#he’s all ‘focus focus focus focus focus focus’ to himself when he realizes

[reiderwriter]

Hi, so I have a request, but please don't feel pressured to write it now.

I was wondering if you could please do a scene or scenario where Spencer shouts out in desperation and panic "where's my wife" after a close call with the team on a very dangerous case.

A/N: I put a bit of a twist on your request so I hope you still enjoy it! Thank you for requesting~♡

Warnings: minor injury to canon characters, explosion, temporary loss of hearing, sight, etc.

The force of the blow was so strong that when Spencer Reid finally came to, a few seconds after hitting the ground hard, he couldn't hear a thing. 

Whether it was adrenaline, or an injury, or pure shock, his senses were numb, and the only thought in his head as he started screaming was of you. 

“Wh-where,” he coughed, shaking his head to try and focus. “Where's my wife?” 

His voice was quiet and weak at first, but it didn't matter to him. After all, he couldn't hear the words at all. He just felt his lips form the words and knew the familiar vibrations in his throat meant the sound was escaping into the wind. 

You pushed through crowds with a scream as you tried to get through to your team. Spencer wasn't the only one close to the blast. 

Emily, JJ, Morgan, and Hotch were all in various states of disarray around you as you ran back from the car across the street. You'd run back to check some files, feeling something off, and the heat and loud boom behind you was the confirmation you'd been looking for that you were right. 

After his first few attempts, Reid still couldn't see you, much less hear you or touch you or press his arms around you and not let go. He struggled to his feet and began calling again. 

“Where's my wife? Where is… WHERE'S MY WIFE?” His voice broke, and he  coughed gasped through each word, but he didn't stop. 

He stumbled forward, looking to see you through the haze of dust that had erupted from the blast site. Morgan ran to his side just as he tripped, pulling an arm under his as they stumbled together away from the rubble. 

“Where is she? She was right here, I need-” he coughed, leaning more on Morgan than he was walking for himself as his ankles twisted under him. 

“Hey, hey kid, we're okay. We need to get away from the blast, okay? Away.” 

Spencer kept rambling, though, his ears ringing as he blinked away his confusion and the panic creeped in stronger. 

“My wife, where is she? Morgan, I have to find her, she could be hurt,” he demanded, his voice stronger now as he pushed out of Morgan's grip. 

Ambulances and police cars were beginning to pull up, half of them already having been on route when your team had pulled up. 

Spencer searched through the crowd, sorting through faces until he found the one he desperately needed to see. 

Emily and JJ had been thrown back towards the cars, but both seemed to have missed big shrapnel and other injuries. He watched them clutch each other and stumble behind the cars as they called into their phones, requesting backup. 

Hotch was similarly talking fast to surrounding officers, and though he looked fine, he clutched his knee in his hand. The already dark material of his pants was somehow darker, and shinier in places, and it was only a moment later that Spencer realized a large chunk of shrapnel was jutting out of his leg, just above the knee. 

Rossi had been the furthest from the blast, bar you, and it was him that Spencer saw next, dusting off his clothes as he moved quickly to assess the scene. 

Morgan was still worriedly trailing behind him as he tripped over his feet. 

“Where's my wife? Where's my wife?” 

He finally saw you then, as you dove into the dust and smoke to assist your team. He was just about to fall to his knees when you ran to him, holding him up under his arms as he wrapped himself around you. 

“Found you. I found you, you're okay?” He asked, hands gently cradling your cheeks as he asked, tears in his eyes. 

“I'm fine, Spencer. Are you-” 

He silenced you with his lips, mouth slanting down on yours as he pushed every fear, every emotion, every ounce of adrenaline into your body. He kissed you like you'd never been kissed before, with desperation and longing and relief. 

And when he pulled away, he collapsed into your arms. 

Luckily, Morgan had been only steps away and took some of his weight off you as you stood, gasping for air and reeling from the kiss. 

You were so dazed, you collapsed to the floor, your knees giving in beneath you, and both Spencer and Morgan came down with you. The three of you were weak and traumatized, and emotions were running high, which is why you tried not to be offended by Morgan's line of questioning. 

“How long have you two been married?” He asked, and you were suddenly taken further aback. 

“What?” 

“Reid was looking for his wife. He was shouting ‘where's my wife? I need to find her.’ He was desperate. He was pushing away from me, and then he saw you, and he relaxed.” Despite the blow of the explosion and the now whirl of shrill sirens surrounding them, Morgan laid every word out carefully, like you would blow just as easily given the chance. 

“I'm not… we're not…Morgan, we're not even dating. I don't know what that was but…” 

Your hands carefully stroked Spencer's hair, gently smoothing it out of his eyes as you searched for answers in the man's unconscious form. 

You didn't stop until the paramedics arrived four minutes later, sitting unblinking as they hooked him up to an oxygen tank and carted him off to the nearest hospital. 

XXX 

The second time Spencer Reid awoke, it was dark outside, and the lights were low. But you were at his bedside, sleeping with your head by his legs, and your breathing was steady. So he let his eyes close again, not registering any of the pain the day had inflicted, and let himself sleep beside you. 

XXX

The third time Spencer Reid awoke, you were gone. He wasn't alone, though. Rossi sat upright in a chair beside the window of his hospital room, reading from what looked to be a case file. 

“Spencer, glad to see you returned to the land of the living,” Rossi said, noticing the younger man's movement and walking to his side. He pressed a button, and a doctor raced in, closing the door gently behind him. 

“Where is she? Where is-” 

“Spencer, it's okay. Everyone's okay. The doctor needs to run through some questions with you to check if you're feeling okay. Do your best to answer, okay, genius?” 

Spencer nodded, ignoring the small ache in his head, so similar to the headaches he'd been plagued with in earlier years. 

The doctor ran through standard questions, checked his blood pressure, checked his reactions, and made sure physically he was fine before moving on to more probing issues. 

“Doctor Reid, I'm going to ask you some simple questions about yourself now to assess for any neurological damage.” 

Reid nodded, regretting it instantly, but wanting to get out of the hospital as fast as possible to see you.  

“How old are you, Doctor Reid?” 

“Thirty, I'll be thirty-one this fall.” The doctor nodded and continued. 

“Where did you grow up?” 

“Las Vegas, Nevada. My mom still lives there. She's a patient at Bennington Sanitarium.” 

The doctor nodded and continued. 

“Are you married, Doctor Reid?” 

“Yes, my-” Spencer had to cut himself off as he processed the question fully. Was he married? No. He didn't remember any wedding. He had no romantic arrangement with anyone at this point in time. So why was he saying yes? 

Your face flashed into his head, and he grabbed his chest as his heart ached. It wasn't your face as he usually saw it, but that dazed and shocked expression you'd worn after he'd kissed you. 

He blanched and reclined slightly, suddenly needing all the pillows on the bed for more support as he realized the weight of his mistake. 

“Doctor Reid? Doctor Reid, did you understand the question?”

“What? Oh, no. No, I'm…I'm not married, I guess.” 

Rossi and the doctor shared a look before the doctor took his leave, promising to check in on you again in a few hours. 

The concerned look from Rossi as his bedside was almost too much to take. 

“Stop looking at me like that, Rossi,” he said, grumbling to himself, suddenly upset at the end of his delusions. 

“Like what? I'm not allowed to look at you now?” 

“You're not allowed to pity me. Where's everyone else? They're okay?” 

Rossi took a seat next to him and sighed.

“Hotch is in surgery - non-critical. They just want to be sure the shrapnel that landed in his leg didn't strike anywhere near a nerve or an artery. Morgan survived with a few bruises and scrapes that make him look even more like an action movie hero. He's coordinating with local law enforcement to catch out bomber.” 

Reid nodded along to each revelation, but his patience was growing thin. Rossi was watching him squirm. Reid, waiting for your name to pop up in conversation so he could talk about you, think about you with a valid excuse. 

“Emily and JJ are back at the motels, Penelope met them there to help them out. Emily's left arm is broken, and she has a nasty cut on her face, JJ twisted an ankle and sprained it pretty bad, so she'll be sitting for a while. I, myself, survived with pleasantly few cuts, a boon given my advancing years-” 

“Y/N, what about Y/N?” Reid finally burst, looking pathetically down at Rossi from his hospital bed. 

“Eager, aren't we?” 

“I need to know she's okay, and that... that she doesn't hate me.” 

“You can find those answers out yourself, kid. My shift is almost over.” 

Rossi stood and grabbed his cup of coffee, saluting Reid as he strolled out of the door. 

Reid was confused until the door opened again thirty seconds later, and you rushed in, breathing heavily as you took in his appearance, checking for damage. 

“Y/N,” he said, sitting up again. “Listen, I'm so, so sorry for kissing you yesterday. My mind must've been jumbled after the explosion and- and I thought you were actually my wife, and we were married-” 

You closed the distance between you quickly, grabbing his cheeks like he had grabbed tours only a day before and planting your lips back on top of his again. 

You kissed him the way you'd been kissed once before. With desperation, and longing, and relief. And when you pulled back, there were tears in your eyes that you didn't let fall, as you pressed yourself into Spencer Reid's arms. 

“Don't. Don't scare me like that again. I thought we'd lost you, I thought you'd kissed me and then - and then died!” You ranted, your arms gesturing wildly, every few seconds pausing to rake a hand through your hair. 

“You're not angry?” 

“Yes. Yes, I am angry, Spencer. You got hurt again, I'm seething.” 

“At me. You're not angry at me for kissing you?” He asked, smiling up as you goofily, a little bit worse for wear, but still shining nonetheless. 

“Oh. No. I was confused, but I'm not angry.” 

“Good,” he said, nodding, the two of you falling into an awkward, tense silence. You picked at dust on his shoulder as he stared at you, neither of you bold enough to say another word until the tension was palpable and Spencer Reid burst open. 

“Can I kiss you again?” 

#spencer reid #criminal minds #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfic #mgg #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fandom #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid criminal minds #dr spencer reid #spencer reid x reader fluff #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n

[carmenberzattosgf]

this is probably ooc carmen but fuck it we ball….virgin carmy who’s just so stoked to have sex with you that he doesn’t really realize how ““not normal”” his behavior is.

most men you’ve been with get icked at the thought of kisses after blowjobs or giving head after they’ve cum inside—carmen does NOT care. gripping your jaw and tugging you up for messy kisses, so elated and pleased with you that he doesn’t even care that you haven’t swallowed his cum yet. cumming on your tits or your sticky cunt and immediately cleaning up his mess (and giving you another orgasm)

when you tell carmy he’s nasty, he knows it’s a compliment due to your happy tone but doesn’t really know what you mean because to him this is just normal so he’s like ‘:D ? thanks lmao’ -💫

Oh god my brain is going haywire. While I think it’s OOC for Carmy in the show, I definitely think virgin Carmy before the show would do this. Like please the way you worded it as “stoked to have sex with you” is exactly what is going on in Carmy’s brain. Literally just happy to be here vibes.

When you suck him off he refuses to push your head down at all, whatsoever. As soon as he cums in your mouth he’s pulling you off of your knees by your jaw to kiss you. You haven’t even gotten the chance to swallow before his tongue presses into your mouth.

It’s so fucking messy. A clash of lips and tongue. Spit mixed with cum drips out from between his mouth and yours. Carmy isn’t phased at all by it. If anything, the taste of himself on your tongue spurs him on. By the end of it, he’s wiping off the corners of your mouth with his thumb before cleaning the digit off with his mouth.

You assume it must have been a fluke, the way Carmy didn’t care about kissing you with his cum still in your mouth. Every guy you’ve ever been with would have protested, at least a little bit.

