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luvfy0dor · 2 days

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“Please Don't Cry ♡⁠˖” BSD x GN!Reader ੈ✩‧₊˚

Warnings; crying, Nikolais kinda an asshole

Description; The BSD men seeing you cry, whether it's their fault or not

A/n; hi guys :333 one more request until they're all finished!! It only took me 6 months to do what, 11? 12? I don't know, I'm really slow when it comes to reqs, so I'm sorry it took so long!! I've also decided not to change to a gray theme cuz I don't wanna feel like I'm copying anyone, maybe one day though!!

Osamu Dazai ★

• It's probably his fault in most cases, but for this scenario we'll assume it isn't. Your day has just progressively gotten worse, and you were at the point where any minor inconvenience or annoyance would set you off and make you cry.

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You pushed open the door to your apartment that you shared with your boyfriend, bags in your hands ready to rip from the weight of the groceries inside. You huff and kick the door shut behind you, annoyed when it doesn't fully close and requires you to kick it one more time. You carry the bags to the kitchen counter and set them down rather aggressively, not minding the strength you put into roughly placing them on the surface while you turn to put them away and wait for your boyfriend to arrive home from work for once. You sigh with a hand on your hip and the other on your forehead, opening the fridge and observing your current minimal amount of food and get to stocking up. A few things make it into the fridge before you hear the door open again and your boyfriend call out to you. "Y/n? Home?" A hum erupts from your throat in response and he quickly makes his way to you, following the sound of your voice. "Hey, babe, how was your day?" He asks, grabbing a head of lettuce to hand to you. "Terrible, 'Samu, nothing tragic happened but like, all the little things, you know?" You say, shoving the head of lettuce into one of the bottom drawers of the refrigerator. He reaches over to grab the milk, but realized that the half-gallon wasn't completely full, and upon further investigation (lifting the jug up), he realized that the plastic had broken and milk was spilling out into the plastic bags, onto the counter, and down onto the floor.

"Oh, the milk broke." He says, taking a large, exaggerated step past you and over the milk to bring the half-gallon to the sink. You straighten your posture and stand up straight, head swiveling towards the counter with whiplash inducing speed. You felt your throat close up, making you unable to say anything in response. Before you knew it, your shoulders started shaking and your tears quickly followed that motion. You whimpered quietly into the palms of your hands which attracted Dazais attention again over the milk. "Aw, don't cry over spilled milk now!" He jokes, but when you give him an agitated glare and open your mouth to defend yourself, he switches up and pulls you in for a hug. "No, I was just joking, but it's okay! There's nothing to cry about, we can get more milk. Do you have any idea how it coulda happened?" He asks you, stroking your back. "M-might've put the bag down to roughly.." you say, sniffling and wiping your tears from your face. He gives a pitiful frown and kisses your cheek quickly.

"Well that just means you're too strong for your own good! Oo, see I knew there was a reason why I had to clarify I was joking, you could've broken my neck if I didn't." He playfully says, trying to cheer your up a little bit. You let out a shaky sigh and nod. "Yeah...I guess. We can go without milk for tonight, I'll get some more for tomorrow." You grab some paper towels from the roll on the counter and start cleaning up all the milk. He nods in agreement and pulls you into his body, pressing a kiss to your forehead and squeezing your shoulder. "Yeah, we'll live. We should get take out for dinner, I don't think either of us are really in the mood to cook." A little bit of weight is lifted off your shoulders, one less responsibility for tonight. "Okay, Chinese?" he nods and smiles. "Yeah. I'll call right now, you want your usual, right?" He asks, pulling his phone out of his pocket. You hum against his chest, ready to knock out and take a nap. His words blurred together as you felt yourself slipping into sleep, but with that you also felt great amounts of gratitude for your boyfriend for making you feel just a little better. Or maybe you just needed to cry a little, who knows.

Chuuya Nakahara ★

• Chuuya is no stranger to annoying co-workers and tiring missions, often wearing him down through the day, but sometimes he's unintentionally snappy. Don't worry, he's always quick to make it up to you.

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Throughout the day, the texts between yourself and Chuuya had indicated that Chuuya was having a rather troublesome day, especially because of the frequent complaints followed by the facepalm emoji. You decided that you'd kick back with Chuuya and relax, opening a new bottle of one of his favorite wines and maybe giving him a back massage or something to relieve his stress. You eagerly awaited that familiar sound of his key in the door, and when you finally heard it, you stood up from your seat. In walked Chuuya, his appearance a little roughed up. He hung up his coat and hat without a word or glance to you, walking right passed you into the kitchen. 'That was kinda rude.' You thought to yourself, but you knew Chuuyas job was stressful and sometimes overwhelming, so you let him walk off on his own for a while. You knew where he was going and it didn't concern you, just to the balcony for a cigarette. You crossed your arms over you chest, hoping that he'd come back in a bit of a better mood. You turned on the TV and occupied yourself with that for a little bit before his familiar, light footsteps were heard coming back into the house. "Chuuya?" You called out to him. You could hear his loud sigh. "Yes?" His tone of voice was clearly agitated and disgruntled.

You were taken aback by how clear it was that he didn't want to talk to you right now, and you knew it wasn't personal, but you couldn't help but be saddened over it. "Are you alright-" you go to ask, but he quickly cuts you off. "Yes, I'm fine, y/n, just leave me alone. God..." His words were followed by the bedroom door closing. You were stunned. Your mouth hung agape for a moment before you had to close it to swallow the shock that closed your throat up. After prying your eyes away from the closed door, you averted your gaze to your feet, feeling tears well up in your eyes. You felt bad for crying, but what could you do? All you wanted was to make him feel a little better and he wouldn't even give you the chance to. He chose to take some alone time instead, which you didn't mind, but he didn't have to be so mean about it. You went into your hands, some of the tears falling through the cracks in your fingers and silently onto the floor. Your sobs became louder and audible to Chuuya, who laid face first on the bed. He felt a bit guilty too, he never once asked how your day was and for all he knew, your day could have been just as bad as his. He knew you only had good intentions, and he didn't need to shove you off like that.

He sighed and got out of bed, opening the door gently instead of swinging it open and walked into the living room again, frowning at the sight of you. "I'm sorry, doll, y'know I didn't mean it..." He whispered quietly, placing a hand on your shoulder. You turned your head to look into his eyes, seeing the apologetic expression that painted his face. "Yeah, I know, but you didn't have to be so mean about it." He sighed and pulled you into a hug. "Yeah, I know, that was a dumb move. I just wanted some alone time, ill be better about it next time though, I promise." He says, grabbing your hand and kissing your knuckles. "Wanna tell me 'bout your day?" He asks, looking over at you. "Thank you. It wasn't terrible, just bland and regular." You tell him, erupting a hum of understanding from him. "I can only assume you already know I had a rough day." He jokes, trying to lighten the mood. "I'm real sorry though." The smile from his laugh turns into a more neutral one, almost a faint frown. "It's fine, just don't let it happen again, I don't like it when you're annoying like that." You punch his shoulder playfully. He groans in response, laughing as he stands up. "I won't, promise." He says, tilting your head backwards to kiss your lips. "I do still want that alone time, though, so I'll see you in a little bit, alright?" You nod in understanding. "Alright." He walked back into the room, giving himself some time to do nothing more than exist. He didn't sleep and he didn't think, just existed. You stayed on the couch, waiting for him to return with open arms, happy to see him giving himself personal time instead of forcing himself to be around people, even if it was yourself. Everyone needs a break sometimes, and Chuuya was grateful that you understood.

Fyodor Dostoevsky ★

• Fyodor came home to you, and that was enough to make you sob your eyes out. Happy tears, ofcourse, but your days had been riddled with anxiety since he left. He knew you'd feel that way, and he was fully prepared to open his arms to you again with that faint smile.

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You watched the helicopter land on the helipad with your heart pounding in your throat. Your fingers fiddled with the collar and fabric of your shirt as you waited for the propellers to come to a full halt and your lover to step off. Leaves, gravel, and dust alike all blew around your feet as the blades finally slowed and your boyfriend came into view. Your body tensed and almost started moving towards him on its own, but your anxiety stopped it, keeping you in your place. Your eyes scanned over his intact body and granted you a sense of relief when you saw no visible large injuries. He took notice of you and gave a small wave, walking towards you with a steady pace. You couldn't stop it anymore and all of a sudden you were moving towards him at an increasing speed. Before you knew it, your arms were once in their familiar spot around his torso and he was quietly chuckling. He ran one hand up and down your back and kissed your forehead. "Someone's excited." You nodded, feeling your tears falling down your face. It wasn't until he got a better look at your face that he noticed you were crying, and his smile widened. "You missed me that much, Myshka?" He says, tilting your head upwards to look at him.

"Obviously! You knew I would." You huff, sniffling and wiping your tears off of your cheeks, but they just kept on flowing. He laughs at you and pulls you back into the hug. "Well i'm home now, and you don't have to worry about me anymore. For now, atleast." Now he's already got you stressing over his next leave, but luckily you're able to push it away from your head in the moment and be grateful to breathe in his familiar scent again. You felt him place a hand on your head and exhale, his heartbeat being your favorite sound next to his voice. The feeling of his hands on your body was easily #1 in the category of touch, and his appearance was, to you, the very best sight. And his kisses, his lips, were by far the best taste. It had been so long until you felt his lips on yours, so you went for it again, cupping his face with your right hand and pulling him into you. He hummed and kissed you back, rubbing your hip with his thumb. When you pulled away, his face was pinker than before and his breathing unsteady. He swallowed before speaking. "Everytime I come back to you it's like adding gasoline to the bonfire that is my love for you." He says, looking into your eyes.

You couldn't help but find his words as silly as they were romantic and pulled him in for another brief peck. "You talk so formally all the time, it makes me giggle." You tell him, caressing his pale pink lips with your thumb. "It's better than the things I say that make you cry, yes?" He had a point. "Very true." He grabbed your hand and held it in his own while leading you away from the helicopter and to your car, more than ready to go home. "Your face is still wet from your tears." He whispers, wiping the remaining dampness from your cheeks with a smile. "Much better." You blushed and nodded. "Yeah, I'm glad you're finally back to wipe my tears for me." You tease. "Was a workout doing it all by my lonesome." He laughs at your remark and 'tsks'. "Well then maybe you should get more active or stop crying so much." He replies, a smug grin on his face. "Says you, the only arm movement I ever see you getting in is moving the mouse of a keyboard around." He shakes his head. "That's very untrue, you see me using my arms for other things rather frequently, actually." He insists. The sun shone down on his raven hair and gave him a halo-like highlight. How unfitting to the rest of the world, but sensible to you. "Fine, I guess so." You leaned your head on his shoulder as you continued to walk, finally liberated from the depression and anxiety that overcame you when he had left all that time ago.

Nikolai Gogol ★

• Nikolai doesn't mean to hurt your feelings with his teasing and jokes, but when you trip and fall face first into the pavement in front of a bunch of people and all he does is laugh with them, you can't help but cry out of embarrassment.

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You walked along a sidewalk with your boyfriend, one hand holding his and the other holding a coffee. Your conversation was filled with mindless chatter as your stride stayed at a steady speed. Your eyes were flickering between him and the pavement in front of you as you were careful to watch where you were going. You saw the feet of many people walking passed you both, avoiding the states they were bound to give you and your clownish boyfriend. Something astonishing must have come out of Nikolais mouth at a point though, because you've never turned your head so fast to look at him and stare for long enough to not notice the tree roots that poked out of the ground far enough to trip you and land you right on your face with both coffee and dirt all over your shirt. All falls silent for a moment before you start hearing snickers and then the outrageously loud cackle of your boyfriend.

You pushed your body up off the ground, clearly embarrassed over the whole thing and shot a glare at Nikolai. "Really? You're just gonna stand there and laugh?" Your cheeks were hot and your heart heavy with both annoyance and fluster. "I'm sorry, dove, it was just so funny! That stains gonna take awhile to come out, though." He says, pointing out the big splatter of coffee on your light colored top. You can't help but scoff. "It was so funny that you couldn't even help me up?" He nods, exhaling audibly and wiping a tear of amusement from his eye. "But ofcourse! If I wasn't paralyzed by my laughter than I would have been the first to help you." He started walking back home along the paved path with you, going to grab your hand but furrowing his eyebrows when you snatch it away. He looks up to your face with an exasperated frown. "Oh, don't tell me that made you cry." You just sniffle and huff, letting your tears drip from your waterline. "Come on, don't be such a baby. It's just a material item, I can always get you a new one." He says, referring to the shirt. Your expression is one of confusion before you snap out of it and correct him. "It's not that, it's the fact that you just let me trip, fall, and spill coffee all over myself and let everyone laugh at me! You even laughed with them! That's so rude." You say, trying to cover the stain to no avail.

He blinks. "Oh. Well, I told you I would have if I wasn't laughing- I thought we were like that, we laugh when the other falls, you know?" He raises an eyebrow. "Okay, yeah, but not in front of other people." You say, chewing on the inside of your lip. "That was....oh my god, I'll never erase that from my memory." You say, still completely overtaken by embarrassment. He bites his cheek and grabs your hand before reaching over to wipe your tears from your cheeks. "I'm sorry." He tells you, leaning his head on yours. "It wasn't ever with ill intention, darling. We'll go home and I'll get you changed out of that ruined shirt and whatever it takes to make you smile again." He says, smiling and opening his portal to whisk the two of you away. Soon enough you were standing back in your living room with a new shirt already in hand. "See how quick that was? Can I take this off for you?" He asks, tugging at the hem of your ruined shirt. You sigh and speak. "I can take it off on my own, thank you very much." You roll your eyes and pull it off, but it's quickly replaced with the new one. He laughs for a moment at your discombobulated expression, but the noise quickly quiets. "I really am sorry, sweetcheeks." He says, leaning in to rub your noses together. You peck his lips and brush his hair from his face. "It's fine, but don't be doing nothin' like that again. That was so embarrassing." You say, averting your eyes. He hums. "Alright, as long as my dove forgives me!" He smiles and pulls you into a hug, happy with your decision to forgive him.

A/n; dawg I'm writing this in the tj Maxx bro forgive me if it sucks lol

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angelltheninth · 3 days

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Cooper Howard Tells You How to Touch Yourself

Pairing: Cooper Howard/The Ghoul x Fem!Reader

Tags: nsfw, smut, masturbation instructions, dom/sub dynamics, praise, teasing, fingering, clit stimulation, innocent1Reader

A/N: More of the scary hot cowboy man.

He may have not touched a woman in a long time but he knows how to make one feel good. "One as pretty as yourself deserves to feel great when she's touching herself." Your hands are clumsy, fumbling as you push your pants and underwear away. "Good, now spread it open."

You're taken back by his request but you set your legs further apart. "Like this?"

