in person; the faculty head, Professor Jody Cunningham, was an older man with dark graying at the edges, a well-trimmed beard, and smoothed clothes.

“Professor Cunningham….” you called his attention, introducing yourself, “....and this is my colleague, Dr. Reid; we’re with the Behavioral Analysis Unit.”

“A pleasure; thank you for coming; we’re all devastated by the news.”

“Did you know the students?” you ask.

Professor Cunningham nods, “They’d just handed in their thesis, and I’d been making my way through before, you know….” he ran a hand down his face, “now, none of my graduates or other students are coming in.”

“The murders all connect back to one of the subjects taught here; the first was arts, the second, humanities; if he’s going by alphabetical order, then the next one should be natural sciences,” Spencer describes the first two victims, their characteristics, similarities, differences, “do you know any graduate students doing the natural sciences who fit that profile?”

“Three students I can think of, though one of them’s not in the States anymore, so it can only be the other two, Jesse Hudson and Lynn Watson. Jesse’s majoring in biology, and his thesis, I believe, was on the role of the clock gene in protection against neural and retinal degeneration; not 100% caught up on what that is yet, Lynn —”

“The clock gene is a major circadian system regulator found in mammals and fruit flies, the latter of which the transcription factors - clock and cycle - combine and stimulate the transcription of the period and timeless genes. The two proteins bind together and enter the cell nucleus, where the timeless gene then begins to degrade and the liberated period gene interacts with the clock and cycle to prevent them from activating gene expression.” His explanation comes to a stop, and he’s hoping he hasn’t managed to weird you out.

You turn to him, “What happens after?”

“What?” He’s dumbfounded, “uh…well…you want to hear me speak more?”

“It’s why I’m asking,” you reply. “If that’s ok, you don’t have to continue if you don’t want to.”

“No, no, I’d love to; I just….people usually ask me to stop talking,” he shrugs. You raise your eyebrows, and he feels giddy, beaming a little; he carries on, even after you’re finished with professor Cunningham, you don’t deter him. Head tilted to glance at him, your undivided attention. “....I read this from an old thesis in my junior year.”

“And you still remember it?” 

He nods. “I don’t forget much,” he points to his head, “eidetic memory.”

“Huh, impressive, Dr. Reid; you’re a smart cookie.” You hold a door open, and he passes through; confused, he turns back.

“Smart cookie?”

“Yeah, you know, clever, intelligent,” you explained, “a smart cookie.”

Spencer’s a smart cookie. 

He’s a smart cookie.

He’s your smart cookie. 

Well, technically, he’s not, but you’re the only one that calls him that nickname, not all the time; of course, you still call him by his name, but you also call him smart cookie. He bounces on his feet when you call him that, a little grin on his face as he turns to you, “What’s got you all happy, cookie?”

“Nothing, just happy to see you too,” he responds earnestly.

“I’d hope so; otherwise, this coffee run would’ve been for nothing,” you remark, placing his order on his desk, a smile on your face; then you go to your desk, to the left of him, and across from Morgan - kick your legs up and lean back on your chair. 

“What none for me?” Derek pouts.

“Sorry, only deliver to sweetness,” you wink at Spencer, and he grins.

Morgan fakes offense, “Oh, oh, that’s how it’s going to be, alright. Don’t expect me to play middleman with you and Nick again.”

You snort, “Doubt that’s ever going to happen again,” you tell him, “that ship has sailed.” You move your hand through the air, mimicking a wave. 

“Nick?” Spencer asks.

“Morgan’s friend, we hooked up a few times, but it never went anywhere,” you reply.

“Yeah, loverboy here did a hell of a job with him, could barely walk the next day, not that he was complaining,” Derek added on, “Said you had quite the package.”

You throw a pen at Derek, tongue stuck out at him, “TMI Derek,” Elle voiced; she’s just arrived, her own coffee in hand, chuckling while she shakes her head. 

“I’m just giving performance reviews,” Derek shrugs.

“Oh god,” you laugh. 

Spencer feels a little hot under the collar, knocking his knees lightly to keep his imagination at bay - your voice by his ear, hands roaming his body before settling on his hips, his own arms around your shoulder - he shook his head a little, eyes slightly wide as he sipped the coffee.

“You alright there, cookie?” 

“I’ve been meaning to ask, what’s with the cookie nickname?” Elle voices.

You shrug, “Spence’s a smart cookie.”

“That’s a weird name,” Derek says.

“I think it’s adorable,” Elle counters.

“Adorable name for an adorable guy,” you wink again, and Spencer looks away, flustered. 

“Well, I’m not adorable….adorableness inspires great affection or delight; you use it to describe someone or something that makes you love or like them, usually because they are….” attractive, he wants to say, but that might imply something and people didn’t like it when he implied things. He’d like you to keep liking him.

“You good there, Reid?” Derek’s voice snaps him from his thoughts, and he nods, finishing off with a lesser, more implicating adjective. Attractive, there was a 50% chance you found him attractive, but he couldn’t get all that information out of a singular nickname, let alone a few interactions - you liked his rambles and tangents, that was something, right? You’d made him an origami heart - that he kept tucked away in his journals - and called it a hint.

“No facts for me today, cookie?” You’re parked just further along the street of your target - a suburban house in Atlanta, one car in the driveway, three bedrooms, and the target of your unsub - Hotch and Gideon were on the opposite end of the street, Elle, and Derek were shacked up in the house across from it. JJ and Garcia were back at base. 

“Facts?”

You turn to him, “Yeah.” You tilt your head, and he feels something, the little fluttering in his stomach, his hair brushes by his cheek when he tilts his head as well, and before he can reach up to sweep it away, you beat him to it. 

“Sorry.”

“No, it’s alright….” Spencer wishes he’d stopped talking right there, that his mouth just shut or Hotch’s voice filtered through earlier before he laid down his knowledge on human touch and then proceeded to end it with the words love hormone - quite the subtle move. On the plane ride back, Reid feels every muscle in his body knot and stiffen as he goes through the interaction in the car; you’re sat beside him, dozing off with your head propped by the wall. He glances over at you every once in a while, faintly touching the side of his head you’d touched, “love hormone,” he whispers to himself.

Dr. Spencer Reid was something else; when you’d joined the BAU, it took some adjusting, your first case in Seattle was a handful, and the unsub - a student advisor - had access to his victims. He’d begun with the Faculty of Arts, and chosen graduate students from each subject, starting alphabetically; he’d only managed two before you’d caught him. You’d learned that Dr. Reid was intelligent, had an impressive memory, and “....I read this from an old thesis in my junior year.” And his voice was really nice.

He seemed to like the nickname smart cookie, bouncing on his feet and grinning when he responds; he does the same when you greet him either way. “What’s got you all happy?” you ask him after a coffee run. 

“Nothing,” he responds, “just happy to see you too.”

“I’d hope so. Otherwise, this coffee run would’ve been for nothing,” you remark, placing the warm drink on his desk. Granted, it’s not really a coffee run; you’d only gotten him coffee, mainly for the smile on his face. You turned to your desk across from Morgan.

“What, none for me?” he pouts.

“Sorry, only deliver to sweetness,” you wink at Spencer, who grins in response as Morgan fakes offense, mouth agape.

“Oh, oh, that’s how it’s going to be, alright. Don’t expect me to play middleman with you and Nick again.” 

“Nick?” Spencer asks.

Morgan’s friend Nick had been nice; you’d had a double date with Morgan, and one of his dates, then gone on a few more dates and spent a few nights together, but it hadn’t worked out - nothing personal, but that ship had sailed. 

“Yeah, loverboy here did a hell of a job with him, could barely walk the next day, not that he was complaining, said you had quite the package,” you threw a pen at Derek, groaning, as Elle regretted walking into work at this moment and hearing the tail end of that conversation. Spencer goes quiet, and his eyes dart away as he sips his drink, a blush creeping along his face.

“You alright there, cookie?” you ask him, and he turns his attention back to you with a small smile.

“I’ve been meaning to ask, what’s with the cookie nickname?” Elle asks; she looks between you and Spencer.

You shrug, “Spence’s a smart cookie.”

“That’s a weird name,” Derek says.

“I think it’s adorable,” Elle counters.

“Adorable name for an adorable guy,” you wink again, and Spencer looks away, flustered.

“Well, I’m not adorable….adorableness inspires great affection or delight; you use it to describe someone or something that makes you love or like them, usually because they are….” he doesn’t finish right away, stalling, as you assume he gathers his words. You’re not sure what he was supposed to say, but you don’t think it was “....small.” Even after, he looks deep in thought, mind wandering away from the present.

You don’t think about it much and proceed with your day; it’s a slow day at the BAU, so paperwork seems to be the main task today, though there’s not much of it, so the majority of the day is spent idling by each other’s desks. You’ve been throwing scrunched-up paper balls at each other; Spencer had started off on the discovery of paper, then its distribution globally, and was now on its more uncommon uses. “....and you could use the paper to make worthless currency.”

“Like Monopoly money?” you question.

“Probably.”

You toss back the paper, and when he catches it this time, he unfolds it and refolds it into a swan, “You can also use it to make origami, though I wouldn’t consider that an uncommon use.”

When he hands you the swan, you take another piece of paper, fold it into a heart, you drop it in his hand, “You can also use it to leave hints,” you say, and he stares down at the heart, rosy-cheeked.

Dr. Reid was also easy to fluster.

“No facts for me today, cookie?” you ask him during surveillance; the house is empty, a decoy set in place to catch the unsub, surrounded on all sides; now all you had to do was wait. 

“Facts?” he asks.

“Yeah,” you turn to him, tucking his hair back, his eyes widen again, and a blush runs along his cheeks. You apologize, withdrawing your hand.

“No, it’s alright….touch builds up cooperative relationships and reinforces reciprocity, and studies show that it signifies safety and trust. Basic touch can calm cardiovascular stress and activate the body’s vagus nerve, which is involved with our compassionate response. A simple touch can trigger the release of oxytocin, the, uh, love hormone,” he pauses, “why did I say that?”

“We’ve got movement.” Hotch’s voice interjects before anything else can be said, and you’re both out of the car, guns drawn as you track up to the house. The unsub tries to run back through the back, but Morgan’s waiting for him, knocking him down before he can escape. You don’t stick around in Atlanta, exhausted; you all pile into the plane, and you’re out; you wake to Spencer tapping your shoulder.

You stretch your arms, “Thanks for waking me, cookie.” 

“No problem,” he responds. 

You’re out the second your head hits the pillow, and wake up uncomfortably in yesterday’s suit. The new apartment looks homier and less empty, with most of your things already set out; you toss the old clothes in the hamper and get ready - shower, teeth, breakfast, and out the door. It’s a warm morning, so you carry your jacket in your hand.

“Damn, loverboy, I didn’t know you had sleeves.” You’d bumped into Derek on the way in, and he’d been immediately drawn to the ink on your arms. 

“Oh, these old things,” you quip, “they’re nothing special.” 

He whistles, and you lightly smack his arm, “Oh, shut up.” Derek wasn’t the only one taken back by the tattoos; the others were either shocked or intrigued, gathering by your desk to gander at them.

“Never, ever, keep your sleeves down again,” Garcia pleads.

“I’ll try,” you chuckle.

Spencer walks in last and takes a double glance at you, “You have tattoos? Wow,” he pauses, “wow.”

The others soon dissipate, but Spencer lingers a bit, looking between you and the ink; he reaches out but then hesitates, you hold out your arm and nod, and he traces the imagery. “That's one of my favorites,” you comment on the one he’s tracing.

“It’s beautifully detailed,” he observes, “they all are.” 

“Thanks, I’ve had them done over the years,” you say. He traces the lines to your fingers, and when he finishes, he moves to the other arm - he gives you facts on the origins of tattoos and asks about some of your tattoos. You get lost in your own world, carrying on with the conversation as you’re called in for a briefing.

“What about this one?”

Spencer fixates on your tattoos, tracing them over and over, eyes following his fingers as they go over the lines again, “My second tattoo, got it a few months after my first one on my birthday.”

“What was your first one?” You’re going through paperwork looking for clues and hints to lead you to the unsub, “It’s a spinal tattoo,” you tell him and his eyes widen, “I can show you if you’re curious.”

He brings a folder to his face, a nervous laugh, and he looks like he’s considering it; he shrugs a little, “Only if you want,” he murmurs.

“Oh, cookie, I could eat you up,” you reply, and he makes a sound of amusement or surprise, or maybe it’s giddiness - as he kicks his legs a bit.

“Hey Morgan, how does dating work?”

Morgan slowly lowers the paper in his hand; it lays on his desk as he leans forward and glances over at Spencer. “Come again?”

“How does dating work?” Spencer repeats, “I assume you’re the most adept at this matter, I mean, I know how it works, but I’m also not…are you alright? Your face is doing —” Spencer gestures uncertainly.

“Just….just savoring this moment, " he replies, smiling, “I know something you don’t,” he cheers.

“I don’t not know about dating, I’m aware of it from societal expectations, facets, and data, but I lack the field experience.”

“Don’t,” Morgan holds his hands up, “don’t ruin the moment,” then he’s back, a smirk on his face; he asks, “Is it loverboy?” Spencer nodded; Morgan clapped his hands, a satisfied grin on his face, “I knew it!” he whispered before returning to the matter at hand, “So,” he cleared his throat, hands together on his desk, “dating.”

“Yes.”

“We’ll start simple; what do you know about dating? Not the facts, just the practical, like have you ever been on a date?”

“No, well, there was this one time I did get asked out by this girl in my class; we decided to go to the local park, but then I overheard her tell her friends it was a prank and they were going to douse me in some concoction, so I didn’t go,” he responds, “does that count?”

Derek shakes his head, “No, it does not, and are you ok?”

“Oh, yeah, it was a long time ago,” he shrugs, “so, what do I do about —” he winds his hands in a circular motion. “Is there a set of words I should say? Are there things I’m expected to do?”

“No, no, look,” Derek replied, “just, he likes you, for you, so don’t worry, just be yourself.”

“Be myself, huh? That’s the first time someone’s said I should do that,” he remarks. “Wait, how do you know he likes me?”

Derek raised an eyebrow, “He looks at you like the sun shines out of your ass,” he responded, “trust me, he likes you.” Spencer would like to believe Derek, and he does, but the little nagging voice in the recess of his mind, he starts wringing his hands a little and runs them along his pants to calm his nerves. “Hey,” Spencer glances up; Derek’s moved from his seat to his desk to his, leaning, “he likes you, ok?”

“How can you be sure?” Spencer purses his lips, twisting the strap of his bag, “He doesn’t deviate from how he acts when he interacts with all of us, he flirts with you just as much as he does with me, and Garcia, and Elle —”

“Why don’t you just ask him,” Derek points to the brief room; you’re currently standing by the door to it in deep conversation with Garcia. Spencer turns back and shakes his head.

“I think he’s busy; I —I’ll do it later.”