It’s not a fluke. Not at all. Carmen’s just straight up filthy. He shows that the next time he fucks you. He has only even cum inside you before, but Carmy has other plans this time. Right after you climax, he’s pulling out of you and fisting his cock at a rapid speed. His eyes stay focused on you and your body. Specifically, on the way your hips twitch with pleasure, and how your head is thrown back exposing the hickies he left earlier. The desperate cries of his name from your lips brings him to the edge. A couple more strokes and he’s cumming all over your stomach. Hot spurts of cum land on lower abdomen and the folds of your cunt.

When you manage to open your eyes again, Carmy wordlessly lowers himself between your legs. His blue eyes look up at you, completely blown out, as his tongue licks a broad stripe from your mound to your navel. He diligently collects every bit of cum on your stomach, swallowing it happily, before he shifts focus to your cunt. Carmen takes the same level of care there, licking up every trace of cum he encounters.

Once you’re all ‘cleaned up’, he works fast to bring you to another orgasm. If there’s one thing for sure about Carmy, it’s that he knows how to use his tongue. He already knows you inside and out, tracing his tongue on your cunt in the perfect way to make you scream. You finish with your thighs clamped around his head and your hands woven into his hair.

“Fuck, Carmy,” you sigh, letting your thighs fall back against the mattress. Carmy looks as happy as can be with a ditzy look in his eyes, and a smile he couldn’t wipe away if he tried. “You’re really nasty,” you laugh.

His head falls to rest on your thigh, looking up at you with a look of devotion in his eyes. “What do you mean?” One of his hands reaches for your own, interlocking his fingers with yours. It’s comments like this that remind you how little experience he has with sex.

“Well… every other guy I’ve been with would never kiss me after a blow job. Let alone willingly lick cum off my stomach.”

“It’s my job to clean you up. I um— trust me, I’m happy to do it.” Carmy blushes as he speaks. He really had no clue that wasn't the norm. He was just doing what felt natural.

"I'm not going to stop you. Besides, it's kinda hot."

"Oh is it?"

So yeah bascially carmy is so into cum play like it’s so very serious. It’s the part of the marking kink he 100% has going on.

#carmen berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto #the bear #carmy berzatto x reader #the bear fanfiction #carmen berzatto smut #carmy berzatto smut #carmy berzatto #carmy bear

[iamthecomet]

𝔐𝔲𝔰𝔥𝔶 𝔐𝔞𝔶 𝔇𝔞𝔶 𝔒𝔫𝔢: ℭ𝔲𝔱𝔢𝔫𝔢𝔰𝔰 𝔄𝔤𝔤𝔯𝔢𝔰𝔰𝔦𝔬𝔫

Pairing: Raindrop Rating: G Words: 885 Mushy May prompts by @forlorn-crows Divider by @ghuleh-recs

Rain finds it hard to look at Dew when he’s like this. Hyper focused. Hands full. A little furrow dug in between fair eyebrows. Tongue pinned between his fangs, poking out just enough. Corners of his lips pulling down as he really gets into it. The world dissolving around him. 

It makes Rain want to kiss him. Or strangle him. Both. He should look away. They’re doing the sort of parallel play that they always do after a tour winds down. Instrument maintenance in an otherwise empty practice room. Dew cleaning and restringing guitar after guitar. Making little changes to help him out next time–things that are still fresh on his mind since they’ve only been home a few days. 

Dew’s sitting on the floor, cross legged. Guitar on his lap. Fingers flying over the frets. Headphones on–whatever he’s playing piped into his head alone. Rain gave up on his bass a while ago. It’s restrung, it’s clean. He has other things he could do–practice. Work on the little things he kept fumbling over. Start plucking out new bass lines for the album Papa says they need written write away. But he doesn’t bother.  He can’t imagine anything else he’d rather do than watch Dew. 

Dew’s one crooked fang digs into his lip when he really concentrates. He’s bent over the guitar now, head bobbing. Foot bouncing where it’s trapped beneath one of his skinny thighs. 

Rain loves to watch him play. He doesn’t get to often. Even when they practice it feels like a performance. And Rain has to focus on hitting all his marks, and not falling up the stairs, and not fucking up the song. And Dew–in those cases–isn’t like this. Isn’t small and quiet and himself. He is a persona on stage–most of it true to life, but this feels more genuine. 

And, he’s fucking adorable. The fans will never see him like this–Dew would see it as a weakness. Rain thinks that’s stupid but secretly he’s glad he gets to call this version of Dew his. 

He stands–he can’t help it. Can’t wait anymore. He puts his bass away. Dew doesn’t notice or look up–engrossed in his guitar, in the music. Head swaying, whisps of long golden hair coming loose from the bun at the back of his head to fall over his cheeks. Rain sits down behind him. Brackets Dew with his legs, careful not to bump the guitar as he does. He presses his chest right up against Dew’s chest, hands slipping down to rest at Dew’s waist. Gentle. 

He smells like weed and cinnamon. Rain inhales. Dew leans back against him a little. That’s the only indication Rain gets that Dew knows he’s there at all. That’s ok, Rain doesn’t really want attention. He just wants to watch. 

He hooks his chin over Dew’s shoulder and casts his eyes down. Watches those lithe fingers fly over the frets. Rain can hear the headphones now–can tell he’s practicing Phantom of the Opera solos–a song they’ve never even played live. Leave it to Dew to be the over achiever. Rain turns his head to look at Dew’s profile. Sharp cheekbones. Furrowed brow. A little peek of pink tongue sticking out between his fangs–both of them really digging into that bottom lip now. 

Rain wants to press his thumb to it–pull it free. But that seems–invasive. Distracting.  He nuzzles against him instead, tucking his face into Dew’s neck and shuffling as close as he can, like he wants to crawl into Dew’s skin with him. 

Dew picks up a raspy purr. It’s quiet–but Rain feels it. He’s not even sure Dew knows he’s doing it. Satanas he’s adorable like this. It’s unfair. Criminal. Rain can’t stand it. 

Before he realizes he’s doing it he’s opened his jaw and clamped down on the juncture between Dew’s neck and shoulder. He can’t help it–he doesn’t even know why he’s doing it. He just knows if he doesn’t put Dew in his mouth and rattle him around like a chew toy right now he’s going to lose it. 

Dew jolts.  “What the fuck, dude?” 

Dew stops playing, rips the headphones off, he looks down at Rain. Furrow in his brow gone now–instead his eyebrows are up by his hairline. The puzzled look on his face doesn’t help. Rain bites down a little harder before he gets a hold of himself again. 

“Sorry,” Rain mumbles, unlatching his jaw to talk. He wants to dig in again. Wants to sink his teeth in and carry Dew around in his jaw for the rest of eternity. 

“You bit me,” Dew laughs. He’s looking at Rain like he’s lost his mind–maybe he has. But the way he reaches over to tuck a dark curl behind Rain’s ear makes the water ghouls heart swell. Doesn’t matter if Dew thinks he’s insane, because Dew loves him all the same. 

Rain nuzzles against him again. “You looked cute,” he mumbles.

Dew blinks at him, that little crease in his eyebrow comes back as he works it out in his head. But he doesn’t pull away. He doesn’t stop purring. If anything, he leans more of his weight onto Rain. Rain’s purr kicks up in return. 

Dew sighs. “Just…not so hard next time.” 

Rain huffs out a little laugh, “no promises.”

#Comet writes #mushy may 2024 #Raindrop #Rain ghoul #Dewdrop ghoul #the band ghost fanfiction #the band ghost fic #the band ghost fanfic

[winwintea]

secure that card! 04. refund date

Chenle couldn’t help but feel a little remorseful as he watched you limp out of your dorm building in crutches. 

“Hey” He waved, as he rolled down the window.

You gave him a sideways glance, looking at his 2024 Mercedez GLE63, and then back at him, “A little help, please?” 

His expression hardened, as he quickly scurried out of the car, running around to grab the designer bags from your hands. You hoisted yourself into the passenger seat, and he laid your crutches and bags on the backseat. 

When Chenle started driving, you decided to make small conversation. “I’m, sure you’ve read my hospital records but let’s pretend like that never happened. I’m Y/n L/n. Nice to meet you.” “Zhong Chenle.” He smiled, still looking at the road. “Sorry for running into you.” Your face relaxed a bit as you shifted into the seat, slumping your head back, “It was my fault anyways. I should’ve been looking for cars when recklessly crossing the street.” you added, sighing, “My boyfriend had just broken up with me, right before the accident. Wasn’t really thinking clearly.” “Boyfriend…?” Chenle asked curiously, eagerly listening to you speak. 

“Oh yeah.” You gave him a helpless smile, as the mood started to turn a little sour.

Chenle picked up on this, and he didn’t want to lose this perfect opportunity to get you to open up more, so he tried to crack a light joke, “Honestly I’m just glad you didn’t sue me.” He ran a couple of fingers through his hair before turning to look at you for the first time since he had started driving.

“Are you kidding? You paid for my medical bills. That’s more than I needed.” He chuckled, continuing to focus on the road again, “It was the least I could do for you. And now you won’t even accept the other gifts.”

Before you could answer, Chenle quickly changed the subject, “So how long have you been here?” You looked at him curiously, wondering about the sudden change of subject, “Do you mean on campus? Or like in general.” He realized that the question was phrased in a weird way, and corrected himself, “Well I’m from Shanghai, so i’m not a native here. However, you seem to have no accent, so I can merely assume you’re from the US? Am I correct?” “Oh!” You smiled, and Chenle seemed to notice some sparks of light reflected by the sun that seemed to lit up from your eyes. It made you seem even more beautiful. “Born & raised here. Live laugh love.” You sighed again, resting your head on the headrest. You two were almost at the mall, already pulling into the parking lot. “It must be hard to live away from home.” “Actually, it’s quite nice. Living abroad is a fun challenge.” Chenle wondered how the conversation had suddenly turned on him. At least he knew now that you were in fact a US citizen, which was key to his task. Now for step two: How to win you over?

“I’ve never heard anyone describe it as 'fun'.” you looked at him, puzzled. “Well…” He took a breath, steering the car into a parking spot. “I’m glad to be the first.”

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SUMMARY ▸ zhong chenle is the owner of many cards. a black card? he owns that. he even has a stanford student id card. the one card he doesn’t own though? a green card. and if chenle plays his cards right, he just may be able to secure one by wooing you. or it could all fall through… who knows?

TAG LIST ▸@marvelahsobx @lyvhie @odxrilove @jkslvsnella @aquaphoenixz @wonnieluv @acidwon @syatchy @sleepyvic @grassbutneo @chcnlcs @taeeflwrr

#to all men: “nice collarbones” is not a compliment #do not flirt like chenle thanks #thanks have a great day #nct #nct dream #nct scenarios #nct imagines #nct fic #chenle #nct 127 #nct x reader #nct dream fic #zhong chenle #zhong chenle x reader #chenle x reader #chenle x y/n #nct dream social media au #nct dream smau #nct smau #nct social media au #chenle smau #chenle social media au #nct dream hard hours #nct hard hours #nct dream series #nct dream imagines #chenle hard hours #zhong chenle fic #chenle scenarios

[kettlefire]

Broken Promises

It wasn't their fault.

Vlad kept trying to remind himself of that. It wasn't their fault when the prototype malfunctioned. When Vlad was curled on the floor of the lab. When screams tried to force their way out of his throat, but all he could muster was muffled choked cries. When it felt like someone had tazed him while also throwing acid on his face.

The pain had been unbearable. He couldn't focus. The voices were barely a haze in the background. Vlad knew something was wrong. So horrible wrong. He just didn't realize just how wrong it all went.

He didn't realize it when he was being wheeled out of the building. Bodies and people moving around him. Vlad could barely see anything. Cooled products were being placed all over his face, blocking out most of his vision. The coolness of the items only seemed to make Vlad's skin burn more, the feeling sinking down to his bones.

But Vlad had seen them. The two of them, just as the ambulance doors closed. Jack Fenton and Madeline Walker. The two held each other, tears streaking their faces.

But that's not what Vlad focused on.

