#fat reader

[bwabys-scenarios]

Kurapika can’t stand being away from you, his cute chubby girlfriend. You’re his everything, the only person that makes him feel complete and whole.

Before, Kurapika could hardly call himself clingy, but after meeting you he can’t deny the allegation. All he wants to do is cling to you as tight as possible, basking in your love and affection.

When he’s down, you comfort him, letting him lay his head on your chest or soft tummy while you play with his pretty blonde hair. His nightmares are frequent, and he often wakes you up in tears, begging to be held and to know that you won’t leave him all alone.

You’re so soft, a comfort that Kurapika has denied himself for so long. He wouldn’t let himself have those simple comforts, thinking he didn’t deserve it. But how could he deny you, his beloved? Warm, kind, and ever so soft. So curling up with you and getting to nestle against your plush frame after a hard day is more than enough to have him sighing in contentment.

One thing Kurapika enjoys is feeding you. Whether it be sweets, savory foods, or some kind of fruit/vegetable, he swoons when you make a happy face as he places something delicious to your lips. Plump women were desired in his clan, and making sure your significant other was well fed and happy was a way to show you cared.

So his pretty cherub eating from his hand, smiling and happy was all he wanted. Getting to lick up any of the mess was also… very satisfying.

Kurapika had once thought he’d spend his life alone, with no one there to love or accept him for who he truly was… but then he met you.

Already, he was attracted to your plump form and cute chubby cheeks, but you were endlessly kind and understanding, always sitting with him after he drank himself stupid and patting his back while he threw up.

Sometimes, the survivors guilt made simply existing a sin to him. Why did he get to keep living after his entire clan was wiped out? He wondered if everything would stop hurting if he just left this world and joined his kin in the afterlife…

But then he’d remember you and realize that if he stopped living, he would never feel your warmth again. He would never get to hold you tight to him, never get to hear you laugh and giggle when he said something that wasn’t supposed to be funny, but made you laugh anyways. He’d never get to teasing pinch your chubby cheek when you messed up and scold you, making those cute cheeks heat up until he felt the urge to coo and gently caress them.

And most importantly, if he died, he’d be leaving the woman he adored behind. That’s when he realized he had fallen for you, and that nothing could separate him from you, not even his own depression and pain.

So Kurapika decided to live for you until he could learn to live for himself, and living for you and everything so easy and sweet.

He spoiled you, taking you shopping often, getting you custom made clothing when the items in store didn’t come in your size or fit like they were supposed to. Any little thing you asked for was yours, and he quite enjoyed getting to see you all dolled up for him.

Especially when he got to take it all off and make love to you after a romantic date together.

Getting to fuck into your warm, fat pussy and hold onto your plump thighs as you writhed and moaned beneath him really made Kurapika glad he stuck around. Otherwise he wouldn’t be cumming inside his princess, filling her chubby tummy to the brim with his seed.

Suckling on your pretty breasts, covering your neck in his love bites and marking you as his makes him feel at ease. Although he feels a bit bad watching you put on a scarf to hide all the marks he left, part of him is proud. You’re his little cherub, and no one else can have you.

The only thing that could ever make him love you more would be the sight of your already plump tummy swelling with his child.

Kurapika wants to take care of you for the rest of his life and provide you a comfortable life. He adores you, you’re all he has left. And when you only have one thing left, you treat it with the utmost care, don’t you?

#kurapika x reader #kurapika x y/n #kurapika x you #anime x chubby reader #chubby!reader #chubby reader #plus size reader #fat reader #requests open #x reader #anime x reader #reader insert #headcanon #hxh x reader #hxh imagines #hunter x hunter x reader #fem reader #female reader #fem!reader #smut requests #kurapika smut #hxh smut #hunter x hunter smut #x reader smut

[swordsandholly]

Double Date - Double Down

NSFW | MDNI

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x Fem!plus size!reader

Word count: 4.9k

Summary: When you get a call in the middle of the afternoon from your friend begging you to fill an empty spot on a double date your initial instinct is a hard no. After all, no one wants to go on a blind double date and be surprised by the fat friend. It doesn’t help that this Simon guy is stupid fucking hot and obviously doesn’t like you - if his lack of talking is anything to go by.

A/N: Just a fun little oneshot I used as a warmup between working on chapters of future multi chapter projects.

“I said *no*.” You snap, angrily folding the washcloth in your hands.

Your friend splutters from the other side of the phone, the desperation in her voice only growing now that she’s on her fourth ask. “*Pleeeaase*! Steph backed out last minute and no one else is free-“

“How do you know I’m free?”

“You just said you were!”

You huff. She’s got you there. When she first called, you admitted you didn’t have anything going on but that was *before* she told you the plan for the night. Before she mentioned that her very, very conventionally hot military boyfriend wanted to do a little double date with his friend and one of hers. Plus, you take a least a little offense to being second choice. Really, last choice, it seems.

“Cass, you can’t just set up a blind date and take your fat friend. That’s not-“

“You’re not fat, love. You’re beautiful.” Her words drip with turned honey. You make a gagging face to yourself in the mirror. “You just need more confidence!”

You sigh loudly, pinching the bridge of your nose. You could try, for the millionth time, to explain to her the nuanced ins and outs of dating as a fat woman. The rules and stats that could rival even the most complex rpg… or you could be petty. It takes less time to be petty. “If I go, you’re paying for my drinks.”

“Johnny’s friend will probably-“

“Yeah, and when he leaves you’re paying for my tab.”

“He won’t-“

“We got a deal?”

She clicks her tongue. “*Fiiiine*.”

At least you can get wasted for free either way. A small consolation. She texts you the time and location, barely leaving you with enough time to shower and turn yourself into something presentable. Not that you really care. It’s going to be shit either way, most likely. Staring yourself down in the mirror, you suppose you could at least try to look somewhat attractive. If you’re about to get rejected (or possibly shouted at, you’ll never forget *that* horrendous interaction) you might as well feel your best.

The pub is small as you push through the front door. Casual. A couple pool tables, some darts, a large bar and few booths with stools on the outer side. You scan the room, searching for Cass’s familiar face.

“Over here!” Cass waves with a wide arc at you, a grin plastered from ear to ear. At least she’s having fun.

You take a long breath, bracing yourself for whatever is about to happen. Cass introduces you to her boyfriend - who is somehow even hotter in person. You can see why she’s so smitten with him. Johnny looks you up and down as he shakes your hand. He doesn’t comment, or make a face, or really react in any particular way, but you can feel a shift. Something in his eyes…

Maybe it’s just your imagination. You’ve always been a little over sensitive.

“Si will be back in a sec. Stepped over tae get a drink.” He flashes a grin.

You hum, quietly folding your hand as Cass pushes a cocktail for you that she preemptively ordered. Criticize her as much as you like, she knows her mixes.

“There he is.” Johnny grins, turning slightly.

You follow his gaze, heart sinking as your eyes settle on the man approaching your table. He’s massive. Tall and wide. Total brick shithouse. His face is mostly covered by a black surgical mask. A few years ago you might have questioned it but at this point you couldn’t care less, especially when his dark eyes meet yours, small flecks of gold honey catching the low bar lights. Barely styled tufts of blonde hair stick up from his head. They look like they might curl if he let it grow a little longer.

All in all, wayyyy out of your league.

He settles into his seat with all the confidence of any military man - back ramrod straight. He extends a large hand. “Simon Riley.”

You murmur your name, somewhat enthralled by the half lidded, almost bored look in his eyes. Now that he’s closer you notice a large scar splitting his left eyebrow and light, newly forming crows feet in the corners of his eyes.

“S-so you’re military, too?” You stutter, eyes trained on his the massive hand holding his glass. It’s nicely vascular, his nails are well groomed but it also looks like he could snap you in half with it.

Not that that’s entirely a bad thing - whatever that may or may not say about you.

He nods. “I’m a Lieutenant.”

“Oh! Officer position. So you’re smart, then?” You try to be charming, to give him a sweet smile and keep your body language open.

“Enough.” He deadpans. It takes a few beats for you to realize he’s not going to say anything else.

“Uh…” You squirm awkwardly under his gaze. It’s intense - his dark eyes nearly black in the low light of the bar. “I do hair.”

Conversation is slow, to say the least. The longest answer he gives you is maybe five words. He only flips up the mask long enough to take a sip of his drink every so often. You start to talk less, opting toward a group conversation in which Johnny takes the lead, which he is obviously very good at. He regales you and Cass with a few stories of his and Simon’s adventures. Some funny, some brave, some worrying. He’s setting the man up to be a god, nearly, but Simon himself just shakes his head and insists Johnny is exaggerating.

You wonder what he sees in Simon. Alternatively, you wonder what *you’re* supposed to see in Simon. Besides his good looks, of course. He’s… bland. Obviously bored if his constant glances toward the exits and rhythmic, occasional tapping on the corner of the table are anything to go by.

“Want tae go dance, lovie?” You overhear Johnny as he leans in toward Cass.

She glances at you, then Simon, then back to you before nodding enthusiastically. “We’ll give you two some time *alone*.”

In any other situation, you’d probably beg her to stay in desperation for a conversation buffer. Here and now, though, you’re grateful. You can finally let this poor guy off the hook. You wait until they’re gone; fully out of earshot before turning to the man in front of you.

“I…uh… look…” You chew your lip, glancing between him and your folded hands on the table. “Sorry… I know I’m probably not what, uh, what you expected… I get it if you want to leave. It’s - you don’t have to stay, or whatever. Don’t have to be polite…”

He cocks an eyebrow, eyes boring through your skull. “Why would I want to leave?”

“I know what I look like. You don’t have to be nice.”

His raised brow turns into a slight frown. “I think you’re quite pretty.”

You scoff - blushing despite yourself. “Again, you don’t have to be nice.”

“Do I seem like the type to just be nice?”

You continue to gnaw at your lip. He’s got you there. Simon definietly doesn’t come off as the type to bow to polite society. “You’ve barely talked to me.”

He stares for a moment. It’s his turn to avert his eyes, swirling around the whiskey in his glass awkwardly. Almost bashfully. “It’s not you. I’m… not great in public… especially in crowds…”

Oh.

*Oh*.

You’ve completely misjudged him, haven’t you? Shit. He’s just a big awkward lug isn’t he?You sigh, rubbing your temple. “Oh God, *I’m* the asshole, aren’t I?”

He chuckles, “I wouldn’t go that far.”

“I’m sorry it’s just…” you scrub a hand over your face. “Most men don’t really want to be surprised with a fat girl on a blind date. Guess I assumed the worst.”

Simon hums. A low vibration that settles into your bones. He gets up, sliding into the booth side of the table beside you - his massive frame pushing into your space. He smells like spices. Cinnamon and pepper. A little hint of leather and tobacco underneath. It’s heady, and some primal part of your mind wishes you could roll around in it like a dog.

“Some men might like a waifish little thing, that’s their business, but personally…” He leans in, a large hand resting on your wide thigh. “Yeah. I like somethin’ I can get a proper handful of.”

“*Oh*.” You squeak, back stiff. Was that what you saw in Johnny’s face before? Approval?

“‘Ere’s a thought - we go back to mine. S’quiet. Can talk more freely. See where the night goes, hm?”

You smile hesitantly, finally looking up to meet his gaze. It’s honest. Kind. Dark pools of sincerity. It’s against your better judgement. Impractical. Out of character. Even so, you allow yourself to surrender with a warmth in your cheeks and a small nod.

“I’ll get an Uber.” He pulls out his phone, tapping away. “Five minutes out.”

“Want to wait outside?” You offer, nodding toward the front entrance. Simon just nods, following you out close behind. Neither of you say much of anything while you wait, but you watch him out of the corner of your eye. He taps on his leg a few times in much the same way as he did on the table.

He dutifully opens the car door for you, letting you slide in before climbing in beside you, long legs slightly cramped in the small sedan.

“You don’t live on base?” You ask as the Uber drives away from the infamous military housing. You’d been there once or twice - a while ago when you were younger and messier.

“S’too loud.” He shrugs. “Too crowded.”

“Well, at least you’re consistent.” You smile.

Simon hums, resting his hand on your thigh once again. It’s casual, not too high up or too much pressure. Not presumptuous.

“How’d Johnny get you out there in the first place? If you’re so *averse*.” You tilt your head.

He shrugs, “Was supposed to be another Sergeant we work with but I guess he cancelled. No one else was free.”

“Ah, so we’re both last choices, then.”

“Yeah?”

“Made Cass promise me free drinks if I came.”

“Smart girl.” He chuckles, holding out a hand to help you up out of the car upon your arrival. His hand is warm when you take it, and a small part of you feels disappointed when he lets go.

The building is small. Old. All red brick with a thirty year old intercom and an elevator that you’re pretty sure hasn’t been inspected since the place was built. About halfway down the hall, you start to second guess yourself. You don’t know a thing about this guy - you don’t know what’s going to happen as soon as you get on the other side of his door. His weird, bright red door. Wait - why is this whole floor covered in red doors?

“Alright?” He grunts, back turned to you as he wrestles with the lock.

“Uh - why is your floor color themed?”

Simon laughs, wide shoulders shaking with the movement. It’s a low sound, something that vibrates in his chest. Makes you want to press your ear to it, see how it feels. If it will reverberate into your bones as well. “The old lady that owns the building is a bit… unique. Likes to talk about colors and karma and destiny stuff.”

“Ah.” You nod, as if that makes any sense at all. “So you’re red?”

“Apparently.”

His apartment is actually quite homey, as you step into it. From a stiff military man like him you expected something akin to an ikea floor model. Instead it’s furnished with a well worn, green couch. A large TV with an extremely up-to date surround sound system and an entertainment center filled to the brim with CDs sits against the wall. A few movie posters fill the walls. All horror classics - you count three of the scream movies. The first two final destination. There are condensation rings on the coffee table.

Behind you, you hear the door lock and unlock three times, but you don’t pay it much mind.

“Want a drink?” Simon asks, already popping open a decanter full of something gold on a small drink cart beside the kitchen island.

“Sure.” The agreement is automatic - blurted out before you can second guess taking a drink from a total stranger.

You watch a little too closely as he takes off his light jacket, exposing his strong arms and a half sleeve tattoo. It’s a bit tacky, all skulls and military symbols. The black ink has been sun worn over time. The motif of a young getting his first tattoo after enlisting. He settles down on the couch with the decanter and two glasses, patting the spot beside him. You plop down. It’s pretty comfortable, honestly.

His fingers loop into the mask’s straps. You find yourself watching with wide eyes and bated breath as he removes it. His nose is crooked - broken more than a couple times, you think. There’s a scar running from his nose to upper lip that could only come from a cleft palette. It’s charming, in a way. When he turns toward you, you notice a patch on the side of his face that looks like a rather large burn all the way down to his sharp jaw. The roughness of him works, somehow. The scars and tattoos and choppy hair all coming together to create the visage of a life hard lived.

“You’re really pretty…” the words slip from your tongue before you can stop them.

Simon splutters out a laugh, the slightest hint of color appearing across his cheeks. “Didn’t take you for a flatterer.”

“I’m not.” You huff before nodding toward the posters. “Horror fan?”

He hums, passing you a glass. “Are you a fan? Of horror, I mean.”

“Found footage!” You grin a little too excited. “It’s the best genre.”

“Terrible taste.” He scoffs.

“Wrong! Found footage can be anything you want it to be - slasher, thriller, mystery, mocumentary. Anything.”

“Which makes them messy.” He argues. “Anyone can make one.”

“Yeah! Theres so many hidden gems out there.”

“Whatever you say.”

“Oh, I’ll put you on them. We just need to get you a good one.”

“Askin’ me on a second date already, love?”

“Oh, fuck off.” You shove at his shoulder. He was right, it is so much easier to talk freely out of the bar. Away from everyone and everything. His posture is far more relaxed, laid back into the couch with his hips canted forward rather than stiff as a board.

“We could watch one now?” He offers. If you were more sober, you might have heard the twinge of pleading in his voice. As it stands you’ve already drained the glass he gave you and are perfectly buzzed enough to be ignorant to the subtler parts of communication.

How convenient.

“Okay.” You whisper.

After a bit of debating back and forth you settle on Hell House. After all, it’s been your tried and true method for getting anyone and everyone into the genre. You don’t notice it, at first, but you slowly begin to scoot closer to him as you fold your knees up on the couch. Eventually, tucking yourself under his arm sling across the back cushions. Between him and the drinks - which you’re pretty sure is a rather fancy bourbon - you feel what could only be described as snuggly. Limbs loose and pliant, smile easy and words flowing as you cheer and jeer at the characters together.

At some point, Simon’s dark eyes meet between yours. You lean in, so does he. Inch by inch until your lips meet. It’s tentative, at first. Testing the waters. His lips are soft and move expertly against yours. You part for him has his tongue darts across your lower lip.

It’s easier than it usually is for you. Easy to let him pull you over his lap. To rest your hands on his broad shoulders as you take each other in. Normally, you’re not a person for one night stands. A commitment kind of gal. You can’t exactly say no, though, when you have a beautiful man’s hands traveling over your body like it’s the only thing in the world worth paying attention to right now.

He breaks the kiss just long enough to grunt, “Bedroom?”

“*Yes*.” You gasp between kisses.

Suddenly those large hands grasp under your ass as you’re hauled up. You grapple to hold onto the back of his neck, keeping your weight forward.

“Simon!”

“Yes, love?” He asks as if he didn’t just life you like a sack of potatoes.

“A-aren't I heavy?” You question as he makes his way through the apartment, peppering kisses over your neck and jaw.

“No.” He replies bluntly. Like what you asked was stupid.

You’re placed on a bed with all the gentleness of a rare china plate- one hand cradling your upper back and the other tucked under your thighs. There isn’t any time to take in the room before Simon is kissing you again but you do count approximately five pillows and zero navy sheets.

That shouldn’t be as hot as it is.

Simon leans in close, nose ever so slightly bumping yours. “Before we keep going, I want to establish a rule. Red light means stop. At any time, for any reason.”

You can’t help but smile. “Okay.”

“Say it back, doll.”

“Red light means stop.” You reach up and cup his face. So handsome. So warm.

“Good girl.” He murmurs. “Let’s get these off, hm?” Simon pulls your clothes off deftly - dragging those rough palms over your skin as he moves and kneading at the plushness of your hips appreciatively.

You reach up to tug at his shirt. “S’not fair if I’m the only one naked.”

Simon chuckles and hastily sits back to yank the shirt over his head, giving a lovely show in the process. You think this what people mean when they talk about an Adonis. There’s a comfortable soft layer of his strong abdomen. Something you want to sink your teeth into. Your fingers trace each dip and curve of his muscles, the lovely shape of his pectorals, the raised scars littering his body. Floral shapes from bullets along with slashes and smaller jabs. A particularly nasty one runs down his side, coving his ribs. A burn, you think.

“You’re beautiful.” You murmur. Definitely out of your fucking league. You move to sit up, reaching for his waistband.

His hand pushes your shoulder back on the bed. “Let me take care of you tonight, bird.”

Your face warms. Simon kisses your cheek, continuing down to your chest and taking one of your nipples in his mouth. Gently sucking and nipping at it while flicking the other with his hand. A shameful whimper escapes your throat.

Simon leans up to murmur in your ear, “What do you want, sweet girl?”

“Want you to fuck me…” You murmur, embarrassment making you want to close your legs. His solid hips block you.

“Oh, I will, but first I want those beautiful thighs wrapped around my head.” Simon continues to place kisses down your body, over your stomach, stopping right at your panty line and tracing along it with rough fingers. His arms circle your thighs and in one swift motion your hips teeter on the edge of the bed, Simon kneeling between them. His fingers hook in the waistband of your underwear.

“W-wait…” You sit up on your elbows.

He freezes, looking up at you.

“I, uh, I haven’t exactly *landscaped* in a while… wasn’t really planning-“

Simon huffs out a laugh. “I’m a grown man, love. You think a little bush is gonna scare me off?”

All thoughts related to anything within the proximity of embarrassment come to an instant halt as Simon’s lips wrap around your clit- sucking and nipping and lapping like a man starved. Like he’d die without it. A low groan rumbles through his throat.

“F-fuck!” You gasp, whimpers and moans interrupting any chance you may have at putting words together.

“Taste so fucking good, princess.” He mumbles against you. A shaky moan rattles through you as he pushes a thick finger in, working it gently. His other than grips your hip tightly, pinning you in place. The pet-name sends a shiver down your spine - leaving you rolling your hips and clenching on the finger inside you.

“Fuck, Si…” You gasp, tangling your fingers in his hair.

“I can tell your close, baby.” Simon groans. “Cum for me. Come on, be a good girl and cum all over my fucking tongue.”

The bastard knows the power he has in that voice. He *has* to. That baritone gravel sinks in your veins and all you can do is whimper. Panting pathetically the closer you get. His fingers curl up and your back arches harshly as your climax washes over you. Your legs tremble as he works you through it; stopping just shy of pushing you too far.

“Hey!” You gasp indignantly as a jolt shoots up your spine as he settles a final, harsh suck on your clit.

Simon taps your hip, climbing back over you as you scoot up on the bed. He carelessly kicks off his pants as he goes, toeing them off before settling between your legs. Those dark eyes rake over you leisurely - taking in every inch. Every curve and dip and flaw categorically. He sucks in a breath and sighs. “Bloody ‘ell, look at you… so fuckin’ pretty.”

Your face heats and you look away. “Who’s the flatterer now?”

“Not me. Just bein’ honest.” He places a quick kiss to your soft jawline before reaching over to dig through his nightstand drawer. You don’t miss the gold foil of the condom wrapper.