Later, in layman’s terms, really meant not ever. Preferably on his deathbed if he had to, but now that he’d asked Derek, any moment he’d look over, Derek would gesture to you, head tilted towards where you’d gone or were. Sometimes he’d mimic movements with his hand - one hand you, the other him, and they’d smoosh together into a kiss - then he’d groan, running a hand down his face when Spencer would shake his head frantically.

He’d like to avoid you and give a chance for the infatuation to die, but either he can’t bring himself to or doesn’t want to. He’s been playing the potential outcomes in his mind, he could confess, get turned down, and you’d remain friends, or he’d confess, get horribly rejected and then never see you again, or he could confess, and you could return the feelings. Considering all the options, he won’t be doing anything; he’ll just let this float away.

“You’re staring, cookie.” It’s the two of you in the kitchenette, no case, just tying up loose ends. “What’s going on in that mind of yours?”

“A potential hypothesis,” he responds.

“Oh yeah, what about?”

“Uh….I’m not sure how to put it into words,” he responds.

“Well, that’s a first,” you laugh, turning away from the kettle heating, “come on, give it a go.”

He nervously rubs his hands together, “Actually….it might be easier if I–I demonstrated it.”

“In the kitchen?” You ask, and he nods, asking you to close your eyes; you raise an eyebrow.

“Just trust me,” he begs, “....please.”

You do so, and there’s a split second where you can hear him mutter to himself - you can do this, come on - there’s a soft push against your lips, and it takes you a moment to realize he’d kissed you, holding your wrist to balance and ground himself, and then it’s gone. Your eyes open, and Spencer’s pursing his lips, hands wrangling more intensely, “R–results?” He’s not just asking; he’s hoping, the subtle worry underneath his voice as he waits for an answer.

You take one of his hands and reel him back in with a slight tug, and he looks so terrified as if bracing himself for the worst, so you kiss him, hoping it displaces any of his fears - Spencer clings to you, even after, your bodies are flush as he hides away in your arms; drawing back every once in a while to look at you, before shying away, a frivolous laugh caught in his throat. 

“Good?” You inquire, and he nods.

“Very good.”

End Note:

I apologize profusely for using the word cookie as a nickname for Spencer, but I named the fic and got committed so you get to suffer with me. Stay Hydrated.

#spencer reid x male reader #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds imagine #i spent an hour looking through quotes because big brain said 'start off fic with quote that foreshadows what you're gonna write about' #tattooed!reader #smart cookie universe :)

[bucknastysbabe]

God Bless the Inventor - 40’s AU series

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 3,268

Synopsis: Howard comes up with a…new invention for his adventurous pals to try. Bucky’s devious wife has plans. Bucky is questioning his life choices.

Tags: 3k of femdom filth, anal play, fancy vibrators were invented by Howard I know, Subby baby buck, chubby bunny buck, man tears, oral (f!receiving), humiliation kink, weight gain TW if that’s not your thing, men in panties, overstim, SSR GANG, Peggy should’ve been gay and not a dumbass plot choice I loved agent Carter and stand by that, We Stan Dum Dum Dugan, Bucky and him wife are very much in love and supremely horny, praise kink, slight sub space

A/N: I wanted a thicker man in lingerie smh

Howard sat on the other side of his Art Deco living room, newly furnished from what you could tell. Bucky was next to you, a question furrowing his brow. His flesh arm was around your shoulders, the cutie would get touchy around Stark’s flirty demeanor. Regardless if they were best of pals.

You smiled and asked, “So what’s this new invention you want to pitch to us of all people?”

Howard’s dark eyes gleamed with mischief. He grinned and sat forward, extending his hands. The genius elaborated, “Well- it’s a bit of a strange idea, brought to my attention after seeing a housewife in dire need of,” he winked, “companionship.”

Bucky barked, “What the hell Stark? You comin’ onto us or something?”

You shushed him and gestured for Howard to continue his pitch. He laughed airily, pulling out some sort of sleek oblong thing— faintly in the shape of a prick with a ring on the end. Your eyes widened when it dawned, you gasped, “Howard! You made one of those sex toys?” Bucky rolled his eyes with a groan, thoroughly displeased.

Howard wagged his finger, “Nuh-uh-uh! It’s a ‘massager’! Good for working out sore muscles.”

You and Bucky shared a dubious look, then turned back to Stark. He slapped his knee and guffawed, “Yes of course it’s a vibrator! But the magic here is that it’s battery powered and,” he winked, “remote controlled for the partner!”

Bucky snorted, “What about the damn flying car Stark? Been waiting on that one since 42’.”

“It’s still under work!,” the man snapped.

You interrupted, “What then? You want us to try it out for you? Why can’t you do it on one of your two million dames?”

Howard slyly smirked, responding, “If the inventor says it’s good then what proof is that really? Just take it home, lube it up, come back to me so I can sell the patent. Stark Industries wouldn’t look good selling hysteria machines.”

Bucky sucked his teeth. He mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like, ‘can’t get a goddamn break with these SSR loons.’ You were already hooked by Howard’s pitch and toy. Poor Buck was going for the ride of his life sooner than later. You held out your hand and hummed, “I’ll bite, be back in a week. Hopefully I can leave you a glowing review, Howard.”

The excitable man jumped up and cheered, “Fantastic! You two will love it!” You grinned and let Howard peck your cheeks to Bucky’s consternation. Calling over your shoulder you joked, “Make sure Peg and her ‘roomie’ get a pair too huh Stark?” All three of you burst in to giggles after that, Bucky leading you out with a big hand on your waist.

Once strapped into the car Bucky had a strange look on his face. You purred, “Scared baby? This thing is preeeetty hefty.” He grumbled and turned the key into the ignition, ignoring your comment. You squeezed the plush layer over his strong thigh and said, “Poor Howie doesn’t know the trap he put you in Bucky-bear.”

“Tell me about it, sweets,” the brunette huffed.

Couple o’ days later

Bucky was sweating through his blazer, even in the chilly temperatures. You could see the perspiration beading on his upper lip, collecting on his temples. The man couldn’t stop shifting, tapping, grinding his teeth. Conversations went around the SSR members and their plus one’s, usually other significant others. Peggy had brought that sweet but brutally New Yorker ‘friend’ of hers, Angie.

Ray and Johnson kept away with nervous looks after the debacle at the last get together. You fondly remembered fucking Bucky into sweet submission that night. There would probably be a rehash soon if your poor husband didn’t cum all in his slacks. Which he probably would anyways, but that was okay.

Bucky was currently shoving his face with food to stop the nonsensical little noises he couldn’t hold back, passing them off as enjoying the meal. You smirked at the thought of the vibrating toy in his ass. Howard and oh goody, Dugan was in town! They ambled over greeting folks. Bucky’s eyes opened wide in fear. You knew that he knew Dugan was going to zero in on his bootcamp to field buddy.

“Barnes!,” Dugan boomed. Bucky dropped his food to sheepishly smile and get up on shaking legs. The mustachioed soldier pulled your husband into a hug, slapping his back heartily. Buck made a choking noise, rasping back a hello. Dum Dum manhandled Bucky backward to get a good look.

He patted Buck’s side and peered over a wide shoulder to joke, “Hello Missus Barnes! A sight for sore eyes! What’cha been feeding Sarge here? Lookin’ like pre-bootcamp dough boy Barnes!���

You could almost feel the mortification radiating off of your other half. Bucky’s face was a deep flush, him turning to look at you pathetically.

Down the vibrator went to zero in your pocketbook. Poor bear.

Dum Dum smiled happily, hugging the brunette again, whispering, “I’m so happy you’re okay man. Blessed, really.” Bucky gave a less strained smile at that, relaxing into the big man’s arms. “Missed ya’ too Dugan, lots.” Howard cooed, “How adorable! Let’s get the whole team together over in Europe.”

“I like New York thank you very much,” Buck deadpanned to a raucous of laughter. You sidled up to your husband, beaming. Dum Dum teased, “As long as she gets to go, gotta have some guts to keep Barnes tied down.”

Your lips quirked up, a hand sliding to palm Bucky’s ass while you purred, “I’ve got some steel under my frilly apron.” Bucky flushed and looked down, lamely replying, “She does, she does.”

The party went on a bit longer, people getting rowdy. You let Bucky get some much needed catching up with Dum Dum. His cheeky smile made your heart skip. Later on, Chief Dooley had to disperse the drunken men and Peg howling war songs. You laughed and clapped along with Angie, sharing a warm look.

Bucky was sweaty and disheveled by the time he was launched out of the circle into your arms. You caught his bulk, laughing and batting at your husband as he peppered you with wet kisses. He laughed, “C’mon you don’t want some lovin baby?” You scrunched your nose and giggled, “I always want your lovin sweetie, let’s get home Hm? Then we can take Stark’s toy for a real test drive.”

Bucky’s pupils blew at the implication, body going woozy in your arms. You eyed his needy expression, pushing back some fallen strands of dark hair. Nipping at his earlobe you hummed, “That was only level one baby, and you couldn’t sit straight.“ Bucky’s breath left him in a punched out groan, slumping into your smaller frame.

You gave his ass a tight slap and hollered, “I got the wheels this time Sarge!”

Making the rounds of goodbyes, Bucky was definitely rushing to get back home. Stark had a knowing gleam in his eye, giving you a wink behind your husbands back. Hugging the genius you thanked him.

Bucky, resigned and so, so horny followed behind like the pet pup he was. You deviously cranked the remote up another level, eyeing Bucky for the inevitable reaction. He yelped, legs spreading, arms flailing. You could hear the crunch of his metal hand on the door. Bear could hardly climb into the little two-door, so wracked with pleasure.

You cooed, “How’sit feel bear?”

Bucky’s cute nose was scrunched up as he whined out, “S’fulll m-my god, s’fuckin me up baby.” He was now rutting back against the car seat, whimpering needily. Bucky moaned, “So good, so good, fffuck!” You pulled the car forward, grinning helplessly. Oh how you loved your submissive little big boy. Bucky mewled and made to palm at his swollen cock, probably painfully smushed in those tight slacks of his.

He was too prideful to admit it, but you’d ordered some more clothes so Bucky would stop looking like he was shoved into his work suit. Stubborn bastard. You slapped his hand away and tutted, “We have to test out Howard’s device correctly dear.” You patted his plump cheek and added softly, “Can’t have your slutty dick get in the way can we now hm?”

Bucky’s tears were getting worked up but he dropped his dark head and whinged, “Yes ma’am.”

“Good boy,” you crooned. Bucky shivered and seemed to relax at the praise. Bear loved his praise and coddling almost as much as he liked the humiliation. You’d get to that later.

Bucky was going mindless, humping and sucking on his bottom lip as he bounced in the seat. To be a bitch you taunted, “Had alot to eat tonight, don’t wanna bust your nice slacks dear.” He thinly whined and blushed, curling in but didn’t stop the movement.

Pulling into the garage Bucky ungainly hopped out and staggered over to you, opening the car door. You simpered, “Sweet boy, thank you, earning a lot of treats tonight.” He blubbered, “Really?” Thumbing his swollen slobbery lips you nodded, pecking them one time.

Bucky led the way, albeit slowly due to the vibrations dragging across his ass and the heavy weight of the plug on top of the prostate. You came from behind, like a jungle predator. From the gloom of the hallway you crooned, “Special drawer’s calling your name, bear!”

Bucky moaned frustratedly. You didn’t like that insolent tone, cranking it up to the highest power. There was a clank of his arm and throaty wail emanating from the darkened bedroom. You sped up to the scene, and my- what a scene you saw. Bucky was on his knees, blazer discarded and his fingers digging into the chest. You knew that was to keep him from touching his cock.

Bucky sniveled, “S’too much, baby baby, ah fuck baby! Can’t stop l-leaking mmmgh!” You moaned softly, clambering behind your shivery husband. Slowly you discarded his clothes, baring that adorable fluffy flesh to your eyes.

“Pretty baby,” you sighed.

You could hear the vibrator assaulting Bucky’s ass, pounding his poor sensitive prostate. Your sarge whimpered and mewled, definitely getting overwhelmed. You shushed him, pressing sweet kisses and praises to relax Buck. Your nimble fingers undid his belt and unbuttoned the pants. You bit your lip bloody at Buck’s fat cock swollen and leaking all over his slacks and panties.

“Oh my, s’it milking you out sweet boy. You feelin’ sweet baby?”

You sucked in a breath, your pussy causing a slippery mess in your panties. You adjusted the sticky fabric with a strained whimper. God your husband was a work of art.

He nodded jerkily, leaning back onto your slim shoulder. Your hand caressed his damp chest and cheeks, pressing a kiss to his temple. In slow terms you asked, “Buck, you got me?” Bucky was approaching fast if not already in that foggy space. He nodded slowly, blue eyes wearily opening.

You flipped his bigger frame around to back against the drawers. Bucky was so pliant it was like moving a rag doll, albeit a heavy one. He mewled upon seeing your face, “W-wan you so bad baby.” His cock spurt out more pre. Instinctively you slid your fingertip across the milky bead and sucked on it, Bucky crying your name.

Undressing the baby was an easy affair. Surveying his flushed skin, you figured a pink set would compliment the blush, pale stretch marks, his lips, and pretty pink nipples. Shaking yourself out of the horny catalogue you moved to open the drawer, snatching around until you found the lacy baby pink set. Bucky sighed and watched with hazy eyes.

You held it up to the befogged Bucky, watching his lax body begin to tremble in excitement. You teased, “Yeah pup, you’ll look like a dream.” One leg went in a hole at a time, Buck weakly lifting up his hips to slide the thin panties on. He cried out at the fabric caressing his full balls.

Next came the garter, Bucky’s least favorite part. You relished in it, watching the softness of his belly tighten and struggle to fit under the unforgiving straps. You snapped the waistband across his belly, Bucky whining and shaking his head. Palming his tummy you questioned, “Did you get get hard when Dugan mentioned you’d packed it on?”

Bucky’s red cheeks grew wet with tears as he sniveled, “N-no! God no, I w-was so embarrassed!” You surveyed his twitchy blues while you slid up the stockings and clipped them to the ill fitting garter. He kept looking down and away as if he was going to escape. You knew what that meant. Liar.

“Uh-huh baby, just say you like being my greedy plump housewife and I think you’d feel better.”

Click click.

The buzzing grew louder.

Bucky’s legs snapped open as he howled in ecstasy, hands pulling and ripping at anything in grasp. He sobbed, “S’not tr-true! M’gonna go train with Johnson.” He shivered and mewled again at the sensation of the vibrator. You cocked your head in amusement, crawling to sit between his thick thighs.

“I know you will baby,” you teased.

You upped the vibrator to the final setting, watching Bucky seize and wail helplessly. Your own pussy tightened more and leaked at the sight of the brunette’s panties growing a darkened stain. Your belly was awash with heat, could you actually cum from watching this? Poor Buck was huffing and squirming, unable to do anything but take it. You nibbled at his chest cooing, “S’that feel good? Color baby?”

“Green mmmm- oh god yes,” he yelled.