"No, not legs, your pussy, I want to see how badly it wants the cock that it can't have." And you don't seem to know as many things as he does either judging by your eyes widening at his dirty. "What, don't like the way I talk, eh sweetheart? You're gonna get used to it. There are far worse guys out there than me. I'm being good to you, showing you how to feel good."

You're a sweet, innocent little thing for him to corrupt, how damn fun. "I know about it. But I've never had someone watch me do it." You defended yourself, feeling the moisture pool around your fingers as his deep eyes scanned over your naked body.

Cooper hates that he can't touch you, his hands are itching to grab onto something. "You don't know anything about real pleasure. But I can tell you do know how to follow instructions. Means you're gonna be a good girl for me." He leaned in close, his face close to yours. "Start with two fingers, I want you to whimper."

He demanded, almost like he knew you always started with one. Two, the middle and the ring finger, slid in slowly, your lip pulled between your teeth at the tight warmth.

"Damn, I can near hear how tight that hole is. You wouldn't be able to take my cock the way you are now. Finger it open for me sweetie." You try your best to follow his orders but your head is spinning at having him this close.

"I want you." You whimper but know better then to touch him anywhere other than his clothes. Your Hand fists into his shirt, "Tell me, please tell me how to feel good."

Cooper huffed out against your neck, "As much as I like hearing them sloppy sounds your cunt makes... pull your fingers out, rub them around your thighs, get all that juice around you." Your pussy already missed the fullness, "Not to worry, there are better ways. I think your clit needs some attention too, don't you agree?"

Your fingers immediately flew to rub that spot, fingers curling from your entrance to your clit, "I just need you." You kept panting as your body snapped upwards, moans broken and clit so sensitive your hips jumped every time you rubbed it. "I want you to fuck me."

He chuckled, "Of course you do. Well, maybe some day we'll figure it out."

#cooper howard x reader #the ghoul x reader #fallout x reader #cooper howard imagine #the ghoul imagine #fallout imagine #cooper howard headcanons #the ghoul headcanons #fallout headcanons #cooper howard smut #the ghoul smut #fallout smut #cooper howard x you #the ghoul x you #fallout x you #x female reader

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pomefioredove · 2 days

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Saw you took specific requests. Here's mine:

Jamil with a religious reader who gives him a protection talisman.

Fun fact, prayer beads are used in multiple religions as they help count prayers (Christianity, Islam, Buddhism, Hinduism, etc).

So let's say reader comes from a world where magic exists but it's exclusively on religious grounds. Meaning if you wanna do magic you gotta pray to the right god or make a deal with some form of mythological creature.

Reader knows that Jamil's is always in danger due to the constant assassination attempts on Kalim, so they make a set of prayer beads and ask a diety to bless it in order to protect their boyfriend (could be Allah, Indra, Shiva, Buddha, Susanoo, whichever). Jamil accepts it and heads back home appreciating the sentiment but not really believing.

Except any form of danger keeps getting thwarted. Drink/food he's trying is poisoned? Conveniently spills over/has a whole in the bottom. Accident happens? Conveniently pushed out of the way. Someone tries to hurt him/kill him? Struck by lightning and straight up dies.

Not even his own parents are safe. They try to slap him to "discipline him" then they get zapped (lightly tho).

you know!!! I love this prompt so much... I'm a religious studies major so this kinda stuff is so ^w^ to me I get so excited.

summary: giving jamil a protection spell type of post: short fic characters: jamil additional info: reader is gender neutral, the existence of religious beliefs in twst is. confusing. so we're keeping it vague, not proofread, reader is yuu

Perhaps it was because your world was still considered "magicless" by Twisted Wonderland standards, or perhaps Jamil was never superstitious to begin with.

Either way, he wasn't exactly as excited as you'd been hoping for.

"It's nice. Did you make it yourself?" he asks, inspecting the beads. "A bracelet?"

"Prayer beads, actually. And yes, I did,"

"It's well made. What's the purpose?"

You hesitate. The nature of religion in this world is still confusing to you, although you can surmise there's got to be some kind of belief system. It's best not touching on for now.

Besides, Jamil has never been much of a believer in higher powers. For good reason.

"For protection," you explain. "Not that I think you can't handle yourself. But I worry about you over break, you know..."

He's quiet for a moment, inspecting the gift in the palm of his hand. And then he tucks the beads away in his pocket and smiles.

"I'll keep them with me, then. Thank you,"

Even if he's not exactly keen on the idea that these things will make his life any less terrible, they're from you.

And so he keeps his promise, and tucks them away after you part.

By the time he's "home" (back in Kalim's family home) he's all but forgotten about the little blessing at the bottom of his pocket. Not that you can really blame him- "vacation" is more of a title than a reality when he's back.

The first incident happens not even a day after.

The al-Asim summer mansion is certainly nothing to scoff at. Though it's only one of many, this one in particular houses a large sum of physical treasures, line with gold and ivory, stuffed full of spices and all the makings of a feast that could feed thousands, a shining jewel of the desert.

Jamil is not all that impressed.

Especially when it comes to navigating such an ornate building on orders. The polished-to-perfection floors present a challenge when you're carrying three crates worth of grain to the kitchen on the lowest floor.

Damn these stairs.

Though Jamil may not be a religious man, he still asks whatever deity may be up there to smite the slippery spiral staircase he's descending.

His arms strain to uphold the weight of the boxes, and his legs strain to keep a good footing on one of the many long and elaborate and narrow servant passages designed specifically so that the unwanted workers of the family can slip by undetected.

Quiet, diligent, and he has to be quick, too. Kalim is expecting him for a game in one of the many lounges soon.

Another unfortunate "vacation". How he'd much rather be spending it with you...

For a brief moment, Jamil swears he can feel the beads in his pocket warm against him, reminding him of their presence.

And then he slips.

The crates free themselves from his careful grasp and tumble down the stairs, creaking and thudding but mercifully staying intact.

Jamil, however, isn't made of wood. He winces as he feels himself tilting forward- and then... somehow, a strong draft pushes him on his back.

He lands just shy of his tailbone, luckily not hurting anything, except for his pride.

What a turn of luck.

The next happens at dinner.

Jamil keeps his earlier blunder to himself. His pride is damaged enough as it is, after all, and so he tries his best to conceal how shaken up the experience left him by moving swiftly across the kitchen.

"We have a dish ready for you to test," someone shouts.

He sighs. How many more evenings of this will he have to endure?

Though, he reminds himself- this may always be his last.

The thought makes Jamil chuckle as he's handed a hot dish and a clean fork. He can only stop to smell the roses for so long, so there's no chance of savoring such an exquisitely prepared meal before he's off to another part of the kitchen.

Just as the fork digs into the food, the dish slips out of his hand and shatters on the kitchen floor. Everyone falls silent.

His eyes widen. "How- ugh. My apologies,"

Now this is just getting ridiculous. How clumsy can he get in one evening? He's usually much more careful...

"Look," the head chef says, the whole kitchen crowding around the food as it dissolves.

Jamil's stomach lurches. Cyanide. It has to be. If he'd eaten that dish right there and then...

The kitchen is swiftly cleared out, and he's sent back to the lounge.

it only gets stranger from there.

What Jamil initially wrote off as clumsiness and luck seems to become a pattern-

a flying arrow at the archery range just narrowly misses him when he bends down to fix his sandal.

The al-Asim family tiger (because of course they have one) chooses to toy with a visiting prince rather than him in the courtyard.

A strong draft pushes him on his rear end seconds before a sandbag falls from an under-construction part of the mansion.

He would call it fortune if he believed in such a thing.

By the end of the vacation, everyone is absolutely perplexed by his string of good luck. Jamil isn't unfamiliar with how dangerous his family's position in life is, and he's had his fair share of injuries as a result, but this time all he has to show for it is a slightly lesser sense of annoyance than usual.

It's only the end of the trip where he ponders (unfortunately aloud) about the string of coincidences, and the beads in his pocket.

Kalim goes on to babble about Jamil's "good luck charm" to anyone who will listen, much to his annoyance.

"Oh, I want one too! Can you ask them to make me one, too?" he says, folding his hands in a pleading motion. "It's so pretty!"

"It was a gift. But... I suppose I can ask..." he sighs, and then smiles to himself.

Of course you'll come up with some excuse to say no. Because, for once, this charm is all his.

#twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #jamil viper x reader #fun prompt! I liked it #queued

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lovebugism · 1 day

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Hi there 👋🏻 I've been binge reading your stories lately and I love them all! I have a request if you're up for it. Could you write one where shy!reader doesn't like her laugh because some people think it's annoying but Eddie loves it? Totally not self-projecting by the way! 🙃 Thank you!

thank you angel! please enjoy :D — eddie comforts you when he finds out an old boyfriend made you hate your laugh (shy!fem!r, established relationship, hurt/comfort, 1k)

You and Eddie sit on opposite sides of the worn, sunken-in couch — long legs bent at the knees, socked feet wedged neatly beneath your thighs. Your bare calves rest on either side of his lap while his calloused palms rub up and down the length of them. His touch is largely absentminded as he tries hopelessly not to laugh through the punchline of his own joke.

“—And I was like, ‘Boom. You lookin’ for this?’”

You think the brown-eyed look of expectancy he gives you is funnier than anything. You smile wide, hiding the sparkling expression behind your palm.

Eddie meets your beam with a boyish pout. He repeats the punchline, more serious this time. “And I was like, ‘Boom’—”

“I heard you, Eds,” you assure with a small chuckle. A mere breath of a laugh.

His frown deepens. “Oh, c’mon!” he exclaims, lifting his hands in protest. They drop back to your ankles a second later. “That was funny! That always kills with Hellfire!”

You nod rapidly, brows raised and eyes wide, like a parent comforting a child. “It was good,” you assure quickly.

“Then why aren’t you laughing?”

“So, what— I have to laugh if I think something’s funny?”

“Well, that’s usually how it works, yeah,” Eddie monotones with a flat face, nodding until his wild curls sway around his jaw. He shrugs lazily a second later and jokes, “If you’re not a psychopath, at least… You’re not a serial killer, are you?”

You meet his narrowed eyes with a more pensive gaze. Your lips purse to the side of your mouth as you jokingly ponder the silly question. “No,” you answer after a few long moments. “Not yet, anyway.”

Eddie nods like he’s relieved. “Nice.”

“There’s still time, though,” you add with a scrunched nose.

He scrunches the bridge of his back. “I’ll take that risk,” he says with a small huff before lifting his weight on his knuckles. The old couch creaks in protest as he leans over to kiss you.

With a poorly bitten-back grin, you meet him halfway. Your mouths smack together in a fleeting kiss that tastes faintly of frozen pizza.

You settle back on the arm of the couch with Eddie’s socked toes wriggling under your thighs. His thumbs continue tracing shapes on the insides of your calves. He watches you watch the staticky television screen, too wound up about the whole thing to join in on the stupid sitcom.

The subtly overwhelming feeling bubbles in his throat until it spills like vomit from his mouth. “Do you think I’m not funny or something?” he blurts, then goes all shy right after. “Is that why… Is that why you don’t really laugh at my jokes?”

Your breathy scoff only further proves his point. “I laugh at your jokes all the time, Eds.”

He shrugs, unconvinced. “I mean… I guess. You, like, breathe really hard through your nose or whatever, but you don’t… You don’t laugh.”

“I think if you heard me laugh, you’d break up with me,” you joke and don’t think twice about how self-deprecating it is.

Eddie’s face twists at the thought — that he’d ever want to break up with you, or that there’d be a part of you he wouldn’t automatically adore on instinct. “Why would you say that?”

You shrug with a vague I don’t know type of sound and turn back to the television. “My laugh is just weird, I guess....”

“No one’s laugh is weird!” Eddie insists. “It’s, like, the one sound people make when they’re happiest— It can’t be weird.”

You flash him a deadpan look of silent disagreement.

He caves.

“Okay. Fine. Dustin Henderson’s laugh is weird,” he concludes. “But… that’s just because he’s Dustin, you know?”

You breathe a faint chuckle at that. Almost like you’ve trained yourself to be as quiet in your laughter as you can.

“My last boyfriend thought my laugh was annoying,” you confess like it’s no big deal. “So eventually I just kinda… stopped.”

Eddie’s soft features harden into a solemn frown. “What a fucking prick…” he grumbles like a storm cloud.

“It’s okay. I got over it. Mostly.”

He squeezes the backs of your calves with a pair of ringed hands, a warm and reassuring touch. “Well, I don’t think anything you do could annoy me,” Eddie tells you, tilting his head to the side until his wild curls bunch at his shoulders. “Just so we’re clear.”

Something in your chest flutters — like there’s a thousand moths trapped behind your ribcage. “Good to know,” you tease in the same sardonic tone.

Eddie rises suddenly, tugging at your ankles until you’re lying flatter on the couch. A squeal sound in your throat as you watch him rise to his knees and lean over you. He digs his fingers gently into the plush of your sides before you can blink.

“Get off!” you swat at him, laughing loudly at the tickling sensation before you can help it. The golden sound spills from your lips and fills the dim trailer with so many little sunbeams.

Your face heats at the proud, lopsided smile Eddie gives you.

“Get off,” you repeat, sterner now but still mostly playful. You’re only slightly surprised when Eddie obeys without pouting. You sit up a bit more and tug your shirt down from where it had ridden up. “And stop looking at me like that.”

Eddie fights to purse his beam to the side of his mouth. Your sparkling, unsmiling disposition is impossible not to smile at. “Can’t help it,” the boy shrugs with a stupid grin. “You’re too cute.”

Your face scrunches in disdain of his compliment. You prop your back against the couch and cross your arms over your chest, averting your gaze to the TV once more. “Just drive me home,” you grumble in protest, hardly meaning it.

“No can do, sweet thing,” Eddie says with a sympathetic sigh, dropping a heavy arm around your shoulder to pull you into his chest. You melt begrudgingly into his sloppy embrace. He presses a kiss to your hair and mumbles into your temple. “‘M never letting you go, actually.”

And, despite your very obvious pouting, you pray he never breaks his promise.

#published by bug #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x you #stranger things x reader #eddie munson #stranger things #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fic #stranger things imagine #stranger things fanfic #stranger things fic #stranger things fanfiction #st drabbles #eddie spaghetti drabble

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reiding-writing · 3 days

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Hiii! Could i request prompts 17 and 23 from the angsty prompt list? It could have an angsty ending or a fluffy one, I'll leave that up to you!

Btw congrats on hitting such an amazing milestone and I cannot wait for you to accomplish your next one!!!!! <3333

FATE [CLIMACTERIC]

/feɪt/

17. “This can only end one way.”

23. “Just a little longer.”

WARNINGS: hostage situation, guns, injury, death

spencer reid x gn!reader || ANGST || 1.7k || event masterlist!!

a/n: enjoy :)

main masterlist!!