No. What got him was the look of unfiltered horror and disgust. A look aimed at him. At whatever that portal had done to his face. A look that cut so deep that Vlad had felt something crack inside him. The last thing he saw before everything went black.

It wasn't their fault.

Vlad reminded himself after he had woken up alone in a hospital room. Nurses and doctors fussed over him, trying to tell him what was going on. Words that went in one ear and out the other ear.

Everything hurt. Every single atom in his body felt like they were boiled, burning until nothing but ash would be left behind. The medication didn't do anything.

They had to limit him, and he understood. They couldn't risk him overdosing, but it was hard not to cry and beg for more when the relief only lasted a few hours... A few hours that quickly turned to minutes.

After the fourth day, Vlad gave up on hoping. Gave up looking up every time the door to his room opened. He was at a high risk of infection, a burn unit for a burn the hospital had never seen before.

Then it happened. Vlad woke up from another fitful, short, painful sleep to voices. Gentle hands holding his through PPE. He barely believed it when his eyes landed on Jack Fenton.

Maddie hadn't come. Jack made a hundred and one excuses why she couldn't. But Vlad knew why. She was disgusted with him. She probably saw him as broken, tainted with how much ectoplasm had hit him.

Jack had been nothing but apologetic and gentle. His usual clumsiness and heavy hands seemed to vanish. Jack had doted over Vlad for three months.

When the burns healed but turned into infectious acne. Something Jack coined as "Ecto-acne". Jack swore up and down that he'd find a way to cure it. That him and Maddie were working on something, something to fix things.

To return it all back to normal.

Long evenings of Jack's visits helped Vlad. Helped him feel less horrible about how he looked or how he felt. The pain was still there, but seeing his friend's smile and attempts to make him laugh seemed to make it all bearable.

Then, one day, Jack didn't show up. Vlad tried to remind himself that the man had other duties in life. Jack had classes still, and it's already been three months. He couldn't expect Jack to throw his life away just because Vlad's life was on a pause.

When one day turns to a week, then to a month, then to five months... Vlad couldn't keep lying to himself. He had been abandoned. Abandoned completely by the people he thought would always have his back.

The pain seemed to just get worse once Vlad fell into the solitude. Even the nurses and doctors couldn't seem to stand being around him once the bandages were removed.

Vlad felt like he was dying. His body was a nerve ending current of pain. He'd have episodes of not being able to breathe. He'd constantly have cardiac episodes, code blues, crash carts, the whole nine yards.

The doctors didn't know what to make up of it. New teams, new faces, new opinions. Yet Vlad wasn't getting better. He was only getting worse.

As a year passed, and then two, Vlad lost hope complete. He resigned himself to a short future of pain, a hospital bed, and a lonely death. The tears dried up by the third year.

By the fourth year, Vlad stopped talking. He remained curled in his hospital bed. Barely eating, being fed through an NG Tube. Psychiatrist tried to talk to him, but Vlad refused. He completely shut down.

The only noises that ever left him were his choked sounds of pain, when he was choking for air, or when his heart decided to stop beating right.

By the fifth year, Vlad couldn't remember much. He had flashes of memories. Of lashing out to the hospital staff. He was constantly restrained to his bed. He was an angry shell of his former self.

By the sixth year, it was a repeat of the fourth year. Vlad couldn't feel anything else but pain. He found himself starting to hate Jack and Maddie. Hate that it was their prototype that did this. Hate that they had abandoned him when he needed them most. It was getting harder for Vlad not to blame them.

It wasn't their fault.

The seventh year was when things changed. Vlad had been resigned to the NG Tube, having to take oxygen in through a breathing tube as well. His body was barely functioning at this point, barely keeping his heart beating.

Vlad felt something change as he saw how it affected the staff. The ones that were there since day one. The ones that had tried to hold out hope, even Vlad had given up.

He saw it in their eyes. The second-hand pain they felt watching him wither away into nothing. Even as they smiled at him, they checked in on him. The pain was always there, always lingering.

Vlad hadn't realized anyone cared if he survived until the last few moments. When his breathing was nothing but raspy harsh inhales. When the beeping in the monitors started to slow.

Then he died.

Vlad was certain he died. He felt it, his body finally giving under the years of pain and loneliness. He remembers taking his last breath, feeling his body start to shut down, and his vision fading to black.

There was no big bright light, no flash of his life before his eyes. Vlad had just faded. He heard the monitor flatline and heard the people rushing into his room. Heard one of the nurses asking him to stay with them. In the moment, Vlad realized he should have signed a DNR. That was his last thought before he passed.

It wasn't their fault.

It was unexpected when Vlad suddenly felt his eyes snap open, his chest heaving with a deep full breath. A breath he hadn't been able to take for years now. He heard the shocked cries around him, something clattering to the floor.

Vlad's eyes were wide, breathing growing labored in shocked panic. He could feel his heart. His heart was beating strong and heavy in his chest. He hadn't felt that in so long.

Then there was the aftermath. Doctors scrabbling for any scientific reasoning for Vlad's sudden turn around.

His Ecto-acne had completely gone away within the first week. His organs had started to slowly get better, functioning as they should. The only crazy split second recoveries had been Vlad's heart and lungs.

There was another year of PT, of tests, and studies. Vlad made a full recovery, at least physically. The staff started to call it a miracle after the first few months. When it was cemented that Vlad wasn't going to suddenly decline, he was free to go.

And Vlad did. He spent eight long years in that hospital, eight long years alone and forgotten.

It didn't take him long to track down Maddie and Jack. They never separated in the time he had been abandoned. Vlad found a small town called Amity Park, the place where his friends had settled down.

His friends had moved on with their lives. They had gotten married and had a beautiful little girl. She reminded Vlad so much of Maddie with her spitfire personality. Even at just the young age of four years old.

Then there was the boy. Just a small young thing at only two years old. He seemed to have his father's clumsiness.

It was then. When Vlad was watching the happy family of four at the park, hidden away in the shadows. As he watched how happy they all looked. How happy Jack and Maddie looked without him.

Vlad had shed his first tears in years.

It wasn't their fault.

Vlad reminded himself over and over again. It wasn't their fault when he had his first accident. Almost a decade in a hospital, no friends or family, Vlad had quickly realized he truly had nothing.

He had no money. No support. No anything.

Vlad had struggled all on his own, barely keeping things afloat. Barely scraping by. Barely finding a place to sleep. It was hard, and Vlad had only found himself falling back into shutting down.

And then he phased through his bed.

After waking up in a muffled cry from a nightmare. A horrible twisted recounting of the accident. Vlad suddenly found himself in the room beneath him.

Thankfully, it was empty, but it left Vlad with a whole new problem. It took months of deep personal testing and trials. Of learning about all his new abilities. Finding out about what he was exactly.

It wasn't their fault.

Vlad reminded himself as he learned the truth about his recovery. Learned that he was now essentially half ectoplasm. Half ghost. Half dead.

Abilities seemed to pop up out of nowhere. First, there was the phasing, then the invisibility, then the flying, and the next thing Vlad knew he had fire abilities too.

Things finally turned around for Vlad. After sulking for months, turning to alcohol and drugs. Alcohol and drugs that only lasted for a few moments at a time before fading from his system.

Sure, Vlad turned to a life of crime. But he changed things. He stopped letting the actions of Jack and Maddie run his life. He became a millionaire over the course a few weeks. Then he became a billionaire.

The world was watching him. And for once, it wasn't as a medical mystery. Vlad felt on top of the world. He completed the work he had strive to do in college. He built his own portal, and it worked.

Years few as Vlad learned more. Learned everything he could about the Ghost Zone. As he established power and control over many of the ghosts. As they all learned just what a halfa was.

Dalv. Co become a national success. Vlad had stolen his money, but he had earned to keep it. Working his hardest to make a name for himself, to final be someone. Instead of just in the shadows.

It wasn't their fault.

Vlad reminded himself when he received the email asking him to host the twenty year class reunion. He reminded himself when he reacted out to Jack and Maddie, inviting them to stay with him for the reunion.

Even behind the hidden anger and pain. Vlad missed his two friends, his two best friends. If he could just get an apology, then maybe. Maybe Vlad could finally let things rest.

Except it hadn't happened. Vlad found himself feeling bitter as he looked at his friends. Looked at how much older they've gotten when Vlad barely aged a year. All that changed was his hair turning white over the years.

Bitter, as he watched them interact with their children. Children that Vlad didn't have. Children that Vlad wasn't even sure he could have if he wanted to. There was no evidence of a prior halfa, and Vlad didn't know how much that changed things.

Vlad had success, yes. But he had it completely alone.

It wasn't their fault.

Vlad barely kept a straight face in as they had dinner together. As Maddie and Jack boosted about Fentonworks and their kids. As Jack washed him with compliments for Vlad's accomplishments.

Vlad barely made it through, but he did. Kept it all together as he wished them all good nights. He kept it all together until the moment he went down for a quick drink.

He had to remind himself that he had guests. Ghost hunters in his home. Reminded himself he couldn't just fade down to the kitchen. It was smart he hadn't, considering the fact that Jack was down there. Helping himself to some leftovers.

Vlad couldn't fake it anymore. His mask slipped slowly as they sat in the dimly lit room. As Jack blabbered on and on the way he always did.

It wasn't their fault.

Vlad reminded himself again, not realizing it would be the last time. He found himself in a vulnerable moment. The pain and hurt in his eyes and tone were clear as day when Vlad finally broke the fake pleasantries.

"You promised."

The words had left Vlad as nothing but a whisper. His heart felt raw in that moment. Open and exposed as he felt those feelings. Those feelings from when Jack and Maddie first abandoned him.

Vlad hadn't meant to. He didn't want this to happen now. Not before the reunion. Not before Vlad truly got to see how much they all changed.

But it happened. And Vlad found himself aching to hear a few simple words. For Jack to apologize. Apologize for turning on the prototype. Apologize for taking four days to see him. Apologize for suddenly leaving him behind. Without so much as a word.

"I know."

All that hope, the desperation in Vlad's chest, broke the moment he heard those words. Heard the resignation in Jack's surprisingly quiet tone. A wave of pure despair and pain washed over Vlad in that moment.

Jack didn't apologize. A simple two word phrase that would have meant the world to Vlad in this moment. Jack didn't say it. Instead, he said two words that felt like a stab to Vlad's half-beating heart.

Vlad didn't say anything else in that moment. He downed the last of his drink before standing from his seat. Vlad was much too into his own feelings and thoughts to notice the shock on Jack's face. Or the way Jack's mouth opened to speak again.

Instead, Vlad turned his back on Jack. Although his tone was more hollow than Vlad intended. He managed to fake a layer of pleasantries. A second good night given that night as Vlad made his ways up the stairs.

He wanted nothing more than to curl up in his bathroom. Downing his sorrows in alcohol and maybe taking his rage out in his hidden lab below the surface.

Instead, Vlad found himself with a burning need for revenge. A burning need to break about Jack's life. Break apart Maddie's life. A life they built once leaving Vlad behind. A life they excluded from him for so long. Only just now showing interest to having him around.

No. This time, Vlad was putting himself first. His wants. His needs. His desires. It wasn't about the Fentons anymore. It was going to be about him. About him finding a family. Of having a community. A life outside of his economic and scientific success.

And maybe this time, Vlad was going to start with a certain fourteen year old boy. A certain boy that Vald had picked out at the start.

A certain boy whose heart beats half the average. Who takes in a breath every few seconds, just a tad too long. A certain boy that made Vlad's ghost sense trigger. A certain boy that reeked of ectoplasm.

A certain someone who might just know how it feels to be an abomination to science. To be so different that you may just be the only one to exist.

A certain someone that might just make his life a bit less lonely.

In this moment, Vlad finally realized the truth of his situation. Whatever has happened since that accident. Whatever happened in the years they hadn't talked. Whatever happens now, after this reunion was over. When Vlad finally made his moves. Whatever happened then, now, and in the future. He knew with unbridled certainty that...