You didn’t want to give that unspeakable German bastard any credit but whatever he dosed Buck up with in Azzano did make your husband eager to cum as much as possible. Rolling with the punches, one would say. You cleared the thought by rambling dirty nonsense.

Detaching your mouth from a puffy nipple you cooed, “What’s gotten into ya’ baby? Being so good for me. Such a good little slut, lovin’ Howard’s fun toy up your whore ass like that.”

Your husband was too busy drooling and agreeing in sloppy disjointed ‘yesses’. He was far gone, maybe had one em’ before the overstimulation took over. You crowded closer into his bulky frame, breath fanning over heaving lips. Bucky mewled and chased your lips, hands twitching at his sides, obedient as ever.

You indulged the needy slut and grabbed a full cheek of his while taking his mouth. Bucky cried out, “Oh! Mmph!” You licked into his open mouth, twirling your tongue with Buck’s while swollen wet lips caressed your own. Your husband shuddered and shoved himself closer, rubbing his tits against your silky negligee.

You smoothed your hands down the brunettes plush sides, purring, “I know you’re feeling s’good baby, you loving all this? I mean lookit’chu, you’re a mess baby.” Bucky made an indignant noise, squirming underneath you. He managed to pant, “Luh’ it. M’so horny.”

Sweet Jesus you’d lucked out. Bucky was the perfect whore, all for you. His watery blue eyes, achingly wide- watched yours. Cheeks red, trembly lips, sweet belly twitching. The cherry on top was his cock just pouring rivers of cum. You palmed his bulge, gasping at how soaked it was.

In a frenzy you unclipped the garter, Bucky gasping in shock. He made an inelegant, “whuh?” Flipping the garter up, your shaking hands yanked down the ruined panties. Mouth running overtime you rambled, “Baby is wet, so wet, gonna give me one big one Hm? Gonna cum all over your wife like a good slut?”

Bucky nodded frantically, eyes scrunching shut. He cried, “Wet for y-you- ah! Touch my balls, pluh-please they’re so heavy for you! Hngh!” You nodded, biting your lip in ecstasy, the buzzing of the toy echoing on and on. You palmed and held onto the swollen sac.

“Jesus fuck baby!,” you swore.

He was all hot hot hot and swollen. That wouldn’t do. You squeezed and rolled them, thumbing down the seam. Spurts of cum hit your belly, Bucky throwing his head back with a wail of your name. The Sargeant babbled, “Thankyouthankyouthankyou G’nna cum so hard for you ma’am!” He sucked in a wet sob and violently trembled.

“Yeah babydoll, I know you’re full up, c’mon Buck, be my good houseslut and paint my fancy clothes, ruin me, pretty baby,” you rambled breathlessly.

Bucky’s balls tightened and drew up under your palm, cock shooting load after load onto your negligee. You cooed and praised him through it, your own orgasm coming out of nowhere. You gripped at the soft flesh on his belly, panting through your nose. Simple excitement from the show that was your husband. Fat tears and hefty sobs tore Buck’s throat as he emptied.

You scrambled to turn off the vibrator, Bucky’s crying already growing frantic. You eased it out of him and tossed the device across the wooden floor. Bucky cried and mumbled nonsense, itching to touch you. You purred, “S’good, c’mon and touch me Buckybear. Good damn boy.” The supersoldier wrapped up tight around you, strong fingertips embedded into your flesh.

Teary eyes searched yours as he begged, “Baby, sweets, oh, lemme’ eat you out please! Want you on my face!”

You grinned, a complete mess, and nodded. You rasped, “Yeah, yeah, that’s a good boy, you deserved it.” You leaned back, bracing your elbows and spreading your legs for your needy husband. Bucky moaned, clambering onto his belly, big hands swallowing your thighs. He croaked, “Smell so good, my angel baby!”

“Have a taste Buckybear, sweet Jamie.”

Bucky lapped eagerly at your soppy pussy, eyes rolling at up the taste. He ate and sucked like his life depending on it, thick hips and thighs flexing against the hard floor. You threaded trembling fingers through his brunette locks, tossing your head back with a wanton cry. You blabbered, “S’good, keep it up baby.” Bucky shoved his tongue into your cunt, slurping and whining rudely.

So soon after your surprise orgasm, this was intense. All you could do was moan and whine your husbands name, riding his pretty fucking face. Bucky’s hands squeezed your thighs roughly, spreading you even wider. You cried, “Fuck sweetie! Yeah yeah that’s it!” He rutted harder, whining into your swollen pussy.

He suckled on your clit, interchanging with flicks of his tongue. Baby knew you like the back of his hand. Bucky looked up, adoration in his glossy eyes, slurring, “Love ya’ baby, pretty mama please please!” He slid a thick finger inside you, crooking the digit in quick motions. Your body arched and shivered, pussy convulsing and pushing out more and more slick.

Bucky gasped into your cunt, wordlessly wailing.

He’d cum— again. You curled around your husband, legs caging in his dark hair. Pleasure and overspent nerves overtook your flesh, making reality fizz away for God know’s how long.

You came to, cuddled with your baby in a heap on the floor, Bucky laying reverent kisses on your jaw. You gripped his soft cheek and pulled the sweetest man alive to your lips, moaning a raspy, “Love you.”

Later that night

“Yeah, so, Howard- I will give a glowing review.”

Howard’s brash laugh echoed on the other end of the line. He purred, “I take it Barnes enjoyed the treat?” You grinned and looked over to your husband, diligently rearranging and cleaning his gun. You giggled, “Oh very much so Stark.” Bucky barked from across the room, “What does he want?”

You laughed, “Sorry gotta go Howie, talk to you later, you scoundrel!”

Suspicious blue eyes stared at you, making you fall into a fit of giggles. Poor baby bear.

#40’s au #chubby!bucky #bucky x female reader #bucky x reader #Bucky barnes x reader #sub!bucky #Bucky barnes smut #the Other Kink slipped thru again maybe I’ll convert someone today #I love Howard Stark he’s my manic baby

[nathandrakeisabottom]

Headcannons about them with an anxious SO? Love your stuff x

Thank you, friend! Now, in full canonical honesty, I don’t believe that either Nathan or Sam would be particularly good at dealing with their deeper anxiety, let alone someone else’s, let alone someone else’s who they loved dearly and would only be afraid to make it worse (that many crumbling bridges and a guy’s gotta if consider his only superpower is the ability to destroy everything he touches) for most of their young lives. 

However, I do believe that post-UC4 (perhaps a little earlier for Nathan), and a good dose of necessary therapy (paid for in pirate coins, of course)--- they’d be more than willing to finally take on the challenge. 

For themselves, and for the person they love more than anything.

Drakes with an Anxious S/O Headcanons

Nathan:

In his younger days, the prince of the awkward smile and half-hearted clap on the back. A pulley doll whose only catchphrases were “Man, that’s hard”, “Yeah. Yeesh.”, and “Soooo, I guess this would be a bad time for a joke, huh?”. Scurries to the bathroom as soon as they’re not in tears anymore, and stays there for as long as it takes to stop hearing the residual sobs.

However, his late 30s and 40s bring him a much healthier perspective (and therapy— Jesus, finally) and being the smarty pants he is, he passes on no opportunity to put his new skills and knowledge to use.

That playfulness and desire to find the lightness in even the hardest situations never leaves him at any age, though.

A panic attack? “‘Is something… wrong with you’? You realize you’re talking to the guy who accidentally destroys ancient temples for a living, as an archaeologist? And I still consider myself a not so bad guy. So in my eyes, you’re basically a lesser known Mesopotamian god.”

Got a bad grade? “A D in Psychometrics? I don’t know, sounds like they don’t know anything about math if they’re using a letter to grade you. Maybe they should go get their teaching certificates checked. Hey, how ‘bout I just draw you a PhD myself? You know I have an eye for art.” 

Dealing with shitty parents? Landlord? Roommates? Exes who won’t leave you the fuck alone? “What? That buffoon? Guy who can’t even spell their own name right? That bastard isn’t worth a thought of a thought of a thought in your head. Pretty sure they haven’t had a thought in their own head since 1996.”

As soon as his first wide-toothed smile is won, he’s leaning into his partner with a secretive smirk: “Ya wanna get the fuck out of here?” 

Because distractions always helped him before. 

Will act especially gentlemanly, and theatrically play it up, while taking their partner for a frozen yogurt, antique shop, Target trip, public park, laser tag (yes, really) decompress. Bows when he opens the car door for them. Pays for everything. Calls them ‘your majesty’ for the entirety of the excursion.

All he wants is to get them to smile. And he’s not stopping until he sees it. 

When the night creeps in and his S/O starts to lose steam, Nathan’s own worry grows more obvious, though he tries his best to keep it to himself. 

Watches them with wide eyes. Gives them space, but still asks every few minutes if they need a cup of water. No? Tea? Arnold Palmer? Popsicle? Massage? Hot Pocket? Sexy pillow fight? However many it takes to make his partner laugh again. But he fully means every offer he gives.

Says nothing as he helps them undress and into their PJs. Touches are tender and intimate, gently rubs their shoulders and neck. Never too hard, never too direct. Plays the friendly ghost and lets their partner take the lead, but never, ever just sits around to watch.

Makes them a beverage of some sort, even if they say no. Hot lemonade with honey is his personal homecure. Says yellow is a happy color, so it must be good for you.

And right before they turn the lights out, Nate timidly offers— with a shy, trying chuckle— if they want him to read them a bedtime story. 

Somehow shocked every time they say yes. Mumbles something self-derogatory about himself (“Ya know, not the best actor, but—” “Personally I think I have the voice of a dying goose, but—”) before sitting on the nearest surface and cracking open a book.

If he’s still feeling a little awkward, will uneasily ask if they wanna hear what he’s been reading lately, and will do so if asked— but really wants to read the pirate storybooks his mother read to him and Sam when they were kids.

It always made him feel better when the world felt too big, too scary, too cruel. 

So he wants to share it with the person he loves. 

He wants to share everything with the person he loves.

And without even asking, goes to the medicine cabinet and brings them a tablet of whatever they need when the anxiety gets especially bad, and says “I know, it’s scary. But we’ve been through scary before, right?” with a kiss on the cheek as they swallow it down with a sip of lemonade.

Lingers, eyes down, and vaguely nods to nobody as he stands and walks to the door.

“Want me… uh, want me to keep reading to you?” But he offers before he can even get past the door frame. 

“Do you want me to want you to keep reading to me?” 

And the last thing he wants to see is his love, alone. The idea of them crying beneath the covers because they were too afraid to burden him with it, too afraid to be seen. Everything he felt he had to do when he was 6 and his mother “passed”, age 9, 10, 11, 12 after a black eye, the words that his brain told him wrong: spoken aloud by the playground bullies he feared he’d never be stronger than. 

But he knew they were wrong. The bullies were wrong. The ones in his brain. The ones in theirs.

“Yes.” He replies without missing a beat. 

And he makes sure to hold their hand in his free one until the second they fall asleep… and a few hours after, just to be safe.

The next morning they fucking better expect breakfast in bed— and he maybe, just maybe, might even be willing to spring for McDonald’s, if that’s what they want. As long as they promise to eat actual fruit after. And hell, maybe even a vegetable or two when he makes dinner that night. Did you know that eating right and exercise are actually primary solutions to poor mental health—? That’s what Dr. Dorian said— No, potatoes don’t count as a vegetable— no, especially not if it’s fried— NO, FRENCH FRIES DON’T COUNT, BABY—

Sam:

Sam takes a bit longer to warm up to discussing anxiety than Nathan does, mostly due to struggling so deeply with it on his own. It’s not like prisoners (or Shoreline guards) made the most comforting companions. 

The better he could keep secrets, the less he could reveal, the safer he’d be.

So it makes sense that it’s both his greatest strength and weakness when it comes to emotionally turbulent times. 

In his younger, more avoidant years, he’d be the first to leave the room, leave the building, hell, sometimes even leave the city after a particularly heavy cry or confrontation with his then-partner. Only to come back the next morning and act like nothing ever happened. 

But now, he doesn’t run. After prison, after Rafe, after Madagascar, all he wants is to be allowed to stay. To be wanted to stay by someone who loves him. 

Is happiest to just sit with you in the silence. His biggest skill is his ability to weather the storm. And whether you need to scream bloody murder, or need to sit and decompress and just fucking feel, but can’t do it alone, Sam’s there. Listening. 

Once you’re done talking, he takes one last, long drag of his cigarette, stubs it out onto the pavement, and asks simply: “So do you want solutions… or something else, sweet’art?” 

You can see in his eyes— darting less than solid, certain against your own— that he really means it, in every way that he was too afraid to when he was younger.

The wonderful and terrifying thing about having anxiety while Sam is there is that it’s a vulnerable experience for the both of you. He’s learning, discovering, trying right along with you. And he may not be able to lift you up so easily, but he’ll be able to sink into the dark places with you, and not be afraid to see what’s down there. 

And maybe seeing someone he loves so deeply, sees as so beautiful, so smart, so kind, so wonderful, so absolutely perfect to him feel the same ways he does about himself… maybe it makes him think that he’s not as terrible as his brain tells him, either. 

Helps you take action by letting himself (finally) not be the smart one: “When ya… get like this, what do you usually do first, sweet’art? Paint me a pit’chure.” Gives you complete control, and smiles softly when you wipe your tears and the logical, the archaeological mind awakens. Mimics unraveling an ancient map when you begin to explain, and you inadvertently hiccup out a laugh. 

At times, it’ll feel like he’s trying to run again, but when he stands up and walks across the room— he always returns. This time with your favorite of his jackets, the denim one that smells like him even though he just cleaned it, and drapes it protectively over your shoulders. Clasps his palm at the back of your neck and rubs out the knot he always finds there. Smiles toothy and wide when your words are broken up by sighs of relief. Only to be filled once again with silence, gazes meeting sweet and safe. 

“Remember Indonesia?” He offers with a smirk, despite your furrowed brow.

“I guess? What about—?” 

“I read the runes’ instructions and ran us in circles all around Bali, only to reread the transcript and realized I got three letters completely wrong. J—V—A. Java. It was goddamn Java the entire time.” 

“Your point being?” 

He smiles and shrugs. Trying. Maybe he’s wrong, a foreigner in some ancient, uncertain land, but he tries.

“Sometimes our brains are just wrong.” He tries for you. “That’s all.”

You sniffle, and he leans in to press a prickly kiss to your cheek. His jacket is still warm from the dryer, wafting with the residual sting of cigarette, Old Spice Captain, cheap mouthwash, even cheaper aftershave, and something else completely unnameable. 

And maybe some others would think the scent appalling, but it’s the strangeness, the specificity, and yes, the stank— everything that makes Sam him— that makes you love it. Love him. The depth. The difference. 

The pain, and what he chose to do with it. 

Another kiss, this time down your neck. This time, the sigh of relief is his own.

What he chose to change it into. 

“So… any chance sex therapy might be a thing?” He asks grinningly.

“Why don’t we find out, ‘sweet’art’?”