“This is a pretty nice gun you’ve got isn’t it?” Spencer’s revolver gleams under the hanging light bulb like it’s trying to taunt him, light and pliant in the unsub’s hand as he examines it with a raised eyebrow. “I always preferred the classics,” He gives a glance to your discarded 19mm with a narrowed gaze before turning his eyes back to Spencer. “You’ve got good taste,”

Spencer doesn’t reply to his comment, his eyes fixated on anywhere but above him so that he doesn’t have to look at the smug look on the unsub’s face as he taunts them. You don’t exactly share the same sentiment.

You’ve got your eyes locked straight onto his face with an absolutely heinous scowl riddling your features, leaving wrinkle lines in your eyebrows and a dark shadow underneath your nose. He never liked it when you looked like that, it didn’t suit you, he much preferred positivity on you, and he has no qualms in thinking that you preferred it too.

Apparently so did the unsub, his expression turning sour under your harsh glare and his already antagonistic demeanour heightening as a result. “Who do you think you’re looking at like that?”

If you weren’t tied down to a chair Spencer’s sure you would’ve ripped the man to pieces based on his tone alone. But you knew your boundaries, what to do and what to refrain from, and so you kept your mouth firmly shut as the unsub approached you with Spencer’s revolver in hand. “You think you’re strong because you’re in the FBI? That your badge makes you invincible?”

Your gaze doesn’t waver as he presses the barrel of the gun to the underside of your chin to force your gaze further upwards, but Spencer can tell in the way that your wrists shift against each other uncomfortably that your confidence is merely a facade to hide the waves of anxiety crashing over your body like a tsunami.

“Would you like me to prove that wrong?” The unsub’s voice drops a little as he leans down towards your face, sliding the barrel of the gun past your chin until the muzzle is pressed directly against your larynx with enough pressure to make you twitch unconsciously.

The way he pulls the hammer back with his thumb to turn the chamber with a loud click is enough for Spencer’s composure to break.

“Wait—” His tone is almost entirely desperation, and the unsub’s eyes flicker over to him with a glaze of amusement.

“Got something to say?”

Spencer did not think this through very well.

“Go on, spit it out,” The unsub lets his arm fall limp so that the revolver isn’t held at your throat anymore, but it’s clear that neither of you are in the clear as he gestures for Spencer to continue talking with the gun pointed in his direction instead.

“You don’t have to do this…”

“Reid—” You seethe his name through your teeth with a sharp but subtle shake of your head as a clear indication for him to stop talking.

This wasn’t the kind of person you try to negotiate with. You couldn’t talk someone like this off the ledge, you could only talk them over it. If either of you wanted to make it out alive you both needed to stay silent until SWAT arrived to get you both out of there.

The unsub seems more amused by Spencer’s attempt at negotiation than anything, a gravely laugh emanating from his throat. “We both know this can only end one way, why try and fight it?”

“We don’t deserve to die—” It sounds more like a plea than a statement, and all it does is elicit another laugh from the unsub.

“You know what? That’s bold, I respect that,” The unsub gestures towards Spencer with the gun still in hand, and he can’t help but flinch as it’s pointed in his direction. “Why don’t we make this a little more interesting hm? A little game?”

The unsub presses on the chamber release of the revolver and shakes out the bullets from inside it, leaving them to clatter over the floor. “I’m sure you’re both aware of the concept of russian roulette yes?” He bends down to pick up one of the discarded bullets to replace it into the chamber, clicking it closed and spinning it with his left hand.

“One shot at both of you, the bullet doesn’t fire, you both get to live, if it does, well, you know what happens,”

It sounds like a terrible deal from your point of view, you’d much rather keep trying to stall for time than play this stupid little game that will probably end with one of you not making it out of the building, but Spencer makes the decision for you with a sharp nod.

“Perfect,” The unsub gives Spencer a smile, a smile that rips right through him and makes him feel like he’s going to throw up. “Let’s get started shall we?” He pockets the gun for a moment to rearrange the chairs your bound to so that you’re sat facing each other instead of beside each other, close enough that your knees collide.

“Everything’s gonna be fine,” Spencer doesn’t even bother trying to lower his voice away from the unsub in his attempt at ridding the dread in your expression. “Just a little longer,”

You give him a short nod, pressing your lips together into a line as you try to convince him—and yourself— that you believe him.

“Very sweet,” You flinch as the unsub’s hand lands on your shoulder, and he extends the revolver over your other to point directly at Spencer’s face, leaning his own down to speak next to your ear. “Where should I aim hm? Should I shoot him between his eyes and put him out of his misery quickly, or should I go for his neck and let him bleed out for a while?”

You squeeze your eyes shut like it’s going to block out his voice, and Spencer tries to do it for you by talking over him. “The chances of it going wrong are less than twelve percent, even less for you at ten point eight, we’re both going to be fine—”

There’s a harsh click as the gun sounds next to the side of your face, and the two of you physically jump.

Then there’s a moment of silence and you pry your eyes open to see Spencer still very much alive and well, if not more than mentally shaken.

“Would you look at that, fate is on your side today,” The unsub leaves your side to walk over to Spencer’s, squeezing his shoulder with his hand. “Looks like you get to go home, congratulations, I wonder if the same can be said about your friend here,”

You don’t know whether having the gun pointed at you was more or less anxiety inducing than being an unwilling bystander to watching Spencer on it’s receiving end, but either way you feel like your organs are failing just at the sight of it.

“There’s an eighty-nine point two percent chance that nothing happens,” Spencer shakes his head at the implication the unsub is laying out. “There’s really no point in even going through with it,”

“Is that right?” The unsub seems completely undeterred by Spencer’s attempt, resting his arm over Spencer’s shoulder with the gun extended only a few inches from your forehead. “Why are you nervous then? Surely if you’re so confident in your probabilities you wouldn’t be so scared,”

“Don’t listen to him. You’re going to be fine, I promise.” Spencer speaks with more conviction this time, his eyes narrowed in determination and not a waver present in his voice. “We’re both going to get out of here and leave all of this behind us.”

“Okay…” You take a small breath in through your nose with a nod. “I believe yo—”

There’s another click, then a much louder bang, and your sentence gets cut off before it can finish, a splatter of red echoing its finish as it sprays over the hardwood under your feet.

Everything is jarring silent for a second, and then your head and shoulders slump forward and there’s a sharp laugh of astonishment from the unsub, bouncing through Spencer’s ears and settling in one of the caverns of his mind to torment him at a later date.

“Wow, now that was something,” The unsub’s words are punctuated by small laughs, and he pats his hand against Spencer’s unmoving frame with all of the enthusiasm of if he’d watched a sports team score a point. “Did you see the way the blood spray came out of the back of their head? That was insane,”

Spencer didn’t respond to the unsub’s musings, no twitch of the eye or flare of the nose, he didn’t even blink, eyes solely locked on to your lifeless frame as you slumped over in the chair, held up only by the ropes still wrapped around your torso whilst the blood from your forehead dripped down onto your thighs.

He didn’t even have the mental capacity t feel relief at the sound of the building being swarmed by the SWAT team, less than two minutes from being there in time to get you both out of there alive.

To save you from Spencer’s misjudgement.

To save you from your blind trust in him that left you executed at the hands of his own revolver.

Fate had truly and utterly fucked him over.

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #spencer reid angst #criminal minds angst #climacteric 🪶#sorry <3

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ghouljams · 1 day

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Hi! I love your android!ghost au! I was rereading it and I got the idea of ghost desperately wanting to eat the reader out but androids can’t eat…

Oh my love don't let that stop you from riding his face...

I see Android Ghost's head as either being 1 of 2 things,

This Mask from Machine56 or my personal preference/ favorite, something like this:

that he displays his skull mask on, plus messages if needed(also if anyone knows the artist for that picture please let me know I'm having a hell of a time finding them to credit)

Anyway, you can always ride his face plate, there's not much friction but it's better than nothing. It's a good show for him too. Laying back and having you tentatively settle on the smooth screen of his face, the little skull decal and glowing eyes staring up at you. You don't want to break anything, it's not like his head is made for this, but Ghost grabs your hips and forces you to set your weight on him. He rubs your pussy back and forth over the screen, murmurs that the glass is bulletproof which means it's definitely pussy-proof, and he won't hear a word of complaint.

It's perfect for him. He gets a front row view of your pussy as it slides over his faceplate, the slick smearing over the plasti-glass, the drag of your folds, your clit, fuck look at you. His mouth waters. There's not an inch of you that doesn't deserve his attention, his affection. He moves your hips back and forth, watches your face pinch in pleasure, your lips shut tight to keep from making a peep. God is there any prettier sight?

You're dirtying his screen. It's such a strange feeling, just that little bit of friction that drives you mad as your cunt slides against his face. Your clit bumps against the slightly raised edge of the decal and it's such a change that your hips jerk. That seems to be encouragement enough to have him shifting you up, your pussy directly over his cameras as you rub yourself against the bump of vinyl. You can ignore the soft click of his cameras saving the image to memory, but you can't ignore the way he talks to you. The low wrecked tone that vibrates through his synthetic cords.

"Look'it you," He rumbles, "could drown with how wet you are, pretty pussy giving my screen a shine. Knew you liked bots, but never thought you'd go this far. What's the captain gonna think of you damaging military property like this?"

"Can clean it," You mumble. His fingers tighten on your hips and he tells you desperately:

"Don't."

The idea that he might walk around all day with your slick staining his face makes you warmer than it ought to. Makes you press your hands to the floor above his head and roll your hips more purposefully. Damaging military property... If you're the one doing all his repairs you don't think that charge will stick.

#cod x reader #x reader #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost mw2 #ghost x reader #simon riley #simon riley x reader #mw2 ghost #ghost cod #android!ghost #cyberpunk au

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lovemomhatepolice · 2 days

Text

charles leclerc nswf alphabet (part 2!) (minors DNI!)

navigation taglist requests

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs) There is no question of any degradation. Never in his life would Charles turn to you - whether during sex or in normal functioning - in an offensive way. No sluts, whores, bitches. To him, you are the queen and mistress of his heart, so that's not an option. O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.) Honestly, it depends on your mood. Sometimes he can't get away from you and all he would do is spend time between your legs (you can't accuse him of lack of talent, the boy knows what he's doing) and not pull away. However, he also likes it when you take the initiative and take care of him. Especially if you both have developed such a mode that you are damn satisfied. P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.) Here, in the same way, I can say that it depends on the mood. Mostly, however, he puts on intimate, hot close-ups that are so infused with romance that one could even dream of such…. But if you just ask him to be faster or harder, he won't refuse. Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.) Despite his fondness for romantic close-ups, he is not opposed to quick rounds. If you just don't have much time, and you're already both bursting from lack of touch, definitely a quickie in the toilet is a great opportunity for him to be able to feel all of you. However, it's definitely more common for you to have quick oral sex when a man dives under your dress or you go on your knees. R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.) Since Charles told you directly that he would like to have children with you, you happened to have sex once or twice without any protection - to his disappointment, it didn't work out. And as for the risk of space, Charles tends to shy away from that. He loves to show that you are together and love each other, but the sexual sphere is only for your eyesight. S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?) I think so 2-3 rounds at ease. I do not think more is needed here. Your sex mostly lasts quite long because of the techniques you use to make it better and longer, so don't need more than 2 rounds mostly. T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?) No. I don't feel like Charles has any toys or wants to use them in his relationship with you. Don't take me wrong - Charles is not the type who would be jealous of toys, however, he doesn't feel the need to own them. He is not against them - on the opposite, if you do own one, it will definitely come from his lips at some point that you should show him how these wonders work on your body… U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Oh, Charles on the one hand loves teasing you and on the other hand hates doing it. It all depends on the moment - if it's a quick round, there's no time for teasing either. If you have intoxicating romantic sex, he mostly doesn't do it either. But when it comes down to it, and it's Charles who is on his knees in front of you, oh my gosh! He loves it when you're one big moaning pile in front of him.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.) The middle of the Leclerc siblings loves to pay compliments during intercourse. Sam also constantly shows how good you are to him, but I wouldn't say it's somehow super loud. Yes, his mouth often opens with a loud breath or moan, but it's mostly you who are louder, which doesn't bother him at all… W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character) A man loves the sight of you on your knees in front of him. It's really never been a big deal to him in his life, but if it's YOU kneeling in front of him with the intention of doing him good, you don't have to wait long for the finale… X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes) Not too big, not too small - a little larger than standard. The main thing is that it's perfect for you. Well, I swear! The two of you are so made for each other that you connect like a puzzle. Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?) When he sees you in skimpier clothes, you don't have to wait long. Oh, Charles himself just has his hands on you already. It doesn't take much for him to come running to you like a stray puppy. But let's not kid ourselves, you also have a high sex drive and it doesn't bother you at all. You have sex often, but without exaggeration - you love the intimacy you can give each other, but in a fit of exhaustion or stress, you just let it go. Showing love in other ways with you is as much as possible, and you do it all the time.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards) Oh, it takes Charles a long time to fall asleep. So you practically always have a long talk with each other after sex, and mostly you fall asleep first in his embrace, and he falls asleep quite a while later. Despite your best efforts, he chooses the moment of his own falling asleep. He loves to contemplate, stroking your hair and smiling to himself at how lucky he is.

A/N: part one if anyone missed it!! please do not copy and translate my works! in case of any issues related to this - I invite you to discuss privately :)

this time, according to the votes, the chapter with lando won, so there you go!

#f1 imagine #f1 fanfic #f1 instagram au #f1 x reader #formula 1 x reader #f1 fic #formula 1 #charles leclerc smut #charlesleclerc #charles leclerc #charles leclerc blurb #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc fanfic

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rreids · 9 hours

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Ok ok this idea has been rotting in my head for a a WHILE- So, the truth or dare episode? but what about exBAU!Reader who left the team to take care of her and Spencer’s child, and she finds out about what JJ said? And she either gets angry or insecure? I keep picturing a badass reader but I could also see the insecurity too. -🦋

TRUTH • S. REID X READER

fem reader; 14 x 15 spoilers; reader is pregnant; spencer girl dad!; angst; fluff; we are anti-jeid in this household she is at most familial to him i take no criticism; spencer is so cheesy and in love (with the right person god bless); ~1.2k words

“—to say something that would get your attention…” you walk up to Spencer and JJ, ready to tell them about the cake cutting, and pause.

You’re not big on listening in to conversations and you trust Spencer, but something about the hushed tones has you on edge.

”Jennifer… truth or dare?” Your brows furrow at his voice and the question.

JJ pauses. And since when was she Jennifer? “Truth.”

“Did you mean it?”

You can’t wait. “Spence? JJ? They’re getting ready to cut the cake, you should come…”

They quietly exchange a few more words and your frown deepens, torn between worry and frustration. Spencer lingers a little too long on the spot, running his thumb over his wedding ring.

“Spence?”