It was their fault.

#danny phantom #fandom things #fandom #danny fenton #phandom #vlad masters #jack fenton #dp vlad #vlad plasmius #danny phantom angst #vlad angst #I like to write Vlad as a villain alot #but I also Love Vlad #My guy is just hurt and broken #no excuses but like #fuck the canon #I have my own idea of Vlad #and I stand by it #Jack being Vlad's best friend... At the start #I'm still not the biggest fan of Maddie #I don't know why #so she doesn't get to be a good friend #Vlad breaks in this one #I didn't expect it to turn so dark in the end #but I popped a gummy part way through and is much too high to remember my first idea #anyways Vlad deserves love too #angst #long post #Vlad Master Centric

[notmyneighbor]

A New Neighbor - Francis Mosses/The Milkman x Female Reader

Chapter 2

Word Count - 5k

Rating - Explicit

CW - cheating, touching, oral sex

Also available on AO3

taglist - @kaislashes @unicorngirly1 @charli33-b33 @natiii727227

3:57AM

Francis’ body is programmed to wake up early no matter what day of the week it is. He’s done this delivery job for so many years, it’s ingrained in his system. There is no sleeping in, even on the weekends. One of the reasons Nacha sleeps on the couch some nights, or vice versa.

Last night it had been his turn to have the bed to himself. He stretches and rubs his eyes, his energy picking up when he realizes it’s the day he’s promised to pick you up after school. Nacha is off today. He won’t have to worry about anyone watching Anastacha.

The milkman showers and shaves, making sure his skin is extra smooth before splashing on aftershave. Did you like it? He’d have to ask. He doesn’t really know what you prefer.

Well. He was starting to get some idea.

He tries to be quiet getting the coffee pot going, and of course he fails, the ceramic mug nearly tumbling over when he sets it on the kitchen counter too hastily.

“Francis.” Nacha’s reprimanding voice issuing from the living room sounds drowsy.

“Sorry. Go back to sleep. I’ll be leaving soon.”

“Did you change the time on the alarm?” She sounds more alert now.

“Yes.”

“I’m gonna go lie down in bed until it’s time to get Ana ready.”

“Okay.”

His girlfriend barely spares him a glance before padding down the hallway to the master bedroom. The coffee is ready to pour and he lifts the glass carafe from the burner, filling the mug three quarters of the way full, then stirring in cream and sugar, noting they’re running low on both. He removes the pen from his shirt pocket that he uses for the deliveries (marking off addresses, payments, signatures, that sort of thing) and uses it now to add to the growing list of necessary items affixed to the fridge with a magnet. The pair took turns doing the shopping. Sometimes he’d pick up random items they needed on the way home. Sometimes Anastacha liked to come along on a Saturday morning. It really all depended on how the week was progressing.

Francis emerges from the apartment shortly after, pleasantly surprised to find the weather is mild when he steps outdoors. A sign of an early spring, perhaps. He’s got gloves tucked into his jacket pocket, but it seems he might not need either today. By the time he’s delivered to a few houses, he finds himself warming up sufficiently even without the aid of the dairy truck’s heater.

You’re in his thoughts throughout the day, and not all of it is sexual in nature this time.

Surprising what his mind chooses to focus on. That little moment at the end of your last encounter when he’d taught you the special knock. Sharing that secret with you made him feel…something. It’s too early to say what it is yet.

For once he’s grateful for the busy assignment, making the time pass more quickly once he’s loaded up the truck. He’s working extra efficiently this morning, despite the early hour. Normally he’s sluggish and reluctant at the start of the shift, his body protesting in spite of its acknowledgment of the routine. This new nervous energy you imbued him with, though, changes everything. He wants to make sure he’s at your school promptly on your agreed upon time.

The weather is so nice he stops for lunch at a local park. It’s a weekday, so it’s not too crowded. Mainly young children using the playground, accompanied by their mothers. He should bring Ana here soon. Maybe he’ll invite you along, too.

He finishes his route with time to spare, pulling up near the front entrance of the high school you attend. That’s when his palms start to get a little damp, his left foot twitching nervously. The likelihood of running into anyone he knows here is slim, but not impossible. The school isn’t on his route. He doesn’t really have a valid excuse to account for his presence here if anyone asked.

No one does. The minutes slip by. You’re there. Pushing through the glass front doors, squinting against the glare of the sun. He can see your smile even from here. Brighter than that celestial body in the sky. Your cardigan is tied around your waist. You’re carrying some books, clutched against your chest. A casual walk that quickens suddenly, impatient to see him.

“Hi,” you greet him through the open door.

He suddenly realizes the problem with this plan. The truck only has a seat for the driver. It isn’t meant to host passengers.

“Hi. How was school?”

“Good.” You adjust the strap of the bag on your shoulder. “Where do I, um…”

He rubs the back of his neck. “Yeah, so. About that. I guess I wasn’t thinking…I can grab one of empty crates from the back and sit on that? Sorry.”

“No problem. I don’t mind.”

He lends you a hand to help you enter the vehicle. He’s used to the high step, but it’s a little more challenging for you. Your hand clings to his tightly, even after you’ve safely made it inside.

“Hi,” you say again, but this is a different kind of greeting. Softer. Your eyelids dip languidly. He wants nothing more than to grab you and kiss you right then, but it’s too public here. Even seen doing this is still risky.

“We should go somewhere less…exposed, you know?”

“Okay.” You watch him move one of the aforementioned crates and drag it near his seat, then unknot and set your cardigan down on top of it before sitting, your bag and books tucked next to your makeshift seat on the floor.

“All set?”

“Yes.”

“Let’s go.”

It takes a few minutes to leave the city proper, traveling into the suburbs. The truck is not the smoothest of rides; he’s always forced to make sure the glass bottles are secured properly before he makes his deliveries. It jostles you now, and he lets one hand drop down for you to hold.

“I don’t really know where to go,” he admits once he reaches the outskirts of the densely populated residential area. It’s farm country out here. Lots of open fields. Orchards.

“There’s…there’s a house people go to. Kids at my school talk about it. It’s abandoned. A place to, you know…”

“That doesn’t seem particularly safe nowadays with the doppels running loose. But I suppose horniness overrides caution,” he remarks wryly. “You shouldn’t go anywhere alone, though,” he adds, his smile fading.

“Oh! That reminds me. We didn’t do the secret knock.”

He’d completely forgotten, too. Not that he has any doubts you’re really you.

He eases off the road, parking the truck in the dirt. “Okay. We’ll do it now.”

You stand, stretching gratefully from your awkward position. His fingers tap out the melody on the dashboard that’s in desperate need of dusting, leaving fingerprints behind as he goes. You make your own set beside his. Your fingers are so much smaller and thinner than his. Elegant. It’s no wonder you play piano.

“What would you do if I was a doppelgänger?” You pull his cap off and toss it onto the shelf above the steering wheel.

“Let you eat me and die happy.”

“Francis!”

He snakes an arm around your waist and tugs you closer. Your fingers card through his thick chocolate colored tresses. He buries his face against your shirt, inhaling your fragrance. You remain like that for a few minutes, just holding each other. It’s so quiet out here. He’s used to the noises of the city, the sounds of the traffic and people. Even at night it’s still busy. It never really slumbers.

But here it’s different. Peaceful. He likes the feel of your fingers combing through his hair. Soothing, being pressed against you like this. Warm. The sun pours through the windows, bathing skin in golden light. Your body is so soft. This is another moment he knows he’s going to savor again later in his memories.

Eventually he eases back, his eyes meeting yours. “Want to come for a walk?”

You nod. He helps you down from the truck. Your hand slips into his. The dead weeds from the previous season aren’t difficult to navigate. It’s easy to traverse the field, leaving the truck and the road and the entire world behind.

“My dad said you’re engaged,” you murmur, disrupting the comfortable silence. Francis halts and you stop beside him. “But Nacha doesn’t wear a ring.”

“We’re not really engaged,” he says. He sighs heavily. “We should probably talk about my situation. You deserve to know the truth.”

“Okay.”

“Sit with me.”

He eases down into what looks like a softer, more cushioned patch of ground, clustered with wild grass and you settle beside him, tucking your skirt beneath you.

“When I was younger,” he begins, then sighs again. “I’m just going to tell you straight. You’re an adult. I mean. Basically.” He pulls at one of the longer blades of grass and begins wrapping it and unwrapping it around his index finger. “We made a mistake. We just wanted to fool around, have some fun. And we weren’t careful. And Nacha got pregnant. It wasn’t planned. We weren’t even dating, really. I know it takes two and all that. We both had an equal share of blame. I couldn’t just let her bear the burden while I got off Scott free. So we decided to throw our lots in together, see if we couldn’t make something come of it anyway. We told people we were going to get married to cover up for what really happened.”

He drops the piece of grass. “Nothing really came of it. We have Ana, and of course we both love her. But we weren’t ready for any of this. We’re basically roommates. Two people occupying the same space linked by this one little person. We make each other crazy, sometimes. We’re so different. I’m glad she’s getting out of the house, now. She deserves to be happy.”

“You deserve to be happy, too,” you comment gently, your first words since his own had poured forth.

“I’ve kept all this bottled up inside me for so long. We keep to ourselves. We don’t really have friends. All I do is work. I feel trapped. Suffocated. I want…I want something more.” It’s a relief to finally give voice to the thoughts and feelings that have been plaguing him. It’s easy to talk to you. There’s no harsh judgment in your gaze. All he feels radiating from that look is understanding.

“I’ve been my dad’s whole world for as long as I can remember. He’s always been good to me. Maybe too protective, sometimes. But I want him to be happy, too. I wish he’d find someone.” You reach for the milkman’s hand. “Maybe sometimes it’s good to take risks. To be reckless. Are you really living if you spend your entire existence trapped in some bubble?”

He covers your hand with his other one, clutching yours between them. “But you’re safer that way. You don’t want to make the same mistake I did and rush things. You’re young, you have such a bright future ahead of you. Enjoy your life. Your dad said you’re a great student. Do something with that. Go to college. Have a career. The other stuff can wait for later.” It sounds like he’s pushing you away. Maybe part of him is. The decent part that’s still there, buried beneath the lust, fresh spring flowers poking through the soil, carefully emerging.

You study his face for a few moments. “We’re both trapped, just in different ways. I think you’re a good person, Francis Mosses, that got stuck in a very unfortunate situation.”

“Would a good person do this?” He leans over to capture your lips. Instant heat. The carnal desires are overriding morals again.

“Yes,” you whisper, pulling your hand free from the trap he’s created between his, now using it to cradle his cheek.

“I thought about you all day,” he admits. “I can’t stop, no matter how hard I try. Everything reminds me of you. I’ve never experienced anything like this before. This longing, this ache…” Francis kisses you again, leaning now with his whole body, pushing you down beneath him. “You should be somewhere better than this. I don’t know where to bring you, where it’s safe…”

“I don’t care. This is fine. It’s good…” Your head lifts to capture his lips. He doesn’t know why he’s stalling all of a sudden. There’s no one around for miles. He wants you. You’re willing. Why had his conscience chosen now, of all times, to interfere?

“I don’t want to ruin someone else’s life. You deserve better.”

“You’re what I want. Touch me, Francis. I want to feel your hands on me.”

His cock lurches at your words, struggling against its confinement, and the hesitation shatters. He balances his weight on his knees and one forearm, the free one lifting to begin undoing the buttons of your blouse. Plain cotton brassiere today, but he’s not disappointed. He bends to kiss you between your breasts, peppering your flesh with tiny little pecks. He manages to unfasten the hooks on the back of the lingerie covering your bosom on the first try, his lips quickly moving to suck one nipple into his mouth.