#uncharted #uncharted 4: a thief's end #nathan drake #sam drake #nathan drake x reader #sam drake x reader #happy christmas yall!!! #and for those are yall who struggle today. you arent alone #feel free to jump into my inbox and geek out with me #sometimes family is just someone you share blood with #and that's allowed to be it #shea out

[cecilysass]

Shine On (4/16)

Read on AO3 | Tagging @today-in-fic

Chapter 4: The Art of Profiling

Farrs Corner, Virginia February 20, 2015

The pizza that Fox Mulder ordered isn’t from a pizza place Jackson has ever heard of, like Domino’s or Pizza Hut, but it’s really good anyway. Or at least it tastes good to someone who hasn’t eaten all day. Jackson eats the first piece really quickly, then he grabs for a second without thinking, forgetting his manners. When he realizes what he’s done, he hesitates.

“Go for it,” the older man says, his eyes darting sharply back and forth between the pizza and Jackson’s face. “Eat as much as you want.”

Fox Mulder has been acting much more intense ever since Jackson told him about the red-headed lady.

Jackson’s tired, and he has only barely skimmed the surface of the man’s difficult mind, but he can tell that the guy’s stunned by the news. Fox Mulder’s mind is channeling down a dozen different paths right now: fast, mazelike thoughts, like bobsleds going down tracks. A current of sharp worry running through like a winter chill.

It’s honestly exhausting to try to figure out. Jackson closes off the shine for now, takes another big bite of pizza. This sausage is a little spicy, which is exactly how he likes it.

“I have a lot of questions for you,” Fox Mulder says, his voice low. “I don’t want to overwhelm you. But I … gotta ask some of them.”

Jackson nods reluctantly, his mouth full. He doesn’t feel like answering questions at all. Still, he supposes the more he gets out of the way, the better.

“You said you have visions,” the man says, setting his own piece of pizza down. “Do you have other … abilities?”

Jackson studies him cautiously as he finishes chewing his bite of pizza. He’s not in the habit of discussing what he can do. It’s only really ever been trouble when he has, so he’s almost instinctively secretive about it. But things are different now. And Fox Mulder, well, he seems to know all about this kind of thing.

“Yeah,” Jackson says carefully. “I do.”

The man runs his hand over his mouth. Jackson notices he’s only eaten half of his slice of pizza. Either he’s not hungry, or he’s too distracted.

“You can read thoughts,” Fox Mulder guesses, leaning back, speaking with certainty. He folds his hands in front of him. “You can focus on other people’s thoughts. Not just one person, but several at once.”

Jackson sets his slice of pizza down in shock. “How did you know that?”

“You can move objects, too.”

Jackson blinks at him. “I have been able to do that. Some. I could do it easier when I was little.”

“What else?”

“I can, like, change people’s perceptions. What they see. Not for forever, just for a little while. So, if I, like, need a distraction in class or something, I can make the teacher think someone opened the door and mooned us. Stupid stuff like that.”

Fox Mulder looks undeniably fascinated. “Wow,” he says. “Interesting.” He taps his fingers on the table. Jackson doesn’t have to use his shine to see that the man is thinking this over. “So does that mean you could effectively shapeshift? If you wanted to?”

“Yeah,” admits Jackson. “At least I can make other people think I look like someone else.”

“Huh,” the man says, squinting thoughtfully. He tilts his head, looking at Jackson again. “Are you reading my mind right now?”

“No,” Jackson says honestly.

“Why not?”

“I’m tired,” Jackson says. “It’s work, sometimes. And no offense, but you’re kind of complicated and hard.”

Fox Mulder chuckles. “I don’t know if I should take offense at that or not.”

“I did read your mind earlier,” Jackson confesses. “And the red-haired lady …. she was really easy. I hardly had to try with her at all. It was like her thoughts just flew at me. I was wondering if that was because she was my birth mom. Do you think that could be right?”

The man stares at him blankly, not directly answering. “Her name is Dana Scully.”

“Dana Scully,” repeats Jackson.

“Have you ever heard that name before?”

“No,” Jackson says. “I don’t think so.”

“Did your parents tell you anything about your birth parents? Who they were, where you were from?”

“I don’t think they knew anything about them,” Jackson says. “It was a closed adoption.”

Fox Mulder nods, scratching his chin. “Yeah,” he says. It’s like a cloud of sadness has fallen over him. “Yeah, it would have been.” He fixes Jackson with a curious look. “Do you … have any questions for me? About any of this?”

“Uh. Sure.” Jackson looks around the room, slowly, as if the best question to ask might be scrawled on the walls. The faces peering out of the framed photos draw his attention again, but it’s all so much. He looks away, back at the box of pizza in front of them instead. “Is it… okay if I have another slice, Mr. Mulder?”

The man laughs a little, crossing his arms. “You can just call me Mulder.”

“I think I’m eating more than you, Mulder,” Jackson points out seriously. “It doesn’t seem fair. It’s your pizza.”

“I told you, eat as much as you want.”

Jackson feels like he has been polite enough. He shrugs. “Thanks,” Jackson says, taking another slice.

“Jackson,” Mulder says, watching him eat, his voice suddenly too casual. “Do you have any idea who your birth father is?”

Jackson picks up his piece of pizza and studies it, pulling off a particularly delicious-looking piece of sausage and sampling it. “Well,” he says, through a mouthful, “I’ve got a guess. Based on certain clues. But I don’t know for sure.”

“Clues you’ve read in people’s minds? Or clues you’ve noticed?”

Jackson shrugs again. “Both, I guess.” He gives Mulder a look, raising his eyebrows.

There’s a pause.

“What clues?”

“Well, I’m not stupid,” Jackson says matter-of-factly. “That woman, Dana Scully, was here, fighting with you. Lots of big feelings. Then, the way you’re acting now. Like you think I’m a brand new iPhone and you can’t stop looking at me. And how you seem to know things about me. That’s a bunch of clues.”

Mulder has been sitting with his arms crossed, and he hasn’t moved the entire time Jackson’s been talking. But now Jackson can see a tear sprouting in his eye. It surprises him. Wayne Van De Kamp, his father, would never have cried in front of him. Mulder blots it with his sleeve, and Jackson sees his hands are shaking, too.

Maybe he shouldn’t have said that so carelessly, kind of flippantly. It’s obviously a big deal to Mulder. Really, truthfully, it’s a big deal to Jackson, too—something he’s wondered about his whole life. But right now he just can’t have everything feel like a big deal all at once. Or he’ll explode or something.

He meets the man’s damp eyes.

“Yeah,” Mulder says roughly, trying to smile. “Okay. A lot of clues.” He pauses, uncrosses his arms, places his hands on the table. “I get the sense you can’t handle a lot more emotional drama right now, Jackson, and I get that, I really do. Believe it or not, I’ve been in that place myself.”

Jackson’s speechless. It’s like the man read his mind, but that’s not possible.

“I just want to say, we can talk about it whenever you want to,” Mulder adds. “No pressure.”

Jackson nods his head up and down, licking his lips nervously.

***

After dinner, they go back into the part of the room with the couch, which is surrounded by all the messy piles of books. Jackson sits on the floor and starts picking up volumes curiously. “The Art of Profiling?” he says. “Is that an art book?”

“No,” Mulder says with a smile, trying to kick piles out of the way. “It’s psychological profiling. Like for criminals.”

“Oh,” Jackson says, making a connection. “Like on Criminal Minds.”

“What’s that? A TV show?”

“Yeah,” Jackson says. “My parents love it. It’s about a team of FBI agents who profile dangerous criminals.” An exciting thought occurs to him. “Wait, is that what you did?”

“Yes,” Mulder says. “No. Kind of. I was a profiler, years and years ago. But then I was put on the X-files, where I investigated cases that had unexplainable, supernatural associations.”

“That’s why you have books like this,” Jackson says. He lifts the book Sasquatch: Diverse Perspectives. “Or this?” Extraterrestrial Abductions Beyond the Media.

“Yeah,” Mulder says, a self-deprecating shrug. “That’s right.”

“That’s badass,” Jackson says, a root of an idea occurring to him. He belatedly realizes his mistake. “I mean, that’s cool. Very cool,” he corrects himself.

“It was badass,” Mulder agrees, seemingly unaffected by Jackson’s profanity. “Although… it could be difficult. We went through a lot, working on the X-files. Scully and me.”

Jackson absorbs this information. “So you and Dana Scully worked together on the X-files. In the F.B.I.. That’s how you knew one another?”

“We were partners,” Mulder says with quiet precision, like this sentence is very important.

They’re just three words—we were partners—but Jackson can tell they tell an entire complicated story the length of a book or more. His shine cries out to be used, but Jackson pushes it aside.

“Mulder,” Jackson says slowly. “Is it a coincidence that you and my birth mom worked on these X-files … and that I have these abilities?”

“No, Jackson,” Mulder says, sighing heavily. “It’s probably not a coincidence.” He sits on the couch, looking down at Jackson still sitting on the floor. “There are things that both of us were exposed to that could have … caused the abilities.”

“But you guys don’t have them yourselves, right?”

“No. Not like you.”

It’s a frustrating answer. “Not like me? Or not at all?”

“Some things I want to wait to talk to you about,” Mulder replies. “Until we’ve had a chance to talk to your mother, too.”

Your mother.

Jackson inhales sharply, the words sending an unexpected shock through him.

“I meant Scully, of course,” Mulder says quickly, noticing his reaction. “I’m sorry.”

“Dana Scully isn’t my mother,” Jackson says with emphasis. “I have a mother.”

“I know.” Mulder’s eyes look impossibly sad. “I’m sorry, Jackson. I know.”

“I’m not looking to replace my parents,” Jackson says tightly. “That’s not why I’m here or what this is about. They’ll always be my parents. I love them.”

Mulder appears to sink further into the couch. “Yeah,” he says. “I can tell you do.”

Jackson looks down quickly at the stack of books again, playing silently with the cover of Criminology Through The Ages. He knows he shouldn’t have gotten angry. He knows Mulder didn’t mean anything by it, and he’s having to struggle with his shine now to keep from sensing any bad feelings or thoughts coming off of Mulder.

It’s just Jackson feels almost disloyal, sitting here talking to this man, learning this information about his birth parents’ lives, when his parents just died. When they probably died because of him.

“Jackson.” Mulder’s voice is kind. “What were they like? Your parents. Do you want to … tell me about them? I don’t know anything about them.”

Jackson pauses, still staring at the book in his hand. “Yeah,” he says. He tries to find the right words. He has to be the person who remembers them, who speaks for them to the world now. “They were … they weren’t anything like me. But they were great.”

Mulder waits patiently, his soft eyes on Jackson. Jackson puts the book back carefully on top of a pile.

“My dad was the shop teacher at Rawlins High School. He was good at woodworking, cabinetry. He was always trying to teach me.”

“Were you good at it, too?”

“No,” Jackson says with a tiny smile. “I was really, really bad at it.”

“Oh yeah?” Mulder echoes the tiny smile.

“I couldn’t cut straight. I forgot to measure,” Jackson says, shaking his head. “I was always disappointing him.”

“Not really,” Mulder guesses softly.

“No,” Jackson agrees, just as softly. “Not really.” He’s quiet, thinking more about his goofy, sweater-vested dad. “He was always cheerful. He thought you should look on the positive side of things, you know? Really into baseball. He coached my Little League team for a while.”

“That’s good,” Mulder says encouragingly. “It’s good to play sports.” He’s quiet, too. “And your mom?”

“Her job was running the church preschool,” Jackson says. “She was always singing. She loved holiday decorations, and to cook and bake.” He feels tears threatening. “She is just … she was a really good mom to me. Like, she hugged me all the time. I acted like I didn’t like it, but I did.”

“I’m glad she did that,” Mulder whispers. “I’m so glad.”

“She was really Christian. Really into church. They both were.”

“You were raised religious?”

“Yeah,” Jackson says. “Lutheran.” He glances at Mulder wryly. “But I was really bad at that, too.”

Mulder returns the look. “I’m not very good at that myself,” he says. “Scully’s religious, in her own way. But I’ve never been … that kind of believer. It’s just never made sense to me”

Something warm blooms in Jackson at being understood in this way. It’s never made sense to him, either.

“What are you good at?” Mulder asks. His tone is gentle, but Jackson’s shine is suddenly alert, suddenly aware of what’s underneath the man’s exterior. Mulder is hungry to know more about him, desperate for any detail. His need is so overwhelming, Jackson closes the door on it quickly.

“I don’t know,” Jackson says casually. “I’m good at math, I guess. Math comes easy to me.”

Mulder’s face lights up. “Scully’s amazing at math.” Looking over at Jackson, he seems to regret his words. His scolding to himself shines through. —stop making everything he says about me and Scully. “Sorry. You’re telling me about yourself.”

“I like to run,” Jackson continues. “I’m pretty fast, and I think I’m a good distance runner. I was thinking maybe I’d try out for the track team in high school.” He pauses. “But I guess I’m not going to high school now.”

“Come on,” Mulder says. “Of course you’re going to high school. Your life isn’t over.”

“I’m most likely going to prison,” Jackson mumbles darkly.

“Nah. Not going to happen.”

“I don’t even know where I’m going to live,” Jackson adds. “Where I’m going to stay tonight.”

“You’re obviously going to stay here tonight,” Mulder insists. “After that, we’ll figure it out.”

The lightning-fast image of a school building with a sign— Farrs Corner High School—and then another fast image, the two of them, Mulder and Jackson, running side by side on a country road, a road that looks a lot like the road right outside the farmhouse. Then almost instantly, more scolding in Mulder’s mind: Way ahead of yourself. Stop it. Haven’t even told Scully. Need to confirm.

“How will we confirm?” Jackson asks quickly. “What does that mean?”

Mulder’s eyebrows shoot up. “That’s going to take some getting used to.”

“Sorry,” Jackson says. “That was kind of rude of me, probably.”

“I have to remind myself you’re listening,” Mulder says with a small smile.

“I normally try to hide it more,” Jackson says. He stands up, stepping around the books to sit next to Mulder on the couch. “But I mean … what’s the point if you already know, right?”

“I was just thinking that before we introduce you to Scully, we should run DNA,” Mulder says. “Yours against mine. To confirm it.”

“Why?” Jackson says, frowning. “You don’t believe me?”

“Can’t you tell that I believe you?”

Jackson sighs. “Yeah, I think you do.” He kicks out his long legs and leans his head back against the back of the couch. “But like I said, you’re not the easiest.”

“The people that Scully and I used to be involved with,” Mulder says, “were the kind of people who would go to extremes. Even extremes like convincing a kid his birth mother was someone she wasn’t. Like planting ideas into people’s heads. I don’t think you’re lying, but I think it would be smart to know for sure.”

Jackson swings his head to look at Mulder. “Who were these people?”

Mulder regards him with a troubled expression. “I’ll answer that, Jackson. But I think you need to answer this, too: who drove you here? To Virginia?”

“I told you,” Jackson says, folding his arms defensively, “I can’t tell you that.”

“Why?” Mulder’s eyebrows draw together in concern. “It worries me a little. Did the person who drove you ask you not to tell me?”