He looks up. “Hi, honey,” his voice is soft, almost apologetic.

You sigh. “Is it going to upset me?”

He nods. “Probably.”

“Then it can wait. We’re here for Rossi and Krystall. Come on, everyone’s waiting.”

Spencer follows you and you don’t have to fake your smile as everyone settles into cheers and celebration, even if it fades a little while dancing with your husband. His brow is pinched, and you don’t like the pit in your stomach. Something was wrong.

After you’re sure you’re no longer tipsy from the red wine, you find Rossi and Krystall — “listen, I’m so sorry, but our babysitter…”

“Go,” Rossi laughs. “I know it’s hard for you to be away from her.”

It was true. You’d left the team and gone back to the legal field — in a desk job, with normal hours — to spend time with your daughter. It was a hard decision, but you decided you needed the structure. To be available if anything happened. You still loved and adored your friends, meeting up with them often and providing structure for them too.

“I’m so happy for you two,” you tell them between hugs, and you find Spencer finishing his rounds.

“Honey…” Spencer starts and you swallow against the lump in your throat. “Can we talk?”

“Can it wait until we’re home, Spence?” Your voice is almost pitifully weak, and you don’t even have a reason for it to be. “Izzy needs Mommy and Daddy to say goodnight.”

Spencer melts. “Of course.”

And that’s what happens. He tells her a story — one he clearly remembers and is reenacting, memories from his mother when he was a kid — and you tuck her in with a kiss.

It’s tense. You hate it.

“Do you…” you can barely get out the words. “Something happened. With JJ. I know you two were trapped together with Casey — and he was huge on truth or dare, so that conversation today… it’s related.” You’re tripping over them but you can’t stop talking. “Do you… do you love her? What’s going on, Spence?”

He shakes his head quickly. “She told me she loved me.”

You bite your lip. “And you think the best thing to ask is if she meant it?” Your voice quivers with barely restrained rage. “We have a daughter, Spence. You have another kid on the way.”

Spencer clasps your hand in his. “And I want nothing other than a life with you and them. Let me talk, sweetheart, please,”

You want to pull back, but you know not to reject him. Not now, when it could seem so final.

“Talk.”

Spencer sighs. “She’s saying she was saying it to get my attention, to make it clear I needed to do something — that nothing would be good enough for him… nothing could be his needed confession.

And I wanted to know if she meant it because she knows I’ve been head over heels for you since the day you walked through the BAU’s doors, only a year after I did. I thought you were gorgeous, and I could barely get out a ‘hello—’” you smile at the memory: he had been awkward, tripping over a greeting while you introduced yourself “—and JJ knew that. She does know I’m head over heels for you, even now.

She actually gave me advice. On how to ask you out, that first time, when we went to the film festival and you pretended you knew everything about how camera language worked on screen and I pretended not to know any better…” Spencer laughs when you whine, embarrassed. “So she’s always known I was yours from the moment I laid eyes on you. And she’s always been Will’s. I wanted to know if it had all been some kind of trick.”

You hum. “Was it?”

“Well, somebody came to tell us the cake was getting cut,” he nudges his nose against your cheek and presses a kiss to your skin. “So I didn’t get to hear, not in exact terms. But I don’t think she loves me as anything but a younger brother. An annoying one, at that. It wasn’t a trick for me, some plan to win me over she was in the long haul for. It was a trick for Casey. I… I shot him. He was going to kill JJ, he said it wasn’t good enough to save her life. It gave me the time to get my gun and aim.”

“You have perfect aim,”

“Now I do,” Spencer laughs, and you melt a little. “Remember when Hotch had to train me?”

You do.

“Spence.”

“Honey.”

“The next time a girl tells you they’re in love with you, I need you to laugh in their face and show them your ring.”

“I don’t want to do that to you,”

You sigh and lean into him, unable to stop the smile at the assuredness he has in your love, curling into his chest. “Okay, well, next time a girl who isn’t me does it, you tell me. I never want to be that upset with you again.” You trace your fingers over his stubble, his defined jaw, mapping out his features. “You’re mine. And I hate fighting.”

He kisses the top of your head, hand coming down to your beginning bump. “I’m all yours,” he agrees. “And I’m sorry for making you worry or making this more than it needed to be, I should’ve told you right after I got back from the case. After everything you’ve given up for me, I should kiss the ground you walk on.”

“You should.”

You can’t keep a straight face, dissolving into a fit of giggles as he murmurs praises of you and whispers of his adoration like a prayer.

“Oh, my love, may I lay out the red carpet before every—” you cut him off with a tender kiss, sweet and warm. He smiles against you, and brings his hand up to undo the pins in your hair, letting it cascade down your shoulders and next to his face.

Spencer pulls back and tucks the stray pieces behind your ears before cupping your face in his hands. “You are the only woman for me. I promise I will always want and choose you, just like I promised before everyone else all those years ago.”

You smile. “And I always want you, Spence.”

“Even when I’m telling you about my new passion for crosswords and interest in designing one myself?”

“Especially then.”

an emoji anon?? for ME>??? i love winning.. a little more angsty than badass but she is also angry. as she should be. (welcome im so so so happy KDFJKG i hope u like it <3)

#my works #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fic #spencer reid #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid scenario #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds x reader #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid angst #requested #🦋 anon #cm spoilers

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dazed-and-confused23 · 2 days

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May I ask for another small fic thing? Specifically with Dusty the Deathclaw thinking of himself as Reader’s baby, mentally and physically. As in, he’ll want to cuddle up to them even when they can no longer sprawl across their lap like they used to cause he’s freaking MASSIVE. So either Cooper or Hancock find the Reader squished under Dusty, who’s just lying there content😂 Meanwhile the reader is asking them for help as they have to use the bathroom and lost feeling in their legs🤣

brought to you by these images

Dear Hearts and Gentle People 15

Art is by @endivinity

Masterlist

The older Dusty got, the bigger he grew, but that didn't mean that his mentally grew with him. He still considered you to be his human, his mother in all accounts but species. As a baby, you would cuddle him close in your lap, petting his growing horns and scratching his itchy chin. You were everything to the deathclaw. So it only made sense to him that he could continue to cuddle his mother still, even if he stood at a whopping ten foot tall, eleven if you counted his curved horns.

You sit on the pavement outside of Boston, enjoying the meager sunlight that shines through the thick, overcast sky. Dusty has his head in your lap, a rumbling purr echoing in the air from the beast as he shifts forward. The blunt curve of his horns presses into your chest, and you fall back with a grunt. Dusty takes his opportunity to shift even more of his weight on top of his mother, his purr so loud that it makes your ears ring.

"D-Dusty, please," you croak under the deathclaw. You had already needed to pee, and his weight made the situation a thousand times worse.

Cooper, who had wondered off to explore the nearby buildings, ambled back up the road, a whistle on his lips as he kicked a rock up the hill. When he gets to the top, he glances around, expecting to see you where he'd left you last. The ghoul frowned and glared down at Dusty, who looked far too innocent for his own good.

"Where'd she go?" Cooper demands, and Dusty just rumbles deep in his throat. He takes in the situation, and a slow smirk works its way onto his lips when he spots your shoes sticking out just under the beast.

Dusty watches Cooper waltz around him and then stares down at his mother from where she lays under him. A low whuffing sound escapes him, and his nose flairs. He wasn't about to move for him.

"Looks like you've got yourself in a pickle there, chief," Cooper drawls, and you glare up at the Ghoul. You grunt as you shove at Dusty, but the creature just whines and shifts so that he covers you even more, upset that you were trying to leave him.

"Nah, I'm fine," you sneer and collapse with a defeated huff, "I love having seven hundred pounds of muscle crush me."

"Guess you don't need my help then, huh?" Cooper quips and goes to walk away, his spurs jingling, only to stop when you call his name, tone pitiful and he turns around to see you giving him puppy dog eyes.

"Coop, please get him off of me?" You plead, "I've gotta pee, and my feet are asleep."

The ghoul gives you a once over and then looks at Dusty and just how comfortable the beast looks. The deathclaw coos down at you, and you grimace when a long tongue licks up the side of your face. You catch Cooper's grin and glare even harder, "Don't you dare."

"I think ol' Dusty is too comfortable for me to try and move him, Sweetheart," Coop snickers and turns on his heel again. You'd be just fine without him. Not a soul would touch you with Dusty there.

"I'll come back later to get ya, baby."

Cooper lopes away with the sound of a happy deathclaw and an outraged smoothskin echoing in his ears. Today'd been a good day.

*sorry it's a little short @odditycircus-2002, but I hope you liked it! ❤��

#cooper howard #fallout #fallout prime #fallout tv series #cooper howard x reader #x reader #the ghoul x reader #dear hears and gentle people #deathclaws #dusty the deathclaw

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shitouttabuck · 18 hours

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this could be the year for the real thing

buck/eddie | 1.7k | 7x06 coda(ish)

Eddie can count on one hand the number of times he’s been this horrifically hungover. His pre-teenage-pregnancy body bounced back blessedly quickly from tailgate parties and keg stands and beer pong tournaments, but after that? His cousins threw his bachelor party before he married Shannon, which involved a lot of mixed liquor, and then there were a couple miserable nights out after she left him, and now, last night, him and Buck the sole bachelor party members standing after Chim didn’t show up.

This is his worst hangover, because at least all the other times he wasn’t seized with worry about one of his closest friends and regret that he and Buck hadn’t noticed the empty hotel bed the night before. The nausea from hell doesn’t help, either.

Chim’s safe now, under the careful monitor of Cedars hospital staff and Maddie no more than three feet away from him at all times. The relief is a palpable thing, and Buck offering him a steaming paper cup of green tea soothes the churning in his gut a little bit, too.

He takes a sip and sighs gratefully, slumping against Buck in the hospital waiting room chairs when he takes the seat beside Eddie.

“Still queasy?” Buck asks, voice a rumble.

“Mm,” Eddie says, “back-to-back shots of tequila and sambuca are not it.”

Buck shudders beside him. “Don’t,” he begs, closing his eyes and tipping his head back. “I’m still very much in range of hurling.”

“Have you eaten anything today?” Eddie’d only managed half a banana when he went home to shower and change, but he knows Buck’s been with Maddie most of the day, and when it comes to taking care of other people, he sometimes forgets about himself.

“Had a granola bar,” Buck says, eyes still closed. “Can’t—don’t wanna think about food yet.”

His stomach chooses then to grumble audibly, with traitorously comedic timing, and Eddie snorts. Buck opens one eye to grin at him.

“Don’t listen to her,” he says, patting his belly. “She doesn’t know what she’s talking about.”

“She doesn’t, huh? Then I guess she’s not interested in stopping by the juice bar on Sunset on the way home? Some sweet, sweet smoothies, all that fresh fruit and hydration, don’t even have to chew…”

Buck’s stomach rumbles interestedly and they both laugh.

“That sounds—so good, actually,” Buck admits. “We can pick up the peanut butter one for Chris, he’s always hankering—”

He breaks off as Hen appears at the end of the hallway, looking around and hurrying over as soon as she spots them. Eddie doesn’t think anything’s wrong—she’s beaming—but he and Buck sit up quickly in their seats anyway.

“Ugh,” Buck says, and Eddie’s dizziness at the sudden movement wholeheartedly agrees.

“We’re having a motherfucking wedding,” Hen grins, tugging them both to their feet, uncaring of their delicate dispositions. “Right here, right now.”

“Hospital wedding?” Buck asks, eyes wide. “Holy shit, okay, what do we need—who do we call—fuck—”

“Calm down, Buckaroo,” Hen smiles. “Just get friends and family over here, Karen’s gonna pick up Maddie’s dress, I’m gonna call Bobby, and we’re having a wedding.”

Buck’s already pulling up a copy of the guest list on his phone, squinting at it and muttering names under his breath.

“You boys got this?” Hen asks while dialling Bobby.

“Yep,” Eddie gives her a mock salute. “We’ll split the list and make some calls.”

He types out half the names Buck reads off to him in his notes app, and the two of them work through them methodically, calling Chim and Maddie’s nearest and dearest for this impromptu ceremony.

“Chris will kill us if he misses it,” he says suddenly, and Buck looks up at him, mid-text.

“He’s with Isabel, right? Pepa’s place is only a ten minute drive from here.”

Eddie nods. “I don’t have my car, though. You drove me.”

Buck tosses him the Jeep keys. “I’ll finish calling people, you go get them.”

“Cool,” Eddie says, and nearly bodies himself with the instinctive urge to lean over and kiss Buck on the cheek as he stands. It’s surprising, even though it shouldn’t be, because it’s an urge he fought and failed about thirty times last night, Buck’s sweaty skin pressed to his, salty under his mouth every time he dropped an innocuous, friendly kiss to his face with nothing but alcohol in his veins.

It hadn’t seemed out of place then, everything shiny and bright, Buck leaning right back into him.

Now, under the fluorescents of the hospital, organising a makeshift wedding for their family? Eddie doesn’t think it would land quite the same.

“Back in twenty,” he tells Buck instead, and has to physically tear himself away from the smile Buck turns his way, warm and golden under the harsh lights.

Chris and Abuela are delighted to be included, and, true to his word, they’re back at the hospital as the rest of the guests begin arriving, too.

Eddie’s—okay, he’s not going to say he’s not a crier, it’s just that his best friend is Buck, who cries at anything remotely tearjerky, so in comparison, Eddie’s not a crier. Now, though, they’re both very much damp-cheeked, much like everyone else crowded into this hospital room, watching Maddie and Chim exchange rings and vows with little Jee between them.

They’re a family, have been and would still be even if they never got hitched, but the fact that Chim refused to wait another few weeks, another few days, another minute before marrying Maddie? Eddie’s chest aches in the best way, and he slings an arm around Chris, and, before he knows he’s doing it, he looks for Buck.

The ceremony’s over, and Buck’s grinning at his phone, and Eddie pats for his own automatically, anticipating a goofy text.

But Buck’s edging backward, slipping out of the room, still grinning at his phone, and the ache inside Eddie spreads like an inkstain, blotting his insides.

And then Buck reappears with Tommy, which Eddie knew he was going to do, because who else would have Buck smiling at his phone like that, leaving his sister’s wedding even for a minute. Not me, Eddie doesn’t think. He doesn’t.

He’s not ready to make sense of the churning inside him—he doesn’t think he can blame the hangover for this one—when he clocks Tommy’s soot-stained everything and the way Buck’s own smudgy face matches like a puzzle piece.

He sees the way Chim notices, and Hen and Karen, Bobby’s eyes going wide and then soft. He sees the way Margaret Buckley doesn’t even attempt to school her face into anything but distaste and he hates her, but Buck’s not even looking at her. He’s looking at Bobby, and then he’s looking at Chim, and he’s smiling, this wide, guileless spread of happiness across his face.