You can’t stop yourself from licking your lips as he pulls off his boxer briefs. Simon is uncut, already ruddy and leaking and just begging for your mouth. Maybe next time, though. He’s already slipped on the condom, carefully hooking one of your legs over his shoulder and the other around his hip. The man has a laser-focus to him, you’ll give him that.

“Still want t’ keep goin’?” He mumbles, eyes locked on his cock as is drags between your folds.

“*Please*.” You whine pathetically. Simon’s chuckle turns into a gasp as he presses in. It’s achingly slow and you roll your hips in demand for more.

Simon lets out a low groan as his hips meet yours. The stretch is perfect - just enough to feel completely full without pushing you too far. As though your bodies were made to slot together just so. Your head falls back, chest heaving as you beg him to move, to fuck you, just *please* for the love of god-

“Needy little thing.” He gives you a sloppy smile before setting a brutal pace. You find yourself clawing at his back, clinging to him as your back arches and the most obscene sounds are systematically torn from your throat. The angle he has your hips placed causes his cock to bully that sensitive spot inside you - dragging over it with every thrust.

Simon leans toward, bracing himself on his forearms and pinning you under him as he fucks into you. “So fuckin’ good f’me. Knew you would be. So soft and sweet and goddamn *pretty*.”

“*Fuck, Simon*.” You gasp, nose bumping against his as your lips intertwine. Breaths and moans intermingle as you both chase that edge. There’s nothing else, in this moment, just you and Simon and the sounds only he has ever managed to pull from you.

Your orgasm hits you like a train. Out of nowhere and all at once, tensing every muscle into a trembling mess as you clamp down around his cock. Simon sinks his teeth into your neck as his own climax takes him, cradling you close and moaning out your name so muddled you almost miss it.

For a few moments, you stay frozen in place trying to catch your breath as you come down. Your limbs feel like jelly when you finally try to move, body limp and pliable. It almost feels like a loss as he pushes off of you, leaving you open and vulnerable to the cool night air while he ties off the condom.

“Be right back.” He murmurs, slowly climbing off you and heading for an attached bathroom off to the left.

You let your eyes slipped closed only to jump and shoot back open as a dap rag drags between your thighs. A little yelp escapes you as the rough material drags across your oversensitive clit. Simon chuckles at you, tossing the rag back somewhere in the bathroom before crawling into the bed beside you. It’s so easy to curl into his chest and let those strong arms encircle you.

“Have fun, love?” Simon murmurs into your hair.

You just hum happily, smiling against his hard chest.

“Good.”

It’s just as easy as the rest of it to fall asleep like that. To seek out the warmth of his body in your satiated haze and press into him, allowing the night and rhythmic beating of his heart to overtake you. You feel four small taps between your shoulder blades just before tipping over the edge into comfortable nothing.

You wake slowly to an empty bed. The light from the window above you streams in - bathing the room in a light golden tone. It’s cozy. The blankets seem to pull you in, keeping you snugly in place. Distantly, you hear the sound of pots and pans clinking.

Shockingly, you’re not hungover. Well, not much at least. There’s a slight twinge in your head and a not unpleasant soreness in your hips. You dig around, finding your clothes strewn across the room haphazardly. Your underwear are nowhere to be found and you eventually give up with a shrug. They weren’t one of your best pairs anyway.

When you come out of the bedroom, you pause. Simon stands in the kitchen, working on something over the stove wearing only a pair of sweatpants. They hang loosely around his hips, showing off the rises and dips of his strong muscles and well defined waist. This scene somehow feels too intimate despite your activities the night before.

“Perfect timing.” Simon turns, placing a plate down on the kitchen island. The omelette before you looks immaculate, all the way down to a light garnish on top.

Your eyes turn to saucers. “You…you made me breakfast?”

“Course.” He nods sharply as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. As if *not* doing so would be some sort of affront. Either you’re still asleep and this is all a dream or you stumbled upon the perfect man through pure happenstance.

He turns the stove off and on and off twice before standing at the counter across from you while you sit on one of the stools at the island. It’s a comfortable silence as you both eat. Simon keeps glancing up at you as if waiting for your disapproval. Boyish, somehow, despite the size and breadth of him.

It’s perfect. The eggs practically melt in your mouth and the goat cheese and vegetables taste fresh. You can’t help but him happily as you eat.

By the time you’re done, you think you might be a little in love.

Maybe you should text Cass and thank her or something. Maybe a gift basket. “Oh. My phone’s dead.”

“Didn’t charge it before y’left last night?” Simon cocks an eyebrow, chewing on his last bite.

You snort. “It was last minute, remember?”

“What if I’d been some sort of psycho? What was your plan?” He grins as he takes your empty plate. If you were a more impulsive woman you may have gone so far as to lick the damn thing.

“Are you a psycho?”

“Not generally, no.”

“Well then, nothing to worry about.” You grin, watching a little too happily as he rinses down the dishes and loads the dishwasher.

Simon just scoffs at you.

You glance at the time above the stove, disappointment settling deep in your chest. “Shit. I should get going.”

“I’ll get you a cab.” Simon offers automatically, reaching for his phone.

You shift side to side, twiddling your thumbs. “Y’know… we never finished the movie…”

Simon cocks and eyebrow. From the pleased smirk on his face you can tell he knows what you’re implying. He still patiently waits for you to say it out loud.

“Would, uh, would you want to exchange numbers? Maybe… meet up… again…?” Your voice is more timid than you’d like. This fear of rejection is new. Being rejected is nothing new for you, so why does it suddenly feel so high stakes with this one guy you barely know?

You don’t miss the way his eyes light up ever so slightly at the question. “I’d love to.”

#simon ghost riley #ghost cod #call of duty #cod x reader #fanfic #fanfiction #ghost x reader #plus size reader #fat reader #reader insert #simon riley x you #simon x reader #simon riley x reader #ghost x you #smut #cod smut #reader insert smut #one shot #Ghost with OCD is my roman empire #he’s so much more well adjusted than I usually write him but it was fun #holly writes

[dirty-jammies]

Late Night Desires 🌙❤️

Astarion x Fem!Chubby!Reader x Halsin

(Reader is AFAB and is referred to with she/her pronouns and terms like "good girl". )

AN: Pure self-indulgent smut because I have Feelings about Halsin's fingers. You ONOW these two would just adore spoiling a cute plus-size princess~ Enjoy!! (Psst! There's a surprise at the end!!)

-~-

Your other party members have long-since fallen asleep, but in a secluded part of the surrounding woods, atop soft grass, you were giving your lover a midnight snack…

You hummed as Astarion’s lips pressed a gentle kiss to the column of your throat, the elf’s tongue darting out to catch the last few dribbles of your blood from the dainty puncture wounds on your neck. You sighed, the usual lightheadedness settling in and your lover pulled you to rest against his chest.

“Decadent as always, darling,” Astarion murmured softly, his arms cradling you close, “you're far too good to me.”

You hummed blissfully and let out a breathless laugh as those dexterous hands of his moved up the soft curves of your body, fondling your plush waist all the way up to your bosom, “Need anything else, my love?” You teased.

Astarion laughed in reply, “How did you guess?” Those hands set about undoing your shirt, flying flawlessly over the buttons and clasps, you watched him work with a smile. Lockpicking or lovemaking, Astarion was certainly masterful with his hands.

Your pale paramour must have noticed your gaze, as he smirked down at you as your shirt fell open.

“You want my fingers tonight, my lovely,” it was less of a question and more of him stating the obvious. Either way, you bit your lip and nodded, legs spreading almost subconsciously; your bloodlessness had rendered you docile and dumb - just the way Astarion liked it. Astarion grinned, bloodied fangs glinting in the moonlight that bathed the small grassy clearing you were in, “Such a good girl for me, already spreading your juicy thighs… lift your hips for me.” he commanded and you obeyed, him watching lecherously as he rolled your leggings down over the plump swell of your thighs.

Now fully bare to both the elements and your lover’s hungry gaze, you swallowed, excitement swirling in your heart and your loins. With your legs spread as they were, your arousal was on full display.

Astarion did away with his shirt as well, leaving his pale skin almost glowing in the moonlight. You saw his nostrils flare and his pupils dilated, “Oh, darling, do you know you smell absolutely divine when you’re like this, wet and desperate for me?” He spoke lowly, roughly, “I normally find your scent delectable, but like this?” He leaned down and kissed you, nearly growling against your lips, “I just want to devour you.”

You gasped as his fingers finally made contact with your core, easily sliding through your slick folds. You moaned and whimpered as Astarion played around your opening, circling your clit for a brief, bright moment before going back down to smear your slick around more. You opened your mouth, wanting to beg him to put those maddening fingers in you already, when a noise alerted you. You nearly missed it, quiet as it was, but both you and Astarion were perceptive enough to pick it up: a groan. Instantly, your heads turned to face the tree line, expecting an undead or a bandit.

What you didn't expect to see was a shirtless, seven-foot tall druid with his cock in one hand, the other clasped over his mouth, mortified.

You reflexively went to reach for your clothing to cover up, but you were stopped as Astarion finally plunged two fingers knuckle-deep into your pussy. You keened loudly and your head tipped back, feeling embarrassment war with your arousal at the needy sound you let out. You heard Halsin give another groan, muffled by his hand but still apparent, and you watched Astarion’s mouth widen into a grin. You moaned as he fluttered his fingers inside you, pressing upwards into the soft, spongy spot that made you whimper his name.

“Now, now, darling,” Astarion scolded you playfully and leaned back, putting your body on display for Halsin, “don't hold your voice back. Let our guest hear your pretty little screams.” he kept massaging that spot inside you and you gasped, writhing in the grass below your lover. You craned your neck over to look at Halsin, and you felt a jolt of arousal burn through your body at the sight of the normally calm druid bracing himself against a tree, mouth open and letting out ragged pants as he fisted his cock. His hazel eyes were darkened with lust and were focussed intently on where Astarion’s fingers were buried in your wet heat before they flicked up to lock with yours. Your lover kept up his pace, swirling his fingers inside you and prodding your sweet spot. He clicked his tongue, “This is fun enough, darling, but… what would you say to letting Halsin have a go at you?”

You couldn't answer, feeling yourself getting closer and closer to ecstasy. Astarion huffed and yanked his fingers out of you, making you whine.

“Please! Please…” you begged mindlessly.

Astarion lightly pinched your clit, “‘Please let Halsin come over here and fuck me with his massive fingers’?” He supplied for your sweet, speechless self, “I thought you'd never ask, darling.” You could barely hold back an excited smile.

Astarion curled one of his fingers towards Halsin, who put himself away (causing his leggings to strain over his bulge) and sheepishly approached the two of you.

“Forgive me for intruding,” Halsin spoke lowly, “I heard noise out here and wanted to make sure everything was alright.”

Astarion hummed and ran his hands over your spread thighs and soft stomach lovingly, “And once you deduced the source of the noise, you figured you would enjoy a free show?”

“It has… been a while,” Halsin admitted, kneeling next to Astarion and raking his eyes over your supple body, “May I touch you?”

You nodded and reached out to him, taking one of his large hands in your own, “Yes, I can’t lie, I’ve been wanting this for a while,” You guided Halsin’s hand to your chest, letting him feel your racing heart. You looked back at Astarion, who was watching Halsin’s hand slide down your chest with a filthy smile, “Both of you, touching me.”

Astarion laughed lightly and trailed his nails, sharp and ticklish, over your soft thighs, “Such a naughty girl we have, don't we, Halsin?”

“Quite,” Halsin rumbled, his large hands finding your breasts and he smiled at your moan, “What a wonderful body, so soft and sweet…”

“Isn’t she just?” Astarion cooed and helped maneuver you into a new position, leaning you back against his chest. His lithe arms wrapped around your body, “Her breasts, her stomach, these delicious thighs and her arse…” he listed, humming as he pressed a warm kiss to the nape of your neck. You could feel the hardness in his tight pants pressing against your cushiony rear, “they’re all exquisite. She makes me simply ravenous.”

At the praise and the two sets of hands exploring your body, you felt your arousal start to grow again. Halsin’s hands were huge, caressing your breasts gently and thumbing your nipples like a string instrument; you could tell he was holding back.

“You don’t have to be too gentle, Halsin,” you spoke, voice trembling as Astarion’s hands sank into your plush waist, holding you steady as he ground his covered cock against your ass, “You can touch anything you want, h-however you want.” Your breath was getting heavier, anticipation making you wet. Halsin seemed to sense it, his nostrils flaring as he took in your heavenly scent.

“So generous,” Astarion purred from behind you before nipping a fresh mark into your neck, a quick spot of cold amidst the warmth of their caresses, “Go ahead, Halsin, I want to see you ruin her.” The vampire’s voice was low and heated and you shivered in anticipation as Halsin's hands left your breasts to travel down your supple form.

“Your body is magnificent,” Halsin rumbled lowly, as if to himself as his hands felt up the soft swell of your belly, “like a Goddess of bounty and fertility…” he locked eyes with yours and you let out a soft moan at the sheer intensity behind his gaze.

Astarion purred and licked up the new blood he drew, “You want to breed her? I don't blame you, her body is practically begging for it,” his soft hands reached down and you felt heat rush to your face as he spread you open, parting the soft folds of slickened skin to show off your hard little clit and needy pussy to Halsin, “Open her up, she’s dripping for you.”

Halsin groaned at the sight of you and he bowed his head, almost in reverence. You could see a smile bloom on his face as his fingers played around your impossibly soft, pillow-like mound, fluffy with hair. It was ticklish and infuriating, it wasn’t enough.

“Please, Halsin,” you whimpered, squirming in Astarion’s hold before he bit you for your disobedience, “Ah! Halsin, your fingers…” you bit your lip and stilled yourself, hoping he would fill you up where you needed most.

“Start with two,” Astarion commanded and you could hear his smile, “she can handle it.”

Halsin nodded and you gasped in surprise as he leaned in to kiss you, full, slightly-chapped lips caressing your own tenderly. Your gasp turned into a loud moan as two of Halsin’s thick fingers slid into you. Astarion opened you up with two of his earlier, but Halsin’s were far thicker, they stretched your walls, eased by your natural lubrication, and you clenched around them needily. You whined into Halsin’s mouth as he gently started fucking his fingers in and out, slow and steady, making your hips grind down onto his hand. Halsin groaned and sucked on your tongue, spreading his fingers inside of you and making you moan.

“Silvanus preserve me, you’re hotter than a brushfire,” the druid panted, “and so tight and wet…”

“Isn’t she positively intoxicating?” Astarion shifted you so you were straddling Halsin’s lap. You instinctively wrapped your arms around Halsin and nuzzled into his neck. You heard the quick snaps of buttons being undone and you could tell Astarion was touching himself, watching his lover be pleased by another. The vampire groaned, “Give her another.”

Your eyes widened slightly, about to object as you were still getting used to two of those thick digits inside you, but all thoughts of stopping immediately left your mind as Halsin’s ring finger pushed into you and pressed firmly against your sweet spot.

“Oh, Gods!” You cried, voice high. Your eyes rolled back into your head as you were stretched further than you have been before. You could feel your pussy pulse around Halsin’s fingers and drool even more slick around them. It burned, but it was so good, “They’re so big…” you panted and put a hand on Halsin’s broad, hair-dusted chest.

“Is it too much?” Halsin asked, rubbing your back with his free hand soothingly. His fingers were still.

You shook your head, “No, it's good,” you looked up to him, all hazy eyes and warm cheeks, “Please, go on?”

Halsin smiled and took a deep, steadying breath, “As you wish.” He slowly withdrew his fingers until only the tips remained, and you whined at the loss before they slid back into you, making you moan again.

Slowly, he continued this steady rhythm, getting you ready, getting you wetter. You relaxed in his hold, taking in his scents of musk and cedarwood.

“Does that feel good, darling?” You heard Astarion purr from the side, “Oh, he’s treating you so well~”

At the praise, you felt the Druid's breathing hitch, and, gone as you were due to blood loss and lust, you picked up on Halsin’s apparent praise kink pretty quickly, “Yes~ Halsin, you feel so, so good!”

“You two will be the end of me,” Halsin chuckled and pushed you back to lay on the grass. His fingers curled upwards and pressed into your soft spot, making you cry out, “There we go, now we can both see you.” Halsin pressed one hand on your belly, appreciating the softness as he once again started moving his fingers.

This time there was no restraint, Halsin plunged his three thick digits in and out of you fast and deep, and you couldn't contain your noises. Sweet moans and whines as Halsin fucked you, stretching your cushy walls and using his palm to rub your clit on every inward thrust. Your head thrashed around, feeling yourself getting closer and closer to your peak. In and out, in and out, in and out…

“Fuck yes,” you heard Astarion moan, “Fucking give it to her, make her cum!”

Halsin was panting at this point, his other hand mindlessly groping every soft swell in your body; your jiggling tummy, your bouncing tits, your pillowy mound, everywhere. His arm was like a piston, filling you up and hammering you until, finally-

You screamed, back arching, body shuddering, clenching and squirting around Halsin’s fingers. Your hands fisted in the grass under you, toes curling. Your mind went blank as pleasure overtook you, feeling nothing but Halsin’s warm arms holding you steady.

“Shit!” You heard Astarion grunt, and you knew he had come as well. You could see him out of your peripheral vision wipe his hand clean on the grass next to him.

“There you go,” Halsin groaned, thrusts slowing the tiniest amount, fucking you through your orgasm, “there you go, good girl…” he took your face in his other hand, caressing your cheek gently, “Beautiful girl…” he pulled his fingers from you with a wet squelch, and you and Astarion moaned as he licked up your flavours from his hand.

You could do nothing but catch your breath with a smile, feeling lighter than air as you bathed in your afterglow. You looked up at Halsin, then over his shoulder as Astarion sidled up beside you two.

“Did you enjoy that, darling?” Astarion purred and wrapped his arms around Halsin’s broad chest.

“Yes.” Both you and Halsin sighed at the same time, making Astarion laugh, light and playful.

“Good to hear,” the vampire hummed and dragged his lecherous gaze up and down your plush, pliant body, “mmh… Halsin certainly did a number on you, didn't he, love? But we shouldn't make our guest go without,” he pouted, “that would be terribly rude.”

You sat up, letting out a little moan as you put pressure on your oversensitive, well-fucked pussy, “You’re right. Halsin,” you looked up at the druid, all doe eyes and soft cheeks, “what else can we do for you?”

Halsin let out a gruff laugh, “You’ve already been so generous, but,” he rubbed a large hand on your thigh fondly and turned to look at Astarion with simmering heat in his eyes, “I would enjoy just about anything you two have in mind.”

You and Astarion shared a dirty look. You had something in mind, alright...

AN 2: Polls??? In MY smut!? Lol I was a little stumped on just how to get Halsin off, so I figured why not get some reader interaction going and let y'all vote? Don't worry if I don't do your fav pick, I'm planning on writing loads more of these guys -w-

I hope you enjoyed! And don't forget that your comments mean a lot to me! 😚💕

#bg3 astarion #bg3 halsin #astarion x reader #halsin x reader #halsin x astarion #fat reader #chubby reader #female reader #Pajama Writes #Baldur's Gate 3 smut

[bimbosandbubbles]

Grip

Synopsis- JJK men who unknowingly have a deep attraction to your pudge. Men who just love your fat tummy!

Gojo

The man always finds himself zeroing in on your pouch of flesh—practically staring holes at it. It can come off as judgy or scrutinizing but it’s the opposite—admiration. He just loves when you wear form fitting clothing like a skintight dress or leggings—anything that shows your supple shape.

He loves when he can see the outline of its shape—the beautiful almost “U” like shape enchanting him. It’s so beautiful to him and so attractive to him. He just indulges in the fact that it’s so effortlessly plump—so kissable and touchable. So incredibly easy to press into and mold whatever shape he longs for.

“You’re so pretty,baby? Yeah you like how deep I am inside?”

Gojo has your legs pushed into your chest,chest heaving and faces constantly grazing each other as he pulls in and out of you. Even though he can see your pretty face,that he loves,his eyes immediately gaze down to stare at your tummy.

The rolls of your stomach are pushed together and layered on top of each other—and fuck it just looks so good to him. He purposefully pushes your legs back just see your flesh layer onto itself some more. He ignores your whines as he bends and plays with you for his unknown pleasure.

And pleasure he gets because by the time he’s done with you in that position,he’s came on your tummy three times now and he’s planning to make it a fourth.

Nanami

The man is naturally a provider, a person who feels a responsibility to take care of others. So with that huge part of his nature he’s naturally drawn to your softer features especially your stomach. Every time he returns home from his draining and tiring job—there you are in the kitchen making a meal full of love for the both of you and every instance,no matter how tired he is,no matter how much work he has to catch up on—Nanami’s hands always find themselves gripping the pudgy stomach.

He’ll stand behind you,hands kneading it and rubbing it ever so gently. He’ll listen you talk about your mundane activities that you don’t think really matter but he always listens. He hums and rubs you,each stroke and pinch of his fingers like a warm comfort. A comfort that always turned perverted and pleasurable.

“Did I say stop talking? I want to hear about your day.”

It’s hard to talk when his large hand is rubbing cool circles on your harden nipples through your thin shirt. Not only that but you couldn’t just talk normally when his hand is playing with your throbbing clit—caressing ever so soft circles onto the fleshy bud.

“Nanami—!”

“That’s right talk for me,be a good wife and just tell me about your day,m’kay?” You couldn’t get any words other than praising and chanting the man’s name. That’s when he removes his hand from your breast and goes back to gripping your pliable tummy.

All you can think about is the blissful sensation of his hand rubbing your clit and the loving touch of his extremities onto the excess above your pelvis. Oh yeah,Nanami just loves this everyday practice of his.

Yuji

The man always finds himself laying on your tummy—recapping his day and ranting about anything with you. He melts in the pillow like texture,snuggling into you—hands placed onto your stomach and tuffs of pink hair being the only think you can see while he just relaxes on you.