A hum of pleasure escapes you. His tongue rolls around the hardening rosy tissue until it resembles a pencil eraser. He pulls lightly with his teeth and repeats the process for its partner. The fantasy of seeing you covered in milk presents itself against. Spilling naturally or poured over. Either way he’d sup gladly.

His kisses trail down your abdomen, his fingers already fumbling for the hem of your skirt. Another serviceable piece of underwear barring him from what he desires, quickly tugged down while he’s kneeling beside you. There will be dirt and grass stains on his uniform that he’ll have to explain later. For now, he doesn’t care. His goal is in sight. That dewy pink flesh he’s been craving a taste of. Your legs are still held fairly close together, residual shyness keeping them that way until he parts them. He licks the inside of one thigh and you whimper.

Then his face is between your legs, his body burrowing against the ground to find a comfortable position as he takes his first taste of your pussy.

Francis moans. Everything he’d expected and yet somehow not. Even better. Had he thought the taste of your mouth was ambrosia? This, this went beyond heavenly. He flicks his tongue across your bud and you shiver. He wants you to cum in his mouth. He’s going to make you.

He keeps one hand at the top of your mound, pulling that swelling bundle taut against the hood and licking it over and over, short, rapid strokes alternating with slower caresses. He kisses your thighs when he feels you shaking too much, getting too close, too soon. He doesn’t want you to find release just yet. It’s the best meal he’s ever had and he doesn’t want it to end.

His mouth clamps on that pretty pink pussy and you moan again, your fingers burying themselves in his hair. He spends some time lapping at the leaking hole he can’t wait to penetrate, sucking your lips, gathering as much of your taste as he can. Your clit has swelled even further, begging for attention he’s only too happy to give it. He doesn’t hold back now, relentlessly licking and sucking until you’re writhing beneath him, grinding against his face, your fingers pulling his hair painfully, straining the roots buried in his scalp as you explode in a noisy, shuddering wet mess.

Francis recognizes the moment when it shifts from being too little to perfect to too much, your body switching into hypersensitivity and he eases his mouth from you. He can feel your juices coating his lips and chin as he changes positions, climbing and dropping down next to you.

Your head lolls to the side to regard him, still in that post orgasmic bliss phase, no doubt. After you recover your body turns until it presses against the milkman, tucked against his side, his arm coming around to hug you. Your face lifts to find his and you kiss him. “Is that what I taste like?”

“You’re delicious. You’ve never tried to taste it?” You shake your head. “Do you ever touch yourself?”

“Sometimes. Not often. I don’t try unless I’m home alone.”

“When was the last time you did?”

“Yesterday.”

“Did you think about us?”

“Yes.”

He hums a little moan at this admission of depravity as your mouth returns to his. You reach for the front of his pants now, where his erection is pressing painfully, begging for escape, lightly massaging the tented fabric where it feels as if all of his blood is pooling, every nerve ending extra sensitive and pleading for more direct contact. He assists you in opening the fly, letting you have the honor of dragging his turgid member free. He savors the little gasp you make, as if you’ve forgotten how large he is, how truly hard you make him.

“Show me how to do it.”

The older man loves the way you murmur this request, your voice sultry and sandpaper rough from lust. He loves that you’re inexperienced, that you haven’t been sullied by some fumbling teenage boy. He guides your hand towards the base, curling your fingers around his phallus. He squeezes where he wants you to apply more pressure, his touch lightening where he needs less. Guiding those delicate digits over the tip, sliding over the dewy opening, caressing the sensitive spot underneath where the curves meet, that silky soft patch of skin. No touch you could give him would ever feel wrong, but he enjoys showing you nonetheless, your hands working together to bring him pleasure until he lets you take the reins.

“Is it good?”

“It’s perfect. You’re perfect.” He’s admiring the view of your still unbuttoned blouse, the way the sun touches the curves, sets the highlights of your hair aflame. An angel, you’re absolutely heaven sent, that delicate hand working so beautifully over his cock, making his hips quiver and jerk every time you slide through the slick leaking over the head. “You’re going to make me cum, baby girl.” He cups one of your breasts, flicking his thumb over the nipple, his teeth catching his bottom lip as he groans and spills seed over your pumping hand. You don’t miss a beat, stroking through his entire orgasm, until his senses are overloaded and he grabs your wrist to halt you.

You rest beside him again, exchanging soft kisses. His eyes fall on his wristwatch and he sighs regretfully. He should be getting back. He needed to get you home. He still has to account for the condition of his clothes. A few unexpected deliveries and a delayed yearbook committee meeting are excuses for tardiness that can only be stretched so far.

You’re solemn after he tells you this, quiet on the walk back across the field. Reality just setting in. This was all he could offer you. Stolen moments blanketed by lies and deception.

Francis backs you up against the truck and kisses you roughly. He’s not happy about the circumstances either. His hands muss the hair you’d smoothed out moments before.

“I don’t want to share you.”

His mouth pulls from yours, his eyes meeting yours. “You’re not sharing me, angel. I’m yours.”

“I don’t want her touching you.”

He cups your face between his hands. “It’s not like that between us anymore. You are all I want.” He’s not about to admit what happened after you’d come over for dinner that night. He’d been thinking of you the entire time anyway. That basically cancelled it out, right? “We don’t even sleep in the same room most of the time.”

You nod. Your fingers knot in his shirt. He presses his lips against your forehead before helping you back into the truck. He kisses you again before starting the engine, and again before he shifts gears. If the doorman thinks anything of the two of you entering the building at the same time, he doesn’t reveal it. The DDD guard still gives Francis that same distrustful look even though he’d remembered to present all of his documents this time. The milkman doesn’t bother to offer a smile.

He waits for you by the elevator, grateful no one else is around. The last kiss he steals is inside the carriage. He watches you exit onto the second floor and it’s all he can do not to chase after you.

Nacha doesn’t comment much when he offers his excuses, the latest fabrication he’s concocted one about stopping to change a tire, explaining the state of his clothes. He showers and you’re in his thoughts again and he wants you, the sudden impulse making him feel he’s on fire all over again.

His girlfriend watches him pick through dinner that evening, the fork securing and releasing a morsel of food repeatedly as he moves it around the plate aimlessly. Ana has already finished hers, playing some imaginary game with a pair of dolls in the living room while her mother carries the empty plates to the sink, glancing at Francis.

“Is something wrong with the food?”

“Hmmm? Oh, no. It’s fine. I guess I’m not hungry tonight.” His blurry gaze focuses on the gray and green orbs peering at him, that unusual mixture of two different colored irises suddenly making him feel like he’s been caught already.

“I’ve never seen you turn down a meal before.” It’s true. He normally consumed things as if he was a condemned man on death row savoring his last meal.

“It was a long day. The schedule is really tiring.”

“This was supposed to be your short day.”

“I know, but then they added more deliveries, and the tire change didn’t help things any.” He pauses. There’s another excuse he’s been thinking of, another reason to be away from home more. “I was thinking of joining Angus and the guys at the bowling alley.” Angus was one of their neighbors, a bachelor salesman. Several of the men in the building belonged to the local league. He wasn’t about to join up, but he supposes he could put in an appearance every now and again, leaving the rest of the time for dalliances with you.

“You hate socializing. And since when do you like bowling?” She folds her arms under her breasts.

He shrugs. “I just think it would be good to get out of the house sometimes for something other than work.”

“I agree with you about that. You definitely need something. You’ve been very distracted lately.”

“Sorry.”

“Well, just make sure it all coordinates with the babysitter’s schedule. Speaking of which, we’re due to pay her. It’s the end of the week. I’ll go run it downstairs.”

“I’ll do it,” he says hastily, the chair dragging across the linoleum harshly as he rises to his feet. She was giving him a reason to see you again.

“Are you sure? You look dead on your feet. I don’t mind, I’ve been home all day.”

“Nah, it’s fine. Maybe I’ll ask the professor if he wants to come along to the alley one of these nights.”

“You’re really getting along well, aren’t you?”

“He’s a good guy.” Unlike himself. Seducing his daughter.

“We can have them over for dinner again, if you want. Ana is so enamored with the sitter.”

“Yeah, she’s uh…she’s great.” He rubs the back of his neck nervously. “I’m going to head over now. Back in a bit. Just um, just put this…”

“I’ll save it for later.” She accepts the plate he hands her.

The milkman pauses in the living room to explain where he’s going and his daughter’s face brightens. “Can I come too?”

“Uh, no, baby. Not this time. I’m just dropping off her payment.”

“But I wanna see what her house is like,” the child replies, pouting.

“Another time, I promise. Gotta talk to her dad. Boring stuff. You stay here and watch over mom until I get back.”

“Okaaay.” She draws out the middle vowel sound, still not happy but accepting his terms.

“We’ll play some dolls when I get back, if you want.” Ana loved it when he did the voices, the imitation higher pitched feminine tones often sending her into fits of giggles.

“Promise?” She looks hopeful again.

“Yes, I promise.”

***

Francis always feels guilty going over someone’s house uninvited.

He knows he has a valid reason for the unexpected visit, but the principle remains the same. He knocks and waits, hearing muffled voices within, and then you answer the door.

“Francis,” you murmur softly. “What are you…”

“I brought your payment. And I was going to talk to your dad real quick.”

You pull the door open wider, granting him admittance. The college instructor is sitting at the kitchen table surrounded by books and papers. “Francis, come in! Sorry for the mess. I miss having an office at home,” he says ruefully. “But, the trade off of a safer living environment is worth it. Right, honey?”

You nod, your gaze alternating between the two men.

The milkman clears his throat. “I don’t mean to bother you. I won’t be staying long. I just wanted to drop payment off for your daughter, and to ask if you’d be interested in joining some of the men in the building at the bowling alley one of these nights. I’m not particularly competitive, but I think it would be good to get out of the house.” He’s looking at you through most of the discourse, hoping you realize why he’s really making this offer.

Your father scratches his chin thoughtfully. “Bowling, huh? It’s been years for me. But you know what? I just might take you up on that one of these nights.”

“Nacha also wanted me to invite you over for dinner again.”

“It’s our turn to host, I think. That sounds like a solid idea as well.”

“Great, we can iron out the details later.” He’s got cash in his hand, the bills still curled tightly into his palm. His last excuse for being here.

“I um…I think I left one of my notebooks at Francis’ apartment,” you say quickly as he presses the money into your hand, his fingers dragging against yours.

“Well, you can get it later, surely? It’s the weekend. I’m sure Francis would like to rest now. I don’t know how you delivery drivers do it, being up so early.”

“You get used to it. I don’t mind,” he adds. “I’ll walk her there and back again.”

“That’s kind of you. I appreciate it.”

“Have a good rest of your evening.”

You exit the apartment, following him past the elevator and into the nearby stairwell.

The door shuts with a heavy clang and he pauses just long enough to make certain there are no footsteps on the stairs before he shoves you against the wall, planting furious kisses all over your face.

“Do you know why I asked your father…”

“Yes. But you’ll have to actually go sometimes, just to…”

“I know.” His teeth nip your bottom lip. “I want you.”

“Francis…”

“I need you,” he says, the words slightly muffled as his lips touch the arch of your throat. “When can I see you again? I can’t wait until Monday. I can’t.”

“I have piano lessons tomorrow.”

“I’ll pick you up from there. Turn around.”

You obey, facing the wall. He bends and grabs the hem of your skirt, then reaches for your panties, dragging them over one cheek of your buttocks. “Come to the park with me and Ana Sunday.” He shoves your hair to one side, his tongue tracing the curve of your ear.

“Okay.”

“You make me crazy.” It has only been hours since he’s been intimate with you and already he’s feeling a desperate urge as he ruts against that exposed globe of flesh, his harsh breathing echoing in the stairwell. Your palm slaps out against the wall and he covers it with his own. “Touch yourself and think about me tonight.” His teeth sink into your shoulder through the fabric of your blouse.