“Yeah, they did,” Jackson admits. “But I don’t think they’re one of these bad people you’re talking about. They were just trying to help me.”

“But Jackson,” Mulder says urgently, “you need to understand that—”

“You’re just going to have to trust me,” Jackson insists, and his voice sounds younger than he intends. “Please. Just trust me.”

Mulder rubs his temple with one finger. “Okay,” he says simply. “I can do trust.” He leans forward on his forearms. “But still, Jackson, I think we gotta do the DNA test. If you’re not … the person we think you are—and who Scully thinks you are, it would be too hard for her.”

“She’s been wanting to see me that bad?”

Mulder is surprised. “Of course she has. Of course.”

“But it was a closed adoption. Her choice.”

Mulder opens and closes his mouth, again seeming not to know what to say. “Since the second she let you go,” he says, his voice strained, “she’s been wanting to see you again.”

Jackson’s shine pulls in an image then of a baby in a crib, crying, and then the woman Mulder calls Scully, younger, crying and crying, inconsolable.

It’s all too sad, and Jackson is sad already.

“Okay. DNA test tomorrow then,” Jackson says, shrugging. “No big deal.”

“Great,” Mulder says, standing up. “Now I thought I’d show you where you’ll be sleeping if you want. I’ll have to put sheets on the guest bed first. Maybe you can help me. This place used to be a little more organized when Scully lived here.”

“You have a guest room, huh?” Jackson says. “Fancy.”

“Yeah,” Mulder says in a strange voice. “It’s just an extra bedroom. Small. Not too fancy.”

It was supposed to be your room. In case we got you back somehow. Mulder’s thoughts are suddenly and unexpectedly clear.

“Then I guess I better sleep in it,” Jackson responds flatly, following along behind him.

***

#xfiles fanfic #the x files #x files fanfic #fox mulder #dana scully #x files #xf fanfic #msr #jackson van de kamp

[violetsiren90]

All I Haven't Said | Namjoon/Reader

Table of Contents: Chapter 1; Chapter 2; Chapter 3 (part 1), Chapter 3 (part 2)

Pairing: idol!Namjoon/f!Reader

Genre: Soulmate AU; idol AU; chapter fic; strangers to lovers; a bit of idiots to lovers, tbh; slow burn; eventual romance; eventual smut; angst (life is messy & hearts are complex); OT7 featured

Summary: You found your soulmate - or rather, he found you. Turns out he's an idol of much acclaim who needs you for very real and unglamorous reasons. What could become of two hearts so used to giving of themselves when they are confronted with needing each other?

Warnings: 18+ (minors, dni), realistic depictions of cancer and cancer treatment; mention of unfeatured character death (previous to plot); emotional health growth and development; eventual smut; feelings and dealing with feelings (no, but seriously, so many feelings)

Author's Note: First and foremost - Blame Me chapter 1 will still be tentatively dropping by the end of the week. However, this just literally wrote itself last night after a couple of drinks and several streams of Lonely 💔. It was the thing that just poured out of me and could not be stopped. It's been simmering in the back of my brain for a while, and so, now that it's out here, I'm going to be posting it in tandem with Blame Me, probably on alternate weeks (if I can manage it, 😅). I want to give credit to those whose works I have read which have come to set the stage for my concept of the soulmate au, and who are far my betters in creative artistry: Matchy, author of balls-to-the-walls masterpiece Trip No Further, Fallencairns, author of lovely work of art Turbulence, and @teenagebountyhunter , to whom I dedicate this work 💜 the author of the ineffably beautiful Namjoon soulmate fic Bloom (RUN to read this immediately) - the inspiration for what is to humbly follow below. If you're checking this out, thanks a million for reading, and please don't be shy in offering feedback should you be so inclined! (Baby fic writer here, constructive criticism always welcome!)

Without further ado, chapter one is under the cut.

P.S. Tag list is open. If you want in, let me know. 😊

P.P.S. In case no one has told you today, you're loved and worthy of love. 🧜💜

“When your hands leap towards mine, love, what do they bring me in flight? Why did they stop at my lips, so suddenly, why do I know them, as if once before, I have touched them, as if, before being, they traveled my forehead, my waist?”

~ Pablo Neruda

Chapter 1: The Cure

Diana dipped another three fries in ketchup and popped them into her mouth.

"So, what do you need to talk about that has you desperate enough to buy me lunch?" She smiled smugly and sipped and her milkshake.

You hadn't touched the burger in front of you, even if you probably should be absolutely relishing in it, considering your future prospects. You picked up a sweet potato fry and stared at it absently.

"I found my soulmate," you stated flatly.

Diana's jaw dropped mid-chew, unpleasantly framing the masticated remains of a mouthful of turkey club.

"Wait, are you serious?" she pressed, round hazel eyes wide and unblinking.

You dipped the fry down into the little cup of ranch and swirled it around slowly.

"Actually, he found me. Well, his people found me," you continued. 

"Huh? So is he some kind of a big deal - wait...they found you? What does that even mean? Wait, no - you have a soulmate?!"

You smiled ruefully. It was kind of nice to see someone else freaking out about it for a change. You had known your little sister would react strongly, which is why you had waited until now give her the news.

"Y/n, ANSWERS," Diana demanded leaning forward to flick your forehead. 

"Ow!" you protested, rubbing the throbbing spot on your brow. "Keep your pants on, geez!"

You sighed. After having relayed this story to your mom, your doctor, a specialist, legal advisory, your best friend, your brother and his wife, and your very disappointed boss, you had gotten pretty good telling it. Yet, somehow, each time the burden of it's truth felt a little heavier. You ate the fry. It was pretty good. You wished it had sucked so it wouldn't be one more edible thing you missed the prospect of.

"So apparently, a couple of years ago a university in Switzerland found a way to match soulmates using DNA testing. Don't ask me about the exact science of it - I do not understand it. What I do know is that it's illegal to use this technology to locate your soulmate in the US."

"Why?" Diana had abandoned her food and was listening with rapt attention.

"Something about privacy rights. Though they've dealt with that issue in Switzerland - people interested in finding their soulmates join a biological registry. I'm sure our government is just waiting to find a way that big pharma can exploit it before they facilitate the process. Anyway, somehow, I ended up in a foreign registry. I guess there is a black market for soulmate data..."

"Oh my god, could I be on the black market?" Diana gasped, slapping her hands over her mouth.

"I guess anyone could, provided they've ever been treated at a hospital, or given blood, or anything of the sort...but calm down! It doesn't even matter unless you have a match, which is rare."

"So he found you on the black market?! That's so fucking sketchy, Y/n."

"It was his company, actually. I got a visit from representatives of an organization called Hybe. They are some kind of South Korean entertainment conglomerate. One of their employees, a musician, is dying of cancer. Seeing if he had a soulmate was a last-ditch effort to save his life. Now everything is banking on me and my cooperation."

You flicked your eyes up to your sister. Her expression had morphed into something far more somber.

"Heavy..." she whispered.

You nodded.

"What are you gonna do?"

You took a bite of your burger. She wasn't going to like your answer. Diana's face changed again, this time registering alarm and indignation.

"No," she murmured, "No, Y/n. You're just gonna do it, aren't you? You're gonna go be the fucking hero! You're going to traipse off to Korea and save his sketchy, ungrateful ass!"

She stood up, her chair screeching back over the concrete and drawing the attention of other diners on the patio. You glanced around apologetically.

"Diana, sit down! And how do you know if he's grateful or not?!" you hissed.

"No!" she countered defiantly, yanking her hand away from where you had reached for it. "You always do this! You never, ever think of yourself. And now you'll be gone forever...is this even safe?"

Tears had started to well up in her eyes, and the glances around you had turned into stares and whispers. You stood up and pulled her into a hug.

"Hey, hey, it's okay! Lets get out of here and I can answer all of your questions, alright?" She sniffled.

"Okay. But you're not leaving me." You smiled and huffed out a laugh pulling her toward the parking lot.

You had anticipated that Diana would disapprove of your decision, and it being as difficult a situation as it was, you had decided to make all the arrangements and choices necessary before telling her. She loved you so fiercely, she would have watched the world burn before letting you break a nail, if she could help it.

After your father's death nearly twenty years ago, you had become protector and provider to Diana and your younger brother Henry, three years her senior, in ways your sensitive and unworldly mother seemed unequipped to shoulder. If they had both not been so established and secure in the trajectory of their adult lives, you would have made it clear to Hybe that you regrettably had nonnegotiable responsibilities right where you were. But Henry was settled into a suburb with a lovely wife and year-old daughter, Diana was set to finish undergrad and head off to nursing school, and the deal with Hybe had actually allowed you to leverage for your Mom's retirement, so you were boarding a flight to Korea next week to take on a new set of cares and concerns.

You tossed your keys on the table on your way into your apartment and collapsed onto your comfy red couch. While Diana rooted around your fridge and loudly complained about the lack of hard seltzer, you sorted through the mail and made a mental note to add a forwarding address on a few of your accounts and subscriptions, including the one supplying you with Nightwing comics. You set the mail aside and took a moment to look around you.

You loved your little apartment. The kitchen was small, but the big window with the spider plant hanging in it made it one of your favorite rooms - the herb garden on the counter and the fully stocked bar above the fridge did nothing to make you like it any less. The earthy brown walls of the living space were littered with shelves full of candles and living plants and quirky curios, and in and amongst them hung framed watercolors of flowers and herbs that you had painted yourself. The record player sat at the ready in the corner by the wall dedicated almost exclusively to books and vinyl. There was a small tv over the stone-lined fireplace. Over your shoulder your soft, queen sized bed with sheer canopy cozily called your named from the single bedroom. 

The whole place smelled like citrus and cinnamon. In every corner, there was you. It was going to be hard to leave the hobbit hole you had so lovingly curated for yourself over the last half-a-decade...especially since you wouldn't be going "there and back again", but just...there.

Diana plopped down next to you,  breaking your reverie.

"So, you're NOT going, but tell me about the huge mistake you ALMOST made," Diana prompted as she side-eyed you, taking a sip of the wine she had poured herself.

You set the comic book you had been thumbing through aside and drew your knees up to your chest as you swiveled to face her impatient stare.

"Last week, a these three people showed up at my door, two men and a woman, and they said they were from a company called Hybe based in South Korea. One of their employees, a singer named Kim Namjoon, has stage 4 liver cancer. I guess they caught it pretty late in the game, so even the most aggressive treatments aren't doing much good. Back in April the doctor gave him two months to live."

"Damn," Diana interjected softly.

"Yeah, that's why all of this is happening so fast. He needs me as soon as I can get there."

"We need you, too," she whispered, reaching out to loop her finger into the top of your sock. You smiled affectionately.

"I know, Di, but you're a grown woman now and you can take care of yourself. You're going to have to and I know you can. Life really won't be that different - you'll be off to school in San Diego anyway! Most of our hangouts were going to be over Facetime...now you'll just have an excuse for a little international travel."

She heaved a stuttering sigh.

"Speaking of travel...Johnny broke up with me," she mumbled.

Your mouth hung open in shock.

"Oh my god, Di, I'm so sorry! Why didn't you tell me?"

She downed her remaining wine and stared into the empty glass, twirling it between her fingers.

"I was gonna, but when I told mom last week she said to wait to talk to you about it because you were dealing with something stressful. Now I know what she meant."

You shook your head.

"Ugh, Mom..."

Your sweet, nonconfrontational mother, while you loved her deeply, was a horrible communicator. Whenever she got involved things like this always ended up worse. You looked at your sister twiddling with her wine glass. She looked so small. And Diana, while she exuded many things, very rarely seemed diminutive. You grabbed her and pulled her to you, and she instantly snuggled into your chest.

"I'm sorry you've had to hold that in all this time," You said softly, stroking her hair, "You really could have told me. How are you doing? Was it bad?"

She shook her head against you.

"Nah, it wasn't so bad. He's going to travel before starting grad school and wants to 'sow some wild oats'," she answered, flashing air quotes.

You couldn't see her face, but the acerbic nature of her tone told you just exactly what she thought of that concept. You snickered. Atta' girl. You'd never liked that guy much, anyway.

"What an asshole," you remarked.

"Yeah, he better not hit me up in a couple of months when he's done fucking his way through Europe."

"Fuuuuuck that," you commiserated. 

"Yeah, so I thought this summer would be our last hurrah. You know, no guys, just you and me...like old times" Diana mumbled in a voice that was all sulking and bottom lip. 

"Ahhh," you said with a smile, "So that's why you are so disappointed. Well, we still have a few days - we can make the most of them!"

Diana lifted her head from your chest and glared up at you.

"Boys ruin everything!" She whined.

You smirked softly.

"Usually I would agree with you, but the one I'm leaving for seems kind of decent, actually."

Diana frowned.

"How do you know? Did he call you or something? Wait, you never finished telling me your story!"

You hummed in assent.

"I mean, there's not much more to tell. I agreed to move out there to bond with him and begin treatment. I signed a really basic contract that will be revised when he is well enough to think about the future - or in a year, whichever comes first. They were pretty quick to meet my terms, I guess they didn't really have much choice since I was the one holding the all the cards."

"What does any of that have to do with him being a good guy?"

"Oh," you blinked, "It doesn't. You see, when they met with me they talked a lot about him. It was almost like a job interview or something. They talked about his accomplishments, his net worth, the importance of his work, and his worthiness as a person. One of the guys was actually one of his bandmates, and he had come specifically as a character reference. They had initially wanted me to sign the contract right there and then - and let me tell you, that kid they brought with them almost convinced me with his giant puppy eyes alone - but in the end I had asked for forty-eight hours to consult legal advisory and think it over. The first thing I did when they left was look him up. You actually probably already know who he is - I think I might have been the only person in the world who didn't. Have you ever heard of BTS?"

Diana jumped back like she'd been stung, clutching her chest.

"Are you about to tell me that your soulmate is a member of the biggest band in the world?" she whispered, her eyes impossibly wide.

You smirked. 

"Not just a member, Di...their leader." Diana shrieked, leaping up off the couch.

"RM??? Your soulmate is RM???" 

Your sister stared at you, agape, while you threw your hands up in indignation.

"I was the only person!"

"Oh my god..." Diana staggered back, demeanor having deviated sharply from disapproval to elation, "My roommate is obsessed with them! She has all these posters - but her favorite, I'm sorry, her bias, is Suga...holy shit, I can't WAIT to tell her she's gonna-"

"Diana," you interrupted her firmly, and her eyes shot up to you.

"Yeah?"

"You can't tell anyone."

Her face fell as she leaned back against the wall beside the fireplace. Clearly this was going to be even more of an emotional roller-coaster for her than it was for you, you thought in amusement. Typical.

"Everyone who I tell has to sign a gag order. You included."

Diana slid down the wall into a slump and knocked her head back.

"This situation keeps harshing my vibes, dude," she whined.

"Well, I'm exceedingly sorry about your vibes, but I'm sure they'll recover," you rejoined sardonically.