You could feel him occasionally kissing you through your shirt before he lifts it up and just starts sucking on the smooth skin. His rambles slowly turn into him forming hickeys on the fatty skin—the innocent conversations turned into pure concentration on the shapes he’s making with his mouth.

“Can I go down there..?” All Yuji needed was to see you breathlessly nod yes. He needs no more time before he pulls your panties to the side and latches his mouth onto your clit.

He’ll suck and suck—veiny hands making sure to rest on your belly,pretty brown eyes constantly watching you—eating up your wanton moans. You can’t help but grips the pinks tuffs of hair that barely pokes out from behind your plump belly.

Yuji won’t stop—not til his jaw locks,not til his whole mouth hurts. He’ll service you happily all while his large hands tease and grope your tummy. The extremities cupping the skin in batches—leaving a reminding sting of how hard he’s really gripping you.

His fingers will trace into your geography—pads of his pointer and his index mulling over your stretch marks and cellulite. He practically remolds your stomach—using it to still himself while he uses his grip to rut against the bed.

Yuji just loves melting into you and talking to you-always dissolving in the plush flesh that he so enjoys.

Geto

This man uses your tummy as a comfort—a place of safety and a feeling of home. He’ll normally be going over scrolls or whatever busy work always having you beside him—big hand reaching over to pull you closer to him,leaning down to grip the abundant flesh that sits above your mound.

But sometimes Geto doesn’t want to work. He wants focus on you and only you. He’ll start off by asking you to sit on his lap,saying he wants to be closer you—which isn’t a lie only a half truth. And you do,always. You press down onto him gently but of course your comforting weight is still felt—felt enough for Geto to fight back a groan. He doesn’t utter a word,only placing his hand on your tummy and continuing busying himself. He won’t talk to until he feels the squirming begin—that’s when he can have fun.

“If you keep moving like that my love you’ll have to deal with the consequences.” He warns. His warning makes you stiffen up—entertaining him with your automatic obedience. For awhile you stay still but can’t help but to rock back and forth. And that’s how you end up,still sitting on his lap the only difference being his warm cock sheathed inside you.

“You can’t distract me from my work baby,so no moving okay? Be a good girl for me and stay still.”Geto asks you to stay still—tells you to be good for him yet he’s the one who won’t stop touching you. His nimble fingers finding comfort in the doughy fat—he relishes in the push back your skin offers the more he digs in you. But what he loves even more is when he touches your fat mound,enjoying your sweet whimpers of momentary pleasure. He knows you want him to fuck—want him in your guts.

However he loves how your pussy clenches against his still cock—desperate for some attention. He cups your tummy and breathes in your scent—loving the self induced torture. Your warm pudge offering a anchor—some comfort for you.

REBLOGS ARE GREATLY APPRECIATED!!!

#anime x reader #chubby reader #smut anime #chubby reader smut #smut #jjk x you #jjk smut #getou suguru x reader #nanami x reader #yuji itadori #reader insert #gojo x reader #geto suguru #gojo satoru #nanami kento #fat reader #plus size reader #jujutsu kaisen

[ltbunny]

Soap grabs ur belly like a dog with its favourite chew toy, especially after a long day, holy shit, he will not let go. When you're lying down and he can climb on the bed and rest his head on your tummy, he feels like he's floating, don't let him stay for too long though, cause he will genuinely start gnawing on it.

"johnny, what are you doing. stop it."

"zzzzzzz"

"I can feel you biting, you little rat, don't try and act like you're sleeping!"

#he would also blow rasberries #chubby reader #fat reader #john soap mctavish x reader #johnny soap mctavish x you #john soap mactavish #soap x reader

[ccrites]

chokehold

listen, I've had this idea in my wips for a while (since the begnining of the year actually) and the fat reader worms have been wiggling in third gear with all the awesome stuff early ( @391780 ) has been putting out lately. So have 6.4k words of Soap being an absolute pussy eating freak but you know you love him

(also on ao3 if you prefer the formatting there, or if you want to drop a kudo)

.

The second the doors swing back closed behind you, you start feeling the scratchy feeling of doubt at the back of your throat.

It was predictable, really.

A small gym in a small town, heads turn when the hinges creak, not because they’re staring at you specifically, but because it’s a reflex.

Or at least, that’s what you tell yourself to keep the scratchy feeling from turning sour in your mouth. Or make you throw up from embarrassment.

Perhaps your New Year’s resolution should’ve been to start on a home gym type of situation. Buy yourself some girly weights, a mat, and some sort of stepping device, and do those easy exercises every slim, pretty, high-ponytailed YouTube instructor seemed to preconize people out of shape do. Like a hamster on a wheel inside their cage. A rat chasing its own tail, maybe.

No, you promised yourself no more fake promises. Perhaps the money spent on the gym membership (stupid fucking New Year’s promotion) would motivate you to use it, lest it’s just money down the drain. 

You wore the stretchiest, thickest pair of black leggings you owned, hoping no one would see the terrible shape of your underwear through it. On the opposite spectrum of things, you knew the largest hoodie you owned would smother you and make you boil with sweat, so you chose the next best thing: the widest black t-shirt you owned. It was definitely not black enough, the dye faded into a dark gray from use over the years, but it was the only thing that camouflaged your body enough from the others’ sight. God forbid they imagine what your body actually looks like underneath.

The heads pretty quickly turned back around as you started walking towards the empty treadmills. It couldn’t have been more than a second, but the combined weight of at least a dozen pairs of scrutinizing eyes would’ve been enough to make you turn on your heels and back to your car, fuck the membership price.

At the very least, you could convince yourself that walking in place (no better than a hamster on its wheel but oh well) would be enough to get you started. Baby steps, and all.

It doesn’t take long for you to realize the treadmill fucking sucks. Why would anyone suggest looking at a parking lot while suffering instead of the pretty scenery of a park or forest (while also suffering, but still).

The timer you’d set for the warm-up (ten minutes, just like the pretty blonde coach suggested!) crawls by way too slowly for your taste. You’d be all but whooping with joy when it beeps if you weren’t so out of breath and conscious of a gaze on you.

You’d seen him as soon as you walked in.

Between figures of balding men trying to get rid of their beer gut with abs, two thin women whispering to themselves in a corner while trying to look inconspicuous, and a few other, completely average-looking men and women, there he stands, eyes meeting yours in the mirror as he deadlifts an impressive amount of black plates.

He immediately looks straight ahead, correcting his stance, as if there were anything to be corrected, in your unathletic opinion. The muscles in his arms bulge even through the thin, grey hoodie, and the ones in his legs coil tight as the weight is lifted off the ground in a slow, controlled motion. Not even a grunt escapes his lips, at least no one you could hear from where you stood, completely mesmerized.

There was always something almost unappealing about overly muscled men. Their wife’s not feedin’ ‘em enough, your granny would grumble when passing by the rows of magazines at the checkout of the supermarket. 

Yet this man.

Yeah, he was muscled. But in a way, he looked… almost normal. Like he was built for strength, not necessarily vanity. Each bend of his legs, each twist of his arms…

You’d swoon if you hadn’t lowered your standards so low he’d trip on them. Accepted it a long time ago. Fats belong with fats, thins with thins, and if there’s a thin with a fat, either one’s getting fattened up, or the other’s getting dumped. It’s a self-fulfilling prophecy, and one you’d rather not be a part of.

You walk with shaky legs to the water dispenser, then get ready to grab the second to lightest weights to try some bicep curls.

You try to remember the positioning from the videos. Rotate in… or out? Should the wrists be like this? You go through ten repetitions on each side, before you think that you should’ve gone for the abs straight away. God knows there’s fat to burn there, and that the flab under your arms can wait.

You turn back from the rack and walk straight into a wall.

No, a chest.

Fuck.

“Sorry there, miss,” says a deep voice. You detect some sort of accent, unable to quite place it right away.

Your eyes run up, instinctively stopping for a second at chest level (holy heavens that’s a Chest with a capital C if you’ve ever seen one) before finally meeting that same pair of eyes you met a few minutes ago, through the mirror.

Double fuck.

“S-sorry, it’s me, wasn’t watching,” you stammer out, gesturing to the weights in a panicked way. “Just, y’know, switching exercises,” you sputter with a nervous laugh, like it was a completely normal thing to switch exercises after one rep.

He chuckles, and you really need to start planning your escape, because holy shit the way his pectorals rise and fall as his chest puffs up is getting a bit too much for your poor little humiliated self to handle, but he doesn’t let you as he speaks in a soft tone.

“I’m getting arms aren’t really your thing, eh?” he asks, not unkindly. Gosh, did it have to be a Scottish accent?

You can’t meet his eyes, they’re too blue, too piercing for your liking. “To be fair I don’t know what’s my thing yet, I’m just starting out, y’know?” you shift your weight on your legs, conscious of the size difference, and not in the way you wanted to be. Your neck is very warm all of a sudden.

He laughs again, like it’s the funniest thing in the world, and you almost want the floor to open up and swallow you whole, but the words that come out of his mouth are completely unexpected.

“Figured! A girl with thighs like yours, I’m sure you can deadlift more than me with just a lil’ training. I’m Johnny, by the way,” he adds in passing, as if offering his name is the least of his concerns. “You ever got someone to train you?”

You’re entirely unsure if you’re dreaming or not. Did this Scottish hunk of muscle really just offer to be your personal trainer?

“Never - uh… lifted anything, I guess. Just when moving, my couch and bed and all, but I had a friend help me.” You definitely feel like you’re oversharing and you’re struggling to ignore the weight of the gaze of the two thin women, burning through you as they whisper among themselves, when you realize you hadn't answered the second part. “Oh and, uh– no. I’ve never… trained. Been trained. It’s my first time in a gym since- a while. I don’t want to bother you.”

You finally look up at him, and you’re unable to read his expression. There’s a sort of curiosity, a fascination, that blends fast into a wide-eyed joy that’s so open, so sincere that it makes your head spin as he gently but firmly grabs your wrist and pulls you where his bar stands on the thick mat, ignoring your sputtering protests. “Not a bother at all, lass!” He lets go of you as he bends down and effortlessly racks the barbell, starting to remove plates as he continues. “We can start by measuring your max lift, then the one where you can easily do three reps, then we’ll hike it up till failure, so I can calculate your starting training weight!” he rambles on excitedly. You nervously shift on your feet, conscious of more curious gazes on you, but then he’s back in your bubble, pulling your attention towards him like a magnet.

His smile is like a blazing sun, and you don’t have the heart to tell him to prepare for disappointment.

He’s infinitely patient as he shows you how to place your feet, and the angle of your hips (oh, how you feel your knee weaken at the feel of his light tough through the leggings, nothing short of electrifying, despite being perfectly friendly), the hold on the bar. It’s all a blur till you find yourself bent over in front of him, looking in the mirror at your position and trying not to feel conscious of the way he’s placed behind you. Or let your mind wander in inappropriate places.

“Whenever yer ready, hen.”

You brace yourself, close your eyes for a brief second, wondering how the hell you’d landed on this planet, then breathe in, open your eyes-

The weight is in your hands. Not on the floor. You’re holding it.

You almost drop it when he cheers behind you, warm palms rubbing down from your shoulders to your elbows and back up. “Easy! I told you you’d be a natural! ‘S all in the legs and you’ve got awesome legs, bonnie! Let’s add twenty more.”

It’s a blur of racking and de-racking and lifting once and setting back, and redoing it again and again. You’re out of breath, sweating like a sinner in church, but you’re smiling along with him, finding yourself giving him double high fives, and doing small, excited jumps.

“Next one’s exactly my weight, if y’can lift that, I’ll be losing my bloody mind! D’you realize how well yer doin’ for a first-timer?” He says as he bends next to you, adjusting the bar for the next set of weights. With a wipe of his forearm over his forehead, he crouches slightly down, placing his head right above your shoulder and looking your reflection in the mirror straight in the eyes with a conspiratory grin. “Swear to God, if ye can lift it off the ground, I’m buying you the most expensive drink at the bar next door!” he says, grin blending into a blinding smile, too genuine for your own good.

He’s just friendly, just friendly, just friendly, you say to yourself like a mantra as you position yourself. He stands again to his full height behind you, hands ready under the bar, a safenet.

Deep breath in– hold it…

Slowly but surely, you lift the weight off the floor, your ears ringing from the effort. You see his lips move as he cheers you on, but the blood pumping in your eardrums makes it impossible to hear him. Suddenly, the weight is back on the ground and your feet are off the floor as you’re lifted in a tight embrace and spun around like you weigh nothing.

You yelp and flail but he’s holding you tight, face pressed smack-dab in the middle of your chest, between your tits, rumbling praises about your prowess while you’re trying to figure out whether this can be something that your brain is capable of summoning as a dream.

“Put me down, Johnny, oh my God, put me down!”

He thankfully complies but not before squeezing your ass tighter, and suddenly nothing feels real anymore.

“Jesus, I knew ye were perfect,” he says, pulling back reluctantly to rerack the bar and put back the weights. “I cannot wait to properly start training ye’ tomorrow, but for now, I have a promise ta’ keep, and, uh, let’s just say I wouldn’t mind using those strong thighs as earmuffs with this freezin’ weather. On the way back from the bar, what d’ya say?” he adds, wiggling his eyebrows with a crooked smile that lets you know he’s joking around. (Is he?)

You laugh with him and for a second, you forget what you were here for.

+++

The way to the bar is short. It was just a block away (Good for business, he jokes), but the conversation with Johnny made time really fly by. 

He seems genuinely glad when you tell him you’d decided to head to the gym not just as a New Year’s resolution, but trying to simply become a better you. There’s no condescendence, no talking down, no (God forbid) pity, just an overall nice interaction the whole time. He tells you about being on leave as a soldier (Medical leave, he specifies, a fucked up knee can work in a gym, but it’s a different story out in the field), you tell him about your studies and how that led into a “big girl” job that left you no time for yourself.

“But I’ve always been a big girl,” you feel the need to justify. “Just… gotten bigger as I stopped finding time to move. The desk and the laptop are pretty stationary,” you joke, still trying to make sense of why a man like him (broad, and tall, and strong, and… gosh, just perfect-looking) would even deign to accept being seen with you.

(It’s not a date, you dumbass)

“I happen to like big girls,” is what you don’t expect him to say.

Wait, what?

His blue eyes glue you to your seat, and you respond dumbly. “What?”

“I mean, why do you think I’d offer to train you?” he continues, placing his hand, big and warm over your thigh. It’s squished as you sit, wide and flattened in your seat, yet his hand covers a good amount, almost covering the whole width.

Your brain is short-circuiting but you have to answer something.

“Out of– uh… out of niceness?” you stammer out, feeling your insecurities climb back out of the hole they’d been sleeping in all this time, making you shrink even more, trying to cover yourself as if he didn’t see right through you with that piercing gaze. “To feel good seeing you be the reason I lose weight?”

He chuckles, squeezing your thigh as his head hangs down, almost as if to hide the smile that spreads on his lips.

“Strength training doesn’t work like that, bonnie.” He looks back up, and his eyes are blue, and wide, and so pretty, that you can’t find anything to argue back. “Ye’ think building glutes underneath that fat arse does anything but make it bigger?” He shifts, inching closer as he licks his lips and drops his voice lower. “Ye’ think growing your quads will make this,” he gives an even firmer squeeze, wiggling the fat back and forth, and you tense under his grip, but he’s got you pinned down, “any less wide and soft?”

He presses closer, and the booth has no escape room, you’re practically squeezed into the corner as he pushes his body against yours, bending to whisper lowly in the crook of your neck.

“I did not joke when I said I want yer pretty thighs wrapped tight around my head.”

You can’t be blamed when you don’t remember how you ended up in the back of a cab, Johnny barely taking the time to bark an address to the poor driver and throw fifty quid on the front seat before kissing you absolutely senseless, shamelessly groping your tits with a hand and wrapping the other around your thigh, squeezing you close.

You should probably think more about going home with basically a stranger, no matter how hot, but when he presses his entire palm against your cunt, cupping it over the quickly dampening pair of leggings that didn’t seem so thick anymore, you can’t think at all. He swallows your quiet moans, and hums contently against your lips, taking each gasp for air as an invitation to slither his tongue into your mouth. God, you’d forgotten what a good makeout session was like, and you can’t even find it in you to be embarrassed when you see the cabbie’s eyes in the rearview mirror, instantly looking away when you see him staring. 

Johnny doesn’t seem to mind either, and when he notices you looking in the front again and again, he crowds you against the door behind the driver with a huff, half-climbing over you until his knee is pressed against your core, and the only thing in your field of vision is him.

“Johnny,” you try to say, but it’s getting hard to think, with the way you’re being squeezed in a corner, this hunk of a man of pure muscle pressing against you like a weighted blanket, kissing you like you were a drop of water in the desert and he was a parched man drinking you for his salvation. You feel his excitement pressed against your thigh, and it gives you enough lucidity to try again. “Johnny,” you gasp out again, “aren’t we going a little fast?”

He laughs instead, choosing to focus on the side of your mouth, pressing fervent little kisses down your neck before starting to suckle the delicate skin over where your clavicle is. “I can go as slow as you’d like, bun.” He takes the spot an inch next to the previous one into his mouth and sucks again, this time more forcefully, marking you, and oh God you’re going to have to conceal it before work tomorrow, unless you can find a turtleneck to wear–

The cab driver clears his throat, and you notice that the car is stopped in front of a small apartment complex. Johnny says a cordial thanks as he pulls you out of the car and throws another twenty on the backseat, before wrapping his arm around your shoulders and taking all of the thinking out of the equation as he walks you to the entry.

His flat is pretty well furnished, all things considered, but he doesn’t give you enough time to observe the deco as he presses you against the door and slides his hand under your leggings.

“Got me starin’ at that ass the second you walked in, best fuckin’ thing I’ve seen in months, d’ye realize that, bonnie?” he breathes out against your ear as his entire palm cups your sex, and you can only whine as you press your forehead into the crook of his neck. “And by how wet this pussy is, I think you liked starin’ at me, too.”

“You are–” you say, but he curls his middle finger in, spreading your lips and spreading the wetness to your clit, making you choke on your words, “-very nice to stare at.”

“Yeah?” you hear the grin in his voice.

“Mmhm,” you nod, as he keeps the back and forth of his finger, never dipping in too far, just keeping you hungry for more.

“Then how’d ye like to stare down at me as I taste this wet cunt of yours?” he purrs in your ear as he stops moving completely, letting the words process.

Brain.exe has stopped functioning. 

Had you ever had a boyfriend willing to speak filth like that to you when you were down to do the deed, maybe you would’ve gotten enough practice to know what to answer something sensible and intelligible to that, but as it stands, all you can muster is a very dumb-sounding “Huh?” as you stare back at him.

And that, apparently, is the funniest thing in the world to him, because he dips his head down and laughs, almost like a boyish giggle. Not only does that not stop him from kneeling in front of you, but it also somehow gives him more confidence to keep talking like that.

“How about you look down into my eyes as I eat out your pretty little pussy and make you come around my tongue, how’s that sound?” His baby blues bear no trace of maliciousness, no trace of a joke, as his fingers hook around the waistband and trace it around your stomach. You have to make a very conscious effort not to suck it in immediately in preparation for the letdown, but he doesn’t pull them down yet, only moving his hand alongside the edge. Your silence as you try to process what is happening only seems to spur him on instead. “In fact, how about you close your eyes, I close mine, and you hold my head close as I devour you, would you let me do that, pretty girl?”

“I’m not-” you can’t think of any way to properly let him down, not when he looks up with such pleading eyes, so the words stumble out gracelessly. “I’m sweaty, you don’t wanna–”

But he interrupts as he pulls your leg closer by gripping your thigh and squishing it against his cheek “But I do.” He inhales deeply, and your own breath shakes at the sight of how blissed out he already looks. “God, I want it. Let me have this.”

A voice somewhere inside yells at you that this has to be some sort of weird fetish, and that he most certainly won’t be having the same aura of desperation around him tomorrow, when post-coital rationale shows up and he sees your body past the veil of lust, but for now, you think that getting some with Johnny cannot be that bad compared to any one of your past encounters. Might as well enjoy it when you still can.

You wrap your hand around the one he still has around your waistband, and see his face positively light up as you softly caress his cheek.

In the end, you’re the one that pleads.

“Johnny, please.”

Your pants are off you and your leg is over his shoulder before you realize what is happening.

The feel of his warm tongue against your slit makes any thought, any doubt, any fear positively vanish, and the content sigh that he lets out as he licks at you is the same sigh as finally removing a bra at the end of a long day, it’s the sigh of laying down carelessly onto a soft bed after standing up for hours, it’s the sigh of the first bite of the best meal a man has after starving for weeks.

It should be awkward the way his arm wraps around your thigh and sinks into the softness of your stomach, using it to pin you up as he uses his other hand to spread you out enough for him to work his jaw the same way he did when he was making out with you in the car… Yet it’s not. It’s natural, the way his hand squeezes you as he licks, and sucks, and kisses around your pussy, unhurried yet passionate, languidly but firmly, pressing his tongue in, licking around your lips, and maddeningly avoiding the place you wanted him to touch most.

“Johnny,” you moan as he grazes his teeth around your sensitive nub in response. You almost buck out of his hold, but he’s firmly keeping you in place. “Please, don’t tease.”

He hums in response and dives back in, eyes fluttering closed as he ignores your whines. Every time his tongue or lips graze your clit, he works his mouth the opposite way, holding your thigh harder and pressing his palm up as he counters your hip movements with a clever swipe of the tongue. It’s absolutely maddening. “Johnny, please!”