Eddie’s helpless to smile too, the churning too complicated to parse beyond easy joy at every step of Buck’s sexuality journey, and this second-hand relief he’s not sure he’s got any entitlement to—he doesn’t, does he? Sure, he can be relieved that Buck doesn’t feel like he has to stay closeted, that everyone who matters loves him just the same, but he doesn’t get to feel like any of the relief belongs to him. Not now.

Not—yet.

Tommy’s made his way to Chim’s bedside to congratulate them properly, and Buck’s squeezing through the guests to get to the Diazes.

“Hey, bud,” he says to Chris. “Hi, Isabel.”

His face is still a smear of soot, and Chris giggles. “Buck. Your face.”

Buck frowns in confusion and Eddie steps over to him, hand already reaching to wipe the soot off his face, just like he has a hundred times at work. Except Tommy’s already there, licking his thumb and rubbing firmly at Buck’s chin, a gesture so familiar to Eddie that watching it happen separate from him feels like getting punched in the throat.

And beside the joy and the second-hand relief, there’s—this sense of profound loss. This emptiness, a space inside him he didn’t realise Buck had been occupying all this time. And now it’s like Eddie’s entered the room, finally, but the door is swinging shut on the far wall and Buck’s footsteps are echoing softer and softer as he leaves. Eddie’s late, he’s missed something he didn’t know was waiting, much less had a timeline on it.

The room empties out slowly, everyone giving the Buckley-Hans some space to rest, and Buck disappears down the hall hand-in-hand with Tommy.

“Y’all ready to go home?” Eddie asks Abuela and Chris. “We can get take-out.”

“Is Buck coming?” Chris asks.

“Uh, I don’t think so, mijo,” Eddie glances down the hall. “Although—” he pats his pocket, retrieving the Jeep keys, and startles when Buck appears by his shoulder.

“You have my keys,” he informs Eddie, stretching his hand out for them. Eddie drops them in his palm dutifully. “Juice bar? The fancy one on Sunset.”

Chris whoops excitedly, and Eddie smiles, even as his brow furrows.

“You’ve not got a hot date?” he asks Buck quietly as they walk to the exit.

“I drove you,” Buck shrugs.

Eddie rolls his eyes, stopping Buck with a hand at his elbow. “I think we can manage getting a cab.”

“I seem to recall you promising me a ‘sweet, sweet smoothie,’” Buck says, raising an eyebrow at Eddie. “You tryna stiff me, Eds?”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Eddie lifts his hands in surrender. “Uh—do you wanna ask Tommy along?”

“Nah,” Buck says easily. “Maybe another time. He’s just gotten off shift. I’m seeing him tomorrow, anyway.”

“Okay,” Eddie nods slowly, ache bittersweet. “Just us, then.”

Buck beams. “Me and my boys,” he crows, wrapping an arm around Eddie’s shoulders and tugging him forward so he can wrap the other one around Chris. Isabel makes a noise of offense, and Buck hastily amends, “Me and my boys and Abuela. Dream team!”

Christopher groans at the very public embarrassment and Abuela smiles indulgently at Buck and Eddie lets himself get pulled along, safe in this room in his heart that won’t ever be empty, even if Buck’s not filling it in the same capacity as Eddie’s getting ready to allow himself to want.

It doesn’t matter. The door on the far wall’s not quite swung shut after all; it sits ajar, crack of light and Buck’s love spilling through. Maybe one day he’ll come back through it. Maybe one day Eddie’ll follow after him enough to ask.

#i got too excited after the episode at 5am and tired myself out so much i fell back asleep at 8am lol #buddie #911 #buddie fic #911 fic #writing tag #mine #also i agreed to go out for drinks with high school friends tonight and im going to be so badly behaved because they’ll want to catch up #and all i want to do is think about these damn firefighters

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thewintersoldierdisaster · 3 days

Text

a/n: i am so proud of the boys and what they accomplished after everyone counted them out 💙🧡 can’t wait for next year when they’ve had a full training camp with patrick and they come back better than ever 🤍

tw: child goes “missing” for a brief moment, mild innuendo

word count: 2.9k

summary: the msg broadcast gets double the barzal men for a little bit

Offering to take the girls to the arena for a game seems like it’s a great idea until you’ve got Talia, both Martin girls, and Tulsa Horvat begging for pretzels mid-way through the second. Normally you’d have at least one of Syd or Holly with you, but since the outing is for Talia’s birthday, you’d thought it would be fine to just take the girls yourself. That you’d be a good friend, letting Syd and Holly have their Thursday night free, since all of your husbands are retired now and they don’t have to come to the arena if they don’t want to.

But Max is getting antsy and Talia is yapping your ear off - much like her father - begging for snacks.

“Mom, please, I’m starving,” she pokes her lip out at you in a pout and widens her hazel eyes. She looks unfairly like Mat when she makes that expression even though her general looks had shifted to favor yours as she got older. You’ve never really been able to say no to either kid anyway.

“Can you at least watch your brother while I go get snacks?” You ask, lifting your eyebrow and twisting your hair back into a slightly sloppy ponytail. Max swings his legs in his seat next to you, grinning at his big sister. His hat dips over his eyes and you make a mental note to adjust the strap.

Talia looks at you as if you just asked her to swallow a cup of live spiders. “Mom, please no! I don’t even know why we brought him, today was supposed to be for my birthday,” she whines a little, those pre-teen hormones working overtime. Two weeks from turning eleven, and you find yourself missing your baby girl more and more each day. She’s usually a pretty polite and delightful kid, but something about that upcoming eleventh birthday is creating that familiar teenage whine you’d been so good at back in the day. You should really call and apologize to your mother.

Max pipes up without taking his eyes off the action on the ice, “your birthday’s not even today!”

“Thank you, Max,” you hold a hand out in front of his face, covering his mouth, as Talia shoots him a glare. Max wiggles away from your hand, his head bobbing in every direction as he tries to see the players. “I should’ve known this would happen.” You pinch the bridge of your nose with your free hand.

The only reason Talia had picked this game for her birthday is because of Jack Cizikas’s last minute call up from the AHL. Her puppy crush on him is something you and Kristy like to joke about, but right now you’re not laughing. Casey, Kristy, Reese, and Cole are up in a suite with the grandparents for the moment and you should’ve just sent Max up there to join them, but your five-year-old is still a little clingy. He loves the Cizikas family, hero-worships ten-year-old Cole, but when you’d suggested it, his face had crumpled and he’d said, “I wanna stay with you, Mama!”

Who were you to argue with that?

“Okay, I’ll take Max with me, but Win,” you raise your voice and look down a few seats at Winnie Martin, the oldest of your babysitting charges at fifteen, “do not leave these seats until I get back, okay?”

Winnie grins at you, Matt’s smile copy and pasted onto her face. She gives you a little salute and nods, “you got it.”

Talia turns back to the girls, completely ignoring you, and you roll your eyes a little before holding out your hand to Max. “Come on, buddy. Let’s go get some snacks,” you say, savoring the feeling of his little hand in yours. You never know when he’ll start thinking he’s too cool for his mom, so you’ll enjoy it while it lasts.

“Can I get ice cream?” He asks, skipping along next to you. He gives Sparky a high five when you pass the mascot at the top of the stairs.

You laugh a little and point Sparky and his handler in the direction of the girls. “I’m sure Winnie will love to see you,” you say, nostalgia washing over you as you think about the early years of your relationship with Mat and Winnie’s love for the dragon. Sparky nods and gives you an enthusiastic thumbs up, before bounding down the stairs. It’s a different person in the costume now, obviously, but you all had made sure to keep Winnie humbled by making sure each iteration of the Sparky knew to stop and see her at a game. The teen plays along gamely, her mother’s daughter.

Max tugs on your hand, drawing your attention. “Mama! Can I get ice cream?” He repeats his request and you shake your head.

“Nope, sorry, kid. It’s past your sugar cutoff,” you shake his arm when he pouts and kicks his Nike against the floor, nearly tripping himself as he tries to keep walking. “I’ll split a pretzel with you though.”

“I don’t wanna pretzel,” he whines, dragging his feet as he traipses behind you. You dodge a few people, tugging Max along. He keeps whining a little, complaining under his breath, and you pinch at the bridge of your nose before squatting down so you’re at his eye level.

Max goes quiet, but his whole face scrunches up in annoyance and you smile softly. “If you have ice cream now, you’re not going to be able to sleep. And remember that Daddy’s coming on your field trip tomorrow so don’t you want to be well rested for that?” You raise an eyebrow at him while Max considers your explanation.

The line shifts forward while Max is considering and you smile awkwardly up at the family in line behind you, silently apologizing for not moving. The mother waves you off with a polite smile too. Solidarity.

“Can I have ice cream tomorrow then?” Max finally asks and negotiating with the tiny terrorist wasn’t on your to do list today, but you nod anyway, knowing it’ll bite you in the ass tomorrow.

“Yes, after your field trip you can have a little ice cream,” you stand up, knees creaking a bit, and move forward on the line. Matter settled, you hook your fingers in the back collar of Max’s Horvat jersey, worn because ‘Uncle Bo is the coolest!’ much to Mat’s annoyance and your amusement. At the self-serve counter, you grab five pretzels - even if Max doesn’t want to share, you still want a snack - and a Diet Coke, hoping for a quick burst of energy. You let go of Max’s jersey to fish your phone out of your back pocket and tap it against the reader.

“Okay, Max, back to -“ you cut yourself off, looking down at your side and not seeing Max. “Max? Oh, fuck. Where did he go?”

Your heart hammers in your chest, slight panic rising when you scan the concourse and don’t spot your kindergartener. “Fuck,” you mutter under your breath, the only thing keeping your panic at a reasonable level is the fact that Max was quite literally almost born in the arena and knows it better than anyone. Of course that also means he could be hiding literally anywhere and never be found.

“I…okay, think like Max,” you step off to the side, against the wall, so you can figure out what to do. “Where the hell is he going to go?”

The muffled cheers of the crowd filter through the arena, signifying that the Islanders have added to their lead late in the second. You smile faintly and, like a lightning bolt to the head, realize where Max wandered off to. Or where you hope he wandered off to.

You book it towards the Lab and the MSG broadcast set up, trying to see around the crowds of people that are leaving their seats now that the second period is over. Obviously, you can’t see anything around all the people and the closer you get to the main stairs, the more panic you’re starting to feel, thinking about the girls back at the seats and what you’ll do if Max isn’t with Mat.

Once the cameras and desk come into view, your entire body unclenches, Max is happily perched on Mat’s hip, chattering away with Shannon while Mat and Thomas discuss the second period’s play. The cameras are on and your son is broadcasting live on MSG. You wiggle your way through the little crowd of people around the set and get to the front, by the retractable belt barriers, and try to catch Mat’s eye.

The second he spots you, his entire expression changes, a delighted smile stretching across his face and his eyes crinkling up at the corners. He looks like a twenty-something again, not the nearly forty-year-old he actually is.

“Max!” You hiss, trying not to be heard. “Send him over here!” You wave your free hand at the duo, Diet Coke wedged under your arm and pretzels getting squished in your hand.

Mat shakes his head at you and Thomas and Shannon look over too, all three of them laughing. Mat turns back to the camera, Max smiling like the cat that got the canary. “My wife’s trying to get our broadcast sidekick back,” he says, laughing. Mat bounces Max in his arms. “But I think we’ll keep him around for his color commentary.”

“No, oh my god,” you shake your head and gesture for Max to come back to you. “Mat, stop it.”

“Max,” Mat turns to look at your son, totally ignoring you, “what did you think of the game so far?”

Embracing the fact that Mat’s going to let Max join them for a while at least, you sigh and relax into the moment, watching Max perk up as he gets to discuss his favorite thing.

“I missed Matt’s goal,” he complains, Matt Maggio must’ve been the one to score when you noticed Max was missing. “But I like Jack the best ‘cause he’s funny and plays mini sticks. And also he gave me a piggy-back all day at Easter.”

Shannon laughs and chimes in, “we like Jack around here too. But hey, Max, I can show you Matt’s goal while your dad and Thomas discuss some of the finer points of the game.”

Max wiggles out of Mat’s arms and darts around Thomas’s back so he can stand with Shannon and watch the goal he missed. You snap a picture of Max’s head poking over the desk, heart melting at the sheer excitement on his face. You also notice the dozen texts littering your phone’s screen - a multitude of laughing emojis sent from the girls while they watch at home.

The fans around you are clearly eating up Max’s presence and you feel a little spike of anxiety thinking about how exposed he is to the public now, after keeping his and Talia’s faces mostly hidden on your social media pages. It’s always a little inevitable that the kids are seen with Mat out in public, but you almost wish you could snatch up all the phones recording video and taking pictures of Max as he points something out to Shannon on the iPad.

You take a nervous bite out of your pretzel and try to just enjoy the moment until they go to commercial when you can duck under the belt barrier. Mat grins boyishly at you, grabbing your waist to pull you in for a quick kiss. “Well, this is fun,” he says, pulling back from the kiss. “Family broadcast.”

“He is so stupid sneaky,” you shake your head, offering Mat the pretzel that you’d taken a bite out of. He accepts it and tears off a piece of his own. “And fast.”

Thomas laughs, leaning his forearms on the desk. “That’ll be helpful when he’s zipping around defensemen and scoring goals,” he teases before going to say hi to the fans and take selfies.

“Mom, look!” Max pops up at your side, holding a puck. Where did he get that?

“Pretty cool,” you smile down at him and let Mat lift him back up onto his hip. Max’s long legs kick at Mat’s thighs. “Where’d you get that, bud?”

“From Dad when I got here,” Max chirps. “Can I stay? Cause I don’t wanna be with the girls.”

He cuddles up against Mat’s shoulder, the father-son duo wearing matching hangdog, pleading expressions on their faces. The day Mat taught both kids the look was the worst day of your life, weakening your already minimal willpower. This time you have to say no, interrupting Mat while he’s working is only cute for so long.

“Sorry, Maxy,” you reply sympathetically. “We have to get back to the girls, but we’ll see Dad right after the game.”

Max whines loudly, reminding you that he’s still only five, and you chew on the inside of your lip. Mat pats Max on the back and whispers something in his ear, the extra lighting catching on the few greys that are starting to form in Mat’s dark hair. You wait while Mat talks quietly to your son, trying not to worry about coming back from commercial while you’re all standing in the middle of everything. Eventually, Max huffs an exasperated sigh and wiggles out of Mat’s grip again, slumping his way over to your side.

You smirk a little, “gee, don’t look so thrilled to come hang with your mom.”

Mat laughs and you roll your eyes at him.

“I wanted to stay with Dad,” Max pouts, little fingers gripping tightly onto the puck. “But he said that he’d take me to the locker room if I go with you.”

“Bribery,” Mat winks at you. “A dad’s best weapon.”

The ten second warning that the commercial is ending blinks and you grab Max’s hand, “okay, time to go back to the girls. We’ll see Dad later, okay?”