"But woah, Y/n, your boyfriend is hot. And rich. And super famous. Your wedding is going to be fucking LIT..." 

"Woah, Nellie!" You cut her off, waving your hands as if you usher her train of thought into the landing strip of sanity.  "Slow. Down. Wedding?? What happened to 'sketchy, ungrateful ass'?! He is NOT my boyfriend. He's supposedly my soulmate. According to some Swiss pseudoscience. We haven't even bonded yet. And if we do in fact bond, that doesn't mean we're a couple."

Diana popped her head up and fixed you with the most incredulous of stares.

"Um, excuse me...soulmates have to touch each other to survive. And I heard that the soulmate connection is better than sex. You're telling me you have the opportunity, nay, the duty, to be up in the business of one of the sexiest men alive, and you're just gonna platonically kick it for the next seventy years?"

You rolled your eyes.

"I mean, if that's what he wants - if that's what I want. Soulmates doesn't automatically equate lovers. I've been reading about people's experiences and there are some soulmates who bond platonically. Some people are already with romantic partners when they meet. Some don't share a sexual orientation that makes them compatible as lovers..."

"Oh my god, Y/n, could you please not kill the sexy by going all nerd on this?" She asked you in exasperation as her finger swiped at her phone screen.

Suddenly she shoved the phone out toward you, while tapping frantically with a neon yellow acrylic nail on the image she had summoned. She was saying something humorous and complaintive but you weren't listening. You were looking at the man in the photo.

You hadn't seen this one in your superficial search-engine dives. It was a headshot. His hair was a light brown, full at the top and styled away from his face. His skin was darker than in many of the other images you had seen, emanating a beautiful golden glow. He was smiling just enough for his right dimple to softly grace his cheek. His features were strong, masculine, and incredibly handsome. All of that was already striking, but his eyes, oh, his eyes - they were staring directly at the camera, irises only half visible under his lidded gaze, warm and sincere, so incredibly intense.

The hair stood up on the back of your neck and your breath caught in your chest in spite of you. You closed your eyes and sucked in a breath. You needed to calm down. He was just a person. Good looking? Yes. Charismatic? Obviously. But you had a job to do, and no time to screw around with schoolgirl daydreams. He probably had a girlfriend. No, definitely, he definitely had one. And hey, he was just a person, like you. No need to be star struck.

Diana had been continuing her rant, completely unaware of being ignored, when she had let out a high pitched squeal of laughter.

"Oh my god...oh my god!" She shrieked.

"What?" You snapped, your hormone-wrestling train of thought cut off abruptly.

She stared at you, lips pressed together as if she was trying to contain more loud giggles.

"What??" You demanded impatiently, your limit for her antics very swiftly approaching.

"RM. K-pop superstar, probably one of the coolest people ever born, gets YOUR dorky ass as a soulmate, HAH!"

"Hey!" you deflated, unimpressed with what she considered to be so vastly comical.

"Oh that poor man!" she pushed dramatically, "That poor, poor man. You're the least graceful, geekiest person in the western hemisphere. What will you even talk about? Good thing you don't speak Korean, you'd probably bore him to death! Shit, at least you're pretty..."

You folded your arms over your chest defensively.

"Hilarious. But actually, he's fluent in English. And I read somewhere that he likes art..."

"Y/n, he's rich," she interrupted condescendingly, "All rich people like art. It's a huge flex to own an original. If I was a billionaire I'd 'like art' too. Oh my god, I just can't believe this is happening. Like he's crazy famous..."

"And very, very sick," you reminded her softly.

Her expression fell into something contrite.

"Oh, shit, I forgot," she murmured.

"I'm glad you're excited for me, Di. It really made me feel a lot better about the whole situation seeing you get some kind of joy out of it. But I can't stress enough that this isn't a fairytale. Who knows how he feels about resorting to this. I guarantee you this is as hard for him as it is for me."

Diana crossed over to the couch and skooched in next to you.

"All jokes aside, he's lucky to have you, Y/n. You love at a thousand percent. Even if you guys just end up being soul-buddies, or whatever, he hit the jackpot," she smiled at you, that sweet smile that made you rethink everything for one split second.

Now it was your turn to try to hold back tears.

"I'm gonna miss you," she murmured, "But I respect what you're doing."

"Now that he's famous?" You prodded with a teasing smile.

"Yeah, now that he's famous," she conceded. 

You pulled her into a hug. The silence that hung around you was pregnant but comfortable. Diana finally broke it with a soft question.

"So you're really going to give your whole life away for a total stranger next week?" she whispered.

"Mmhm," you hummed somberly into her hair.

"Why you always gotta be like Dad?"

A familiar lump began to form in your throat, but you swallowed it back. You always did. And Diana fell asleep in your lap one last time. You stroked her hair as you thought back, rather emotionally exhausted, over your conversation. It seemed like people thought of the soulmate connection as some kind of miracle. You didn't believe in those. People made choices, and those choices governed reality. You had just made the biggest choice of your life, and if it was like any of the other roads you had taken, it would require much of you. 

The following day was your last at work. Your coworkers had greeted you with pizza, cake, flowers, and hugs. It was touching to realize how much you would be missed. Your boss, Shauna, hovered as you gathered you belongings from your desk. 

"Damn it to hell, I'm gonna miss you!" She mourned for the umpteenth time.

You smiled as you tucked your little philodendron into the box, placing it next to the canvas speckled with daisies that read "You Matter" in curly green letters. 

"You have an amazing team here, you guys will do great," you insisted, patting her hand where she leaned on your desk.

"Um, a great team of people you trained!" she said, consoling herself with a swipe of frosting from what had once been a beautiful red velvet cake with white buttercream.

You leaned beside her on the desk, joining her in sadly picking at the dessert remains.

After you had graduated with your degree in social work, you had landed an internship in a program which Shauna was running. The two of you quickly discovered you had similar passions and community goals, and the following year had left the program to start Magnolia Village, a one-stop shop for women's services sadly unprecedented in your area. While the startup had been rough, your passionate duo had believed in the need and refused to say die, and from your mutual blood, sweat, and tears had blossomed a cornerstone of the local community. Over the years it had grown and extended its reach to thousands in need of support. Many of the staff were women who had first come through the door seeking services, and were now your partners in providing the aid they had found empowering in their hour of need.

You were immensely proud of what the two of you had built, but leaving the Village was bittersweet, as you were more confident than ever that it had grown into a well-oiled machine powered by lovely, capable people who could keep it going at full tilt without you.

"This place basically built itself, we just propped up the scaffolding," you remarked, glancing around the building fondly - what had once been a residential fixer-upper was now a cozy space of offices, a nurse's station, six emergency beds, sanitation services, and a food pantry

"Bitch, you know very well that I am the bulldozer and you are the heart and soul of this place. We are going to feel it when you leave. You better come back and visit us. Mirabell is going to do a good job filling your shoes, though. Watching her step up to the plate has been something else." 

"It has," you nodded, "She's going to kick ass. You might just forget I was ever here by the end of next week."

Shauna turned uncharacteristically tearful eyes toward you.

"I will never forget you," she choked.

Then suddenly you were being crushed in a bear hug. You returned her embrace until you thought you might actually pass out from lack of oxygen.

"Okay, I love you, but I'm about to asphyxiate!" you wheezed, slapping her on the shoulder.

She let you go, but grabbed your arm and looked at you seriously.

"I want you to promise me one thing," she said, holding your gaze.

You cocked your head to the side. Shauna released your arm to clasp both your hands in hers.

"I want you to promise me that when you get to Korea, you find something that you're gonna do for yourself."

You started to respond but she stopped you.

"Something for yourself. It doesn't matter what it is, but it can't be for your soulmate, or your family, or anyone else however deserving...just you, okay?"

You looked at her quizzically.

"I do stuff for me..." 

"Don't get swallowed up, baby girl. Find someone to ground you, to remind you that you're worth more than what you have to offer."

You scoffed.

"I'd like to see someone try and swallow me..."

"Y/n,"

"What?"

"Promise me."

"Okay," you nodded, "I promise."

Shauna squeezed your hands, then went back to chipping away at the mass of red crumbs and buttercream.

A little twinge of worry twisted in the pit of your stomach. You were strong. Resilient. No one could bounce back like you, could survive like you. People knew this - they had been telling you so since you were ten years old. So why was everyone acting like you were being cast out to sea without a life preserver? 

You had spent the weekend with your family. Henry and Mercedes had even driven down, Elena in tow, to have one last Sunday dinner and see you off to the airport. Hugs and tears and small parting gifts had made leaving even harder than you had imagined.

When you finally boarded the plane your eyes were red and your head was throbbing. After the plane had gained enough altitude to allow you to unfasten your seat-belt, you had slipped into the restroom to rinse your face. You returned, plopping down next to the man who would accompany you during your first few days of transition.

"I'm getting booze when they wheel it by, Matt, so don't try to stop me," you huffed, gesticulating in mild threat with the book you had extracted from your carry-on at the suited figure sitting in the window seat.

The handsome older gentleman smiled, not lifting his eyes from the copy of the Korean Herald in his hands.

"Wouldn't dream of it," he responded, flipping a large, thin page.

Matt Anders had been many things to you in life. Before you were born, he had been your father's best friend. He had been the best man at your parent's wedding. He and his wife, Rebecca, had cared for you and your siblings during your mother's sanitarium stay. He had tutored you for the SAT score that had earned you a full ride to the university that had saddled you with a BS in social work and minor in English literature. Today, he was your attorney. Matt, who had an IQ of 146, had learned basic Korean so that he could translate for you and make sure that your interests were looked after as you settled in. Having him there made you feel one hundred percent more secure about the process. He, for instance, had been the one in negotiations to ask for the very cush business-class fight accommodations you were new settling into.

"Whatever you would do for him, you'll do for her. I want an equality of treatment clause added with no addendums."

You smiled to yourself as you remembered his exchange with the Hybe's representation. He had asked for things you would have never asked for yourself, and you felt better having access to them knowing that he felt you were deserving.

The flight attendant sweetly asked if you would require any refreshments. You asked for two whiskey and cokes, and handed one over to the man beside you. You took a long, refreshing sip.

"Damn it, I wish I had appreciated food more," you sighed, looking ruefully at your glass.

"What are you going to miss the most?" Matt asked before sampling his own beverage.

"Cheese. I can't believe I'm saying that, but in the end I just love cheese. And there are so many kinds I haven't tried. Do you know there's this Italian cheese that comes in the shape of a pear? It's super expensive because of the breed of cow the milk is sourced from. It's supposedly suuuuper creamy. But, hey, now I'll never know if it's as rich and complex as they say..."

You took another sip of your drink.

"Caciocavallo Podolico," Matt remarked casually, returning to his newspaper.

"Excuse me?"

"The cheese you described, it's called Caciocavallo Podolico," he reiterated.

"You know, I should be used to it now, but I'm not. Don't think I'll ever be. How on earth do you know this stuff?" you insisted incredulously.

"Read it once," he shrugged, "And it's actually pretty famous as far as cheeses go."

"Catch-a-vayo Picadillo..." you murmured.

"No," Matt interjected succinctly. "Anything you want to go over again? We have the time, Lord knows."

You sighed.

"Can't think of anything right now. What did you think of the list of questions I sent you?" 

"Very good," he nodded, "I'll be adding a few of my own, that I think should come from me, if you don't mind."

You swirled the ice in your plastic cup.

"Of course not. Thanks again for coming with me, I'd be pretty lost without you."

Matt smiled at you again, reaching over to squeeze your arm.

"You'd do just fine. But you would be flying coach."

You smirked and cracked open your book. As you flipped to your marked page, a colorful, sturdy rectangle of paper fluttered to the ground at Matt's feet. He reached down and picked it up, regarding it with a curious eye before you could snatch it quickly away and tuck it back between the pages of My Antonia.

"New bookmark?" he queried.

"Something like that," you murmured.

You thought he might press you further about the Hangul characters he had surely noted on the back, but just then the captain's voice crackled over the intercom reiterating the weather conditions in Seoul and you took the opportunity to bury your nose back between the pages. You glanced clandestinely over at Matt, who had settled back into the Korean Herald, before pulling the little watercolor card from between the pages where it had been hurriedly concealed. Your eyes traced over the purple clematis trailing elegantly across the illustration as you wondered if 12 hours was, in fact, a millisecond or an eternity.

-End Ch. 1-

#kim namjoon #rm #bts #kim namjoon fanfic #bts fanfction #rm fanfic #namjoon fanfic #namjoon fic #soulmate au #strangers to lovers #namjoon x y/n #namjoon x reader #namjoon x you #bts reader insert #reader insert #reader insert fanfiction #eventual smut #namjoon smut #chapter fic #eventual romance #slow burn

[stevesjockstrap]

kinktober day 20something: Steve/Eddie

& lingerie

MDNI - rated E - read on ao3 - cw: feminization, babygirlification of Steve Harrington, mm sex

Steve had been studying all day and he was exhausted. He’d thrown comfortable clothes on because he wasn’t planning on seeing anyone. So yeah. Maybe he’d forgotten about Robin’s biweekly game night and maybe he’d forgotten that his pants were too big and his shirt a bit too short. The gasp behind him made him remember. 

“Are those?”

He straightened up from where he’d been bent over to scrounge for food in the fridge. Oh no. 

“Oh no. Fucking hell, Eddie. C’mere. C’mere.” He hissed as he shoved him into his bedroom and shut the door. Eddie gaped at him. 

“Please don’t tell anyone. I just wear them… because they make me feel… pretty.”

Eddie’s eyes were as big as saucers and Steve couldn’t look at him. He twisted the hem of his shirt in his hands and looked down. He really didn’t even know Eddie very well. He was a new addition to their game night, tagging along with Nancy and Jonathan. Jonathan had raved about Eddie’s music and art, Steve couldn’t remember if they were in the same class or had met somewhere else.

“You are.”

“What?”

Eddie’s face was flushed and he was pulling his hair in front of his mouth now. Why was he nervous?

“You are pretty. Even more with the panties,” he was sliding his hand between his to stop his fidgeting. Hearing Eddie say the word made him groan. “Can I?”

Steve nodded, not entirely sure what he was agreeing to but being pulled in by this energy crackling between them. 

Eddie slid his other hand to the lace waistband of the underwear that was just visible over his pants. Eddie traced along his hip, his warm fingertips creating goosebumps. 

Eddie looked up from under his eyelashes at him and a shiver went up his spine. He was looking at him like he wanted to eat him alive. Steve pulled his hands out of Eddie’s and his face closed off and he stepped back, dropping both hands away from Steve.

“You really think that?” Steve closed the distance between them again. 

Eddie nodded, still unsure. Steve took another step towards him and he backed up. With another step he fell back onto his bed with a little yelp. 

Steve stayed standing and pulled his shirt off. 

“So pretty,” Eddie breathed. “Should get you a bra to match, would look great on your tits.”

Steve gasped and Eddie’s gaze shot to his face. “Oh, he likes that, huh? Like being a pretty girl, huh? Show off your pretty things and get all the compliments?”