Footsteps and voices below. Francis hurriedly fixes your clothing, stepping back from you. He escorts you back to your door as promised, then it dawns on him that you’d never actually searched for your missing notebook.

“Did you really forget your notebook at my place?”

“No, it was just an excuse to get out.”

“What are you going to tell your father when you show up empty handed?”

“I’ll say I must have left in my locker at school by mistake.“

“I’m making you lie so much already.” A tinge of remorse and regret until he tastes your lips again. Risky, so risky, doing this in front of your apartment. Out in the open, where anyone could see.

“What choice do we have?”

He considers. He’s no stranger to it. He’s been lying for years, he and Nacha, pretending they were a couple, engaged, in love. And now he has to lie to have you. He can’t give you up. He just can’t.

“None. Tell me the address I’m meeting you at tomorrow. And the time to be there.”

You do so, then frown. “What if you can’t get away?”

“I’ll be there,” he says again, firmly. “No matter what. You forgot to do the secret knock again,” he murmurs, his fingers drumming lightly on your cheek. You repeat the gesture on his. “Goodnight. Don’t forget what I said earlier.”

One more brief kiss and then he forces himself to return to the stairwell.

He needs the extra time to calm down.

#francis mosses x reader #francis mosses x you #milkman x reader #milkman x you #francis mosses #milkman #thats not my neighbor #the milkman #that’s not my neighbor #tnmn smut #tnmn fanfic #tnmn francis mosses #divider @cafekitsune

[dr-trafalgar-law]

Trafalgar Law X CisFem Reader

8

How were you always turning the tables on him? It wasn't fair to go from insanely opposed to blind loyalty.

It was confusing.

He hated how his stomach churned when you said it. He hated how he couldn't help but watch your lips form the words.

This was truly punishment. It made his chest tight, like his heart wasn't pumping properly.

The door vibrated against his back.

"Uhm," ugh - your voice was so small, he hated that too, "a-are you alright?"

Law paused taking a deep breath, "Yeah," he  opened the door just a smidge, "I'll be out in moment."

He needed a break from you. 

Enough light had hit his face through the small opening of the door for you to see how pale he'd gone. His appearance was a bit alarming as his silver irises had bloomed guiding attention to tight fixed pupils. The crescent dark patches under his eyes had deepened.

"I-I don't think you're ok," you asserted.

"I said I'm fine, F/N." your fiance snapped.

Your concerned face wasn't helping.

It was as if a hand crept up his chest and gripped the base of his throat. A sharp gasp passed his lips while tattooed fingers clawed at the imaginary threat. Muscles contracted which had him stumbling back barely landing on the edge of bed.

Quickly you entered the room without his permission, rushing to lay him on his left side, just as he had done with you. Taking the space beside him you tipped his chin up to open his airway before placing your hand over his, attempting to calm him. His short nails had already left red marks on his neck and collar.

"There's nothing there, shh," you murmured gently pulling his wrists to rest on the bed in the space between you, "look at me and try to match my breath."

His gaze struggled to focus on your face while his ears searched for the sound of your calming breaths. He took a moment to realize that your fingers were combing through his hair.

"I'm here," you murmured, "you're alright."

The dark blur that had rolled in like a fog and threatened his vision suddenly ebbed. His trmbling body started to ease into the mattress as his grip on your shirt became an understood sensation to his previously numb fingertips.

You made sure to focus solely on him. It was such an easy quick switch to nurture you had to wounder if you were helping. Your poor fiance had certainly never experienced this side of you.

"It must've been really hard to be that vulnerable." you continued warmly messaging his scalp.

That wasn't it.

He could only manage a huff.

"I'll make sure you're more comfortable next time."

That wasn't it at all.

Law nodded feebly and rasped out, "It's fine, thanks."

He closed his eyes to distract himself from your soft expression as you continued to comb through his hair and hum. There was still an uncomfortable tightness in his chest that kept him from taking a full breath, but his extremities were finally starting to relax.

As the tension in his jaw faded you let out a quiet chuckle, "I don't suppose I can carry you to the bath tub."

One slate iris suddenly became visible while peeped up at you incredulously, "No."

"But you're covered in sweat and it'll help you relax more." you urged.

He pulled away stiffly, "F/N-ya - "

"Doctors really are bad patients." you interrupted his protest and stood, "How about you don't have an option? I know I am the last person who should say this, especially to a health care professional but, stop letting yourself be miserable."

"You're right," he replied dryly, "you shouldn't say that to anyone."

"Alright," you held up your hands, "I did that to myself. Anyway, you're going to relax while I draw you a bath."

Before he could reply you'd stepped into the bathroom and turned on the water.

Law felt like he was in the twilight zone. He honestly didn't know you could be so warm and comforting. It just reminded him that he didn't know you.

Shakily he sat up in the bed and removed his shirt before making an attempt to stand. When you rounded the corner Law was leaning against the dresser with a towel around his waist. Your gaze trailed over the large tattoo you'd never seen before. It seemed to match the ones on his forearms. As he turned revealing even more undiscovered ink you felt your face warm up.

"I - uh have some eucalyptus oil in my room you can use." Averting your eyes you excused yourself. 

Law didn't have time to react before you skittered away, so he shuffled into the bathroom with a sigh and eased into the tub before you returned. When you reentered his bathroom the towel was neatly folded and placed on the lidded toilet. You placed the small vile of aroma oil on the side of the bathtub.

"This seems to help me relax." you murmured taking a seat after moving the towel to the sink.

His tattooed hand appeared pushing the shower curtain back just enough to see his chest up. He took the vile and poured a cap full into the steaming water.

"Thanks." he breathed resting his head against the tiled wall.

"I guess sitting in an apartment tub isn't very comfortable for someone your height." you fiddled with the hem of your shirt.

"It's not so bad." he shrugged, "I have to say I didn't expect this to happen. You don't have to stay, there's like a two percent chance I'll drown."

"That's still a chance." you retorted.

He sighed as his steely eyes rolled in your direction, "I only meant you don't have to waste your time in here."

"I'm not wasting my time," you pouted, "but if you want me to go I can. I just wanted to make sure you're alright."

His chest felt tight again for a brief moment, "It's fine. You can stay."

You nodded while he closed his eyes again. The color was slowly coming back to his face which gave you some comfort. Taking the opportunity, you let your gaze sway over his sharp features. He really was attractive, it was shameful that you hadn't noticed before.

"You know it's rude to stare." his eyes were closed but a smirk curved his lips.

"H-how are you feeling now?" you looked down at the floor and breezed passed his comment.

"As calm as I can feel at this point, I suppose." he muttered, "The eucalyptus is nice, we'll have to get more."

"Sure, I have lavender and neroli blossom too, but I thought that might be a bit too girly."

"I don't think scents are gender specific - if it's nice it's nice." he brought his hand out of the water and ran it through his hair slicking it back.

"I suppose," you fidgeted.

A comfortable quiet settled in while you fiddled with your shirt. Eventually Law closed the curtain completely and stood at which point you excused yourself and went into the kitchen.

Law entered with his hair still damp, just as you turned holding his mug filled with steaming herbal tea.

"Thanks." he murmured, fingers overlapping yours as he accepted the hot drink.

"You're welcome."

Both of you sat at the small table, like you did on mornings before going your separate ways for work.

"So," you both spoke at once and glanced up at each other.

"Go ahead." you tucked your hair behind your ear.

He nodded, "What's your schedule like on Sunday?"

"The shop is closed so I usually just go in from nine to noon to clean and make sure orders are organized for the week. Why?"

He sighed and kept his eyes on the mug in front of him, "There's a place I'd like to take you."

#closure #lyndsyh24 #one piece #slow burn #trafalgar d law x reader #trafalgar law #x reader #18+ mdni #marco the phoenix #heart pirates #angst

[babyjackdaniels]

#fox writes imagines #he’s all ‘focus focus focus focus focus focus’ to himself when he realizes #the little parting of his lips inspired this #criminal minds #dr spencer reid #spencer reid #dr reid #dr spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x reader #dr reid x reader #criminal minds imagine #dr spencer reid imagine #spencer reid imagine #dr reid imagine #dr spencer reid x reader imagine #spencer reid x reader imagine #dr reid x reader imagine #fbi agent!reader #spencer reid x fbi agent!reader #18+ imagine #fbi agent!reader imagine

[taeyungie]

😺

#i haven't addressed yoongi's situation yet because i'm honestly still not hit by it i guess. like it didnt gwt to me yet #i dont think ill ever love anyone the same as i love him you know what i mean #he has been the first reason of my self development. like he literally raised me??? i learned from him how to be the person i am today #and its like im saying goodbye to a family member. the thing is i have never griefed anyone's absence like this #its like a part of my soul will be missing until he comes back #but at the same time i know what he would want for me. to move on and to become my own reason #he would want me to be kind to myself. to focus on myself and not miss him that much. #he would want that for all of us right #but i have a very hard time processing things. do you guys remeber the festa last year? when we found out theyll be going on hiatus #the reality of it snd the fact that it will be happening hit me onky after around 3 months. #thats when i first cried because i realized what it meant. ofc i knew but it didnt occur to the emotional part of my brain at that time #and i feel like im truly gonna fall apart when THIS hits me in 3 months lol #my life has never been worse and thats honestly the time when i need the reassurance the most #when i need the people i love and find comfort in the most. #but its just me and thats technically just my problem. but since i am talking about my view on this then thats okay i guess hahah anyway #i just hope he knows there are milions of ppl who love him as much as i do. and thats like extra love like forever & beyond type of shit #i honestly dont think other people ever truly fully understand how we feel towards them. especially when you really love somebody #because they have their own opinions about themselves. they debate whether they deserve some kind of treatment or not. we all do that right #and i just know he does that too. i just reslly want him to feel completely loved and cherished and appreciated. #i want him to see himself through our eyes. to surround himself with people who see him exactly the way we do. #to fall in love with somebody who will see him like we see him #nobody deserves better life than this man. and i hope that after our reunion he will live that life to the fullest 💓 i can't wait to see it #anyway. if somebody needs to talk about it or wants to get sadness out of your system - im here 💓 #please keep your heads up and lets wait for him 💓 #we have esch other and we will be okay 💓 #sorry for typos i can barely see its 1am 🤓

[obey-me-headquarters]

..... After playing the new Baxter Dlc for Our Life I don't think this will be a purely Obey Me blog...

Listen I ALWAYS loved Cove, but I played Our Life before making this blog! Now that I've played the Baxter Dlc I'm itching to write something for him! And Cove to!

#granted this wouldnt become a spilt blog #my main focus has been and will always be Obey Me on this blog #i just mignt write a handful of things for Our Life #listen Baxter is too much of a brat for me NOT to #hmmmm. i saw someone in the Our Life tag mention poly Mc/Baxter/Cove and i cant get the thought of my mind #not me day dreaming about a fic on how that would go... #maybe Cove finally realizes his feelings for Mc when Baxter moves in... while also being drawn to Baxter #Baxter noticing that Cove likes Mc and tries to take a step back. believing that they would be the better couple #but Mc doesnt let him. they firmly grasp onto both Cove and Baxter and refuse to let either of them go #so the three spend three months dancing around each other and never quite admiting your feelings for each other #which i know is rare for Baxter but he truly believes that he would only get in the way of your and Cove's relationship so he tries to #distance himself. and Cove has low key abandonment issues so THAT causes Problems. and Mc is stubborn and doesnt give up easily #then during Baxter's last day the three of you end up all making out. maybe drunky? idk. havent hashed out the details yet. and when you #and cove wake up Baxter is GONE because he panicked. and doesnt reply to your or Cove's texts for five years until you and cove see him #again when youre planning Scott and Jude's wedding. #so uh. yeah. sorry for the ramble but thats the basic idea lol.