Max waves at Mat as you guide him away from the set. “Bye, Dad! Don’t forget I wanna see Jack and the locker room,” he shouts and you can hear Mat’s laughter boom over the noise of the crowd.

“I won’t forget Max, be good for Mom,” Mat calls out.

You hurry back to your seats, Max hopping along and waving to people as you go. He gives big, cheerful greetings to the ushers and security guards he recognizes, forcing you to stop when Sparky passes by so he can give the mascot a high-five and a hug around the legs.

“Max, baby, please. We can see Sparky later,” you sigh, a little worried about leaving the girls alone for so long. You know they’ll listen and not leave the seats, but you feel vaguely like a terribly mother/babysitter since they’ve been sitting by themselves for nearly twenty minutes.

Max pouts, but takes a hold of the hand you’re holding out for him and dutifully follows you back to the seats. He clambers over the couple at the end of the row and you apologize quickly for him, making another mental note to work on the kid’s manners.

“Where did you go?” Talia pops up in her seat like a meerkat, wrinkling her face at you in confusion. “We thought you, like, got kidnapped!”

“We didn’t get kidnapped,” you huff, passing around the pretzels. The girls thank you and turn back to the on-ice intermission action. Max reaches for your half eaten one too and you’re glad you at least got a bite in earlier. “Max ran off to see Dad.”

Max grins at his sister, mouth full of chewed pretzel. “Dad gave me a puck and I got to be on TV with him,” he manages to sound smug and excited all at the same time, waving the gifted puck in one hand.

Talia pouts a little, still childish despite how she tries to mimic the older girls.

“Eat your pretzel,” you twirl your finger to get her to look back at the ice. “There are a thousand pucks at home. Oh,” you add, “we’re going to head down to the locker room after the game. Dad promised Max.”

That gets the girls going, chattering about how they get to see Jack and the rest of the players, giggling like crazy while huddled together. You lean back in your seat, smiling softly at how cute they all are. Max is on his feet, dancing along to the arena music, waving both hands in the air - your little party animal. You send Mat a video of him dancing, teasing that father and son have the same moves.

He shoots back a gif of himself dancing at the Martins’ wedding more than fifteen years ago, making you laugh out loud, drawing the attention of all five kids. “Ignore me,” you laugh, waving a hand at them.

Another message from Mat vibrates your phone: leave the kids with marts and syd when you drop the girls off after the game, i wanna show you more of my moves 👀

Giggling like a high schooler with a crush, you take a minute to appreciate that Mat still makes you feel floaty and dizzy with love. Over ten years together and he still makes your heart skip a beat.

“Mom,” Talia’s voice slices through your thoughts, “what’s Dad saying? Because you look so weird.”

Schooling your features into a more neutral expression, you lean forward over the seat and ask, “how do you guys feel about a sleepover at Aunt Syd and Uncle Matt’s?”

#mat barzal #mat barzal x reader #mat barzal x you #mat barzal fic #nhl fic

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shotmrmiller · 13 hours

Note

Plus size! nude model reader who is stepping out of her comfort zone BIG when she volunteers to do this. Thinks it’s a good way to start working on her confidence, thought she’d get paired with a nice ole lady. Nope. Jaw drops and wants to die as soon as she sees this big beefy man with a goofy smile on his face front and center of the class. There’s no way he’d pick her.

omg he'd be soooo flirty with you. tell you to let him see that pretty round face of yours. if the models rotate, hes either asking if he can keep you or glancing at you from across the room every other moment.

doesn't let you leave without his number. he'd love for you to pose for him in a more intimate setting. pref where only he can get to see you like this.

biting my knuckles!

he'd be drowning you in praise too. you're doing so well for him

i want him to hang some of those pictures in his home and if he has the boys over, he tucks them away asap.

they're only for him tyvm

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cerise-on-top · 3 days

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Hii please can you do family hcs for soap, graves and rodolfo (sorry if thats two meny) like as in having kids being married and stuff x

Hey! I don't write about children, so I wrote general marriage HCs for the lads :-)

Marriage HCs for Soap, Rodolfo and Graves

Soap: As soon as you’re engaged he’s never taking that ring off again. It’s a small but lovely reminder that the two of you are bound together forever. To be frank, he loves the feeling of being married to you. His bonnie and him are finally married, what more could he want? He’s actually a surprisingly good husband, always taking care of you and getting you whatever you need. Insists on going on vacation with you for a week to ten days once a year. It’s his way of unwinding. Plus he really wants to see the world with you, make as many memories as possible as well. Very dutiful too, if you ever tell him to do something then he’ll do it. Rarely ever does he complain. After all, his beautiful spouse needs him, and what is more wonderful than that. If you’re not allergic to them, then he insists on getting a dog with you. They’re loyal, they’re sweet, they’re adventurous. They’re kind of like him and he jokes about that too. If you love Soap then you’re going to love a dog as well. However, sometimes he gets a bit overwhelmed with love for you and will just hold you tightly for a bit. He doesn’t talk, he doesn’t even move, he just holds you and takes in your warmth and your scent. Once he’s almost done feeling sappy, he’ll sigh, put your face in between his hands, give you a big smooch and tell you how much he loves you. It gets especially bad once you’re married. He can’t help it, though, he simply adores you.

Rodolfo: He never would have thought he’d find someone willing to marry someone like him. Sure, he’s flattered and flabbergasted, even, and that sometimes gets to him. Once you’re married, he’ll try his best to be a good husband for you. Gets up before you do so he can make you some breakfast, cleans your home as long as he can be quiet, hell, he’ll even try to use the washing machine and wash your clothes. If you’re awake somehow and want to join him, he’s over the moon. There’s just something so domestic about doing house chores together, he loves it. At one point he’ll insist on going on a roadtrip through Mexico together so you can see all the most beautiful sights together. He loves his country and he loves you too, so he’d love nothing more than to combine both of those things together. It’s not optional either, he’ll bring it up again and again until you finally relent and let him plan everything. I don’t think he’d be too much of a dog person, but you could probably convince him to get a cat. He wouldn’t admit it, but he thinks they’re kind of cute. Will also try to be your cat’s favorite by feeding it some snacks here and there, just to brag that it loves him after all. One thing he’ll also start doing once you’re married is send letters to you. You don’t have to respond, but he just wants to send you something more personal every once in a while. Besides, it’s something sweet too, isn’t it? Not very many people send each other letters anymore these days. They’re more personal than a simple text message.

Graves: He’s a cocky but loveable guy most of the time, but he actually becomes a bit calmer once you’re married. Sure, he’ll still tease you when he can, but that’s just how he is. Back then, he may have told you he loves you by teasing you, but nowadays he genuinely just holds you close and gives you a heartfelt “I love you” from time to time. Not too fond of doing chores, even with you, but he’ll do them anyway because he can’t just leave all the work to you, even if he wouldn’t mind hiring a maid to do so either. Will want to buy a big house for the both of you to live in together. He has too much money on his hands anyway, so he does it anyway. It’s not going to be too remote, but it won’t be in the heart of a city either. If you’re not American then he’ll convince you to live with him in the States. It’s his home country, he’s a proud American and he wants you to be with him. He’s not too open for a pet, in all honesty. Even if he can’t really name a reason as to why. It’s not like he’s allergic or anything, he’s just not the biggest fan of pets. Most he can do is a fish. But trust me, he’d actually take really good care of that fish. It would likely be overfed, but he’d deny ever feeding it and caring for it. If he thinks you’re not around then he’ll actually talk to it about how great of a spouse you are and how lovely it is that you’re taking care of him and it. Yes, he gushes about you to the fish. If asked he doesn’t even know you have a fish, though.

#cod #cod x reader #john soap mactavish #john soap mactavish x reader #soap x reader #rodolfo parra #rodolfo parra x reader #phillip graves #phillip graves x reader #Third request of the day I've ran out of things to say #Graves would have beef with any pet you get but would love it deep down anyway #also please read my rules I don't write about children #you're the third or fourth person to ask something like that from me and it's starting to get on my nerves a bit #next time someone violates my rules I'm just not gonna write the request #I'm not even gonna adjust it to fit my rules I'm just gonna outright decline #I'm a kindhearted fool but I'm gonna be a bit meaner from here on out and put my foot down #hopefully

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itsmealaiah · 2 days

Text

"disobeyed"

TW: fingering, profanity, daddy kink, dom and sub relationship, abstinence, AFAB reader, she/her pronouns, ass-slapping, choking, degrading, overstimulation

Request: hiii hehe can you do a fic where tom catches y/n masturbating and there's like a rule with them that she can't do it without him there and he punishes her (spanking, choking, etc) he also overstimulates her and makes her cum everywhereee

Rating: mature themes ahead, mdni

WC; 1.1k

Tom is strict as hell when it comes to your pleasure.

He has it practically tattooed into his mind that the only person in the relationship who should be pleasuring you is him.

which y'know isn't the worst thing, he is pretty amazing at sex, c'mon now, but tours are the hardest for you.

You're obedient most of the time, but sometimes, not very often, you feel the sensation pool between your legs, a certain heat starting up. Whenever this happened you just ignored it and ate some food, drank some water, which usually was the perfect natural remedy.

This time though, the heat pooling between your legs would not go away, even with your superstition.

You sighed, wondering what you were going to do. Touching yourself was a no-go, only tom could make you feel good. You were conflicted, it was either obey tom's rules and suffer for the rest of the night, or disobey him, and relieve yourself.

Tom was finally on his way home, ecstatic to see you and get his hands on you after so long. He had missed you so so much, every call and text was torture when he could have the real thing, but the albums tours took up too much time for him, leaving you all alone.

He hated leaving you alone. He knew how much you missed him, always clinging to him when he got back, smothering him in kisses, affection, and love.

That was a main motivator for him to keep going and get on stage, so that it could be over, the end goal being you and your sweet love.

He sighed to himself as the tour bus drove down the highway, his house first. He had specifically requested it to be, since he could not contain his excitement to see his babydoll.

He smiled as the driver pulled the bus up to his driveway, eagerly grabbing his suitcase and rushing down the stairs and to the front door.

To his surprise, it was open, which was weird to begin with, but he shrugged it off.

"babydoll?" he called out. no response. "i'm home!"

you were nowhere to be seen, and he scratched his head, wondering where you could be, when he heard a moan, a loud one.

His heart nearly broke at the sound. All this time he had been waiting for you, and you were with someone else?

He walked up the stairs, the moans getting increasingly louder as he leaned his head against the bedroom door, hearing you.

Strange, he thought. where was the other person?

he was still confuzzled, until a light went off in his brain.

You were pleasuring yourself. Something he explicitly warned you to never do.

He chuckled to himself, and opened the door quietly, seeing your fingers pounding in and out of your cunt, wet, sloppy noises spewing from your messy pussy.

he smirked, a bit angry at you, but he had to admit - the sight was hot.

Your legs began to tremble as you threw your head back, soon releasing on your fingers as he said your name.

"babydoll?" he asked, and your eyes flew open to see him standing at the doorway, shocked.

you flushed deeply, and turned your head.

"aww baby" he chuckled darkly, nearing towards you. "did you really think it was okay to disobey me?"

"n-no daddy" his ears perked up at that. "so then why?"

you began to feel bad, the reality of the situation setting in as you calmed down. "does my babydoll need a lesson from her daddy?" he smiled, getting down onto the bed and beginning to strip.

you shook your head as he tutted. "i think she does for disobeying the rules that she knew"

he shucked his pants and boxers off smoothly, and caressed your thigh, lifting it up to his waist, wrapping it around. "you wanted to be a little slut, hm? well daddy's gonna make you feel like one"

he flipped your body over, your ass now exposed to him as you whimpered in fear at what he was going to do.

he smacked your ass harshly as you yelped, beginning to cry from the stinging pain. "shut up" he grunted, smacking you again, "and take it"

you sobbed as he smacked you rougher each time as you begged for him to stop. "p-please no m-more" you whimpered.

he smirked, finding it funny his babydoll was so dumb for him. "c'mon, you can do atleast one round babygirl"

he wrapped your legs around his waist, positioning his cock at your entrance as he slowly pushed in, bottoming out in a couple seconds as you moaned at the pleasure of being filled.

he created a pace, moving in and out slowly as you whimpered and whined, his hand grabbing your neck and squeezing hard in an attempt to get you to stop.

you cried out again, your lips puffy and red from the sobbing. he grunted, his balls slapping against your ass as he pounded into you, your back arching as he pushed you further.

"o-oh y-yea" you moaned, head falling backwards onto the plush of the pillows as he let go of your throat, fully focused on how his cock was slipping in and out of you, seemingly mesmerized by the action.

your cunt was taking him so well, even after months of missing action, your pussy was still molded to fit his size, and he liked it, more than he should.

"c-cumming! cumming!" you squealed as he stopped thrusting, wondering why he cut it off. "daddy why'd y-you stop?" you asked innocently. you were so close and you thought he'd make it up to you for the slapping.

"you truly thought after fingering yourself, i would let you cum?" he gazed deep into your eyes, the brown pupils staring daggers into yours.

you nodded as he laughed cruelly. "aw im sorry babydoll, but you know the rules"

your lip quivered as you felt guilty, and he noticed this, sighing heavily. he was now the one that was conflicted.

"fine" he huffed, starting to thrust once more, holding your waist up as your clit momentarily touched his abdomen, making you jolt.

"p-please daddy!" you begged, your gummy walls drawing him and squeezing him, a telltale sign you were close already.

"do it babygirl, come on this cock" he demanded as your eyes shut in bliss, releasing on him as he did the same, grunting as he rode out his high, your walls still milking him for everything he had to give. he fucked his cum deeper into you, filling you with his seed and possible kids

Taglist: @madzandmore @20doozers @tomssexdoll @itsangelll @charliesgoodboy @tomkaulitzloverr @kqulitzlvr @roseroseluvrr

Requests are open! keep sending them in!

comment to be tagged!

#tokio hotel #tokio hotel x reader #tokio hotel x you #tom kaulitz #tom kaulitz imagines #tom kaulitz x reader #tom kaulitz angst #tom kaulitz smut #tom kaulitz x y/n #tom kaulitz x you #tokiohotel #tokio hotel fanfic #tokio hotel smut #tokio hotel x y/n #itsmealaiah

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goblinontour · 1 day

Text

Subtle Indications

a journey in good company

warnings: age gap (not mentioned), smut, oral (m and f receiving), unprotected sex

word count: 6.6k

“Yes?” you said as you finally snapped out of the little bubble of thoughts that made you ignore the first three times he called your name.

You thought you recognised his voice, but you weren’t quite sure, after all, you never really expected to see your professors outside in the ‘real world’, per se, as weird as that might sound. It was as if that invisible barrier broke and those two realities collided the moment you looked up and your eyes met his.