He chuckles as he pulls back, an obscene string of spit lengthening as he pulls back, only breaking when he runs his tongue against his reddened, swollen lips. “Thought ye’ wanted me ta’ go slow, bun.” His eyes sparkle with challenge, but you can also discern a veil of unhidden desperation, of waiting for you to give the go-ahead for him to let loose.

“I’m fine with faster–” you start, but the words dissolve into a barely restrained moan as he hikes your leg up more, getting you closer to him, and immediately singling onto your neglected clit.

His forehead rests onto your belly now, and if you had more than two functioning neurons you’d wonder how he is that he’s breathing, but his hums and moans let you know that he’s perfectly content burrowing his nose in your pussy, nudging at your clit with the tip of it as he licks you with all the dedication you’ve never been shown from a man of his caliber.

He builds it up, and soothes it down, knowing exactly when to put more pressure, or when to teasingly swirl his tongue around your entrance, or to lave broad strokes of his tongue, so much so that the knee that’s not hooked over his shoulder almost gives out on a particularly forceful suck of your clit.

“Easy there,” he groans almost petulantly, as if you’re interrupting him. “Can’t have you fallin’ over when I’m not done wit’ ye.”

“My legs are gonna give out,” you say honestly, trying to catch your breath and avoid having the perfect man at your feet steal it again. “You’re a bit too good at this.” He grins up at you, “Am I?” and you want to give you a playful swat, but instead decide on carding your fingers through his now disheveled mohawk. “Guess the mess on my face speaks for itself… Shall we take this to the bedroom?”

You throw a glance around the apartment, assessing your options. “Couch is closer.” His smile is blinding. “I like how ye’ think.”

It’s now the second time he surprises you by scooping your legs from under you and picking you up like he couldn’t wait any longer and that carrying you bridal-style was the only way he could think of moving you. You yelp out a protest but he swallows it with another hungry kiss, shamelessly smearing your own wetness over your cheek as he walks you both to the couch.

You sink into the cushions where he places you gently without so much as a grunt of effort, and oh God, there they are, the standards are rising.

You reach over to pull him closer as he straightens up, but he only gives you a peck on the lips in return, like he hadn’t been kissing you sloppily the entire time.

“Come back,” you whine, hoping you can get it done before he comes back to his senses, like they all do, but he just smiles and kneels between your feet, hands pressing your thighs apart. The squelch of your lips parting should be embarrassing were he not looking up at you like you were the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen, eyes full of adoration, like a child staring up at the full moon on full display on a clear night’s skies. Maybe you are his moon, his goddess, judging by the lust-clouded look directed at you.

“I did say I was gonna make you come on my face,” he says lowly, the gravel in his voice making you squirm as he places a trail of kisses up your thigh. “And I intend to keep that promise.”

With that, he dives in again, using his forearms to pin your legs open on the couch and his fingers to tease around where his tongue can’t reach. You mewl when you feel his tongue at your entrance, circling it around it briefly before delving in as deep as he could, his right hand stroking your clit rhythmically. The fact that he’s so good at somehow playing all your buttons like a maestro directing an orchestra has you thinking that he must be some sort of womanizer, some freak who does this kind of thing every night, but then his lips wrap around your nub and he gives a firm, long suck, and any restriction that you could’ve conjured up simply vanishes. Your thighs want to close around his head, but you can’t move under the iron grip he has on you.

You fist his hair more forcefully than necessary, and he looks up, wet eyelashes framing his beautiful eyes as he hums in response.

“Please,” you moan, and he hums affirmatively again, closing his eyes to focus on licking and suckling harder. He heard you, he simply doesn’t seem to care. “Johnny.”

“What,” he asks, voice muffled and why is this so hot? 

“I need… I need,” you whine, unable to string the words together, and desperately trying to buck your hips under him, for lack of strength to actually close your thighs how you want to.

That seems to get his attention, and he chuckles, before pulling back with a gentle kiss on your mound. “Guess you’ll have to keep tryin’, pet,” he sussurs, a condescending pat on your thighs before he dives in slower than before.

Oh, the absolute asshole. Now he wants you to work for it?

You think that doing the opposite, relaxing your thighs open and letting him go to town however he wanted would help, but he seems hell-bent on riling you up every once in a while, getting you closer and closer with each lave of his tongue over your poor, overstimulated clit, but never enough to actually push you over the edge.

After what seems like an eternity, and almost, almost starting to think that this was a mistake, halfway ready to let him do this thing before your hip starts to cramp up, you feel a finger nudge at your entrance.

“Fucking finally–” you start, ready to curse him out, but he’s faster than you can think in your blissed-out state, and he slides a second finger alongside the first one, immediately zeroing in on that spot that makes you go cross-eyed and buck under his hold.

“Thassit– there you go, pretty girl,” he murmurs against your clit, and oh, okay, maybe you were closer than you thought, because the rhythmic curl of his fingers doesn’t need to last long before you’re off like an arrow, back arching and thighs squeezing, coming harder than you ever thought was possible. If he were any less skilled at making you completely lose the ability to think, you’d maybe notice that you’d managed to close your thighs almost completely around his head, but he wasn’t, so you don’t, twitching helplessly in the aftershocks of the most wonderful orgasm a man had ever given you.

Limbs that somehow still belong to your body hang uselessly off the side of the couch, and you struggle to catch your breath. You blink lazily, noticing him smugly wipe his face with the back of his hand, his half lidded eyes not any less blissed-out than yours. 

You didn’t believe a man like this ever existed, until now. It aches that this might not be something that would last, so you make grabby hands at him, unable to find the will to speak just yet. 

He laughs softly and gently grabs your arms, kissing from your knuckles slowly up your arm, to the crook of your neck. The patience he has is almost inhuman, as he takes the time to let you regather your senses, matching the marks he made earlier on the other side of your neck. You cup your hand around his head in response, and he smiles at you.

“Ye’ with me, bun?”

“Mmhm.”

“That slow enough fer’ ye’?” He holds himself up, an inch fron your face, and you reach up to kiss him.

“I’m gonna kill you dead,” you mutter against his lips, and he chuckles.

“Let me at least fuck you properly, first,” he whispers, and you notice that he’s long since unbuttoned his pants. You barely get a view of the massive size of him over your belly as he holds himself in his hand, large palm not enough to cover the whole length of him as he strokes himself, angled in such way that his tip rubs against your clit on each downstroke. The word “Please,” is not even halfway out of your mouth when he sinks into you in one swift motion, the rest dissolving into a long, drawn-out moan.

“Fuck-” he grunts, “so tight, cannot believe it.”

He guides one of your legs to wrap around him, keeping it flush against his body with his elbow as his palm grips your ass tightly, the other holding him against the backrest, forearm near your head as he pulls you closer for a sloppy kiss as he starts rolling his hips. You moan into his mouth and he swallows them greedily, leveraging each trust of his hips with a pull with his hand, helping you move in tandem with him, readjusting when your thigh threatens to slip out of his hold. The slaps of his pelvis to yours should sound obscene, his hard muscles hitting against your soft, jiggly skin, but his groans into your mouth are like music to your ears, the fact that he’s vocal about it has you almost reaching your peak again in no time, but he seems to sense it, and slows down immediately.

You try to kiss him harder, but he makes a small noise of protest, muttering something that sounds vaguely like “no, let me, let me just–” and you want to ask what he wants to do, to help him, but he instead reaches down both hands to grab your hips and pull you off the backrest. You yelp as your ass suddenly hangs in the air, his cock speared inside you the only secure point as he pulls you halfway off the couch, but he directs you firmly, “Here, around me,” helping you wrap your legs tightly as he starts thrusting again, harder than before.

“Oh, God, oh God,” you flail around, but each thrust in pushes your back into the cushions, and he reaches behind his back to hold your feet in his hand as he presses his palm near your head for support, spewing more filth as he does.

“That’s it, hold me tight, squeeze my cock like ye’ almost squeezed mah heid off earlier, huh, bonnie? Show me what those thighs can do, fuck-”

Your whole body is jiggling with each thrust, and you don’t have it in you to even feel self-conscious with the way each time he fills you, the tip of his cock nudges against the spongey spot inside, making you mewl in tempo with his relentless rhythm.

“Johnny, Johnny,” you moan, and he bends over to kiss you again, swallowing his name like communion while you chant it like a prayer.

“Don’t give up now, bonnie, keep squeezin’, fuck, I can feel ye’, yer so close.”

You try to get some leverage with your upper body, trying to push yourself up the cushions, but his cock suddenly slips out of you as your thighs almost give out, and an apology is already halfway out your mouth when he kneels back down and burrows between your legs, tongue first with a rushed “Need ta’ taste us, fuck, both of us, together-”

One hand wraps around your hip and over your pelvis, reaching up to knead desperately at your stomach, to pull you closer or push you away, you can’t tell, the other pulling your lips apart to settle his entire lower face against your pussy firmly– before letting go as he starts humming.

Your thighs are free to squeeze around his ears, and he nods encouragingly as he keeps licking, and then you hear it: the sounds of wet stroking. You don’t see him fisting his cock, but you hear it, fast and desperate. As your hand tangles in his hair to pull him closer, and another hum– no, another moan vibrates through your core, it’s the last thing you hear before you’re absolutely gone, gasping out a curse as you tense up in his hold, trembling as you come.

It’s even more intense than the first one, and as you buck out of his hold, he stands up shakily, his hand moving faster and faster around his cock, the angry red of his tip at the same level as your face. You gesture for him to sit down, trying to signal to him that you want to reciprocate despite the post-orgasmic haze and exhaustion, but he shakes his head, and, seconds later, you feel warm wetness land on your belly and slowly trickle down as he moans your name when he comes.

You feel like you still have to give something back, and, when he slumps down next to you with a content sigh, you climb over to place a delicate kiss on the tip of his cock, letting out a huff of laughter when it twitches under your touch.

“Ye’ absolute menace,” he whispers fondly as he pulls you up and tips his body to the side to lie down, using his legs to push you up halfway over him, trapping you between his body and the cushions, yet protectively shielding you from falling over. You place another kiss on his stomach, and you see his abs tense under your touch as your warm breath moves his hairs as you hover for a second, before deciding to shift up and use his pectorals as a cushion. He hums softly as his arm wraps around under yours, reaching to pull the plaid off the back of the couch and settle it around you both. Ticklish, eh? That’s a piece of information best stored for later.

You’re still breathless, absolutely done for. God, best decision of your life, going to the gym. “Now what?” you can’t help but ask. It’s the same fear that always creeps up, the fear that he got to try out a fantasy, and now that he was done with it, he had no need to want to continue anything possibly serious. Not that eating a girl out on a first date, if you could even call it a date, was a sign of a one-night stand, you can’t help but feel awkward and insecure now that it’s all done, despite the comforting cuddle.

He chuckles in response, that same chuckle from earlier in the day, a What a silly question chuckle. Like he’d read into your thoughts and insecurities and found them absolutely laughable.

“Same time at the gym, tomorrow? I want you to squeeze my head off next time.”

“Next time, huh?”

He pulls your leg over his pelvis, trapping his still half-mast cock between his belly and the crook of your knee, hand firmly wrapped to shift you up, almost completely on top of him. When both of you are comfortable and you start feeling the tendrils of sleep pull you deeper, he gives a last, playful squeeze to your ass.

“Next time.”

#cc writes #soap #soap x reader #john soap mactavish x reader #fat reader #chubby reader #john soap mactavish x fat reader #pwp #call of duty #fanfiction #call of duty fanfiction #cod fanfic #cod #plus size reader #john soap mactavish #my man knows how to eat pussy and he ENJOYS it #ignore my attempt at writing his scottish accent i tried okay?

[3027960]

size kink with simon and his fat! gf

as a fellow fattie, it can be hard to imagine someone being bigger than me, but i think simon is exactly that

you're average height for a woman (anywhere between 5'2-5'6) but simon oh boy is he tall he's 6'2 right so he's got at least 6 inches on you, enough where he towers over you

AND not only that but he's broad and wide and just BUILT. i've been seeing a lot of irish rugby player tiktoks and i can only imagine simon is built like them: just hefts of muscle under a lil pudge. this man is built like a fridge.

his thighs are the size of your head (so are your thigh tbh) but his are pure muscle.

his stomach is a lil pudgy at the bottom but also he is just pure mass, the bed creaks when he climbs into it, he has to duck to avoid hitting his head on the doorframes in your apartment

and you LOVE IT, he can deadlift your weight and MORE, he can put away the food you cook NO PROBLEM, he's just a BIG BOY

#simon riley #ghost #simon ghost riley #ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #fat reader #plus size reader #chubby reader #cod #call of duty #cod mwii

[gatorlovebot]

nsfw. mdni. the audio erotia app mentioned is quinn, i highly recommend it.

cw: male masturbation

“no, that’ll be all for today, love.”

it shouldn’t make you stop in your tracks but it does. a familiar voice that somehow makes its way to you over the din of the grocery store. the petname is what gets your ears perked up first, you don’t hear love used too often in the upper midwest. but then you hone in on the accent, the all too familiar accent that envelops you in heat and lust while you’re alone in your bed.

but it can’t be him.  the owner of the voice that you listen to to help get off isn’t in your local grocery store, right? but then you allow yourself to survey your surroundings, trying to subtly pick out the lone Brit that has a way of making you wet just from his voice alone. you think you spot him at the deli counter, waiting for something to be sliced. he’s tall and dark, hair covered by a well worn dark blue baseball hat. 

you discovered “gaz” months ago online, scrolling through dozens of audios on the website before pausing on one of his boyfriend roleplays. you weren’t one to be attracted to accents, but his profile picture is what got you. it was a shot of his side prolife leaving you only able to pick out a few details but it checked all of your boxes. dark eyes. broad nose. full lips. 

the man in the little picture you look at while bringing yourself to orgasm looks an awful lot like the man stood just a handful of feet from you. you try not to make an audible noise of shook when you hear his voice again, “thanks, love, appreciate it.” there’s a tiny voice in the back of your head that tries to convince yourself that you’re crazy, that you’re just projecting, but you allow yourself this little victory. it was him. the man whose voice had you writhing against the sheets. the man who could have you laughing to yourself at his snarky little jokes and then have you moaning as he groans on and on about your soft thighs and big fat arse. 

but now what were you supposed to do with this information? it’s not like you could approach him, what would you even say? you virtually know nothing about him, he doesn’t have any social medias linked to the audio erotica website. you’ve always figured gaz was some sort of nickname. but now you can at least see he dresses well. his dark trousers fit him quite nicely, the material stretching over his thighs. his dark leather boots shine against the fluorescent lights and he’s wearing a soft sweater that stretches against his shoulders. and he’s nice to service workers. 

you try not to melt on the spot. 

you’re knocked out of your gleeful reverie when he turns away from the counter, dropping his deli item into his basket. the giddy, little smile that had graced your lips falls from your face as his gaze meets your’s. your body goes hot with embarrassment and the only thing you can think to do is quickly turn to the display next to you and pretend to be seriously considering the items on the shelves. out of the corner of your eye you see him approaching you and as you reach up to blindly pull an item off the shelf, not even knowing what it was but pretending to read the nutrition facts and ingredients on the back, something you normally never do. 

you smell him before you feel him, inhaling a waft of spice with a hint of sweetness that somehow fits him so well. you think he’s just about to pass you buy but instead he stops just a pace behind you, reaching over you to grab something off the top shelf. “pardon my reach, love.” he husks, a hint of a smile so clear in his voice. he knows what he’s doing. 

your rattled mind can’t come up with an appropriate response because all you can think is it’s actually him. he slinks off behind you and you take a deep, grounding breath before walking off in the opposite direction. the grocer isn’t that big so you quickly make your way through the rest of the store grabbing your last few items with your head down, trying not to make anymore eye contact with the hot stranger that you’re intimately too familiar with. you luckily make it through self checkout without seeing him again.

-

after a few long days at work you almost have been able to put gaz out of your mind completely. you wake up at the crack of dawn, run yourself ragged at work, and when you get home from you barely have the capacity to feed yourself. you usually make time for self care late at night with the help of a smooth british accent but the last couple days you’ve been avoiding the website altogether. you tell yourself it’s just because you don’t have the time or the energy for it, but you know deep down the embarrassment of him catching you at the grocery store is still lingering. 

and the thing is that it realistically shouldn’t be all that embarrassing. he can’t know that you know him, can’t know where you know him from. but it somehow ot felt like he did, the little smirk he gave you when he caught your eyes ogling him, the way he reached over you, his body pressing against you for just a moment. but he didn’t, he couldn’t have known. but you know. you know the way his voice sets your stomach on fire, you know the way his voice gets you to do things to yourself you never thought you would, the way his voice gets you begging and moaning in the darkness and quiet of your own room. 

you finally break down days later. work keeps wearing you down, but you’re past the point of being dejected and exhausted, today you come home from work huffing and irritated. when you finally lie down to sleep in the early hours of the night you realize that your restlessness is going to keep you up all night. you ignore the pit in your stomach as you finally reach for your phone, swiping it open and scrolling to the app that you’ve been avoiding for days. 

you scroll through all the new audios, none really piquing your interest. you knew that there was going to be something new from gaz but your stomach still jumps when you catch his profile picture. you haven’t looked at his profile since the grocery store disaster but yeah. that’s the guy. something settles in your stomach as your finger clicks on the new audio. the audio description and tags catch you off guard.

I just can’t stop thinking about her. 

[M4F] [Ramblefap] [Unscripted] [Masturbation Noises] [Direct To Listener]

you’re clicking on the play button without even thinking about it, gaz’s voice quickly filling the room. and again, it’s just another confirmation, the voice coming from your phone was the same voice from the grocery store. fuck. 

“i usually don’t do audios like this,” and he doesn’t, his audios are usually scripted roleplays. sometimes he’s pretending to be your boyfriend, sometimes he’s pretending to be a friend who's harboring feelings for you, and he has an affinity for pretending to be a vampire during october. he’s quite a talented writer, his dialogues always coming across as authentic and immersive in the scene. but right now his voice sounds almost a little shy? like he’s not sure about what he’s doing. it’s cute, you have to admit, a man who usually seems to be confident in whatever role he’s playing, sounding so unsure of himself as he’s being himself.

“but, i’ve just had someone on my mind for days and every time i sit down and try to write a new script it just turns into her.” lucky broad, you can’t help but think. “so i just thought i’d get it out of my system. well, until i see her again and then it starts all over again.” he cuts himself off with a little laugh and it makes you feel warm inside like you usually do while listening to him. he wasn’t the most personable person on the platform, he used a nickname and didn’t have any pieces of his actual identity attached to his account but he always let little nuggets of his personality shine through whatever audio he was recording.

you hear some rustling in the background of the audio and your mind is supplying a visual of him now, much more detailed and accurate than prior to seeing him. you imagine him laid out on his bed, body long and lean against dark bedding, maybe something blue like his hat. “i should probably start by admitting that i did a bad thing. i know i sometimes pretend to be your sweet and attentive boyfriend, but sometimes i do things i shouldn’t. bit of a bad boy, i fear.” there’s that laugh again, a cheeky little thing. you can tell from his voice that he’s getting more comfortable with this unfamiliar format. it makes you relax, too.

“ran into a soft, pretty thing while i was out at the shops the other day.” you almost don’t hear the click of a cap over your brain malfunctioning, presumably lube with the sticky sounds that follow. it must just be a coincidence, right? he must be talking about some other fat girl he met at the shops, right? “felt a pair of eyes on me while i was waiting at the counter and found her eyeing me up.”

he sighs a soft breath, the slick sounds of his hand on his cock picking up. your arousal is secondary to the dumbfounded amazement you feel at each word he says. “she seemed a little embarrassed that i caught her staring, but i was flattered to have such a pretty thing looking at me like that.” 

you keep trying to convince yourself it’s just a coincidence because things like this just don’t happen. there’s no way that the hot guy from the grocery store is the hot british guy from your audio porn. there’s no way. “her arse looked fucking incredible in the jeans she was wearing and i just, sometimes i can’t control myself around an arse like that. i got up right behind her, and i know you’re not supposed to do that but - fuck- i just needed to get closer.”

his words aren’t as smooth anymore, his voice isn’t as humorous, instead it’s dripping with his usual heat. you almost don’t want to continue listening, almost too nervous to hear any more details, but you can’t get yourself to hit pause. “she was just standing there so i made like i had to reach around her to grab something. sick little thing for me to do, but fuck did it feel good to be that close.”

it’s like your mind turns back on and you’re able to hit the pause button, going further to swipe out of the app entirely before burying your face in your pillows. you were so fucked.

#gator.writing #kyle gaz garrick x reader #kyle garrick x reader #kyle gaz garrick #fat reader

[soapskneebrace]

imprimatura

muses - part one - next

Pairing: John "Soap" MacTavish x f!Reader Word Count: 2.8k Rating: Mature (mostly Soap being Soap) Warnings: please see this post for notes about this reader character Also on Ao3.

An artist meets her muse, and a solider meets his.

He arrives early as you’re setting up for your students, in jeans and a tight t-shirt, and the first thing that crosses your mind when you lay eyes on him is Jesus, he’s fit. 

You are no stranger to bodies. Hundreds of them have cycled through your studio, all shapes and sizes and colors; you think you may know every dip, every roll, every hard angle and soft curve that a human body is capable of holding. The mystique of defined muscle has long lost its novelty. Bodies are bodies, and each holds the same value as the next when subject to brush and canvas. It never matters, you teach your students, what a body looks like in the modeling chair. It only matters if they can reproduce it accurately.

Even so, when a body like this walks in, you really can’t help but take notice.