Steve swallowed. He’d never thought of it like that. Stepping closer, he slid his fingers across his belly and down to the waistband of his pants, sliding his hand down the front of them. 

“Fuck, you’re loving this. Your pussy all wet for me?”

Steve whined, palming his dick through the soft fabric. “Yeah,” he huffed. He’d never felt this way before. Eddie’s rough voice saying these nasty things to him in such a sweet way was scrambling his insides. He pushed closer to him, but Eddie was just watching. With a small smirk, he slowly slid his pants down off his hips and stepped out of them. 

Eddie sucked in a breath and Steve watched his fingers twitch with the need to touch. He didn’t know why he was holding himself back. Just as he was going to sink into his lap, Eddie raised a hand and twirled a finger around. 

“Turn around, baby, let me see,” he directed. Steve giggled as he let out a punched out moan when he showed him the cheeky backside. “God damn, can I- please,” before he could get the rest of it out Steve had turned and straddled his lap. Eddie’s hands grabbed handfuls of his ass and stared at his barely contained dick. 

Steve writhed on his lap, sliding his hands into his thick curls. 

“Look at you, Stevie. So fucking gorgeous.” Eddie pressed his thumb into the wet spot forming on the front of his panties, rubbing the head of his cock to make him groan. Steve whined when he popped the thumb into his own mouth. “So sorry, sweetheart. Here you go.” Steve sucked the thumb into his own mouth when it was offered. “He’s such a needy thing, look at him all spread out on my lap in just his little panties. Practically begging for it.”

Steve nodded around the thumb, loving the way Eddie was staring at him and speaking about him like he wasn’t there. 

The world spun around him and he found himself laying back on his bed and Eddie between his legs. Eddie licked up the inside of his thigh. He could feel himself trembling but couldn’t stop it. 

“Settle down baby. I’m gunna take care of you.” He licked up the length of his dick through the fabric. “Gunna ruin these little panties, how’s that sound? I’ll buy you so many more,” he mumbled against his balls. 

“Please,” Steve whined. His fingers tangled into Eddie’s hair as he continued to tease against him with his tongue and nose. Eddie pulled away but Steve held back the complaint when he reached into his bedside drawer. 

“Wow, Stevie, quite the impressive collection,” he chuckled. Steve palmed at his dick through the damp fabric and preened. He was proud of his toys and especially all these nasty compliments. 

Eddie propped one of his legs up and after shoving the panties aside slid wet fingers across his hole. 

“Gunna make a mess in your pretty little panties for me, darling?” Steve squirmed as Eddie pressed a finger in to rub against his prostate. He leaned forward to rumble in his ear, “Come for me and then you can ride my cock, pretty. So I can watch these tits bounce.” He pinched into his pec muscle and Steve came with a shout. “There we go, so good for me.”

Eddie continued opening him up while teasing him infuriatingly. Nosing against his spent cock, licking into his belly button, reaching up to flick a nipple. Finally when Steve thought he was going to die from overstimulation, Eddie pulled away and switched their positions again. He undid Eddie’s jeans and yanked them off his legs, impatient. Eddie held his panties to the side for him as he sunk down onto him. 

“So pretty. This is what he needed, huh? Fucking himself on a cock in his dirty panties?”

“Oh my god,” Steve whined. He settled himself forward on his hands to change the angle and could only stare down at Eddie wide eyed as he got himself off. 

Eddie’s hands were everywhere, grabbing and pushing at his ass, plucking the waistband of his panties against him, and when he got close to coming again, wrapped around his throat. 

“Go ahead, babydoll, come again for me. Fill up these panties. You got another one in you, right?”

Steve came untouched thinking about all the filthy things Eddie’s voice and eyes promised. 

@lighthousebeams

#kinktober #kinktober 2023 #mine #Steddie #steve x eddie #steddie smut #Stranger things smut #steddie Kinktober

[peachycrisis]

Human Again

Chapter 5

A/N: I was asked if art could be made of this story, and the answer is of course! Just tag me lol, thank you all for the support <3

—————

The Cat, Spider, Fallen Angel, Princess, and Radio Demon- turned human sat in silence within the midsts of Alastors room. Alastor sat on the bed, dumbfounded by what just happened. I am the radio demon, he thought to himself. There is no way I just made a deal with the Princess of hell. He ran a hand through his curly locks before he felt a pinch in his chest.

Fuck, he thought to himself, leaning over in pain, clutching his chest as some sort of support and stability. The 4 demons looked his way, concern plastered all over their faces. Well what was he going to do about it now? He was injured, and he was human, and he was bound to Charlie Morningstar- what was there for him to do but sit and pray that he morphs back into his old self soon.

“Al, you gotta be careful,” Charlie states, walking over to where the brown eyed man is sitting. “You’re not a demon anymore, it’s gonna take more time to heal. You have to rest.”

“yeah, yeah- I kn-“ Alastor tried to get up, but felt the chain around his neck tighten, making his breath hitch.

“Rest.”

“Okay, fine.” The man obeyed, throwing his hands up in surrender- taking a seat back on the bed. He brought his hands up to his neck as if the force had caused him to choke. Everyone watched in shock as the mans smile began to falter, before placing itself back on his sweaty face. They noticed the tear stains that dragged down his face, dried up- but still there.

What the hell happened?

I need to get out, Alastor thought to himself. He needs to get to his radio tower. His radio tower is safe, and he guesses that even Charlie Morningstar is …relatively safe. But he doesn’t want to be bombarded with questions about his change in appearance, or god forbid his lack of powers.

And if in all holy hell if some delinquent decides to mention his scrawny-

“So…” Angel starts, “this has been a very interesting day- huh Smiles?”

“Very much so, Angel Dust.” Alastor replied, pulling himself out of deep thought- rolling his eyes. His hands stay on and massage on his neck wide eyed at the fact that Charlie had, and was capable of using such power.

“So do you still have your powers?”

“I don’t know, Angel Dust.”

“Are you like… fully human now?”

“Seems so, Angel Dust.” Alastors grin turned into a scowl.

“Can I see your-“

“OKAYYYY-“ Vaggie interrupts, sighing and bringing her hand up to her forehead, massaging her temples, noticing Alastor become increasingly uncomfortable.

Human Alastor seemed to be way more predictable. Maybe even more emotional- which was weird to think about considering how cold hearted he had seemed to be.

“Boss, what the fuck?” Husk cried out, walking closer to the bed- examining every inch of the overlords new body. He still felt the chains around his neck, so he obviously still had some sort of power- or maybe it was similar to how humans sell their souls to the devil? He had no fucking clue.

“Yeah Smiles, you were an injured human in the midst of hell for three days, your vulnerable state could have gotten you killed.” Angel crossed both sets of his arms. His brows furrowed.

“I can assure you both, I am perfectly fine. As soon as I get back to normal I will be ruling my territory in no time.” Alastor smile returned to its normal sharp toothy grin, yellow sharp teeth replaced with white polished ones. It looked so wrong- seeing the radio demon look so… clean?

“Yeah Yeah, sure you will.” Vaggie intruded. “Listen, it’s not safe out there- I’m assuming that’s why you and… Charlie… made that deal.” Vaggie walked closer to the bed, to stand next to Husk. “So we will be watching over you for the time being, making sure no one tries to do any… funny business.”

“Such as the Vees?” Husk asked.

“Exactly. Vox has already broadcasted the fight all over the news-”

“He what?” Alastor looked up, his eyes staring daggers into Vaggie.

Vox did… what? How many people knew? … who knew. Is this why Charlie wanted to own his soul? To protect him from… him.

Alastor sighed, not listening anymore- noticeably pissed off at the fact that he most likely needed, and would be… forced… to accept this help. Especially if he wanted to hide himself from… unwanted interactions.

“Well what are we gonna do? Keep him indoors like a caged dog?” Angel added, finding his way next to Alastor on the bed- who seemed to be deep in thought.

He examined the overlord. His brown hair was so bouncy, each curl so perfect and defined. His face was tan and seemingly soft with blushed cheeks and little freckles… Alastor stared forward at the wall, seeming disassociated- staring into nothingness- but maintaining a small, quivering smirk. He looked at the man’s pink lips, glossy from sweat and possibly tears from before. The man’s white dress shirt was 3/4 of the way buttoned, showing a little bit of his skin underneath. The shirt was a little see through, so he was able to see the bandages underneath. He looked so normal. So… enticing. So-

No he can’t. This is the Radio Demon, having thoughts like that would be absolutely foolish.

He was deep in his thoughts until he heard the sounds of deep breathing from the man, taking him away from his thoughts and onto the face of the radio host- he seemed to be deep in thought, but whatever he was thinking about seemed to not be very great by the way that his brows furrowed, and how his smirk tensed- as if it was ready to fall any moment. The man’s eyes seemed glossy.

Well, this is new.

“Smiles, Hey Smiles- you okay?” Angel asked, inching his way closer to the man. He knew that Alastor didn’t like to be touched, but he took it upon himself to take a leap of faith and place his hand on the man’s shoulder. The man was sweating, and with the sudden contact his breath hitched.

“Alastor?”

If he was still a demon, there would be radio dials in the man’s eyes, but when his eyes met the eyes of Angels, all Angel saw was big, brown eyes staring back at him. Angry, Scared, Weak.

The man’s smile trembled, then fell.

This whole scene looked wrong.

He took his eyes off of Alastor to see if anyone else was paying attention, if anyone else had seen what he had just witnessed, but they were too busy trying to figure out what to do with the former Radio Demon. Alastor looked like he was about to lose it.

“What’s going on Al?” Angel asked softly.

Alastor looked away, tightening his fists until they turned red. He looked like he was about to cry. He looked like he was going to either start puking, or hyperventilating- and Angel did not know which one it would be.

“I need my powers… I need something… I can’t… I need to get the fuck out of here.” The man said quietly- his voice breaking. The spider knew that if the man did have his powers, he would be ripping the room apart right now.

“Do you want me to take you to your new tower?”

Alastor hesitated for a moment, before responding- staring into angels eyes as a noticeably unwanted tear rolled down his cheek.

“If that’s okay dear, yes.”

#alternate universe #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel fanfiction #alastor hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel alastor #human alastor #alastor #charlie hazbin hotel #charlie morningstar #hazbin hotel charlie #hazbin hotel vaggie #vaggie hazbin hotel #angel dust hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel angel dust #hazbin hotel husk #husk hazbin hotel #human again au #angel dust #radiodust

[cuteangsty]

Pet shelter Whump (Interactive)

masterlist

Oh and the art for this chapter was made by mee :3 I've actually been doing this for a while, but I always add later or reblog and I feel like some people aren't really seeing, so I decided to simply put it in the chapter and just put a link to my art blog here.

I want to choose him as a companion to another pet, which one do you recomend?

The woman's fake smile gets even brighter "well, for a pet as... um... "simple" as him, we would recomend adopting a more usefull one, thir way #860617 would only serve as a sort of lap dog. Now, a good one we could offer is #984772!"

It's very impressive that she seems to remember their hash by memory, tho she notices you are a bit lost in the numbers and points to the one she is refering to on the flyer.

you aslo notice this is a quite expansive one as well. the one you chose initially is cheap, but this one has a significantly higher price, not absurd, but surely not as "simple" as the other one. huh, you feel like there is a game at play here...

"he is very usefull, you can basically leave the household for him to take care, although his training isn't anything special: a few dozen tricks, the usual cleaning, cooking and basic first aid skills... very recomended for new owners and owners with special need pets, such as #860617, and w-"

she is suddenly cut off by another worker, a man in a jumsuit, he seems to be a trainer as well, tho a lot bigger and stronger than than the lady you were talking to.

"we've already got them set on the other room." he says and signs to a door by the end of the hallway.

"oh great! could you follow me for a moment?" the lady asks you "there you'll get to meet them, very quickly isn't it?" she asks, mostly as a compliment to their own facility.

you enter the room and there are the 2 pets siting in the center of the room: #860617 and #984772. Their position is very... well posed, for the lack of a better word. #860617 is covered by bandages maching his sking color, he seems to be quite unconfortable in this position but stays still, he is staring at the floor, sometimes peeking up t at your face, but trying his best to not keep eye contact. The other pet, however has a expectant smile, almost like a puppy, very plesant. the discrepancy between them is like night and day.

The lady makes sure to show them to you through every angle and makes them do some simple tricks: sit, beg, down... and after that they go back to their previous position.

"so, if everything is fine for you we can already crate them and ship them to your home right away, what do you think?" the lady asks you.

taglist: @whumpdreamz

just comment or dm me if you want to be tagged

#whumpee #whumplr #whump prompt #mine #whump #pet whump #caretaker #whumper #box boy au #box boy universe #box boy whump #whump art #interactive story #interactive whump #pet whumpee #shelter pet(interactive)

[hgejfmw-hgejhsf]

Fic Writing Review 2023

Thanks to @kiwiana-writes, @lizzie-bennetdarcy, @anincompletelist, and @suseagull04 for the tags on this!

Rules: Feel free to show whatever stats you have. Only want to show Ao3 stats? Rock on. Want to include some quantitative info instead of stats? Please do this. Want to change how yours is presented? Absolutely do that. Would rather eat glass than do this? Please don’t eat glass but don’t feel like you have to do this either.

Top Fics by Kudos

Ghosts {Word Count: 5,409}

After Henry leaves the lake house, Alex does not go after him. He doesn't storm Kensington in a fit of pique to call Henry an "obtuse fucking asshole." Instead, the pair spend nearly a year apart, both wrecked and miserable, until they find themselves on the list of speakers for an international conference.

Volume Control {Word Count: 1,567}

Prompt Fulfillment: I need someone to write a FirstPrince fic where Henry overhears Alex saying "Henry is so annoying I can't stand him" so Henry says "kneel then" and it short circuits Alex's brain.

Do we still have forever? {Word Count: 3,061}

Alex has a sudden, serious allergic reaction, and Henry can't help but think about losing him.

Retaliation {Word Count: 2,213}

Alex and Henry, now dating, attend another state dinner, where they're unexpectedly seated directly next to each other.

Modification to the map of you {Word Count: 1,620}

Henry comes back from a month-long trip with his ear pierced, and Alex has no idea.

2023 Fandom Fic Events

Halloween, Huh Fest aka That time Val wrote 15 fics for her first ever fest {Word Count: 50,661}

New Traditions: A Red, White & Royal Blue Advent Calendar Event {Fics to come on the 20th and 25th!}

Red, White & Royal Blue New Year's Gift Exchange {Fic to come on January 1!}

2024 Fic Projects

Big Brother AU with @thinkof-england that we've started to outline and I'm so looking forward to in the new year!

5 Times Alex & Henry Had Sex Anywhere on the Property They Want + 1 Time They Walked Through Austin Holding Hands - 3/6 pieces are complete, with the second half yet to go!

The Notebook AU - Inspired by this stunning piece of art by @shirmirart, I am DETERMINED to bring this AU to life in the new year. It's already started!

Come Back to Me, a requested songfic for @thinkof-england that I WILL finish soon (I promise!)