It was, of course, none other than…Mr. Turner…your favourite.

“I got the seat, uhm, there” he said, pointing at the empty window seat next to you.

“Oh! Yeah, yeah.” you scrambled to move your bag from his place and almost started to get up to make space for him to walk through, but he stopped you.

“Don’t worry, I’ll just squeeze through.” he told you as he saw you getting nervous, giving you a slight smile, just to be polite, you thought.

He looked a bit…dishevelled. His hair messy and pointing in all different directions, his eyes tired. He must’ve just woken up and come straight to the train station. He almost missed it too, getting on just as the train was about to leave.

Speaking of leaving, right as he was moving through the small space between, well, you, and the table separating the seats opposite, the train started moving, and he lost his balance, nearly falling on top of you if it weren’t for the handle of your seat that he managed to grab just in time.

“Sorry” he murmured as he regained his composure and finally sat down next to you, fixing his brown leather bag neatly on the table by the window.

You smiled at him, though he didn’t seem to notice, because as soon as he sat that bag down he scrambled to bring it back to his lap, searching for something he couldn’t seem to find. You tried not to pry too much into the contents, instead bringing your focus back to the book in your hand you only now noticed you were holding way too tight, the pages almost breaking where your fingers were holding it open so you wouldn’t lose the spot where you left off before he showed up.

You couldn’t help yourself from glancing at him. It turned out he was looking for his sunglasses, slipping them on despite no sunshine seeping through the window that would warrant the need for them.

You continued to read, thinking he probably doesn’t want to be bothered by a random student in his free time, but the words you kept reading over and over wouldn’t register in your brain, your mind just being filled by thoughts of him. Where was he going? You stole another glance, noticing the way his gaze drifted out the window, lost in thought. What could he possibly be thinking about? Curiosity tugged at you, wondering what might be occupying his mind so deeply. Was it the weight of his responsibilities as a professor, or perhaps something more personal? You found yourself yearning to unravel everything about him.

Some time passed, he didn’t get off at any of the stops in the city, so he was going away too, just like you. Though he had nothing else but his usual bag he also brought to class every day? Questions kept going through your mind, questions that will probably never get answered, so you pushed them away and really tried to focus on your reading, not that it was anything important…quite the opposite.

“Whatcha readin’?” he asked out of the blue and only then you noticed he was looking straight at the book in your hands. Embarrassment filled your body as you realised he could clearly see the pages from the small distance between you, considering that the contents weren’t particularly…appropriate. To say the least, you definitely wouldn’t have wanted him to see, and if you weren’t so daft you would have realised that just because he had his shades blocking you from seeing his eyes, it didn’t mean that he couldn’t see either.

“Nothing.” you said as you slammed the book closed, making this way bigger of a deal than it should have been. He wouldn’t invade your privacy and read that, he was probably just trying to be polite, you thought, again. And you just embarrassed yourself by acting like a little girl getting caught by her parents doing something she shouldn’t be doing. “It's just a- it’s a dumb thing.” you continued, face flushed as you got the courage to look up. You weren’t expecting to be met by his eyes staring straight at you, his glasses now perched perfectly on the top of his head, looking effortlessly cool.

“No, it’s not.” he quickly muttered “I liked it.” he said, almost in a whisper, like he was hiding his own embarrassment of reading while you were not aware.

Your heart skipped a beat at his unexpected admission. His words hung in the air, filling the space between you with a charged tension. You couldn't help but feel a rush of warmth spreading through you, mingled with a hint of fluster. Mr. Turner, the Mr. Turner, your professor whose lectures you hung onto with fervour, actually enjoyed the book-thing, whatever, you were reading, a book you probably shouldn’t have been reading in public in the first place, all things considered.

His confession felt like the bridge you were currently passing, connecting the gap between you, somehow starting to blur the boundaries of student and teacher, revealing the shared raw human need beneath. You couldn't resist the urge to smile, the blush spreading over your entire face.

"I didn't expect you to...I mean, I'm glad you liked it." you replied, your voice coming out soft, yet slightly trembling, urging you to clear your throat as you tried to regain your composure.

His own smile mirrored yours, a subtle curve of his lips that spoke volumes. “You can go on…if you’d like…of course.”

Your heart raced at his invitation to continue reading. With a shy nod, you opened the book once more, the words on the page suddenly feeling more significant than before. As you kept reading, you couldn't shake the feeling of his presence beside you, his quiet breathing and occasional rustle of papers adding to the intensity of the moment.

You were surprised when Mr. Turner spoke again, his voice breaking the tense silence like a gentle wave on the shore. "Would you mind if…" he said quietly, his tone soft, implying with a gesture of his hands that he wished to read along with you.

Once again settling in silence, your ability to form words completely gone in that moment, you brought the book closer to him, almost invading his half of the seats, but not quite. He knew you’d finished the page you were currently on, so you watched as he licked the tips of his fingers, his tongue just peeking out from behind his pink lips, and with his smooth digits he picked up the corner of the page, flipping it over to uncover the not yet discovered words lying underneath. A mixture of excitement, nervousness, and a budding sense of connection filled you, that left you yearning for more.

As the journey continued, you found yourself eager to explore more than just the pages of a book with him, but you could never act on those thoughts, you wouldn’t dare.

Luckily, he took that step for you, his arm carefully inching closer to you, and while his eyes were locked on the page in front of him, you could tell he was closely examining you for any tiny reaction that would indicate he should stop.

When his hand reached your own seat, his little finger twitched in his attempt to touch you, the small, almost insignificant contact sending electricity through you, eliciting a soft gasp from your mouth. In that moment, the train rattling along its tracks faded into the background, leaving only the two of you in a cocoon of shared understanding…and perhaps…unravelling the mysteries of his mind along the way.

“Keep reading.” he whispered quietly enough that you wouldn’t have even heard it if you weren’t so focused on everything that meant him in that moment.

It’s as if he knew exactly what the next page was going to contain:

“His fingers inadvertently grazed her leg, sending a thrill through both of them. Their eyes met, a fleeting moment of hesitation followed by a silent acknowledgment of the forbidden allure between them.”

Had he read this before? Did he-

“Go on.” he encouraged you, his gaze still on the page, as if looking at you would make what was happening seem too real. He didn’t want to break this trance you found yourselves in.

With your pulse quickening, you continued to read, the words resonating with a startling familiarity that sent shivers down your spine. As if guided by an unseen force, you turned the page, the narrative unfolding with an eerie parallel to the electrifying tension between you and professor Turner.

“With a subtle shift, his hand moved to her panties and he grinned down at her. ‘Prepare yourself.’ he said, gently leaning her back until he was on top of her. ‘Do your worst.’ she replied, spreading her legs for him.”

Your body was working against your better judgement, following the words written on the page exactly, your legs spreading involuntarily, allowing his hand to slip between your thighs, his fingers moving with more intent now as they ever so slightly grazed your thin panties from under your skirt, your half gasp of shock, half moan of immense pleasure, caused mostly by the tension, getting stuck in your throat, your mouth opening without any sound coming out. It was barely noticeable, to anyone else, all others too busy on their own daydreams or troubles. Not that you would have noticed if anyone saw you anyway.

“Don’t stop, keep going.” he pushed, but you were stuck. You could no longer move, or focus your eyes enough on the small letters that once seemed legible, but no longer. He noticed your sort of distress, or more so just an overall startled demeanour, and he looked at you, he finally looked at you, still in silence as you stared at him and through him at the same time.

“Are you alright?” he asked. His eyes never left yours, not until he’d get his answer. His gaze held a mixture of apprehension and longing, mirroring the emotions swirling within you.

You nodded, your nerves slowly dissipating and allowing you to think for a second.

“Talk to me…please.” he pleaded, the uncertainty clear in his eyes. Did he go too far? He shouldn’t have started this it was too much, he-

“Yeah…yeah I- yes.” you choked on your words, the sounds coming out as a breathy whisper.

“Yes?” he asked again, wanting to hear a clear response from you, to make sure he wasn’t crossing any boundaries you didn’t feel comfortable with, though you were way past that.

From the moment he saw you as he entered the train his mind was already set on this burning desire that somehow didn’t register to himself until then, when he saw your crossed legs as you were engulfed in your own world, your naked thighs sticking to the leather on the seat where your maybe too short skirt wasn’t covering them.

“Yes.” you spoke again, looking straight into his eyes and giving him the confirmation he needed to continue.

He moved closer to you, your shoulders touching as his hand between your thighs kept almost petting you over your underwear. He nuzzled his head into your neck, making you gasp as you felt his breath tickling your skin as he inhaled your scent.

“Keep reading.” he implored, his lips grazing your throat and he swore he could feel your pulse against his mouth from how fast your heart was beating.

The air crackled with anticipation as the fictional characters navigated their forbidden desires, their clandestine encounters echoing the unspoken truth that lingered between you and Alexander. God- no. You couldn’t think about him like that, he’s always strictly been just Mr. Turner, to everyone, but it felt too indecent to think of him being your professor in that moment, or perhaps that was the best part of it.

With each word, the boundary between fiction and reality blurred, drawing you both deeper into a realm where secrets were laid bare and desires dared to be fulfilled.

His hand didn’t dare stop its exploration there. As the action on the pages got more and more obscene, so did his touches, the tips of his fingers rubbing with clear intent on your covered cunt, the cotton sticking to your folds as he kept pushing deeper, spreading your wetness through the material.

“How much longer?” he asked, his lips rubbing against your skin with each movement of his mouth as he got those words out, each sound vibrating through you.

“What?” you asked confused, while still trying to keep your voice as calm and collected as possible, given the situation you found yourself in.

“Until we arrive. How much?” he clarified.

“Oh- uhm” you glanced at the screen at the end of the coach, which said it would be about 45 minutes, excluding any possible delays. “45 minutes…sir.”

“Good…” he replied, pulling away from you and settling back completely in his own seat. You didn’t even notice just how close he got, you were practically sharing one seat. “I’ll go in there.” he continued as he was neatly putting away his sunglasses again, this time in the front pocket of his bag, so he wouldn’t lose them again in the mess. He discreetly pointed towards the part of the train where the toilets were, so you’d know exactly what he meant, without having to spell it out.

He got up from his seat and said “I’ll be waiting for you”, avoiding your gaze, embarrassed by his own actions and lack of reason. He shouldn’t be doing this.

Before passing past you he gave your shoulder a gentle squeeze. “Don’t feel pressured to come…if…if you don’t want this.” were his last words before clearing his throat and quickly slipping out of the tight space, heading right where he said he would go.

Your mind reeled as Mr. Turner's touch lingered on your skin, igniting a fire within you that you couldn't extinguish. His words, spoken with a mixture of desire and restraint, hung in the air, leaving you breathless and uncertain of what to do next. Was this really happening? This must’ve been the most surreal dream of all time, right? But it wasn’t, you were most definitely awake, the train was moving, the people around were real, this was real.

As he retreated to the train's restroom, you were left alone with your thoughts, grappling with the intensity of the moment and the implications of his actions. The train's rhythmic motion seemed to echo the turmoil in your mind, each click-clack of the tracks a reminder of the forbidden desire that simmered between you and your professor.

Minutes stretched into eternity as you wrestled with your inner turmoil, torn between the allure of indulging in this forbidden thirst and the fear of crossing a line you couldn't uncross. But amidst the chaos of your thoughts, one thing remained clear: the pull of Mr. Turner's presence was undeniable, drawing you towards him with an irresistible force.

With trembling hands and a racing heart, you made your decision. As you rose from your seat and made your way down the narrow aisle of the train, you couldn't shake the feeling that you were stepping into uncharted territory, into a realm where the rules of academia and propriety no longer applied, and only the primal desires of two souls intertwined in a forbidden dance mattered.

And as you reached the door of the restroom, you took a deep breath, summoning the courage to push it open and step into the unknown, ready to surrender to the irresistible pull of passion that had drawn you together.

When you finally opened it, you noticed his hand on the knob on the other side. He was about to leave, the hope he had of you turning up almost ran out, but you showed up, and he looked down at you in a way that made you feel like there was something intriguing about the vulnerability he displayed in that moment.

“You’re here.” he gleamed, looking relieved to see you in front of him. He stayed like that, staring in disbelief for a moment, while you stood awkwardly outside the small ‘room’, not knowing what to do, how to act, what to say.

He walked back, as much as the tiny space allowed, an invitation for you to join. Inside the restroom, the air felt charged with anticipation, every breath heavy with the weight of the moment. Mr. Turner stood near the sink, his gaze fixed on you as you entered, a fusion of the undeniable desire and uncertainty flickering in his eyes.

Without a word, you closed the door behind you, the click of the latch sealing your fate. The space suddenly felt smaller, more intimate, as if the world outside had faded away, leaving only the two of you in this delicate sanctuary, a newfound sense of intimacy blossoming between you and Mr. Turner.

Mr. Turner's hand awkwardly reached out, hesitating for a moment before brushing against yours, his touch sending shivers down your spine.

With a silent understanding, you leaned into him, the heat of his body mingling with yours as you pressed together, lost in the intoxicating embrace of desire.

His lips found yours in a hungry kiss, a fervent expression of the need that had been building between you since that first look as he got on the train. Actually, if you were being honest with yourself, you’d admit you fantasised about him every time you sat in his class, from the moment he walked in through the door.

His tongue prodded at your mouth, and you allowed it entrance to meet your own, the energy between you changing from just hunger to proper filth. It wasn’t pretty, you were too eager, he was too needy, it was messy, but that did nothing but reel you in further, never wanting to get rid of his taste from your tongue, so sweet.

He could no longer keep his hands to himself, his palms moving to grab at you anywhere he could, wanting to touch everything, from your shoulders to your waist, your hips, each touch, each caress sent waves of pleasure coursing through you, igniting a fire that burned with an intensity you had never known.

In that moment, there were no boundaries remaining, no rules to hold you back, only the raw, unbridled passion that consumed you both.

And as the train hurtled toward its destination, you surrendered yourself to the irresistible pull of desire, knowing that in each other's arms, you had found something worth risking everything for.

Lost in the throes of passion, you revelled in the sensation of his hands exploring every inch of your body, sending waves of pleasure coursing through you. The air crackled with electricity, the heat between you rising with each passing moment.

In the hazy blur of desire, you surrendered yourself completely to the intoxicating allure of Mr. Turner. His lips trailed a path of fire along your skin, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake as they travelled from your mouth to your jaw, nipping along it with his teeth, eager to taste more than just your mouth. Each kiss fueled the flames of desire that burned within you, consuming you in a whirlwind of ecstasy.

He snaked his hands around the smallest point of your waist, pulling you flush to him, keeping you as close as your bodies would permit. As you crossed your legs in need of some sort of relief, settling for anything you could get, you nudged along his crotch, sparking a groan from him. He was getting impossibly hard, you could feel it through his trousers, and your sudden touch took him by surprise, the pleasure from that one second of stimulation making him realise just how much he had to have this, to have you.