Decadent muscle, fed and worked well, round and full with hydration. It’s impossible to miss, even through his clothes; each group delineated clearly, gracefully, as if sculpted rather than built, and alive with soft, subcutaneous movement. It’s indulgent to look at, the comfortable breadth of his shoulders and chest down to that slight taper of his waist and bulk of his thick thighs. It’s a physique no hard-bodied gym rat could hope to achieve merely with extra time at the racks—a physique that is easily, harmoniously attractive in its makeup of muscle and healthy fat.

The man is also mohawked and suntanned, and his mouth rests at an angle that suggests he often smiles—as if he knows that Michelangelo would have swooned at the sight of him. He comes into your classroom, saunters over to you, and stops precisely two paces away from you.

“Sergeant John MacTavish,” he says, offering his hand. “I understand you’re the instructor?”

He has gorgeous, vivid blue eyes (pthalo and cremnitz, with a touch of hamsa). You blink several times. Fit is still rattling around your skull, and begins knocking against sergeant at the same rolling frequency as his warm Scottish brogue. You realize his hand is still outstretched and quickly take it to shake.

“Yes!” you say. His palm is tough, callused, and not soft in the slightest, but very warm. “Nice to meet you, sergeant.”

He gives a grimace. “John’s fine. Or Soap.”

“Soap?”

“Nickname, y’know.”

Neither of you have released from the handshake. Soap’s grip is firm, the kind of firm that suggests he can squeeze much, much tighter if he needs to. And if the grip isn’t any indication, the broad forearms, dusted soft with dark brown hair, certainly are.

Black lines, a sword and helmet framed in laurels, catch your notice. The ink has the soft edges of having lain in the skin for a few years. You turn his arm to see it more fully. “Oh. Nice tattoo.”

He looks at the ink as if it is entirely new to him, and then gives an easy grin. “Thanks. I’ve got a few more too. Hope they aren’t hard to draw.”

When you loosen your grip on his hand, he releases you immediately. You still feel the squeeze in your bones even as you drop your hand to your side.

“So, then, Soap,” you say, “have you ever modeled before?”

He shakes his head, tucking his hands into the front pockets of his low-slung jeans. It tugs the waistband just a bit, revealing a sliver of warm, tan skin (raw sienna, flesh ochre, naples yellow). “Should have, honestly, with how much it pays.”

“It gets very boring, very fast,” you say. “What do you plan to wear for the breaks?”

“Was I supposed to bring that m’self?”

You are unable to suppress a laugh. “Yes, unfortunately.”

“Oh,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck and going a little sheepish—as if expecting a reprimand. You suppose it’s a valid expectation to have, in his world. You aren’t terribly familiar with the military, but you do know it’s one hell of a stickler for rules.

You also can’t help but admire the appealing pull and stretch of his bicep and deltoid, the flex of his pectoral as he lowers his arm. 

“Why don’t you wait here, and I’ll go see if I can find something for you?” you suggest kindly, letting him off the hook.

“Sorry,” he says, pretty blue eyes filled with genuine apology. “I’ll remember nex’ time. Thanks.”

The expression is so hangdog that you almost want to pat his head and noise at him reassuringly, like an actual dog. You press your lips together to hide a smile, and leave the studio.

When you get back from the models’ changing room, you find Soap with one hip against the counter where you’d been organizing your supplies, one knee loose and shoulders set at a relaxed angle. You want to laugh at his easy contrapposto. He’s going to be an excellent model. You can feel it. 

It looks as if he’s moving around the sticks of vine charcoal with one outstretched finger; he pulls his hand guiltily away when you reenter the studio, crossing his arms over his chest as if to hide the evidence of his snooping. It makes his pectorals bunch and round out, gathers the thickness of his biceps up into chiseled, full definition.

You lift one brow at him as you walk over.

“Never could keep my hands to m’self,” he admits, still sheepish.

“It’s alright,” you allow, smiling back. “Do you draw?”

“Used to,” he says. He looks back at the charcoal. “No time, now.”

“Are you deployed often?” you ask, taking the opportunity to look at his face. 

Beauty is cheap in art, but you notice it all the same—appreciate the strong brows, the hard angle of his jaw, the dark stubble of a beard you suspect he can’t keep shaved down, and the long scar that cuts through it across his chin. The light brown of his complexion is speckled with sun exposure, and there are the faintest of creases at the corners of his eyes, which you expect will deepen into genuine, gorgeous crow’s feet as he ages.

He’s not all rugged, though. There is a soft, thick curl to his lashes, which are as dark as strong coffee or expensive chocolate, and an equal decadence to the pink, plush little swell of his bottom lip—which, in the very middle, has the smallest of divots, as if he regularly spends time biting it. 

They’re traits that are far too sweet to belong on an otherwise masculine face, and their effect is such that they turn an objectively average set of features into a shockingly attractive portrait—that suddenly has something fluttering, just a bit, in the roof of your stomach.

He looks at you, and catches your survey. You can see him realize you’d been watching, the knowledge of it blooming in ocean blue eyes like ink dropped onto linen.

“More often than no’,” he answers, showing teeth in a crooked, interested grin. And now he’s looking at you—attention flitting across your face, dropping down your body and jumping back up to meet your gaze. The creases deepen at the corners of his eyes.

The fluttering intensifies. The sudden role reversal has you feeling at once flustered and unmoored. You are never the subject of any perusal—always comfortably the observer.

“Well—” you try, and you’re embarrassed at the low tone of your voice. You clear your throat. “Well, let’s make use of the time we have you, then.”

His smile remains, cocksure and easy. “Let’s.” 

He knows the effect he’s had.

“Anyway,” you say, blinking several times and proffering the sheet you’d retrieved, “none of the other models are your size, so I’m afraid this will have to do.”

He takes it in his hands, which are sun-dark and striking against the clean white linen. “So it’s a toga, then?” he asks.

“Whatever you like. Let’s go over the basics, and then you can undress.”

“Oh, already, aye? Y’move fast, hen,” he drawls, still grinning. “I like it.”

Heat rushes to your face, but you don’t feel embarrassed enough not to laugh. You busy yourself with tapping your charcoal sticks back in place, putting them back in an even row ascending in order of length, and saving yourself from having to look him in the eye. “Ha! We don’t do a lot of foreplay in this studio, I’m afraid.”

“No?” Soap hums, and he steps closer. He’s very warm, enough that you can feel it even with the space between you. You do have to look at him then. His eyes are half-lidded, lashes casting pretty shadows on his cheekbones as he gazes down at you. “That’s a shame. I’m right partial to it.”

Your brows lift, and you will your pulse to remain steady even as you inhale, catching a thread of—cologne? Aftershave? Just plain deodorant?—coming off of him. The scent caresses you, almost beckoning you to lean forward. You swear you can see the thrum of his heartbeat, there in the soft hollows by his Adam’s apple.

You blink. He is your model. “Well—I’ll try to set you up as best I can, anyway. Follow me, please.”

And you turn your back on him, because this is your workplace, and you are at work, and if you don’t get on with things you might do something stupid like actually flirt back.

Soap hadn’t been sure what to expect when he arrived at the art studio. He’s never been to one before, much less one housed in a university—which he has also never been to—and hell, he only ever took one art class in high school.

If pressed, he’d have imagined old brick walls covered in diagram posters, shelves of supplies in all colors, the smell of paint hanging permanently in the air. What he finds instead is modern, clean, and impersonal. Stage lights hang from fixtures in the ceiling, pointing at a platform in the back center of the room. A tight line of easels, all folded up, stand pressed into a far corner, next to a tower of stacked chairs, and waist-high cabinets line half the room against the bare, painted cinder block wall. The linoleum floor looks new.

None of this, however,  has any opportunity to disappoint him. His final unmet expectation, standing across the room and organizing a tray of art supplies, is a very welcome surprise.

You’re bonnie. Like, every point on his wishlist bonnie. Christ, he must’ve done something really good lately, because he can’t imagine just lucking into this. There’s not a hard angle to you, all sweet and soft, but when you meet his gaze during introductions there’s a sharpness to you that skewers him through the chest. You are much smarter than him, he can tell immediately. 

He’s always had a thing for smart women. Soft ones, too.  And if that weren’t enough, you let him flirt shamelessly with you, while checking him out the whole time.

Steaming Jesus.

You direct him to get onto the platform and sit down, still clothed, in an armchair draped in another pristine white sheet. The stage lights are bright overhead, and they highlight free-floating wisps of your hair in gold. 

“You want to ensure that you don’t rest your weight on only one or two points,” you explain. You have a nice voice. Steady, confident—this is your territory, your studio, and in it you are clearly the master. “The main danger is that your arms or legs might fall asleep, and you won’t realize it until you get up, in which case you’ll fall. We can’t touch you, so we can’t save you from that.”

“Y’canna touch me?” Soap repeats.

“Not without your explicit consent,” you say.

He smiles at you, the kind of smile he saves for bright nights at the pub over platoons of shot glasses. “I explicitly consent to you touching me.”

The corners of your mouth tug upward, just a bit, and you look away, clearly bashful. Something in Soap’s chest starts beating a drum. He knows already he’ll ask you to drinks after the class ends tonight.

“I doubt I’d be able to do much,” you say, “you’re a bit more substantial than the usual models.” Your eyes flick down his torso and back up.

“Guess I’ll have to follow your advice, then,” he says.

“You should,” you say, and he looks at your thigh shamelessly as you pat it—even beneath your jeans, he can see the ripple of the impact. “One of the worst-case scenarios is nerve damage.”

“So you have done this before!”

He can’t help it—Soap’s imagination runs wild. Titanic, draw-me-like-one-of-your-French-girls wild. It’s not exactly polite to imagine a teacher naked while she’s in the middle of giving him directions (and Jesus, what a concept, he might be half-mast already), but Soap has always found that people like it when he’s a little rude.

You drum your fingers. “I have.”

He finally hears the nerve damage part of your instruction. “How, uh—how bad can it get?”

The drumming stops. “For me? It just starts to twinge a bit if I sit on this side very long. So don’t rest your weight all on one hip, yeah?”

Concern assuaged that he had not ignored your genuine pain in order to objectify you, Soap grins. “Yeah.”

“Good,” you say. “Also—even if it doesn’t hurt, Soap, you can stop at any time, okay?”

That has him blinking. “Kinda defeats the purpose, doesnae?”

You shake your head. “It doesn’t matter. This is your first time modeling. You don’t know how you’ll feel, sitting here with your clothes off and everyone looking at you. If you need to stop, I want you to stop. I’ll make sure you’re paid anyway, so don’t worry about that.”

You are…so serious about this. The line of your brows is furrowed, imploring, like a little discomfort on his part is a violation of the highest order.

“Sure,” he says, a little dumbstruck and mostly lying. He’d be a rubbish soldier if he tapped out of a little thing like sitting down, but it’s nice that you care.

You purse your lips, nod, and then move onto the task at hand, stepping back and then down off the platform. When you begin to survey him—gaze flitting up and down his body, more pensive than appreciative—he has to resist the urge to flex.

Instead he watches you as you look at him. He especially likes, he decides, the slope of your nose and the smart, serious press of your mouth. You could get him all turned around, he thinks, if you gave it half a try.

Your tits are also great, but that’s by the by.

“Try resting your elbow up a little higher, and twist at the hips a bit,” you instruct, and Soap obeys. “Hm. How would you feel about crossing your ankles?”

You continue like this—nudging him in directions he doesn’t think make all that much of a difference, standing in different positions around the room to check the angles. He half-wishes he could step out of his body and join you, curious as he is about what you’re seeing, what your students will see. He’s not sure he has any clear expectations for how the class will go, but if you’re any indication, it’ll be more fun than he expects.

“Not sure if I’ll remember how to get back into this,” he says, partly to be helpful and partly to get you to talk to him again.

“I’ll help you, don’t worry,” you say. “Okay, I think that’s a good one, you can move now—I’m going to start setting up, the students should be here any minute.”

He stands, and you turn away to collect your supplies, so Soap figures this means it’s time for him to strip. He pulls off his shirt and drapes it over the chair’s arm, unbuttons his pants and shoves them down to his knees.

“Soap!”

He freezes. Then he looks at you. You’re blushing again, deep and saturated, mouth parted in surprise and hand pressed to your chest. He does not miss the quick flick of your gaze down his body; he’s probably violated some rule or another of the studio, but he can’t help but grin.

You’re adorable.

“Gotta happen eventually, right?” he says.

You cover your face with your palm. “I was going to leave the room first!”

“First time someone’s wanted to run away when I’m takin’ my clothes off, I won’t lie—”

“You just come get me when you’re done!” you say hastily as you beeline for the door. “I’ll be right outside!”

Soap chuckles a little when you’re gone, the door slamming mortified behind you, and folds his clothes up behind the armchair he’ll be sitting in. You’re so cute. He can’t wait to sit naked for you for the next three hours.

And he’s definitely asking you out for drinks.

Author's Note: THE PROMISED FIC. I really hope y'all enjoy this one, I've been teasing it since March and I have so many plans. This fic has a special place in my heart because it's drawing heavily from my college days--my bachelor's degree is in fine arts, and I have a lot of fond memories of many hours in the studio both as a student and as a model.

I expect this series will also have a looser timeline than my Neighbors series, so I'm open to suggestion in terms of scene ideas! I already have plenty, but if I know my mutuals, y'all might have some good ones as well. No promises I'll write them, but you never know.

Thanks everyone for your patience, and I hope you'll look forward to where this fic goes!!

#soap x reader #john soap mactavish x reader #soap x you #john mactavish x reader #soap mactavish x reader #soap mactavish x you #size neutral reader #autistic reader #neurodivergent reader #fat reader #chubby reader #plus size reader #cod x reader #cod x you #mw2 soap #mw2 x reader #mw2 x you #og post #gotta get a better tag for all my original stuff #muses

[cometkenji]

the warm spot at the bottom of the stairs

Pairing: Ghost!Spencer Reid x Chubby!Fem!Reader CW: Fluff, Mild Angst, Soulmate AU, reader has dreams, mentions of sex/masturbation, mentions of death, cursing, reader feels like she knows him but they've never met, let me know if I missed anything please! Summary: After inheriting your grandfather's estate, you fall in love with the man from your dreams. He just so happens to be in your house, too. Disclaimer: Reader is always written with a chubby/bigger person in mind but in this she's literally not described aside from the fact that she has hips, a stomach, and legs on her body. WC: 9k (this is what happens when you let a man cook) This fic is genuinely my baby. I love soulmate aus with all my heart and soul and also love the dynamic of falling in love with a ghost. Enjoy this please, I tried <3

You swore the heat radiating off the sidewalk was enough to melt the soles of your shoes down to liquid. The sun was unforgivably angry today, glaring down at the world like it had a score to settle. You were less than thankful, as the death of your grandfather had stolen any desire you once held for warmth. The brutal dichotomy of the cold pit sitting in your stomach and the burning heat of the day only added to the sour taste in your mouth.

This house was fucking huge. 

You had no idea how your grandfather managed to hide such an enormous investment from everyone in his life but he’d managed the task seamlessly. Nobody even knew what he was giving you at first. The reading of the will and testimony left nothing but confused relatives until they had found the address that marked the estate. Some were jealous of you, some were confused, some even asked if they could come live with you once you got settled in. You had been absolutely floored when you learned he’d given you a house. Being fresh out of university, you were moving on to grad school while simultaneously preparing yourself to live with your mother until you could afford anything besides student debt payments. 

Now though, you had a castle, with no clue why a house this big was given to you of all people. You were your grandpa’s only grandchild and were by far one of the least deserving of such a generosity. Sure, you were close, but never abnormally close. You talked once a week on the phone and were glued to his side at family gatherings - but he saw your aunt everyday, and spoke with your mother much more than he ever did you. Was it pity? Maybe he saw this as the only plausible way of you escaping the fate of leeching off your mother. Hopefully he didn’t think of you so lowly. 

You mentally cursed at the dull ache in your legs that persisted even after stretching. You had been driving all day with a car packed full of stuff that needed to be hauled into the house, and only yourself to move said stuff. You said a short plea in your head to not let the pain hinder your speed and began walking into the house to view the inside. The estate was isolated, huge fences of greenery surrounded the place, adding to the pleasant sight of budding flowers throughout the front yard. Even without the towering hedges, though, the nearest neighbor was miles away. Great, you thought. Any concerns of your car being robbed while you were gone were extinguished as quick as they came, but you locked the car regardless. Force of habit. 

The heat was only lessened slightly when you reached the interior. You made a mental note to get the A.C. turned on, no way a temperature like this was a liveable one. You’re sure the numerous floor-to-ceiling windows were the culprit. They were excessive. Beautiful - of course - and you were thrilled at the amount of light they let in, but you could basically see the heatwaves permeating through the stained glass. Your eyes caught on the odd choice. The slightly colored glass making the mansion feel mildly like a church, the thought coming to you quickly and stripping any of the minimal comfort you held moments prior. That’s weird, you thought. Your grandpa had never been particularly religious. He was a man of faith - said grace before dinner and thanked Jesus for every day he lived, but never to this extent. He was rather progressive for a man his age.

The kitchen could have easily fit a team of 12 and you wondered if there had been staff at one point. There was no sign of any employees, and you prayed there weren’t any left working. The last thing you wanted was more responsibility in your life. You took your time walking the house, marveling at every painting and polished chandelier that was now an asset of yours. The house was gorgeous, you’d give at least that much to the old man. The centerpiece, of course, was the large spiral staircase leading to the second floor. As large as the house was, it held only two stories. Getting it’s square footage from length, rather than width. It was equally as glamorous as the house it resided in, however it filled you with a certain devastation you couldn’t place. As though your most primal self rejected the idea of it. That’s silly, you thought. You wanted to go upstairs, you were definitely not avoiding half of your house because a couple of your neck hairs stood at attention. The only real peculiarity was the heat pooling at the very bottom of the staircase. The kind of heat that seemed to thread itself into you, intertwine itself with your very being. The rest of the house was cold and accusatory, if your grandfather ever did live here, any of his warmth was flushed out by his death. This was the only spot in the whole house you felt calm, cared for. You could bask in it, weirdly fascinated with the little pocket of humanity that sat there. 

It was more difficult than you’d expected to pull yourself out of it, and you could have sworn you felt arms trying to pull you back in. Ten minutes into your new life and you were already on edge. Negative feelings didn’t seem to penetrate the spot at the bottom of the stairs, so you physically felt the wave of unease when it struck you upon exiting. The upstairs was creepy. The abundance of windows was apparently only a trend on the first floor, as the second floor held dark, dim hallways. The whole thing, it seemed, was lit up by ancient lamps that lined the walls. It reminded you of the Shining, and you wondered briefly if maybe your mother would let you move back in. There was a bedroom right near the staircase, and you decided it would be yours. It could have been the smallest one for all you knew, the only thing you cared about was a quick escape if such a thing was needed. Something about the house put thoughts like that at the front of your mind. 

You don’t recall ever being a paranoid person, nor a believer in the supernatural, but this house was watching you. The feeling of eyes on you was simply too strong to write off. What a warm welcome. 

—

It had been a week, but the nights so far had been sleepless ones. The people you called on day one were just now getting around to starting the A.C. so you were hoping for a decent rest tonight. The fridge was stocked, your things mainly unpacked, and the house started feeling a little more like you with each day. Although, your friends were more or less convinced there was a ghost living with you. You spoke of the feelings you had, plus the fact it was an old and mildly creepy house, and they were off and running with theories. One of the tamer ones consisted of the house being an old church - given the windows - and that the eyes you were feeling were perhaps an old priest who died here. You were less than fond of that idea, but you would take it any day to the other propositions of old mental hospitals and certain death. You made a mental note to never again let your friends speculate on situations you couldn’t get out of.

You argued that a malevolent spirit wouldn’t invoke such a comforting sense within you. You felt watched - yes - but it wasn’t as though you felt stalked. It was much worse, actually, you felt lonely. Loneliness was never a battle you fought very hard in. You had hobbies, and you had friends. The desire for a romantic companion usually took the back burner if it was even a thought at all. People questioned the topic - you were pretty, smart, capable - what more could somebody want? They asked if you were insecure, if you liked girls, told you that you were wasting your “prime years” and needed to find someone - but it was never that simple. You just didn’t get it. The feelings others spoke of were unfamiliar ones to you. You held your breath for a long time before realizing that it probably just wasn’t for you, that you were built a little differently.

Needless to say, you were uncomfortable with the sudden sensation. It felt like seeing the moon in a glass jar - something unfathomably beautiful but something you were unable to hold. Lord knows it wasn’t from a lack of desire, though. You’re sure you reeked of longing, able to suppress the lot of it but unable to stop some from slipping through the cracks of your fingers. And with no obvious direction to cast it, it just clung to you and seeped back into your skin. 

–

“No, dude, I’m telling you shit’s fucking weird.” You shoveled popcorn into your mouth as you spoke with your friend. This was the third call since you moved in. “Every night I wake up at like two in the morning and just for a split second I feel it. It’s like I'm lying on someone’s shoulder or something. And - oh my god - the amount of times I get stuck in that fucking warm spot on the stairs is gonna drive me crazy.” 

You could hear her laughing at your frustration on the other end. “What do you mean you get stuck? Y/n I'm getting worried about your mental state.” 

“No I’m telling you, I walk in this one - like - warm spot and I enter some kind of trance. Like I want to leave but I can’t - Jesus!”

“Are you alright?” Your friend was quick to ask, hearing you cut yourself off mid sentence. 

“No! This shit is haunted I swear. My kitchen lights just turned off for no reason. If I die here I’m blaming you and Kelly for not getting me out.” You were being dramatic, you knew that, but it was starting to feel justified. You don’t remember a time in the last week you felt truly by yourself.

“Hey don’t blame us for your own choi-” She started speaking, but you lost her. 