[lisbonsteresa]

you don't get how crazy i'm going over this

#like....LIKE????? #not even talking about the lisbon of it all (we have to though these things are intrinsically connected but we're holding off for now) #i'm so....proud? of this little fictional man? #was the setup a little silly? maybe (but i loved every SECOND of it i can't BELIEVE i actually got a big blowout and a lowest point- #realization AND a rush to the airport confession that's SO) #this payoff was so SO worth it for me #and honestly i don't think the setup was even THAT silly -- what did lisbon say in 4.24? he had to hit rock bottom and know it or something #that's this. hurting her like this is his rock bottom (see you can't ignore the lisbon of it all - which i LOVE) #even with all the crazy shitty things he's done up until now; especially to HER; it was to get red john; he had that to fall back on #(not that he really saw it as a fallback but it gave him something else to focus on/something to justify his methods) #but after red john (episode not person) he doesn't have that anymore and he's been floundering ESPECIALLY when it comes to her #this wasn't a con (*not an official con) this was him doing something shitty and her finally having had enough #and him realizing just how right she's been; she was right on the first plane this season and she was right at the blue bird #and he's finally able to admit to himself just how much of a shit he's been...and then he's able to admit a lot of other things too #that little bit of honestly led to so much more and it let him FINALLY say out loud what they both knew (as much as they ignored it #or talked around it or pushed it down) and it let him say it without pretenses or expectations; just because #he 'needed to get to this' and she 'deserved to hear it' and i'm usually kind of meh on 'i needed to say it/you needed to hear it' #but this one; this one i GET #and i'm not explaining myself well at all i'm delirious but the point is this is SO well done and it feels DESERVED for me i love it #tm

[raspberryjellybrains]

I've been thinking a lot lately about Delirium and the way she speaks. She talks around a concept, never hitting it head on but glancing off through a series of metaphors and related concepts that explain things far better than wording them straight might. It's very relatable, and I think that's why I like her; that's how I think.

To me, the world isn't composed of precisely defined concepts but a series of interconnected existences which can all, ultimately, be related to each other. I also experience things in the incredibly specific manner Delirium seems to. I have sensitivities largely untethered from aversions, meaning that while I don't often find things deeply unpleasant or intolerable, I still experience them with an unusual specificity which often defies concise explanation. The best way I can convey certain feelings or experiences is through other feelings, experiences, and concepts to weave together a series of approximations that through their similar and dissimilar traits narrow down to what I'm trying to describe. Delirium does this too, and it's treated as a part of her that's no better or worse than any other. There are those that don't understand and those that do, and those that at least try to are awarded for their efforts because finally and most importantly, she genuinely has something to say. Her speech patterns are deceptively rambling because she takes a long time to say what she means to say, while simultaneously saying exactly it.

Delirium is neurodivergent coded in such a cathartic way because of this. I feel her frustration and joy because I know what it's like to be the person trying to explain something that has no words to assign, asking all of the time if there's a word for what she's feeling as a rhetorical and genuine question so that she can explain something without explaining it and call into question why we feel everything must be precisely laid in the place of as few words as possible. She is incredibly intelligent, but loses track of all of what's happening in a far more obvious way than most because there's just so much to keep track of, which is also very relatable as a neurodivergent person. Without putting labels on the experience, she perfectly captures it. I just... I like Delirium quite a lot, and think she'd be very good at post-modern literature.

#i hope to god this comprehensible #im trying so hard to get this shit in a line exactly becaude of why i like her #theres jusy SO MUCH to say its very hard to keep it straight and many more things to focus on beyond it #i love that delirium is treated by the narrative as an intelligent and wise being that just conveys that in an unconventional way #shes like my mirror metaphor. no mirror can light upon the minutae without shattering and no shattered mirror can see the bigger picture. #shes shattered but knows from when she was whole what the full picture looks like but she gets lost in all of the fragments #which gives her an incredibly unique and valuable perspective #at a surface level it seems as if she's an offensive depiction of mental illness but once you go deeper you realize shes not for the very- #reason she at first seemed to be. she embodies what is looked down upon but its told through side comments and events that theres more to- #her than the seeming irrationality. #she picks up and puts things down as she remembers them but that doesnt mean any one thing is any less valuable than any other #the ephemeral quality of her attentions dont diminish their value. #i have a lot of thoughts about her i just. am very fond. #and the way she and dream truly demonstrate the dichotomy of mental illness and neurodivergence makes me froth at the mouth. #he knows what shes saying most of the time and knows where shes at whether he admits it to himself or not because shes just externalizing- #what exists solely internally for him. hes better at masking and that is their difference which makes Such a statement oh my god when you- #think about how each are treated and understood. #it took me like. two weeks to organize these thoughts btw. they float in little brain clouds <3 #i need to watch everything everywhere all at once #anyway #delirium of the endless #the sandman meta #the sandman #raspberry rambles

[yawnderu]

Virgin!König is fucking ravenous. Joining the military at 17 and generally being unpleasant didn't give him many options, always focusing on pushing his body to the limit rather than trying to find something to fuck. He can't handle rejection— it's too much for him. He's too prideful, too intense.

Virgin!König is a fucking loser. He doesn't know if he's looking too deep into it when you willingly start to spend more time alone with him, always touching a part of him no matter what. He excuses himself to the bathroom when you put your hand on his thigh, trying his best to make his boner go down, yet no matter what, his fat cock stays up until he jerks off.

Once you break down his walls and get him to fuck you? Poor you.

König jackhammers his meaty cock into you at a punishing rhythm, letting you feel every single inch of his hard dick. He's too big, crushing you down with his massive body yet too pussy-drunk to even realize. The only thing he can feel is your cunt wrapping perfectly around him, his leaking tip slamming into your spongy cervix every single time.

Needy, open-mouthed kisses are planted all over your neck before he goes down, desperately latching onto one of your nipples to muffle his embarrassingly high-pitched whimpers.

His thrusts are nothing short of brutal, using your much smaller body as a fleshlight, mind too hazy to focus on anything other than using your little hole to make himself cum.

His tongue circles your nipple before he starts suckling into it again, desperately trying to go deeper even when the entrance of your cervix is stopping him. His hips crash against yours, jackhammering into you without care until he's able to slam his cock as deep inside of you as possible, shooting ropes of thick, white cum right into your fertile, needy womb.

He's not embarrassed about cumming fast, already feeling his cock harden into your cunt, ready for another round.

#konig smut #cod mwii #cod mw2 #könig smut #konig x you #konig x reader #cod konig #konig cod #konig call of duty #könig x reader #konig mw2 #könig cod #könig call of duty #konig #konig x female reader #könig mw2 #könig #mw2 smut #mw3 smut

[xbellaxcarolinax]

Scent

Miguel O’Hara X f!reader

Summary: It was an intoxicating scent. And he knew it was yours. (In which Miguel goes feral when you ovulate)

Word count: 4k+

Warnings: Language. Obvs. S m u t. Obvs. Oral, f receiving. P in V (no protection), cum eating. Cheesy probs. Reader says Miguel's name a lot lmfao not beta read.

Minors DNI.

Honestly, I don’t know how any of this stuff works. This is some bullshit and none of it makes sense. Enjoy.

...

Miguel was fucking losing it. 

He couldn’t focus, couldn’t keep his head on straight. There was a thick fog clouding his judgment, disorienting him like a fever he couldn’t sweat out.

It started with a scent.

Light at first, a barely there whiff of something. 

It lingered at HQ, trailing between passageways and different conference rooms. There were times when it didn't linger at all for weeks. Then it'd start right up again, progressively getting worse.

It was an intoxicating scent. And he knew it was yours. How could it not be when you spent the most time with him?

It happened once a month for a week at most, and like clockwork, his body reacted viciously, betraying him of all logical thoughts. Your scent seized him by the throat in a sort of chokehold. Some days were unbearable, your scent so strong that he’d have to fight with every muscle and nerve in his body not to touch you, to not bend you over and—

Well. That wasn't a healthy thought.

Recently (the last two months to be exact), he’d have to excuse himself and step out of the room for a few minutes whenever you’d arrive from your world to report for duty, sneaking off to the restroom to tug on his cock till he felt some relief. Images of you would flash in his mind: you on your knees with your lips wrapped around him, or the pained face he'd imagine would twist your features when sinking down on his thick length. He'd come in his hand, sticky ropes of white, using his release to coat his stiff length and go again.

He never truly felt satiated. It was something to keep his appetite at bay. But once he’d come back and face you he’d get hard all over again, drugged out on whatever smell it was that emanated off of you.

He’d salivate like a dog and his bulge would grow uncomfortably large in his skin-tight suit. It got to the point where he couldn’t face you, and whenever you’d greet him he’d return it with a simple grunt, giving you a clear view of his broad, imposing back. He never looked at you anymore unless to sneak in a quick glance and even then, it’d make his cock twitch in desperation, the head weeping, begging to be touched.

He was fucking feral, like a Neanderthal, primitive and obsessed.

You smelled rich, mildly tangy—not like the fruity perfumes some of the spider ladies wore around him. No, it was something else entirely, something earthy, like what he imagined was between your delicate legs. Like wet cunt ready to be taken. 

And God, did he want to take it.

…

"Miguel." 

He tensed up at the sound of your voice, running a hand through his unruly dark hair. Maybe the cafeteria at HQ wasn’t the best hiding spot.

It was the middle of the month—July fifteenth to be exact—which meant you had that smell again.

You were ovulating.

He knew enough about female anatomy to put the pieces together when he realized that about two weeks after his body reacted to your scent, you'd be in a terrible mood.

"What crawled up your ass?" He'd asked you once, keeping his eyes on all his monitors but immediately noting your discomfort. You sat on a chair beside him, head in your arms as you leaned on the desk.

He could feel you glaring daggers at his profile.

"Shut up. I'm on my period, asshole."

He did shut up after that.

Blood immediately began to rush toward his cock, bringing it to life.

You stood in front of him, one hand on your hip while the other held a plastic container from the empanada joint everyone had a taste for. 

"What?" Miguel uttered, keeping his eyes trained on a particular stain on the otherwise pristine white table. Any distraction was a welcomed distraction.

You pulled back the chair opposite of his, plopping down on it unceremoniously. The action sent waves of your aroma toward him like a crashing wave, engulfing him completely. He stiffened, dropping his head slightly while the heel of his hand pressed over his growing bulge. 

"You gonna tell me what the fuck is going on?" 

“I…don’t know what you’re talking about.” He said through gritted teeth, fangs visible when he grimaced. His scarlet eyes wandered over your face for a few seconds before he ripped them away, barely avoiding the twitch in your brow and the growing frown on your lips.

“Seriously?” You scoffed, “You’ve been avoiding me for, what, two months? I’m surprised I got a hold of you. You’re never in the cafeteria.” You ripped open the container, digging inside to grab the fried little snack. “Do we have a problem I’m not aware of?”

Miguel watched you take a bite of the empanada, committed to memory the way your tongue lapped at the grease coating your lips. His hand pressed harder over his cock, and at that moment he cursed himself for implementing the suit-only rule. He could really use a pair of sweatpants right now.

“Well? Do we?” You challenged him, defiant as always. You had this look in your eye that he’s seen before—your adrenaline was about to kick into overdrive. Always ready for a fight.

He sighed, shaking his head, willing himself to breathe. He felt sweat begin to bead across his hairline, strands of his hair sticking down the sides of his face. Your scent was becoming unbearable, overwhelming him to the point where he felt lightheaded. He licked his dry lips, carelessly running the tip of his tongue over his sharp canines only to pierce through the delicate muscle. The salty taste of iron exploded in his mouth and he grunted, pinching his eyes shut in frustration. 

"Mig."

“No!” He finally barked, slamming a fist over the table. It shook from the weight of his large hand, the empty container almost flying off the surface. You went wide-eyed for a moment at his outburst before pressing the last bite of your snack between your lips, unfazed.