Plus a too-long list of one shot prompts and a couple of AUs that I'm holding close to the chest for now.

#fic writing review 2023 #rwrb fic #rwrb fanfic #rwrb fanfiction #my fics #my writing #my wips

[dukeoftheblackstar]

Let’s get some fun recommendations goin around here! What’s a piece of clone content (art, fic, etc) that has stuck with you as being notably excellent? Tag it in your answer so we can all find some new fun to read! If you want, of course; feel free to ignore! 💕

Oooh, this is fun! Yes ♥ I'm an absolute whore for art ♥

Starting off with a beautiful take on my favorite shit boy from the 104th, my babylove, Warthog by @omaano. I know there's no need for an explanation but I'm just so overly proud and touched because this was a tribute to a fallen comrade who happens to be Warthog's bestiecakes, Tracer.

Read more here ♥ And yes, Warthog is my favorite ♥ I will pick him again and again and again and again and again over Commander Wolffe ♥

Second would be Big Boy Wrecker ♥ As much as I am crazy for soft Wrecker with pink beach shorts with Omega, it's the Mischief Energy for me ♥ Love me some unhinged, chaotic, bulldozer baby girl of a man ♥ Also, everything @amorfista is a fave ♥

[WIP] "Shenanigans at the beach"

Another Wrecker by @lornaka because omg, he has truly captivated my heart ♥

Miss these kids sm

Darth Fett by @eyecandyeoz ♥ Candy outdid themselves here and I cannot emphasize that enough because (1) that fic is absolutely filthy, (2) it's a fic and art for one of my hidden/small otps, and (3) that art is as absolutely filthy as the fic.

Vader × Fett😈

This beautiful Crosshair happening that blesses my dash from time to time made by @ditztitz because goddamn, look at those unf-things and them unf-lines.

Very Toned Crosshair

This beautiful Crosshair happening that blesses my dash from time to time made by @ditztitz because goddamn, look at those unf-things and them unf-lines.

House of Fett | Family Picture

House of Fett, of course by @baufraus who I am obsessed with in terms of their art style and sticker vibe.

Thicc Fox & Thicc Wolffe ♥

@patchmates thicc twin love because jfc, Wolffe and Fox being hella fine is such a vibe. I've reblogged this so many damn times, I'm still giddy over it ♥

Bly in booty shorts

Need no explanation than the fact that someone better steal his blacks from time to time for the good of the galaxy. Delicious art by @thatfunkyopossum

Croissants being actual croissants ♥

Anything Fox and Corrie boys related by @amikoroyaiart because they so precious and so much foolishness happening ♥

That one Commander Fox Art that serves so much cunt I feel insecure as a cunt-bearing organism ♥.

This to me is s.ex on the eyes. It's the judgmental tilt of the head, that eyebrow raise, that look of disapproval that can also be seen as 'yeah, I'd hit that... but after work cause I got so much fucking work' — it's the bad boy ciggue for me, that puff of smoke in the background, that turtleneck blacks, that thiccness, that scar, that jfc-i would like to get railed by this man on his desk while he works vibe. ;//////;

Amazing art by @calamity-aims

Need something on your wall? Check them out ♥

Two from @idontgetanysleep that I would love to see on a wall:

Black and white Info Panel feature Wolffe, Rex, Cody, and Gregor ♥♥♥

Vibrant & Groovy Wallpapers featuring Wolffe, Rex, Cody, Howzer, Gregor ♥♥♥

..••°°°°••..°°••....••°°..••°°°°••..°°••....••°

And lastly, every single fucking panel in this post resonates to me in an astronomical level that I feel more closer to being Fox than being in love with Fox. This is essentially Fox and Me in photos as one. And I'm so pleased that @that-one-egomaniac gave me permission to use this bit because I am obsessed with this that I will post the photo itself — behold, my most favorite thing in the entire galaxy:

Thank you for this very interesting ask ♥

Note: I also don't know why some of the links didn't work as I was getting an error when posting so the rest came out as hyperlinks.

#♝ #dukeoftheblackstar answers #♝-answers #commander wolffe #wolffe #commander bly #bly #commander fox #fox #captain rex #(he in there) #commander cody #(he in there too) #wrecker #tbb #crosshair #omega #boba fett #omega fett #jango fett #commander thorn #commander stone #commander thire #sergeant hound #grizzer #the clone wars #star wars #warthog #104th battalion #501st legion

[magebastard]

wip wursday

thank u @coldshrugs for tagging me im NERVOUS abt this 1

im soft writing an if that may stay unreleased forever bc i don’t know if i will have the willpower to consistently post updates but im done w a prologue and half of chapter 1 and it’s been a treat to write about the most romantic place on earth (a tiny beach town in new jersey) here is a scene that I had to email to myself months ago bc I couldn’t figure out how to configure it into actual code properly but this is the first major flirt scene with the ro im in love w the most currently can you tell I started writing this after re-watching the bear

tagging @mrs-theirin @lalizah @darkspawntaxcollectors @grapecaseschoices everyone truly please I need to read my pals beautiful writing

Huh. You think you'd be wise enough to know when hunger is the culprit behind your bad moods at this point in your adulthood. That cloying, constricting feeling in your gut roils in response to Jordan's good-natured accusation and your lips flatten into a smile of surrender. He snorts. You hop up to sit on the counter across from his work station.

Sticking around after close isn't too outrageous of an ask when he's the one offering to make you dinner.

Damn, but it smells good in here. You imagine it'll get old—the smell of diner food permeating the modest industrial kitchen. But now it's only making you too aware that your last meal was a stale cereal bar nearly nine hours ago. Minutes pass. Jordan bobs his head to the music playing from his phone, speakers echoing where it's propped up inside of a clear, Tupperware tub. You don't want to upset the calm of a man's kitchen closing ritual but it feels like you should say something.

"I'm sorry I snapped. I didn't mean to take my bad day out on you," you finally settle on.

His dark eyes flit to yours for barely a moment. It's not too much but it's a strange intimacy. The last two employees on a closing shift, practically basking in the quietened building. It'd be peaceful, if it weren't so bizarre.

You turn your attention to his hands. Quick and certain, he methodically prepares your omelette with an artful precision. Almost more bizarre than sharing this calm moment with your coworker, is the care he measures into each ingredient, delicately incorporated. The effort is so thoughtful, you try to swallow past the sudden tightness in your throat.

"It's all good. I've been here long enough to recognize that ‘I didn’t take a lunch break’ look on anyone," he finally responds. There's a feint, fond smile on his face and it's impossible to deny the warmth of his handsome features. You smile along.

"You know everyone here pretty well?" It's not a question you really need answered. It's obvious. The guy practically has his head on a swivel for the revolving door of coworkers coming in to update him on their personal lives, which he responds to in kind with questions or anecdotes of his own. If there's one thing you've gleaned from your first week back at the diner it's that Jordan is adored as both a friend and a pillar of the business. He's got a singular kind of reliability.

You don't realize you're still smiling until you catch him staring, his hands stalled over pan and fork.

#myfic #thank u AGAIN #I’m nervous every time I post sth about this but it IS making me focus up more!!!!

[bluenightcomedies]

uuuugh i keep procrastinating cuz i wanna make new refs n' arts n' all for us all but art slow so fuggit placeholder pinned abt the system better pinned with comm details, other accs, etc later :3 will reopen for commissions once arty verifies me! as a whole we're legally deaf and disabled! we can all draw but have diff styles/preferences :3 body is 30 (eugh i don't like admitting that) so am adult BUT we don't wanna be involved in nsfw art so pls respect that⭐ We can't get a formal diagnosis due to various real life issues, so we're not going to claim any particular diagnosis, but we can't exactly ignore the symptoms and stay masked forever. We're going to stay out of syscourse as much as possible, of course. 🌙 each alter has an assigned emoji so ppl can tell us apart easier if needed, use em as our tags too (when we remember) note- using they/them for any of us fine too!⭐

(doesn't include alters that rarely or never front) ⭐star emoji = Blue! she/her pls~ guess i'm the honorary host cuz i front most. uhhh... nothing rly too fancy i can say abt myself, i'm p affectionate and love y2k art and hanging out, i try to be as nice as i can >w< my art's usually sketchbooky, with thin lines and soft colors/shading!

💠this blue gem/flower emoji is Azure! she/her, she's kinda new to the system. looks n' acts a lot like me but uh... more childish i guess? very silly, very 'cringe culture is dead'. loves to rp, say silly things, n' cling to people. hyperfixates on Dot Hack (RIP) her art looks like mspaint x3 🌙 (Writing for myself since I'm available.) The name's Lune, hence moon emoji, and I use she/her pronouns as well. Formerly "Starry" but people kept confusing me with Blue due to her star symbolism. Used to be the designated mask, I'm glad I don't have to do that anymore... Sometimes I re-mask out of habit so if something sounds like me but wasn't marked as an alter, it probably is me. I have a flat tone and chronic paranoid anxiety so uh... Let me know if I come across as rude, I usually don't mean to. I enjoy doing research and organizing information, so I'm often the one to fact-check things or find guides and how-to's for the system. My art's very bold and colorful, and friends describe it as 'angular'. Clashes with my personality, huh? 🗝️key emoji = Sylverwynd! he uses he/him! he's super laid back and chill, i've never seen him upset or anything, but he's rly long-winded talks... kinda poet-y? he loves reading and talking abt lore and myths so he'll pop in if ur talking abt something he likes or if he has trivia 2 share! fave genres r horror n' fantasy he's still experimenting w/ style but likes drawing rly soft

❌cross emoji= Laceburner! it/its or they/them pronouns! tbh i'm not used to it/its pronouns but Lace wanted em; it's very uh... emotionally empty i guess? aroace, agender, can't socialize or empathize v well. it usually fronts when the rest of us are tired or in pain cuz it just ignores all that. likes 2000's scenemo aesthetics though which is surprising but ye idk how to describe its style, but it's trying to mimic emo art n' likes bright colored lines with dark bg/colors 🗡️the dagger is Kal! he/him pronouns, he gets angry and stressed abt things really easy but he gets too hostile abt it so he tries to not front too much; need to find him a way to de-stress n' chill out... when he's not mad at smth he's a good sympathetic listener imo, still swears and talks all rough tho hasn't drawn much yet but does rly harsh lines and fast/messy sketches when he does (and gets riled up by mistakes =w=;)

❤️heart is Weiss! genderfluid, goes by any pronouns, usually uses whatever they like at the time x3 has a hard time fronting but tries to. flirty, loves dumb jokes, overly confident... (we worry they'd get us in trouble sometimes cuz the shit they want to say) loves demon and monster-related stuff! still experimental style but uses bold colors and thick rough lines a lot, may get suggestive (forbidden from outright nsfw, don't ask >:c) btw ur always welcome to direct asks @ someone specific >w< we just might take a while to respond

#pinned post #pinned intro #plural artist #furry artist #system stuff

[ninzied]

tagged by: @152glasslippers approximately 37 years ago to find hold, look, smile, free in my wips. thanks pal ♡

hold (a kastle after fic)

It’s actually the shortest time he’s spent in a hospital. There’s no red tape or guard at the door, and when Karen arrives, there are no handcuffs holding him back as he reaches for her. They end up releasing him with a splint on his wrist, and a perfunctory “Have a nice day, Mr. and Mrs. Castiglione” as they’re walking out together.

Karen’s quiet as she drives, but she squeezes him back when he takes hold of her hand, gently touching his jaw when he brings her palm up to his mouth.

It’s not until they’re home, and he sees their dinner untouched on the table, the broken stem of a wine glass on the counter where Karen must have been standing when she took the EMT’s call, that Frank realizes. How truly terrified she must have been that something had actually happened to him.

look (finding frank - a fic by foggy nelson)

The day after Frank Castle escapes from the hospital – again – Karen calls out sick from work.

And Foggy would bet his life savings that that is not a coincidence.

There’s no mention of Karen’s involvement in the papers or on the morning news. But Foggy’s not stupid, and the look on Matt’s face tells him he’s definitely not wrong about this.

smile (coffeeshop au)

“Karen,” comes that gravelly voice, as she’s perusing the glass case of pastries. “Small latte for Karen.”

He’s leaning his hands against the counter, grinning crookedly at her as she approaches. “Good morning.”

“Not until I get my coffee, it isn’t.” Karen returns his smile, feeling her mood lighten considerably.

He winces, looking sympathetic. “That kind of day already, huh?”

“Pretty much,” Karen affirms. “The kind that started at four in the morning when my roommate came home and almost set the place on fire.” She decides not to mention the blood—which there’d been more of than usual—or the broken window that she still needs to call the super about, or the fact that this was already the third time that week.

She and Matt are going to have a talk about this.

free (notting hill au)

He doesn’t see her in time, and she lets out a gasp as their bodies are colliding together. Frank’s coffee is spilling all over a familiar black coat, and the white blouse she has on underneath.

“Fuck,” says Frank. The light is hitting just right, and he can see through those sunglasses into her eyes as he looks up at her face. But he doesn’t have time to admire her features from this up close, because he’s just gotten coffee all over the rest of her.

“Fuck,” he utters again. “I’m – fuck.”

“You said that already,” she notes wryly, removing her sunglasses to get a better look at the damage. She reaches into her handbag, pulling out a handful of napkins. She gives him a few, and he realizes then that the coffee's all over him too, already soaking into his flannel.

“Thanks,” he says. “And – sorry about this.”

“I would’ve taken you more for a black coffee kind of guy,” she remarks, almost offhanded, as she pats herself down. He can’t get a read on her face anymore, but there’s a hint of a smile in her tone as she adds, “Goes with the whole hipster vibe.”

“That’s funny,” says Frank, very gravely. “Ma’am, if I’ve offended you that badly—”

“It’s Karen,” she says, and yes, she is definitely smiling now. “Please. Call me Karen.”

“Okay. Karen.” Frank feels a smile of his own start to form, and he rubs the back of his head, ducking his gaze for a moment. “If you, um. Need something to change into, my place is just a few blocks away. Or if you want to wait at the shop, I can bring something to you. Our bathroom’s on the smaller side, but Curt’s got one – the, uh, the coffee guy you go to every morning. We served together, so he and I go way back. Shit, he’ll probably throw in a latte for free, white rose art and all. For your trouble, you know, for having to deal with me all day.”

Frank’s rambling, and he knows it.

Karen tilts her head at him. “White roses, huh.”

“He – yeah.” Frank swallows. Shit. He might as well give her Curt’s number while he’s at it. How did he get so off track? Is he really this out of practice?

As if she’s read his mind, Karen raises an eyebrow and says, a little teasingly, “You must spill coffee on all of the girls.”

tagging: @carry-the-sky @heidiamalia @redbelles @heartonfirewrites @edourado @garglyswoof @darlingshane @onebatch2batch @the-restless-brook @myletternevercame @zushigirl to find break, dark, fall, regret

#kastle #kastle ff #kastlenetwork #tag game #kastle fam #all of these are finished except the notting hill one adfalsdkhfao;shdf