“Hello? You there?” You tried calling her again but the usual buzz of the dial tone was dead silent, the lamps that were illuminating the house followed soon after. Phone lines were the first to go in a power outing. No fucking way the power just went out. You felt around in the dark for the drawer of the end table. There had been a flashlight on the counter when you’d first arrived. You threw it in the end table because you had no clue why it was there - you were thanking God you’d done so while also praying the thing had batteries in it. You wrapped your hand around the object and said one more plea to the stars you wouldn’t have to be without light until tomorrow. Somebody must have been listening, as the room lit up when you hit the ‘on’ switch of the flashlight. 

You’d seen the fuse box towards the south end of the upstairs hallway, sitting between a Da Vinci replica and a mirror taken straight from a movie star's wet dream. I’m gonna die was the only thing you could think at a moment like this. You were for sure going to see glowing red eyes at the end of the hall and die a horrific and bloody death. Thanks grandpa. The warm spot was a welcome refuge from your journey to certain death, and you embraced the sense of  peace it brought you at a time when your heart was surely beating too fast. You held the light in front of you as you ventured up the stairs. The top of them seemed cartoonishly haunting, you thought momentarily that you would fit perfectly into a Scooby Doo episode. It was vast and dark, having multiple pathways you could walk down, but you set your sights on the south hall and did your best to disable your peripheral vision. It was right there. You just had to reset the power and you’d have your precious light back. Who puts a fucking mirror above a fuse box? 

You held the flashlight between your teeth as you focused on your task. Open and reset. Open and reset. It was truly as simple as that and then you could be done. Go watch a midnight rerun on TV and pray that the spirits would leave you alone. Open and reset. The switches were flipped off - you didn’t think that was normal but what did you know - so you flipped them back on and heard the hum of life returning to the house. Thank God. Your nerves dissipated almost immediately. You were alright, no ghost had it out for you. It’s an old house, and would probably experience things like this a lot. You could do that again if you had to. You looked up, though, and ate your words. There was definitely a man behind you. If you had been trying to look at him, you would have seen he was young, tall. You probably would have thought he was attractive, but you had no time for that. You whirled around, yelping at the sight of him and mentally preparing to defend your life. It proved futile though, he was gone as quickly as he came. There was nowhere he could have gone that fast, so as much as you were certain he was there, you settled for him being imaginary. It was dark upstairs, and you were scared out of your mind. Surely your eyes were overcompensating for the paranoia that was racing through you. You walked back to the couch on guard and decided to call your friend back tomorrow. It was nearly twelve, and you knew she had work tomorrow. You could cope using TV and proper lighting to comfort you until sunrise. What’s one more sleepless night?

“You boys let me know if you need anything.” You heard the words in your own voice as if listening to a stranger. 

“Sure thing, doll.” All the men were in uniform. Gray fabric covered their bodies, adorned with hats of the same color. Soldiers.

You walked back behind the front counter as the bell above the door continuously chimed at the arrival of new guests. Orders were being shouted to the cooks. You stared at the bold letters painted on the large graffiti piece decorating the wall, “Cathy’s Cooking.” A greasy apron covered the light blue dress beneath it - waitress attire. The smell of fried eggs clashed hard with the scent of sanitizer you were using to wipe down the counter. Bells rang to signal orders were ready to be taken out to guests, and you discarded the rag you used to mop up spilled coffee. 

“Thanks, Benny.” You nodded to the chef as you took the food plates to table two. He nodded back at you before returning to flipping bacon. 

“L/N!” Your manager barked at you. “Take your break. Be back in thirty.” He was a friendly man, though he got a bit hostile under pressure. 

You couldn’t be more thankful for the break. It was hour 6 of your shift and you were beginning to think he might never let you off. You removed the apron as quick as possible and excused yourself out the back entrance to cool off in the alley way. It got hot as hell during rush hour, so the way the slight breeze nipped your cheeks felt like heaven. 

“Tough shift?”

“Jesus!”

He started laughing as you startled, turning to face him. “‘Fraid it’s just me, honey.” He walked towards you as you grinned at him.

“You scared me, Spence.” 

He shook his head, mocking you. “I’m so sorry.” Drama queen. “How ever will I make it up to you?”

You giggled at that, and wrapped your arms around his neck as he got closer. He put his hands on your hips, leaning you against the brick wall of the alley. You could feel your lungs open up when he kissed you, always feeling like you could breathe better when his lips were on yours. He was your God given destresser. He still donned his uniform but had opted for taking the hat off, he knew you hated when his hair was hidden.

“That’s not very nice, Reid. I thought you were a gentleman. What would your boys think of you being so mean to a lady?”

He smiled a bit at that. “You like when I’m a little mean, Y/N.” 

Fuck. He had you there. 

You looked to the side for a second to snuff out some of the tension. “How long are you here for?”

“We’re in town for two weeks. Gotta catch a boat up to base 14 on the 20th. Supposedly they’re preparing for a big fight.”

You frowned as you made eye contact with him.“I get so worried about you. About all of you. I don’t know what I’d do if - you know if something happened.” He’d been a soldier for a little while now, joining when he turned 18. He’d kept his hands on your hips, and you started to run your hands through his hair, a nervous habit you picked up when the two of you first got together.

“I know, honey. But by the time it’s done I’ll be off my leash. I do this and we can run away together.”

You looked at him the way you always did - with such admiration and love that he often had to look away before it went to his head. He swore he looked at you the same, but you knew deep down nobody could love anyone as much as you loved him. You laughed a bit at the elation you got from just his presence. 

“I got lucky with you, Reid.”

He just shook his head. “Give yourself more credit, L/n.”

Your consciousness hit you like a truck and you realized before long that sun was shining through the windows. You’d fallen asleep sometime between ultimate terror and fleeting hope of your survival. And that dream - dear lord what the fuck was that dream. It was more vivid than you thought possible. You always forget most of your dreams when you wake up, but this time it felt like forgetting would be a betrayal. You could recall word for word every single thing about that dream. It was as though you saw a movie of your own life. A feeling so familiar you could taste it but just far enough to escape your grasp - and boy were you reaching. Not to mention the man. You didn’t know if this was some sort of coping mechanism you were inventing in your head but that was definitely the same man from the mirror last night. An imaginary friend. You had an imaginary friend as a grown woman. Terrific. 

–

“You’re never going to attract a suiter with such a tragic expression, my dear.” This had to be the third time your mother had roused this point in the past hour. 

“These dances are dreadful, idiotic nights of captivity that do nothing but mock the existence of genuine companionship.” The irony of you saying this while patting your cheeks with rose pigment was not lost on you. “Let me scrub myself raw and willingly restrain myself in hopes a man will see me and fall in love.” You spat out the last word with enough vitriol to hopefully drown yourself in. “Maybe he’ll like me so much he’ll lay claim and I can live on to be his housewife and half a person. How I've always dreamed of letting a man decide how much value I have.” You were flustered by the end of your spiel, looking at your mother through the large vanity with the tentative hope of a child asking for sweets. 

“You read too much, darling. Those little romance books of yours are nothing but nonsense.” She was a professional at writing you off by now. “You know plenty of women who are perfectly satisfied with their lives. This is how we do things, Y/n. I don’t understand why you insist on fighting it so intently.” 

She was never truly angry at your defiance, only tired. You could never tell if she was tired of you complaining or if she, like you, was tired of living this way. Your mother had married young - even for the times - and you knew your father left much to be desired in her life. They were basically repulsed by each other, only joining in union to produce a child. Your mother had been thrilled to have a daughter. Your father would trade you if he could, but he made do. The ultimate lack of affection between the two of them made you ill. You weren’t much older than your mother had been, you could very well end up trapped and child-bound in a loveless marriage.

“I would rather die alone than end up with my father.” You spoke, she sighed. 

“I know.”

You stared at her through the mirror for a moment longer, then you rose from your chair. Your makeup was done, your look now complete. You noticed your mother’s eyes start to well up at the sight of you and she started to walk closer. 

“My beautiful girl.” She smiled, forbidding the tears to venture down her cheeks, and held your shoulders. “You deserve a man who will worship you. Your future husband will be the luckiest man on planet Earth.” A gentle prompt, but a prompt nonetheless. You knew she loved you, but she carried more shame as you got older. Having only a daughter was something frowned upon, but having only a daughter hellbent on avoiding marriage was something that weighed on her. 

“I’ll see you in the carriage.” Then she was gone, kissing your cheek and taking her exit to go talk with the director of the communal ride. Carriage was being generous, it was more like a one-way wagon to the local suiter’s ball. You watched her leave with a sense of grief so intense it nearly toppled you. She deserved a man like that too. 

-

This was your third ball of the month. The pool of potential partners diminished with each one. People would often take whatever they could get, meaning less and less people even needed these nights anymore. You walked in with your mother, hand resting gently in the crook of her extended elbow. Your father stopped attending with the two of you a while ago. You believed he’d given up hope of a man ever choosing you - Lord knows he wouldn’t. Scanning the crowd, you saw little to look forward to. The music was pleasant, you would dance with a couple men who seemed bearable at best and criminal at worst, indulge in some of the enticing pastries and teas, and then you would leave. Back home until your mother dragged you out the following week for another one. With your current rate, you assumed you would end up marrying the vagabond that perused your neighboring streets. Taking another look around, you thought you might prefer that. 

You made your temporary home in a corner chair, letting your mother excitedly drag prospects up to you and watch dejectedly as they ruled you out as an option. You felt bad for her, considered caving in and finding a man to give you a child, but you remember swiftly how long the years take to pass when you’re miserable. The chair gave you a good view of the room, you could see the entrance and the dancefloor filled with enticing women waiting for men to notice them. You could feel the sweat start slicking your skin beneath the corset you wore. It was too hot in here. 

If you hadn’t been so determined to ignore the occasional advances of bored men, you would have missed the small group entering the area. Two women and two men, you wondered briefly if it was two couples, but discarded that thought. This wasn’t a place for couples. You felt your heart physically lurch at the sight of the last man in the row of four, as though your heart was running to greet an old friend. Had you seen him before? Surely you would have remembered such a visceral reaction. You averted your eyes before he could notice you. You don’t remember ever wanting to be noticed by a man - especially not this badly. You allowed yourself the escape of your own thoughts, getting lost in your head to pass the time and focus on anything other than what was probably the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen. 

“Do you mind if I sit with you?”

You looked up, he was standing above you. The chair next to you had been taken all night, the same woman had been sulking in her seat, and you found comfort in the fact someone else was unhappy to be here. She was gone now. Someone was definitely messing with you. 

“Not at all.”

Your mouth was drier than it had ever been. You wondered if your lips remained stained from the color you applied earlier. You’d done nothing but sit all night and yet you were praying nothing had happened to your makeup. 

“Why are you alone in a corner?” 

“Men tend to be repulsed by my pessimism. I also happen to hate it here. Serves for a less than desirable combination.” You refused to let your sudden attraction diminish your stubbornness. You hated the self-consciousness racing through you, no man had the right to take your assurance in yourself. 

“Why do you hate it here?” He wasn’t being mocking. He seemed - genuinely - a little sad at the thought of you being unhappy. 

“Well, sir, I am of the belief that these dances are nothing but congregations of people settling for lives that won’t make them happy. They trade excitement for safety as though the presence of security has to mean the presence of misery. I don’t think anyone can know the true meaning of love in our current state as a society.” You didn’t look at him as you spoke, instead staring out at the people dancing. “I hold no desire to settle. I am capable of making happiness on my own. Most men don’t like the thought of me not needing them.” 

You were almost positive you lost him. You were betting on him not being there when you looked, preparing yourself to bite the bullet and cope with tonight’s losses. Maybe your mother would agree to leave early. 

You heard him chuckle softly. “Sir.” He repeated your words, finding humor in the formality. “My name’s Spencer.” He added. “And I also happen to hate the purpose of these events. I’ve never actually been to one before, but I’m new to the city, and something about tonight was begging me to come out.” 

You were absolutely bewitched by him. “I’m Y/n.”

“Fitting.” He smiled, a smile directed at his own thoughts, as though something in his mind had clicked. “Will you dance with me?”

The music had slowed severely. You scoffed at his proposal, but you were taking his hand as if you’d been waiting on this. Maybe you had been. You were grateful for the ballad that was playing, never having been one for upbeat dancing. He led you gracefully, and for once you felt yourself relinquish power. With a mind like yours, a man’s company was almost never wanted. With this one, though, you laid your heart at his feet as if you’d done so a dozen times before. The heat of his hands was seeping through your dress, and his eyes were locked with yours. 

“I feel like I know you.” A confession. He had an effect like that.  

“Maybe you do.” 

–

Two in the morning. Everyday you’d woken up at two in the morning from a different dream involving the mysterious ‘Spencer Reid’. You friends had kindly dubbed him the “Man of your dreams” following the stories you told them. You’d been a housewife, trying to welcome him home from work before he laid you down and made an altar of your dining table.You’d been the daughter of a king, at one point, falling in love with his favored knight. Shamefully, that one haunted you. Reappearing in your mind during intimate times when you needed a spark. You’d never been one for desire either. When your friends started preaching the wonders of sex to you during your highschool days, you felt no pull towards the act. Just another it you didn’t understand. Now, though, this house served as an aphrodisiac. You lost count of your streak by day 13, and were now just begging whoever put this apparition in your home for the strength to keep your hand out of your pants. 

Spencer had become more like a roommate rather than an unwanted guest. You saw him in most reflective surfaces around the house. You felt him everywhere. He sat at the table with you, watched TV with you, he would wait by the door when you got home from work. Sometimes, your hand or your shoulder would run hot. Physically hot, like he was putting his hands on you. You wondered if he was around during those times, but if he was there he made sure you didn’t know it. You were gaining a sort of intuition for him. The thought Spencer would like that struck you numerous times when you were window shopping or when you tried on an outfit. You were starting to think maybe you were just crazy. Perhaps a ghost who seemed to be your soulmate and made you incredibly horny was how all psychotic breaks started. 

Weirdly, through your bizarre dreams and inconsistent sleeping patterns, this was the most well rested you’d felt in a while. Waking up at two am was routine now, sometimes you managed to fall back asleep afterwards but most times you were up dwelling on the images your mind had shown you that night. You thought maybe your body was just adjusting - surely it was nothing supernatural giving you energy - just the adaptivity of the human brain. One persistent thing you couldn’t adapt to, though, was how much you missed him. The increasing number of times you woke up to being the only occupant of your bed was starting to wear you down. You feel like you’d spent lifetimes with this man and yet he was someone you never knew. You'd seen the two of you fall in love countless different ways except the one that actually counted - the present. 

“I genuinely don’t know how much longer I can do this.” Another phone call, another conversation about your rapidly declining mental state. “I have fallen in love with a figment of my own imagination. Surely this is some demented form of narcissism.”

“I don’t think it works like that, Y/n.” Your friend was terrible at comforting people. It probably didn’t help that you hadn’t been fully honest with her about the severity of your situation. From where she was standing, you had learned to lucid dream and now that was bleeding mildly into your real life. Not the biggest deal, maybe you were just lonely. 

“It’s a ghost, dude, I’m fucking telling you. There’s no way I’m imaginative enough to conjure all this shit up.” 

“You know his name right? Go down to the library and look him up. If he’s a ghost then surely there’ll be something to find.”

Holy shit. She was a genius. “Oh my God you’re so smart. I love you. You just saved my life. You’re God’s gift to the planet. Who would I be witho-”

“Jesus Christ will you just go? Stop kissing my ass and start driving. I want details when you get back.” 

You don’t know if you’ve ever been so eager to get to the library of all places. If you could snag a computer spot then you could put an end to all of this. He wasn’t real, realistically you knew that, but you had a fool-proof way to check. If he was real you were going to have to come to terms with the fact you could see dead people. Well, a dead person. You had never seen any before Spencer. You’d never seen Spencer either, not before the house at least. They say you can’t make up faces, that if you see someone in a dream then you’ve seen them in real life but you were incredibly doubtful of that by now.

Spencer Reid. Thankfully the man didn’t have a particularly common name. You hoped there would be limited matches, less to look through. Pretty soon you could accept your own mental insanity and maybe ask your mother to spot you for some therapy. Well, moment of truth. You watched each letter be typed in with baited breath until his full name was in the search bar. Even just looking at his name brought that sense of calm. You were hopeless. Until, apparently, you weren’t. 

Brilliant Dr. Reid dead at 26

Former FBI agent Spencer Reid found dead in his home

Spencer Reid co-workers speak out on his legacy. Where to go from here?

You scoured every article you could find, analyzing every pixel of every image available. This was your guy. Same Spencer Reid from your dreams. Same Spencer Reid that stands behind you in every mirror of the house. Holy shit who was this guy? He was a little older than you, died last year in the summertime. Each article painted a brutal picture of his death, speculating on how the doctor died but never comfirming anything. Only that he was dead when paramedics got there, the sight of his covered body being extracted from his home was one that would stick with you. His home. It was the same house you were living in. It’s possible your grandfather was renting it out. That’s probably why nobody ever knew about it - he wasn’t living there. You didn’t know when water started pooling in your eyes, you only realized them as they started falling down your cheeks. You didn’t even know him. You didn’t even know him but you felt like someone just sucker punched you and were about 60% sure your lunch was coming back up. Jesus. 

There was no way you could tell your friends about this. The majority of your brain was pleading with you to rationalize this. Maybe you’d seen one of the articles before. Maybe your grandpa talked about him. Holy shit he had known your grandpa. Every individual thought you had was identifiable and that was far too overwhelming for your brain to handle. You signed out of the computer and went to go sit in your car. Could you even drive like this? Your hands were shaking so bad there was a good chance you’d crash the car before you got home. It’s twenty minutes, you thought. You had to go back. Staying away from the house any longer felt like a punishment. You can make it twenty minutes.

–

“No, no. Like I said it was just some old guy who wrote a book. No sign of my Spencer.” You were lying straight through your teeth. You figured it didn’t truly matter. If you sat here and told the entire story of finding exactly who you were looking for online, you think she’d have checked you into a facility. 

“Maybe if you believe hard enough you can manifest him.” 

“Wow you’re hilarious. Remind me again how I ever lived my life without such a humorous presence.”

“I question that same thing everyday, Y/n.” You could hear the smile embedded in her words.

“I’ll let you go. I know Dylan is probably waiting on you. Thanks for checking up on the Spencer chronicles.” You felt slightly bad. She was on her honeymoon currently, and instead of spending time with her new husband, she was listening to your stories of fraternizing with a ghost. 

“I’m sorry you’re going through this. I’m sure it’s weird as hell. Call me up if you need to, yeah? Hotel has unlimited calls so I can talk all night if you need to.” She was an angel in this world.

“Thanks, same goes here. If you get sick of your husband you know where to find me. Remember to use protection.” 

“Alright, nevermind. You may suffer by yourself for all I care.” She laughed while she threatened you.

“Bye, honey. Love you.” You should have felt alone, but you never did. He was most likely here with you. 

The exhaustion had well and truly crept up on you. You planned on getting home and calling your friend immediately, but you ended up needing a good few hours to cry and pace around the house. You weren’t scared - it was essentially the opposite. The complete lack of fear bred so much confusion that you didn’t know how to cope with the amount of frustration on your shoulders. You paced the house hoping to find him. You wanted to be near him. You harbored the immature hope that knowing who he was would grant you the ability to see him. Did you even know who he was? He was a doctor, an agent, but who was he to you? Is that what you needed to know in order to see him?

Now, sitting on your bed, you felt like you’d been through the ringer. The mental gymnastics of the day weighing heavily on your body. You needed to go to sleep. You wanted to go to sleep. In the last week or so you’d noticed a certain excitement regarding the promise of another tale, another dream. They were so extravagant, not even in the details of them, just in the consistency of pure emotion. You could have been fighting dragons or sitting on the porch in rocking chairs. If he was by your side, there was always this certain euphoria surrounding the two of you. A feeling reserved just for you and him. God you missed him.

– 

You woke up slowly to a familiar bed beneath you, this was your house. The window was open, curtains blowing cautiously as the mild chill of the Fall breeze wafted in and dusted over your collarbones. It wasn’t this cold last night. You felt the breeze again on your whole body, and realized you were lying naked on top of the ruffled comforter. Had he pulled the blanket off you?

“Are you cold? I didn’t think to shut the window when I got up. I was kind of rushing to get my stuff.” You noticed then that he was sat behind a canvas, angled so he could glance between you and the task at hand with ease. He noticed you furrow your eyebrows, and even managed to catch the minuscule tense of your muscles as you prepared to sit up.

“Stay still for me, honey. I’m almost done.” He was adding feather-light brushstrokes to the piece, a finishing touch of his you now recognized from watching him paint so much. 

“This isn’t a very good pose, Spence. You know I’m not the most photogenic.” You referred to the fact you had been sleeping as he painted, limbs not organized and environment chaotic. Notoriously unfavored things by the man. Maybe he was hoping to capture a candid version of you. 

He exhaled a laugh. “How rich coming from you.” His lips quirked upward as he continued adding touch-ups to his art. “Something about you this morning…I don’t know.” He shook his head like he was talking to himself rather than you. “You just looked…mesmerizing.” He shrugged, brushing off the sentiment. “Felt wrong to just look at you.”

Dumbfounded was the only word you could think to describe yourself. He’d painted you before, mainly from the neck up for practice with faces, but this was different terrain. You were nervous to see the piece. You thought of your hips, your stomach, your legs. A silhouette he’d sworn time and time again was worthy of worship. One he wanted to treasure. You hoped you’d see a glimpse of yourself through his lens, hoped all that adoration would show on the canvas. Once he was finished with it, he turned it so you could see. It was breathtaking. His talent never failed to leave you speechless. 

“I feel like I should be paying for this.” You joked, but still felt as though something should be given in return. He stood from his stool and joined you on the bed.