A burst of boldness came to you, urging you to get on your knees for him. And so you did. For a second his arms didn’t want to let you go but he soon realised what you were doing and he shuffled back, his arms on the edge of the sink grounding him, preventing him from simply melting to the floor, though that’s what he felt like.

Before lowering completely, you had to touch him, he touched and groped but now it was your turn, your hands sliding down the cashmere of his sweater, from his shoulders to his chest, which, when you reached, you felt the rapid beat of his heart beneath your palms, a rhythm that matched the pounding of your own. You stopped there to give some attention to his nipples, incredibly hard, poking from underneath the soft thin material. He gasped at the feeling of your fingers running over them, his mouth agape and his chest rising with each breath he took. His gasp was music to your ears. Fuck, he was so responsive.

As you knelt before him, a rush of anticipation coursed through you, fueled by the knowledge that you held his desire in the palm of your hand. His eyes met yours, a mixture of surprise and longing evident in their depths as he watched you with an intensity that sent shivers down your spine.

Your hands traced a path down his body, every touch igniting a fire within both of you. His skin burned beneath your fingertips, even through the barrier of fabric, that you couldn’t stand any longer. You reached the edge of his top, your fingertips carefully prying beneath it until they reached his naked skin, so soft, the tiny hairs covering his abdomen rising at the contact, sending shivers through his entire body.

His growing bulge was screaming for you to touch it and it was something you couldn’t wait for, you wanted him in your mouth so badly. Beginning to unbuckle his belt, you burrowed your face into the tight material covering his straining erection, mouthing at him through the fabric while keeping your eyes on him, just him, the imagine of him biting his lower lip to suppress any sounds that might’ve dared to come out instantly burned into your memory, forever. His eyes bore into yours, dark with desire and something deeper, something you couldn't quite name but felt as intensely as the heat of his body seeping into you.

With his pants free of the leather that held them up and a sense of urgency that matched his own, you worked quickly to free him from the confines of his clothing, every moment spent tantalisingly close to the prize driving you to new heights of desire. You quickly worked the button and zipper that still stood in your way, finally beginning to lower them, having a bit of a struggle as the whole thing got too tight, they didn’t seem to want to slip over his bulge, but you managed, in the end.

As his pants finally yielded to your efforts, you were greeted by the sight of him, hard and ready, straining against the fabric of his boxers. The need in his eyes mirrored your own, a hunger that threatened to consume you both.

With a sense of reverence, you reached for him, your hands trembling with anticipation as you traced the outline of his erection through the thin material. His sharp intake of breath was a symphony of lust and craving, echoing through the air as you finally freed him from all the constraints keeping you apart. His cock sprung up hitting his covered tummy, the blush on his face mimicking the one of his tip, red and leaking on his top, staining the dark crimson an even deeper shade.

And then, with a daring born of passion, you lowered your head, your lips trailing a path of fire along his length as you kissed the underside, following with a lick all the way from the base to the head, more little licks and open-mouthed kisses to it. He started getting frustrated, wanting so much more. But Alex hated begging, feeling too embarrassed to do so, unless he got desperate enough. And he did. He got over himself and begged you.

“More please, sweetheart.” he asked of you. How could you possibly deny him?

With his hungry eyes raking over you, and one of his hands coming to rest on your head in encouragement, petting your hair, you took him into your mouth and he revelled in the feeling of the tender skin of your throat, the pleasurable sensation of the tight, wet heat his dick was enveloped in.

“Oh fuck…” Alex groaned “been dreaming of this, of- of you, when I–” his sentence getting cut off by a moan as his hips bucking involuntarily, pushing his cock deeper inside, his tip brushing against the back of your throat.

He caught you off guard, making you choke and splutter around his dick, pulling off with a wet pop to catch your breath, leaving his length glistening wet with your saliva. You continued stroking him with your hand, thumbing at the precum leaking from his slit and spreading it around, mixing it with your own fluids that tainted him.

“When you…what?” you probed curiously, wanting to hear him say it.

“When I touch myself.” he admitted “You have no idea how many times I’ve jerked off to the thought of you…on your knees…or bent over my desk.” he went on to say, trailing off into a whisper at the end, continuing his pets on the side of your head as you took him into your mouth again.

His words took a second to register to you, and you moaned pathetically around his cock, your pussy practically dripping with need from thinking of him touching himself with you in his mind. He groaned in response, feeling the vibration of your moan as it slipped from between your parted lips.

You bobbed your head up and down a couple more times before he pulled you off this time.

“Stop.” he breathed out as he was holding you gently by the hair so you wouldn’t be able to reach and touch him anymore.

“What’s wrong, did I- did I do something?” you asked, the worry and slight panic thick in your voice.

“No, no, it’s…I just need a break or I’ll come in your mouth…and I wanna be…inside…of you, sweets.” he panted. Clearly you got him quite close already, and he didn’t want this to end so soon.

He spread his arms out for you to grab and he brought you closer again, taking up your mouth with his own again. He moaned into you as he tasted himself on your tongue, and his hands around your waist were sliding dangerously low, past the curve of your ass, slowly skimming the hem of your skirt until they slipped under it, playing with the edges of your panties.

“Wanna taste you too.” he hummed against your lips “Can I? W-will you let me, please?”

“Yes, of course you fucking can…oh my god. Yes!” you said too quickly, too eager to feel him for you to hide your excitement anymore. You couldn't help but notice how Mr. Turner smiled into the kiss, giving you one last peck before turning you around, at which you automatically bent over the small sink as much as you could, arching your back to look your best for him.

He bent down behind you and you watched over your shoulder as he curiously pulled your skirt up and bunched it up as far as it would go, his eyes full of sparks as he was taking in the view before him. His hand splayed out across his lower back, tracing along the middle of your spine until he was stopped in his tracks by the lace border that adorned your underwear.

With a low growl, Mr. Turner tugged at the lace, causing a shiver to run down your spine. His touch was electrifying, sending waves of anticipation through your body. As he slowly peeled the fabric down, your breath hitched, your heart pounding in your chest. You felt exposed yet exhilarated, craving every sensation he was about to unleash upon you. You could feel his lips trailing along the curve of your spine, leaving a path of hot kisses in their wake. Every nerve in your body seemed to come alive under his ministrations,

"Do you know how much I've been wanting to taste you?" he whispered. His words sent a rush of heat straight to your core, making you ache for his touch even more and you couldn't help but let out a soft moan of pleasure.

He leaned into you, his warm breath teasing your skin. Time seemed to stand still as he explored every inch of you, his touch setting your body ablaze with desire. And as his lips finally found their way to where you needed him most, Mr. Turner's hands gripped your hips firmly as he moved closer, his tongue darting out to taste you.

The sensation was overwhelming, sending sparks flying behind your closed eyelids as you surrendered yourself to him completely.

He hummed against you with curious little licks that made your breath hitch in your throat. His facial hair tickled as it brushed along your folds and his tongue traced intricate patterns across your sensitive flesh, moving playfully around in little circles, feeling you out, igniting a fire that consumed your every thought. It was exquisite, sending waves of pleasure coursing through your veins. You couldn't help but arch your back further, pressing yourself against him as well as the coldness of the sink as he continued his exploration with a newfound sense of boldness, licking a strip from your clit, gathering the wetness pooling, all the way to your hole.

His movements became more fervent, more urgent, as if he couldn't get enough of you. And as you felt yourself teetering on the edge of bliss, you couldn't help but cling desperately to whatever you could reach that would help keep your balance, your fingers digging around the metal tap and you found yourself gasping for air as ecstasy washed over you in waves.

Each flick of his tongue along with the vibrations flowing through you from his moaning as he was eating you out brought you closer to your release, faster than you would’ve anticipated. Perhaps it was the thrill of it all, the unexpected nature of what was happening, the fact that you probably shouldn’t be doing this, much less here.

You finally succumbed to the overwhelming sensations crashing over you, and he kept his movements as you rode the waves of pleasure, licking away at the fluids seeping from you.

When he considered it enough, his lips parted from your core and you looked back at him over your shoulder, again, greeted with the sight of him seeming a bit out of sorts, his nose red from the friction, and his lips and chin glistening from your wetness and cum, little droplets hanging onto his beard, and the smile forming on your lips was soon replaced by the ‘O’ shape your mouth was just in a few moments ago as you felt him pulling on your pussy with his fingers, the cold air hitting you deeper inside as he opened you up.

“You’re so sweet, I could eat you forever but I need to be inside you now.” he said absentmindedly while wiping down the wet mess from his face with the back of his hand, his eyes still locked on your exposed hole clenching around nothing at his admission.

With a breathless nod, you could only manage a whispered agreement as the anticipation coiled tightly within you. His words hung in the air, charged with desire, as he raised from his knees and positioned himself behind you, his hands exploring every inch of your trembling body.

“Do you have a-“ you began, but he cut you off as he figured what you were about to say, condom.

“No.” he breathed out while rubbing the side of his face into your clothed back, like how a cat would rub against you when begging for attention. “Will that stop you from wanting this?” he further questioned, the answer obvious to both of you. You’d gone too far to stop now.

“No.” you confessed, too entranced by the way you could feel his dick leaking against your arsecheeks where it was softly rubbing into your skin as he couldn’t keep his hips still, unavoidably rutting into you at a slow, almost unnoticeable pace, begging for stimulation after being ignored for too long.

“I’ll be careful…pull out.” he whispered as he finally entered you, his cock slipping in easily without any guidance from the sheer amount of wetness covering you both.

A primal moan escaped your lips, drowning in the overwhelming pleasure of being filled by him and quickly muffled by his hand as to not alert anyone else of your actions. You managed to forget about your surroundings, but he was aware of the trouble this could get both of you into if you were to be caught.

“Shhh.” he murmured into the bunched up fabric his face rested against, his other hand slipping through the tight space to reach your breast, moving your top to the side delicately to grab a hold of one of your breasts, his big hand engulfing it, the roughness of his palm feeling like heaven as it scratched your stiff sensitive nipple.

Despite the risk, you couldn't bring yourself to care, consumed by the overwhelming need for him.

He slowly started moving inside of you, gliding out almost all the way before roughly pushing back in. Picking up a sort of rhythm, although irregular and messy, each of his thrusts sent waves of ecstasy through your body, erasing any lingering doubts or worries you might’ve had about this.

It was hot and wet, fucking filthy and absolutely glorious, the indescribably lewd sounds of him fucking into you leaving you to only feel the sensation of his body pressed against yours, the world around fading into a blur, nothing else mattered but the overwhelming need to be consumed by each other, to savour this.

You started moving against him, pushing your hips back to meet every thrust of his. He could feel you mouthing something under his palm, allowing you to speak by instead dropping his hand to the edge of the small counter the sink lied on.

“Need your- ah-…fingers…on my- fuck-“ you couldn’t even form a proper sentence, getting cut off by a gasp or moan in between your words as he kept thrusting deep inside you, hitting all the right spots.

“Yeah, I got you.” he instantly complied to your wishes, quickly bringing his hand in between your legs to toy messily with your clit, quite constricted by the tight space, nevertheless accomplishing giving you the pleasure you craved. “Try to stay quiet though love.” he urged you.

You weren’t confident in your ability to do that, so you covered your mouth with one of your own hands, momentarily losing your balance as your legs started to give in and fail at keeping you up, but he had you. He moved his other arm around your waist to your belly, holding you flush against him, holding you close, safe, in his grip, supporting you as your legs threatened to give way, ensuring you remained upright against him.

He resorted to mostly grinding his hips into you, the position not really allowing much room to move freely, but still every sensation was heightened, every touch electric, as you lost yourselves in the rhythm of your bodies moving as one.

His fingers worked tirelessly on your clit, sending sparks of pleasure shooting throughout your body with each touch. You bit down on your hand to stifle your cries, your senses overwhelmed with each grind of his hips. You felt yourself teetering on the edge of bliss, clenching around him repeatedly as your second orgasm was threatening to wash over you.

“Don’t do that- I- fuck-“ his hips faltered, and you were holding onto him dangerously tight, he couldn’t escape your grip.

With a couple last deep thrusts, you could feel his cock pulsing inside of you, twitching against your tightening walls as his release spilled out, filling you up and coating his length as he kept grinding even deeper, the feeling sending you over the edge as you too soon came, for the second time.

The way you squeezed his cock made him bite your shoulder, his teeth grinding into the fabric covering you in an attempt to quiet down his cries from the overstimulation.

As the waves of pleasure subsided, he collapsed against you, breathless and spent. His heart was about to pound straight out of his chest. This was too much, too intimate.

He stayed like that for a minute, his cock softening inside of you as the seconds passed, before pulling out, his cum immediately starting to run out of you.

He quickly tucked himself back into his boxers and grabbed some tissues to clean you up.

“I’m sorry.” he said, sincerity and shame felt in his voice, and your mind went to thinking he meant he was sorry for doing this, that he regretted it, but he reassured you, feeling you tense as his hands gently rubbed your thighs and pulled your underwear back on. “About not pulling out, I didn’t mean to, it was just- I-“

“It’s okay.” you told him, pulling your skirt back down over your ass and turning around to see him panicking. “I can take care of it, don’t worry.” you said, reserved. You didn’t know how you two stood, if he would want you to forget this ever happened.

“No, no, no, no, you- I’ll help you…get you…what you need…yeah.”

His arms wrapped around you, pulling you close as you nuzzled into his chest, basking in the afterglow of your shared ecstasy. In the hazy aftermath, the world outside ceased to exist, and all that mattered was the warmth of each other's embrace, the exchanged tender kisses, savouring the closeness, until you were reminded of your surroundings by the train stopping harshly in its tracks.

“Fuck, I need to get my stuff.” you huffed, annoyed at the moment having to come to an end.

“I’ll get them, you stay in here…calm down darling.” he spoke sweetly, fixing your top back to its original position and buttoning up his trousers before he emerged from the restroom, leaving you alone in your thoughts.

Fuck.

That was the only thing coming to mind when you turned back around to look at yourself in the mirror, your hair pointing awkwardly in all directions from where his hands got tangled in it.

At the same time, you couldn’t stop the smile that began forming on your lips.

a/n: this was all caused by the recents, if it wasn’t obvious enough, and i kinda fell back in love with the version Mr. Turner is made up in my head. i hope this makes sense, i had someone proofread alongside my own go at it but if there are any bits that sound wrong or typos let me know

tags: @4chaos @st7rnioioss @theonlyoneswhoknowsblog @ohladymoon @rentsturner @yourstartreatment @menace-to-the-devil @jqsvi @turnersfav @youresodarkbabe @psychedelicrocker @feyasgotgroove

#alex recent #alex turner #alex turner x reader #alex turner x you #alex turner smut #alex turner fic #alex turner fanfic #smut #goblinontour

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