“I assure you, I’m well compensated.” Your face ran hot. “Can I hang it?”

“Spence, I’m naked-”

“Not downstairs, Y/n.” He chuckled. “I’d put it there.” He nodded to a vacant wall space on the right side of the room, entirely visible from his side of the bed. 

“You want me watching you sleep, Reid?” 

He grinned at you, shaking his head slightly at your remark. “Just wanna be able to see you.” He held your eyes. “I’m hoping looking at you before I go to sleep will give me good dreams.” You hummed in sarcastic agreement, your gaze falling soft a moment later.

“You can if you want to.” He looked relieved. 

“Thanks, honey.” He looked stunning in the morning light. The sun hadn’t risen too long ago, and he was only covered partially by a pair of joggers. He was practically luminous, the bare skin of his chest looking golden in the sunlight. You stuck your hands out to feel him, and you felt as though you were trying to touch heaven itself. He leaned down to be closer to you, he always said you felt magnetic. 

“You should let me paint you like this more often.” 

“Is that right?”

“Mhm”

And, just like before, you could breathe again when he kissed you. Truly breathe. It was times like these when he felt like your oxygen, like pulling away should be sin. Lord knows you would suffer any version of Hell for him. 

–

Your frustration seemed to have doubled in your sleep. Two am. You were gonna find that fucking painting. It wasn’t in the spot he left it - you would have noticed a giant painting of yourself naked on the walls, but you double checked to be sure. You threw up every light switch you came across and started scavenging through the upstairs. There was a certain tug in your body - when you didn’t find it in a room, you knew it wasn’t there, something internal telling you to look elsewhere. It was only when you were halfway done with the downstairs raid that you remembered the storage room. You’d found it when you first moved in, a room full of dust and white tarps covering furniture and other indecipherable shapes. It had to be in there.

You wrecked havoc on the tiny room. Tearing off layers of fabric quickly, leaving little thought to where you were throwing them, completely tunnel visioned on finding the painting. You came across a covered square the same size as the canvas had been. It was coated in so much dust that the covering looked ancient, and you were begging any conceivable being to be merciful, to let you have at least this if you couldn’t have him. You unveiled the shape to find the same vibrant pigments you’d seen just hours before. It was you, draped over the comforter and basking in the hue of the morning. This was it, you thought. Holy shit this is real. You had no grounds to deny this anymore. Spencer was a real guy, clearly he’d died in this house and clearly the two of you had lived enough lives together to fill months of sleepless nights with. 

What did this mean for you? Were you a clone? Were you and Spencer both clones? Were you living in a simulated reality and all of this was actually a ruse calculated to induce reactions in the brain that could then be studied? Oh my god - were you a ghost too? Had you died and were now stuck in some form of purgatory?

You felt sick with it. You didn’t know you were capable of bearing such intense metaphorical weight. You needed to see him. Maybe if you went to sleep, you would realize you were having a dream and could figure some things out. That’s so stupid. You mentally scolded yourself for even thinking of such a dumb idea. You needed to speak with him. You needed him to tell you what was going on. Of course him and everyone in your life who could have known him were six feet deep. A seance, maybe? Perhaps  just buy a ouija board and wing it. You’d seen the most of him when you were asleep, that had to be the key to figuring this out. Please dear god let it be the key to figuring this out. You took the painting and headed back upstairs. Maybe it could serve as a medium, you thought. That’s a thing, right?

You don’t think your bed had ever seemed so uninviting. You remember how grateful you’d been to finally sleep on your first day here. It was a pain in the ass hauling a mattress up a spiral staircase and the moment you realized you were done was a relief to say the least. Now you stared at it and your mouth ran dry. What if this didn’t work? What did you even want to happen? Were you going to rummage through your dreams and play detective to piece together what might have happened in your past? No degree of mental antagonizing could push you off course by now. He was real. You know he’d been a real man, and surely the painting of you meant you’d known him as something other than a ghost. You were simply praying this would work out how you wanted. You needed a semblance of closure, even just a small one.

–

The room was dark, making you double check if you opened your eyes in the first place. You hadn’t had a dream. This was the first time in months you had fallen asleep and woken up without having lived a different life. You felt tears forming in your eyes. The disappointment you felt was so immeasurable that your brain practically short circuited trying to find a way to process it. You knew it was a long shot for everything to be fixed overnight, but you’d expected something. Like he was reading your mind, the bed dipped down, him now occupying the space next to you in bed. 

You were worried your head might fall off your neck with how quickly you turned to look at him. The moonlight came beaming in through the window, like she was your secret ally, giving you enough light to finish your battle. It lit him up, practically shining through him like it would a crystal. He was ethereal. You stared into the same brown eyes you’d been looking into for months and felt your resolve give way from within you. You could have looked at him forever, you wanted to look at him forever, but you crashed hard into him. You would have fused your soul to his at that very moment if you were able to. Nobody had ever drawn out such a reaction - you needed to feel him. It was the proof you had been begging for, he was here, he was tangible. You could finally know what it all meant. 

You felt his chest jolt as he chuckled at you. “I missed you.” You could hear the smile in his words. 

Choking on a sob, you spoke your response so quietly you could barely hear yourself. “What the fuck is going on?” You knew tears were probably soaking through his shirt but he just held you against him. “Please tell me you know what’s happening.” You were muttering your words quickly, sharply inhaling between your sentences as air refused to stay in your lungs.

He ran his hand up and down the length of your forearm, a motion so familiar and so comforting you’re sure your knees would have buckled if you weren’t lying down. “Just relax, honey. I can explain everything, ok? I just need you to breathe right now.”

It was hard to maintain your oxygen through the sobs begging to get out of your chest but you were nothing if not stubborn. You needed an explanation. If that was his condition then so be it. You took a deep breath, regaining your ability to inhale and exhale at a regular pace. You could see the room better now having been awake in the dark for a while, so you tried to focus on anything that might help. The painting. You stared holes into that thing and forced your breathing to even out. 

“I was really proud of that one.” His words held an instinctual twinge of fondness, still smiling as he spoke. Like now that he had you, he could describe any horror of the world and still be happy with you in his arms. He looked back at you, tracing his thumb along your jaw. “You seem to get prettier with every lifetime.”

Even as the overwhelming confusion wrecked your brain, your body was completely in tune with him. Warmth seemed to spring to life in your stomach, his words bypassing any guards you had to root themselves within you. He regarded the situation so lightly, so casually. He wasn’t worried about slipping away, or running out of time. He would have given you a decade to calm down if you needed it. He seemed content with just calling you pretty, as though he’d waited a century to touch you again. 

“My dreams, were they -” You paused. You didn’t even know what to ask him. “What were my dreams?” Were they real?

He took a moment to just stare at you. The smallest, knowing smile on his face and a look of pure adoration in his eyes. He knew what you were asking. “They were us.” Fucking obviously. If you were any more on the edge of your seat you would fall off. “All the lives we’ve lived together.” Jesus.

“How long ago-”

“Two thousand years, 5 months, 27 days, and-” he leaned up slightly to check the clock “14 hours.” Giving you the cutest tight-lipped smile when he finished talking like he didn’t just say you’d been in love for two millennia. 

“So we’re soul mates?”

“Essentially.” He nodded. ‘Soulmates’ was close enough. 

“But - is everyone like this, then?” Did all your friends have this too? Everyone in the world? “Everyone has a soulmate?” Your friend’s on her honeymoon right now. 

He laughed a little and shook his head. “No, no. It’s just us.” What was so special about the two of you? “For all I know of at least. Your uh…your husband-” He hesitated for just a second, fingers digging into your skin just a fraction harder. “He found out about us. Had his mother cast a spell. He thought he was punishing us, I think. Figured we’d get sick of it after a while. Poor guy, all he did was condemn us to eternity together.” He held no genuine pity for the guy, more amusement at the thought of his plan actually succeeding. 

“How long have you been here?” You hadn’t bothered to check when the articles were from, too busy trying to keep your head on straight to look for the publication date. 

“A year.” A year of him alone in this house. God, you couldn’t even imagine. “I started having dreams of you. Everyday I just felt, like, something pulling me away from where I was. I knew your grandfather from an old case I worked and everything just seemed to happen.” He reminisced fondly, like the memory didn’t hurt him. “I don’t even really know how I died. I just remember having a party one night, and how the hallway looked from the bottom of the stairs.” Oh my God the warm spot.

“When you moved in I was thrilled but - fuck, honey, it was torture.” He delivered the line like it was a joke but his eyes were watering. “I couldn’t talk to you, I couldn’t help you - I couldn’t fucking touch you and it was unbearable.” His hands hadn’t left you since you woke up. Making up for lost time, you guessed. There was one question you were brutally aware of, something that persisted in your head even as you tried to enjoy the moment. 

“Why can I see you now, then?”

He sighed, so full of devastation that it was clear he’d been preparing for this. “You can’t.”

“What?”

“You’ve seen all our lives, Y/n. This is the only one left.” He was so delicate in his explanations. His palms soothing over your face as if trying to physically soothe the sting of his words.

“Wait what does that-” What was he talking about? “I don’t understand.”

“To be honest, I don’t really understand it either.” He exhaled at his own ignorance, the words unfamiliar in his mouth. “For the first time, I don’t know what’s gonna happen when you wake up.”

“Wake up? What do you mean wake up - Spence I’m awake.” You held onto his wrist that was near your face for emphasis, his hand still caressing your face. “I’m awake.” 

His eyes were definitely watering. “No, Y/n, you’re not.”

“Spencer.” You’d never said it so sadly before. Tears were in your eyes for the second time that night. You would have done anything to carve this moment into stone. Sit here in his arms until time forced you into your next life. 

“It’s ok, honey.” He was always reassuring, always safe. “We’ve done this for two thousand years, Y/n. You’re bound to get a little unlucky sometimes.” His optimism in the face of such a crushing development almost made you sick. Some things never change. “I finally have you back, alright? Just lay with me for a while. Whatever happens, we’ll figure it out. We’ve got plenty more lives to live.”

You halted the tears in your eyes, sniffling once to reign yourself in. “Ok.” You laughed, a little tearfully, and kissed him with all the love you had to give. 

Plenty more lives to live.

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds x reader #soulmate au #spencer reid x chubby reader #spencer reid x fat reader #spencer reid x plus size reader #chubby reader #reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #fat reader #plus size reader #fluff #angst #suggestive #x reader #x chubby reader #x fat reader #x plus size reader #i spent so long on this #this is my baby #brb crying #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid angst #comet: SR

[swordsandholly]

Steel Magnolia

Part 1

Simon “Ghost” Riley x fem!plus size!reader

No use of y/n

Rating: Mature/MDNI

Word Count: 2.1k

Author’s Note: I just recently got back into fandom spaces and reading fanfic again and looooove the uptick in fat Y/N characters. Ofc as a big girl myself I wanted to try my hand at writing one too.

Hopefully I’ll post this on AO3 soon. Whenever I get my invite so I can make an acc.

“Oh! Darlin’, did ya see those boys next door?” Mrs. Duprey gasps as you swipe the last of her Bubble Bath OPI polish across her fingers.

“Next door?” You cock an eyebrow. “No one’s been next door since Adam and Eve.”

“I saw them on the way in!” She grins, the corners of her eyes wrinkling pleasantly. “Strappin’ young men - y’should talk t’ ‘em.”

You roll your eyes. “I’m sure I will sooner or later, ma’am.”

“You’ve been single too long.” The nosey old bat contributes. As much as you love her she truly cannot leave well enough alone.

“And I’m perfectly content as such.” You give her your warmest smile.

The trailer home across from you has remained empty for as long as you can remember. It’s well kept - sometimes you see random gardeners mowing or going in an out with tool bags - but no one lives there permanently. You’d think in a beach town it would at least belong to some snowbirds. A timeshare, maybe. It’s none of those things, though. Just a well-maintained, perfectly empty husk.

There’s a metaphor in there somewhere, probably.

Sure enough, as you walk Mrs. Duprey out of your little single wide trailer, you spot a black SUV parked out front of the neighboring double wide. One that is definitely *not* a repair man or worker’s vehicle. She coos at you to make sure to talk to them before waddling off to her own car. She really shouldn’t be driving at her age. You wonder briefly - futilly- if she’d sell you her car in exchange for rides.

You suppose she’s right - even if it is for the wrong reasons. You’re not particularly interested in flirting with the new neighbors. After all, don’t fuck where you eat is a saying for a reason, but it wouldn’t exactly be neighborly to not introduce yourself. Especially with all the people coming and going from your home for your nail tech services. The old Yankee’s catty-cornered from you still believe that you're a drug dealer. At least they only come down for a couple months of the year.

Despite your staunch decision not to flirt, you still find yourself adjusting your clothes. Maybe the sports bra as a top is a bit much…

Fuck it. If they live here now they’ll see you in worse.

You fix your lipstick and throw on your platform sandals. The ones that clip-clop as you walk. Maybe it will help announce your presence.

The screen door wraps quietly as you knock. You take two steps back on the front, wooden porch so as not to come off too aggressively. As the seconds tick by you debate on knocking again. Maybe they’re out. Or busy. They did just move in today, most likely. Maybe you should-

The door creaks slightly as it opens. A very, painfully handsome man pushes the screen door until it clicks in place. “Afternoon, lassie.”

You blink stupidly as he crosses his strong arms and leans on the doorframe. His eyes are a striking shade of blue - somehow both sharp and soft. His dark hair is shaped into a slightly grown-out, un-styled mohawk. It fits him oddly enough.

“I, uh,” you take a deep breath. Christ you need to get laid if just *looking* at a hot guy has you this off kilter. “I live across the way. Just wanted t’ say welcome t’ tha neighborhood.”

That lopsided smile on his face grows into a grin. You don’t miss the way his eyes catch on your chest. “Aye? Nice tae meet ye. Names John MacTavish. M’friends call me Johnny.”

He gives your hand an extra little squeeze after shaking it. That accent might as well have you on the floor. You continue to blink dumbly, watching the at the scar on his chin stretches as he speaks.

Christ almighty, you’re pathetic.

“Nice to meet’ya.” You give him a warm smile, tilting your head to the side slightly. “Ya’ll here for vacation? We don’t get many Europeans ‘round here.”

He chuckles. It’s low and rumbling and would probably feel wonderful with your ear pressed to his chest. “Little bit o’ business, little bit o’ pleasure. This an’ tha’.”

“Hello, there.” Another man pops up from behind Johnny suddenly. Fucking hell, he’s gorgeous too. Older, for sure, with a uniquely cut beard that would probably look rather silly on anyone less handsome. At it stands, he manages to make it appear dignified.

“Ah, jus’ about tae call fer ye, Cap. This is our neighbor.” Johnny gestures toward you.

“John Price.” The man steps forward to shake your hand. It’s firm and professional and thank god your grandad made you practice a good handshake as a kid or you’d be painfully embarrassed.

“Are all UK men named John or is this just some sorta cult?” You blurt, unable to stop yourself from snickering at them.

Older John chuckles at you fondly, his facial hair giving him a pleasant U-shaped smile. “Be easier to remember that way, wouldn’t it? No, we’re with two others. Kyle and Simon. They’re out at the moment.”

“Kyle and Simon.” You repeat, nodding. Johnny, John, Kyle, Simon. “Are y’all in town long?”

“Indefinitely.” Is all Price gives you. It’s a tone that even someone as dense as you can recognize as ‘don’t ask more.’

You clap your hands together and smile a little wider, ready to make your exit. “Well, I’m not here t’be a bother, just wanted t’ welcome ya and, uh, let y’know that I have a lot of people over throughout the day - I’m a nail tech. They shouldn’t bother ya but y’know.”

“Ye can come bother us anytime, bonnie.” The Scot hits you with that grin again and your face suddenly feels far too hot.

A loud, whining screech sounds off from down the road. You check your watch. Holy shit, three-thirty already. You begin to back off the porch. “Ah, nice t’ meet ya again! See ya ’round!”

As you jog down the little dirt road of the trailer park another black car passes you. It’s smaller, a sedan. You make very brief eye contact with a blonde wearing a surgical mask and another man with the sharpest golden eyes you’ve ever seen - even through the tint of the window.

*Kyle and Simon,* you think.

You make a mental note to greet them at some point and continue down the street. The school bus slowly stops at the entrance and you take up your spot in the small crowd of parents. IT’s a shabby old bus - chipping paint and break pads that sounds like they’re about ready to snap. It’s all they’re willing to send out to your little section of the city, though.

Shelby meanders over in your direction, her usual Camel Crush lit up in one hand and the other teasing her already well-lifted hair. “Afternoon. Saw there was some new folks across from ya.”

“Hm?” You keep your eyes on the bus. “Ah, yeah. Just vacationers, I think.”

“Lookers, though.” She chuckles.

“They’re from the UK.” You offer.

“No shit!” Shelby stamps out her cigarette as the bus doors open. “Accent and all?”

“Yep.” You grin.

Shelby tsks and fiddles with her hair again. “I best go over an’ make myself known, then.”

“There’s an older fella with a neat beard. Think you’d like ‘em.” You snicker.

She hums. “I’ll bring a pie.”

The children practically burst out of the bus doors, as always. Ready to be home and shuck off their backpacks to their respective adult. Shelby’s son almost knocks her over, offering a little “Good afternoon, ma’am!” to you before heading off with his mother.

You nod to him, shoving a hand in your pocket as you wait for yours. She’s always the last. Always caught up in a book or something and doesn’t realize it’s time to get off of the bus. Sure enough, the driver has to call back to her before the little girl comes dashing out. She jumps off of the bus steps, despite being told time and time again not to, and kicks a rock on her way toward you.

You bow low for her. “Welcome home, Lady Sophie.”

She giggles, dark curls bouncing as she skips over. “Ni-ni!”

You take her bag from her. The thing really does dwarf the poor six year old. Her hand slips into yours easily. Soft and round and somehow always so much warmer than yours.

“My nail color chipped!” She announces, holding up her ring finger on the opposite hand.

“Oh! Now we can’t have that. I’ll fix it tonight.” You smile, waving at old Mr.Chester as the two of you pass.

“Well now!” He calls. “How blessed am I to see two such lovely ladies!”

You both giggle, continuing on your way. He’s a good landlord - spotted you more than a few times when Sophie was a baby and you couldn’t work consistently. Honestly, as you look around, the little community that he’s managed to build in this shitty corner of the world should be praised. Housing just enough snowbirds to cover his property costs while keeping rent low for the full time locals. Maybe you could convince Natalie at the paper to run a little story on it or something.

As you pull up to your own home, the blonde man is outside leaning on the front of their double wide. Seeing him standing at full height makes your blood run cold. The man is built like a damn barn - tall and wide. Beyond solid. *Brick shithouse*. It’s a bit weird that he’s covered in clothing head to toe but whatever. Weirder things have happened before. The mask still covers his face, you wonder if he had taken it off before you came up or just flipped it up to smoke.

“Sophie, head on in. I’ll catch up.” You push her toward the door. She scampers in, the screen door slamming behind her as you march up to the brick shithouse of a man in front of you.

“Which are ya? Kyle or Simon?” You smile, holding out your hand to shake.

Dark eyes rake over you, stopping briefly on your hand, before moving back to meet yours. He stomps out the half smoked cigarette. “Simon.”

You let your hand drop. Bit rude, this one. “Nice t meetcha.”

The other man pops his head out of the trailer. Kyle, you assume. “Oh. Hello.”

“Hi.” You smile as warmly as you can, giving your name. “I’m assumin’ yer Kyle.”

“Yeah.” He chuckles. “I’m guessing you’re the neighbor Price mentioned.”

You nod, about to speak again but Simon shoves past you, marching his way up the steps. “Let’s go.” He grunts, pushing the other man back into the trailer despite his protests.

You wrinkle your nose at him. What an asshole.

“Who’s tha’?” Sophie asks over the back of the old, worn couch as you let the trailer door slam behind you.

“New neighbors.” You say simply, glancing out the window. “Don’t go over there without me, yeah?”

“Okay!” She agrees, sitting back on the couch and bouncing, beginning her usual post school chant. “Bluey! Bluey! Bluey!”

You drop her backpack down beside the small coffee table. “After yer homework.”

“Nooo!” She pouts.

“Then no Bluey.”

Sophie pouts harder but crawls down in front of the coffee table and pulls out her little work sheets. At least the school doesn’t over run them too terribly with homework toward the end of the year. You glance at the calendar. Wednesday, May 22nd. Damn, she really only has about a week left. Though, you’d be lying if you said you weren’t looking forward to this summer break with her. She’s old enough now that you can take her places like the arcade without having to wait on her so much. You’ll actually be able to play some of the two-player games.

Plus, this year, you actually have a little more pocket change to make it fun.

You turn to look out the window once more at the new neighbors. Their curtains remain closed, cars neatly parked out front. The door opens slowly, the hot Scot and rude blonde wander to the Sedan. Simon’s shoulders shake at something Johnny said - you think he’s laughing but its hard to tell with that mask. Johnny’s head turns, blue eyes meeting yours through the shitty glass windows of your trailer. You squeak and duck to sit next to Sophie, praying that he didn’t catch you staring.

#simon x reader #fanfiction #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #fanfic #call of duty #plus size reader #fat reader #ghost cod #cod x reader #cod mw2 #holly writes

[bas-writes]

50 Plus Size Y/N Prompts

When I was looking for an inspiration for a Nanami x chubby Y/N fic I realised that crushing majority of prompts and ideas are related exclusively to hurt/comfort or are drenched in extremely low self-esteem and lack of confidence. So, decided to put together my own list, covering a variety of situations from mundane and domestic to sensual and sexual. I based the ideas on my own experience as a fat person, so I'm aware they won't fit everyone, but I hope those can give you inspiration to explore in your creative work ❤ Of course, prompts are left to individual interpretation!

cw: some prompts are more gendered than the other, some are suggestive or addressing a strictly sexual situation

Leaving hickeys on thick thighs.

Wearing bigger partner's clothes. Bonus: bigger partner is not the chubbier one—it's the chubbier partner who gets to wear bigger clothes

Loving tummy kisses.

Lovingly or teasingly tracing fat rolls and love handles.

Nuzzling into soft chest or tummy for comfort.

Thick thighs save naps because they make the best lap pillow.

Fat person being picked up and/or carried around, no hassle, no protests of being too heavy, just sheer joy. Bonus: it's one of those crazy strong characters so they literally pick Y/N as if they were a doll.

Them being a personal heavy breast holder with built-in enthusiastic massage option.

Back massages because we all know that big chest weights way too much.

Ticklish kisses in the jaw area because they find the double chin cute.

Adoring to feel Y/N's weight in their lap.

Plus size lingerie. Them buying it for Y/N or Y/N showing off in it.

The way Y/N's chest/ass/thighs/tummy bounces during intimate times. It drives them crazy. Bonus: they're being ridden and enjoying every second of it.

Being in absolute awe of Y/N's figure.

Hugs from behind that do not necessarily end up with a full arm wrap but that's okay, one possibly can't envelop their whole universe.

Pulling Y/N closer so they can feel their big ass better.

Work out or a sport activity that's not related to weight loss or diet. Just enjoying active time together.

Finding it difficult to sleep without Y/N because they miss the body they can embrace and/or the warmth it gives.

Stimming or teasingly playing with Y/N's softer parts.

Foodie dates. Testing new places, taking tons of photos for their food instagram, feeding each other cute desserts, stealing the best pieces—or contrary, leaving them for their partner.

Y/N loves to eat and their love adores it because they have someone to enjoy their cooking.

Both them and Y/N love to cook and eat. A friendly rivalry over feeding the other better.

Tons of photos of Y/N and selfies with them. Every moment has to be caught on their camera. Bonus: they are a celebrity or social media persona & they love to show off with Y/N's photos.

Daily affirmations, soft words and touch related to body type, all those compliments and smooth lines.

Reminding Y/N to eat because no, the "fat supply" won't make up for a good meal, they have to eat regularly.

Gender affirmation when the fat body type sometimes can make it difficult for Y/N.

The shared celebration of gender euphoria when Y/N finally finds a way to nicely flatten and shape the chest. 

Choosing Y/N because they are fat. Them being into bigger people and actively choosing them over people with different body types.

Seeing Y/N naked for the first time and going absolutely crazy about it.

Tracing and kissing stretch marks.

Yoga pants effect. The curves just look so good in them.

Looking together for a good supporting bra.

Loving when Y/N is wearing a crop top.

Encouraging Y/N to wear more close-fit clothes Bonus: there is absolutely no perverted reason behind it ;)

Supporting Y/N through weight gain or weight loss.

Enjoying a beach date. Every body is a good beach body if it has a cute beach wear on!

Scratching/washing Y/N's back because sometimes it's just hard to reach that stubborn spot.

Muscular body type partner x fat Y/N. Big partners solidarity!

Discussing together a new tattoo idea. Choosing the best placing for it. Bonus: it's a tattoo composed to fit nicely with fat rolls or stretch marks.

Helping Y/N shave the back of their legs or any other hard to reach part of their body.

Insisting on keeping Y/N's thighs close to their head during oral sex.

Treating rash/burn caused by friction between thighs, bra or other piece of clothing.

Shibari or harness on a plus size body.

Picking up the self ironic negative talk and turning it into something positive

Being proud of Y/N, showing them off whenever there's an opportunity.

Y/N posing them for a photo, painting or a sculpture. Bonus: Y/N is their muse.

Warming hands between Y/N's thighs. Bonus: maybe their cheeks or ears feel cold too ;)

Them wearing Y/N's shirt for comfort. Bonus: it's not a typical over-sized comfort piece of clothing but a perfect fit. They still insist on wearing it.

Hand and bite marks on ass and hips. Bonus: loving aftercare.

Doodling/painting on Y/N's body: thighs, arms, ass… Bonus: it's a part of a spicy play.

Please, reblog and/or credit, when you use (but don't @ me!). The divider made by @/saradika.

#writing prompts #plus size reader #chubby reader #fat reader #plus size y/n #chubby y/n #fat y/n #bas writes

[dirty-jammies]

Late Night Desires PART 2! ✨💗🌙

Astarion x Fem!Chubby!Reader x Halsin

(Reader is AFAB and is referred to with she/her pronouns and terms like "good girl". )

AN: Thank you all SO much for all the wonderful comments and likes on part 1! And a super-duper big thank you to everyone that voted in the poll! 😁 Don't worry, I intend on writing more for these dudes, so if your favourite poll option didn't win, look lout for it in a future fic! I hope part 2 is to your likings! This is super-horny, super-filthy, and super-delicious... Just like our favourite bloodsucking twink and bear daddy~ Enjoy!

Lying back on the soft grass, you bit your lip as you watched the two men above you appreciate each other's bodies with their hands, lips locked in a passionate kiss. Astarion’s soft, pale hands exploring the swells of Halsin’s muscles, and Halsin's huge hands sliding down the slender curve of Astarion's waist. 

You were still feeling the gentle waves of residual pleasure wash over you from your previous orgasm, sweat cooling on your skin in the midnight air, but you could feel yourself getting excited again watching the two men. You dropped a hand between your thick thighs and whimpered as you brushed your oversensitive pussy, soft and wet and relaxed from Halsin's expert fingering. Your noise alerted the two elves and they parted from their kiss, looking down at you.

“Poor little thing,” Astarion cooed with sarcastic pity, “needing more already, are you?”

You trailed your gaze down Halsin’s body, over his broad chest, down his stomach that was mouthwatering layers of muscle and fat, down the hair-dusted treasure trail where it disappeared into his leather leggings which looked to be on the verge of bursting at the seams thanks to the very obvious erection the druid was sporting.

“I am, but I’m not the only one,” you said with a smile and extended your leg, using it to brush over Halsin’s covered cock. The druid let out a quiet groan at the treatment and you made your desire known, “I… I want to take both of you, with my mouth, and with my…”

“A wonderful idea,” Halsin praised and leaned over you, dragging the pad of his thumb over your soft lips, “I'd love a chance to feel your sweet mouth, little one.”

With his considerable strength, Halsin helped you flip over onto your stomach, letting out a pleased rumble at the view, “What a treat… So supple and round,” he remarked, moving to your front, “like a decadent dessert for us.”

“Isn’t she the sweetest?” Astarion purred and took a handful of your thick ass, fingernails sinking into your soft skin and making you whimper at the light, pleasurable pain, “Mm… she’s still leaking back here.” You whimpered as Astarion’s hand came down to cup your pussy. You gasped harshly as he laid a firm smack over it, making blood rush to your face in embarrassment at the feeling and the lewd, wet noise it made alongside Astarion’s accompanying laughter.

Halsin took your face in his hand and made you look up at him. He smiled at your docile, doe-eyed expression, “Are you ready?” You nodded and you could see his eyes darken with lust, “Do you think you can be a good girl and take all of me?” Again, you nodded, more eagerly this time, the praise tickling your brain and making you squish your thighs together. You licked your lips and smiled up at Halsin.

“Such a needy thing, isn’t she?” Astarion teased, and you could hear him stroking himself again, getting himself hard again, “I’m glad you decided to join us, Halsin, perhaps together, we’ll finally be able to satisfy her.”

You rolled your eyes playfully and looked over your shoulder at your vampiric lover, “Oh, right, I’m the insatiable one…” you teased right back and Halsin laughed heartily.

“I have a good feeling we’ll all end the night satisfied, little one, now please look back this way,” he gently guided your face back towards him, and your eyes widened as you saw he had lowered his leggings, letting his manhood free from its leather confines at last, “Do you like what you see?”

You moaned at the sight and could hear Astarion groan from behind you as well. It was at least nine inches of thick, hard cock, with a soft bush of hair at the base and two heavy-looking balls that seemed to be sloshing with potent seed. You felt your mouth water and you swallowed the drool accumulating in your mouth before you boldly leaned forward and kissed it, feeling the thick vein along the bottom throb at the affection. Halsin’s hand cradled your cheek as though you were made of glass, “I will try to be gentle, but you are making it quite difficult to hold back…” he warned and lined his cock up with your pretty, pouty lips.

You could feel your arousal growing once more as you slowly took Halsin’s length into your mouth. You felt the bulbous head slide past your tongue, his foreskin sliding past your lips. You moaned around his length at the musky, masculine smell coming from his loins, and you felt a dribble of your slick slide down your inner thighs.

“Very good, darling,” Astarion praised softly and you moaned around Halsin’s cock as you felt Astarion line up his own sizable cock with your drooling pussy, “now get ready,” he quickly slammed home, his narrow hips colliding with your cushy ass with a loud smack, and you cried out around Halsin’s thick length. You heard Astarion shudder out a moan behind you, “So fucking hot and wet, you’re simply divine, darling…”

You felt your mind grow fuzzy, thoughts turning into pleads for ‘more, harder, faster!’ Halsin’s slow, careful drag of his cock over your tongue to bump against the back of your throat contrasted Astarion’s greedy, fast slams into your cunt, your body jiggling with the movement.

“Such a perfect girl,” Halsin sighed as you worked your tongue along his frenulum, “taking the both of us so well~”

Astarion’s hands sank into the plush fat of your waist, holding you steady as his hips drilled into you, “Nnh, yes, such a perfect little pet, with such a delicious body… tell us who this body belongs to, darling~” he purred.

Halsin withdrew his cock long enough for you to gasp in a breath and cry out “You! It belongs to you! Astarionnnh~Hah-Halsin!!” Your eyes rolled back as Halsin stuffed your mouth once more, this time sliding all the way into your throat, his huge hands holding your jaw as you did your best not to gag on the huge cock. You could taste his salty precum smearing on your tongue. Delicious.

“You’re so good… so good,” Halsin growled, giving himself over to his pleasure, “Gods, I’m close…”

You moaned around him, eager to get a taste of his cum, when Astarion thrust inside you as deep as he could go, grinding, /grinding/ against your sweet spot and making you whine around the length stuffing your throat. Astarion landed a hard smack on your ass and you whimpered, hearing him grunt.

“Do you want to switch? You did want to breed her, after all.” he teased breathily.

Halsin nodded tightly and you felt your jaw go slack as he withdrew his cock. You saw it, dripping with your saliva and his delicious precum, twitching hard. You whined as Astarion pulled out of you slowly and you felt his hand pet your back soothingly, “Don’t worry, love, you won’t be empty for long~”

The two men switched positions, you smiled seeing how creamy Astarion’s cock had become as he fucked you. Slick evidence of your arousal was glistening on his cock, making it shine in the moonlight. Astarion’s hand wove into your hair and you leaned forward, licking his cock from base to tip.

“Dirty girl,” he rasped with a grin, “tasting yourself on my cock?”

You hummed an affirmative, looking up into his beautiful red eyes as you continued cleaning him. You felt Halsin’s hands spread you open and your breathing hitched, feeling the druid’s cock prod the back of your thighs.

“She’s so wet,” he remarked, “are you ready for me?”

Astarion let you go long enough for you to look back at Halsin. You could see him stroking his cock, staring at your twitching pussy with an almost intoxicated look. 

“Yes, Halsin!” You panted, shaking your hips and making your ass jiggle for him, “I want you to fuck me, too!”

Astarion moaned and urged you on, “And then what, pet?”

You whimpered needily, wanting Halsin’s cock to stuff you full, “Y-your cum… I want you to cum inside me, Halsin, please!”

“Very good, darling,” Astarion praised and the both of you watched as Halsin’s face gained a look of absolute rapture as he sunk into you. You choked on a loud moan as you felt his massive manhood slip into your wet pussy, dragging along your juicy, twitching walls. You felt a droplet of drool leak out of your mouth.

“Silvanus preserve me,” Halsin groaned, long and loud, “you feel so good, so tight…” he hissed, stilling when he was only half-way in.

Astarion turned you back to face him, and he traced his thumb over your mouth, collecting the drop of drool you let slip on the pad of his thumb before he pushed it back in your mouth. He sneered down at you, but you could see the love in those crimson eyes, “/Messy/ girl, you’re already falling to pieces, aren’t you?” He pressed his leaking cockhead back to your lips, “Suck.”

With bleary eyes, you obeyed, moaning around Astarion’s cock as Halsin continued to press into you. You whined as the druid finally bottomed out; you felt his heavy balls pressing tightly to your oversensitive little clit, you felt his huge hands bracing himself on your squishy waist, but most distracting and pleasurable of all, you felt his flaring cockhead kiss your cervix, his girth pressing tightly against your walls! You flexed around him, begging Halsin to fuck you stupid while your mouth was occupied.

Soon you were rocked back and forth, the men settling on a pattern that rocked you back on the druid’s massive cock, then forwards so Astarion could fuck your throat. They made sure neither your mouth or pussy was empty at a time. You clutched the grass beneath you like a lifeline, you felt like you were losing your higher brain functions. Nothing else mattered in this beautiful moment other than the pleasure you felt, and the pleasure your lovers were taking from you, greedily fucking your sweet little holes like their lives depended on it.

You heard Halsin let out a deep groan and his hands migrated from your waist to your hanging belly, holding you tight, his own warm belly and chest pressing into your back as he took you in a more bestial position. The thought of Halsin losing control as he pounded you, losing his own grip on propriety and fucking you like a wild animal, made you scream around Astarion’s length and the vampire withdrew from you briefly and cupped your jaw as you whined long and loud, announcing your second orgasm of the night. Halsin fucked you through it, rasping and grunting filthy praise all the while.

“Perfect girl, cum on my cock, such a good girl. Surely you can do it again for me, yes?”

You nodded helplessly as you convulsed around his pistoning cock, drool freely dripping from your parted lips, “Uh huh!” you could only whine in reply.

With a long index finger and thumb, Astarion squished your chubby cheeks together, making you pout. You heard him click his tongue down at you, “What a greedy girl we have~ Already cumming again?” he used his other hand to guide his cock to your mouth, lightly slapping your cushiony lips with his angry red cockhead, “help me cum and we’ll see to that third orgasm you need.”

Haslin let out a breathy laugh from behind you, groping your soft ass as he slowed his pace, letting you recover a bit, “Third, fourth… however many she wishes!”

“You’re already spoiling her!” Astarion whined, but you could hear his smile, even when you closed your eyes to obediently take his cock back onto your tongue, “Though she does beg to be spoiled, doesn’t she? To be pampered and fucked full all day long. Thaaat’s a good pet~” he cooed to you as his fingers wound into your soft tresses.

With a nod from you, the two men resumed their steady pace. Astarion in, Halsin out. Halsin in, Astrarion out… The noises you three were making filled the air around you; your sweet, muffled whines mixed with Astarion’s low voice spitting vile taunts mixed with sincere, divine praise, and Halsin’s rough, almost animalistic growls and grunts as he became more and more desperate. The symphony of your voices was accompanied by the filthy, wet noises of Astarion fucking your sloppy mouth, and Halsin drilling your gushing, oversensitive pussy. You felt your breasts and stomach swinging under you with every movement, felt Halsin’s broad hips slapping your cushy ass with every deep thrust he gave, dragging his heavy cock along your sweet spot before it squeezed against your cervix. You felt his heavy balls kiss your hard little clit before he dropped a hand under you to circle it, making your eyes roll back. You wondered if you would cum again before the men did?

You didn’t have long to ponder that before you heard Astarion hiss out a strained warning, “Fuck, darling, I’m going to cum,” he pulled your hair back hard and you whined in pleasurable pain. You looked up blearily into Astarion’s gorgeous red eyes that were burning with intense lust, “I’m going to shoot straight down your throat, you will swallow every last drop,” he ordered, withdrawing for a moment so you could breathe, “then you’ll thank me for the meal. Understand?” he grinned sharply as you nodded, his smile nearing on crazed, and he licked his lips before plunging down your throat. 

Your eyes rolled back in your head, Halsin continuing to pound you while you felt Astarion release pump after pump of hot, bitter cum right down your throat. The vein on the underside of his manhood throbbed against your tongue. The vampire’s head rolled back and he let out a long, beautiful moan as he fed you. Halsin slowed down his pace for a moment, letting you swallow the thick fluid as AStarion withdrew his spent cock.

Good, obedient girl that you were, you smiled up at him hazily and licked your lips, “Thank you for the meal, Astarion~” you panted, showing him your empty mouth.

“Perfect pet,” Astarion praised and caressed your beautiful, soft face, catching his breath, “Now, let dear Halsin finish you off!” he nodded back at Halsin and you cried as the druid started up at a punishing pace.

You writhed beneath him, sweat dripping onto the grass under you as your toes curled in the night air. Both you and Halsin were beyond the point of words, just crying and moaning and grunting and screaming as pleasure overtook you. Halsin took greedy handfuls of your plush fat, using it as an anchor to pull you back on his cock, drilling deeper and deeper, hitting spots inside you never touched before. It was all too much! Too much! The feeling of that massive cock fucking you with intent to breed, Halsin’s strong arms holding you in place while Astarion’s hands now held you as if you were a delicate, priceless gem, the taste of Astarion’s cum at the back of your throat. You couldn’t hold back your voice, whiny and far-gone.

“Gonna cum gonna cum gonna cum- Halsin! HALSIIIN!” You screamed into the night as your body bent, thrashing as orgasm overtook you. Your vision went white as Halsin growled behind you.

“Gods, yes! Cum on this cock!” He railed you through it, body on top of yours, nearly pressing you into the dirt as you squirted around his cock, “take my seed, take all of my- oh fuck-!”

You felt yourself spasm in your lovers’ hold, cumming again, gentler, as you felt Halsin empty a torrent of hot, sticky cum into your womb. Halsin gasped for breath as he gave a few final thrusts, as if ensuring every drop of his seed was safely planted in you. He slowly pulled out and you whined at the sudden loss, and you held a hand over your well-used pussy to make sure nothing leaked out. 

Halsin laid back on the grass, and Astarion guided your boneless body to lay next to him. You immediately curled around Halsin, one of his strong arms wrapping protectively around your shoulders. Astarion joined his other side, also being pulled to cuddle on top of the druid.

You sighed blissfully. Your sweat had cooled in the night air, but you were warmed by the men near you, and you could tell the feeling was more than mutual. The moon and stars shone above you, providing light so you could see your lovers’ satisfied smiles. 

Astarion fluffed his hair, which had gotten more than a bit tousled during your fun, “Well, Halsin, I sincerely hope you enjoyed yourself as much as we did,” he propped his chin up on one of Halsin’s pecs and gave him a coy smile, “I would very much like to do this again~”

Haslin let out a quiet laugh and his chest rumbled with it, “If the both of you would be willing to have me again, I would love that.”

You nuzzled into Halsin’s neck and pressed a warm kiss to his sticky, sweat-lined skin, “Mmh~ I’d love that. There’s so much I’d love to try with you two.”

Astarion grinned and reached over, tasking your hand in his own, “Really, darling~? Do tell us, then. What could possibly be on your mind?” Halsin and Astarion looked down at you, curious with a faint spark of renewed lust.

You shook your head, “I’ll tell you next time,” you let out a yawn as fatigue creeped up on you, “but… don’t let me stop you two from fooling around if you’re not spent yet.” you added with a playful smile.

Halsin pinched your cheek and you giggled, “Naughty little thing,” he teased, but he cast a glance at Astarion, “Though… if you wanted, Astarion…?” he left the question hang.

Astarion huffed and hid his blushing face on the other side of Halsin’s neck, “And you call me insatiable!? I need my beauty rest!”

Halsin laughed and pulled you and Astarion closer, “Well then, beauties, why don’t we rest? We can regroup with the others in the morning.”

You and Astarion agreed, and snuggled up to the cuddly druid until the sun eventually bathed your bodies in it’s warm embrace. Though you had to admit, now you would prefer the embrace of your vampire and your druid any day.

~💞~

AN2: Oh!! Taglist! I'm gonna tag everyone who liked to the taglist post I made PLUS everyone who commented about part two on the first part lmao~

@bamblepee @nova-starion @rosaliemizzrym @cross-stitch-grandma @serendipitous-fernweh @winnieshitposts-blog @audreonne @missusbarnes-rogers @darkprincemara @iwannabealocalcryptid @flowerfoxsstuff @teramjna @huuvu @somewhereonliknow @exophelia @absinthe-adonis @aquarivsrot

#bg3 astarion #chubby reader #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 halsin #fat reader #smut #baldur's gate 3 smut #Pajama Writes #halsin x reader #astarion x reader #halsin x astarion #female reader

[blackmambaboobs]

Your scaly boyfriend can’t help but love your squishiness. His whole body often wraps around you, he can’t help it though! You’re so soft and warm, like his own personal weighted blanket! He’ll often knead your rolls like a Cat, content and in his own world, purring a storm. He has a dopey smile on his pretty face like he’s high off of your squish (he pretty much is). He’s pretty clingy, so he’ll often have himself half way wrapped around your body as you’re doing something. But whenever you try to shoo him away, he’ll give you the biggest Puppy eyes known to man! How can you ask that of him when you’re so cute and squishy and warm? That’s cruel! You can only sigh and get back to whatever you’re doing with him happily coiled around you, trying to ignore the touch of his clawed hands on your body. 

#estrella rambles #reader insert #x reader #monster boyfriend #monster #terato #naga boyfriend #naga #headcanons #headcanon #fat reader #plus size reader #chubby reader #I'm making all monsters purr #Fight me