“It clearly doesn’t seem that way,” you replied calmly, but the twitch in your brow remained and your eyes narrowed. You wiped your mouth and fingers with a brown recyclable napkin meticulously, “if you have a problem, say so.”

One thing you had in common with Miguel was your bluntness. You always cut to the chase, saying what you needed to without much thought. It was one of the things that he appreciated in a fellow spider person but right now it only served to irritate him. That last thing he wanted was to deal with someone as fucking stubborn as him.

He must've looked like hell because when you regarded him, the hardness in your eyes softened immensely as if only just realizing his disheveled appearance. You went to touch his hand over the table but he snatched it away before you could, glaring. 

"You don't look so good,” you reasoned quietly, stung by his actions, “d’you need some help?”

"M'fine."

"I don't think—"

"Listen to me very carefully," Miguel hissed, nose flaring and skin burning hot, "I need you to get away from me." 

"What—"

"I'm not gonna tell you again," he seethed, cock struggling to break free from the constraints of his suit, "Go. Leave."

You were stunned into silence, tapping your fingers over the table awkwardly before grabbing your mess and leaving without another word.

Miguel watched you leave with a groan, dropping his head back in aggravation.

He was so fucked.

…

You hadn't shown up to HQ in a while. He couldn't blame you. 

While that should've been a win for Miguel, it wasn't. Sure, the violent attacks on his body had diminished somewhat, but now, just because you weren’t around as much didn’t mean you didn’t leave his thoughts for a second.

He could've called you—had that stupid watch to contact you—see if you were okay. But his pride assaulted him every time he so much as glanced at his watch. 

His thoughts circulated and continued, imagining you in all the positions he wanted to put you in, which landed him back in the restroom for a daily cock tug when he should’ve been working.

The spiderverse needed to be controlled and admittingly, you were one of the best on his team. You were stealthy and intelligent—he needed you more than he'd cared to admit.

And...he missed you.

But you were off fighting crime and restoring the peace in your universe—at least that was the excuse you'd given him, only showing face when it was absolutely necessary.

Which, as of late, wasn’t very necessary.

And still, he suffered.

...

Earth- 0708. 

A shit show of a universe where the height of winter was in the middle of fucking August. It was snowing, small tufts of flurries lightly coating the ground in white.

Miguel knew exactly where to find you. Sunnyside, Lowery Street off the seven train. On the corner of a bodega by the broken lamp post. He could walk to your apartment complex blind if he really wanted to.

And there it was. He could smell you upon arriving—through the concrete and rusty red brick, up the five floors to your window—he could smell you. His hands shook (not from the cold) as his claws gripped the aging wall, his cock doing its usual swelling.

You must have sensed him immediately, slamming your bedroom window open and peering out into the darkness before he could even make it to your window. The cold wind blew and carried your scent. Mierda. 

“Miguel?” You called out, squinting down at him as he scaled the dusty brick wall. When he finally came face to face with you, he lowered his mask, revealing his flushed face and sweat-slicked hair. He could see his breath come out in short, little puffs.

“You couldn’t use the front door like a normal person?” You asked with a roll of your eyes, crossing your arms.

“When were we ever normal people?” It was meant to come out smooth as butter but Miguel’s voice was hoarse, throat seemingly drier than the Sahara. He cleared it, stepping through the window, turning around to quickly slam it shut. He was concentrating, forcing himself to take a deep breath before turning around to face you, except, you were already gone, disappearing deeper into your apartment.

He grunted, rubbing his eyes. He thought he’d gotten better at controlling himself. The gentle breathing helped, but it didn’t mean he wasn’t struggling to keep his cock under control. It twitched a few times, and he groaned, exiting your bedroom. It was now or never.

You were in your tiny kitchen, stirring a cup of tea while the TV in the living room softly played some sitcom he remembered you were into. You were in a black hoodie and gray sweats, your hair messily thrown up in a ponytail. He’d seen you this way more than he could count. When did you become so pretty? Miguel didn’t understand it. You were under his nose this whole time, and he never really looked at you. Well, that was wrong. He did, of course, he did, but he never indulged. He was too much of a workaholic for that.

“What do you want?” You asked, monotoned, “I took care of all the bad guys so I know you're not here for that.” You propped your elbows on your kitchen counter, resting your chin in the palm of your hand as you peered up at him. You’d always told him he looked massive in your apartment as if his shoulders would cave the entire place in, and now, with you looking at him like that—all doe eyes and confusion—just a tiny thing, well…his cock twitched.

He swallowed thickly, jaw tense as he looked away from you to collect himself.

“I gotta ask you somethin'.” The words rushed out of his mouth, the flashing images on the TV seemingly more interesting to him than anything else.

“Shoot.” 

“It’s… gonna sound weird, bare with me.”

“O…kay.” 

Miguel turned away from you as he always did, hoping to curb his sweltering need to take you against your wall like a beast. “Are you ovulating?” It was quiet for a beat, and his heart flew into his throat in pure mortification.

“What?” 

“You heard me, I’m not repeating it again.” 

“Miguel, what the fuck—” 

“Just—answer the Goddamn question, por favor.” He pinched the bridge of his nose, bowing his head in frustration. He felt hot, his body burning as if molten lava flowed through his veins. His tone must have done something because when he looked over his shoulder you were on your phone tapping a few buttons.

“...Yes,” you finally answered, bringing your gaze to meet his half-lidded eyes, “according to my app.” 

“Mierda,” He groaned, dropping his head in his hands, “fuck. Okay.” 

“You gonna tell me what’s going on, Miguel?”

“And you ovulate mid-month? Between the twelfth and sixteenth? No don’t—don’t look at me like that, please,” Miguel choked as he began to pace back and forth, ignoring the incredulous look on your face that was both humiliating and overwhelmingly arousing at the same time, “Just—just answer.” Another beat of silence engulfed you both as you searched the information through your period tracker with a shaky hand.

“Uhh, yeah, t-that’s right.” You placed your phone down on the counter, your tea now cold and long forgotten. “Mig…what’s with the questions? How d’you even know that?”

He finally paused his steps to run a hand through his hair before facing you from a safe distance, hoping you wouldn’t notice the growing erection burning hot between his legs from the angle he was in. If you noticed the large space between you both, you didn’t mention it.

“I haven’t been ignoring you,” you snorted at the comment, and again, he pinched the bridge of his nose, “I haven’t been ignoring you by choice, me entiendes?” 

“So what is it then?” You took a couple of steps closer while he took a couple of steps back.

“It’s your scent—you smell so fucking good and it's driving fucking crazy, muñeca.” 

“I-I don’t understand, Mig, what—”

“Look, I don’t understand it either,” he ran a hand through his locks again and again as if ready to rip the strands off, “all I know is you have a…scent when you ovulate every month…and, well…” he dropped both arms to his sides, standing there like an idiot as you stepped closer to drink him in. Your eyes traced him over, his broad shoulders and muscled arms, his thick thighs, and his engorged co—

“M-Miguel?” Your gaze was pinned to his bulge, pushing against the confines of his suit. “Why didn't you tell me anything?”

The question made him burn—made him bare his fangs and curl his hands into tight fists.

"What did you expect?” He spat, pacing again, “How was I gonna tell you some shit like this?" He licked his lips, his body feeling feverish. If he didn't leave soon he was sure to do something he'd regret.

“Miguel, come here.” He ignored you, much too irritated and embarrassed to do anything but just stand there. His jaw clicked, the bone shifting under the skin as he grinded his teeth in frustration. He could hear your footsteps padding softly behind him until you stood in front of him, craning your neck just to make eye contact.

It was unbearable being in your presence. He was going lightheaded again, the arousal almost blinding.

“Mig? D-did you need some help?” You whispered, your fingers ghosting over his chiseled abdomen, ready to trail lower but his large hand gripped you by the wrist, halting your movements.

“No.” He choked, “I’m not gonna force you to do something you don’t want to. Just came to tell you.”

“What if I want to?” You continued, lifting your free hand to press your warm palm over his heaving chest, “What if I told you I’ve wanted to do this for a long time?” 

Miguel hissed as soon as you cupped his erection, gently rubbing your palm up and down the smooth surface of his bulge, hidden behind the silky fabric of his suit.

“Poor Miguel—all this suffering, all this grief, when all you needed was for me to relieve you,” you tutted, feeling how incredibly hard he was, “so I have a scent, huh?” Miguel groaned, his head lolling to the side as he watched your careful movements. The friction wasn’t enough, but it was more than he could have asked for in the last few months. His hand was nothing compared to yours. “What do I smell like then?”

“Like wet pussy,” he swallowed thickly, hands fighting the urge to grip you by the waist, “smells amazing, muñeca.” He hissed again when you gripped him firmly.

“Yeah?” You smiled, your eyes just as hooded as his, “And what do you want to do to me?” 

A growl rumbled in his chest. Without saying another word, he pushed you back against the closest wall, caging you in his large arms.

“You have no idea the things I want to do to you.” He whispered, brushing the tip of his nose over yours. Your eyes fluttered, lips parting to take the tiniest breaths, chest heaving in arousal. 

“Show me.” You breathed before Miguel kissed you. He curled around you, sealing you away from everything that wasn’t him. Your scent had his head buzzing, had him licking wildly into your mouth, his fangs grazing your skin more times than you could count. 

He pawed at your hoodie, his claws sinking into the black fibers of the fabric. “Do you care about this?” He said between kisses, skimming the delicate skin underneath.

“It was an ex-boyfriend’s.” You yelped when Miguel tore into the hoodie immediately, ripping apart the seams with ease. You weren't wearing a t-shirt underneath, leaving you bare above the waist.

“Not important then.” He muttered, tossing the thick shreds of fabric aside in favor of touching your bare skin. He noted your eyes, how blown your pupils were at his actions. You were cold, nipples pebbling and goosebumps forming over your arms. Miguel cooed, his thumbs reaching out to rub the sensitive nubs on your chest, tugging them between his fingers. Your head fell back against the wall, a mewl escaping you. 

“Miguel,” you moaned, arching your body into his skillful hands. He brought you flushed against him, pressing his face into your neck and licking a stripe up to your ear.

“¿Qué pasó, hermosa? I barely touched you,” Miguel chuckled, lifting you up in his arms with ease and walking to your bedroom. He threw you on your bed, and within seconds, your sweats were pulled down with your panties, hastily tossed to the side. 

He observed you like a beast on the hunt, eyes trained on your glistening cunt. There it was, the source of his misfortunes for all those months, weeping and swollen with arousal, just waiting to be fucked. His mouth watered, watching you slowly swirl your fingers between your folds, coating two digits with your slick before presenting them to him.

“Wanna taste?”

He saw how your juices clung to your fingers like glossy webs when you wiggled them toward him. He kneeled in front of you, gripping your wrist in his hand and lapping at your essence, plunging your fingers into his mouth. He moaned in relief as if tasting you was the cure to every issue he'd encountered.

You gasped, mouth slightly ajar as you watched him. It was so obscene how this man took pleasure from your taste alone, coating your fingers entirely in his spit. You whined, the sensation of his tongue causing your cunt to flutter, desperate to be filled.

“Miguel,” you whined, “get rid of the suit.” He chuckled over your fingers, letting you feel the tip of his fang over the soft pads before releasing them with a gentle pop. He stood to his full height, dwarfing you, glowing in that suit of his. Slowly, the tech that held his suit together scurried down the length of his body like falling stars until he was completely nude. His cock sprung forward, finally released from its prison, standing large and proud.

“Oh my god,” Miguel heard you mutter, saw how your eyes were trained on the angry red tip, shining with precome. His chest puffed with pride. You licked your lips, mind already set on the task you'd given yourself. You moaned, desperate for a taste of him.

He didn't give you much time to react, surging forward to place a hand around your delicate throat, putting the slightest bit of pressure before pushing you down flat. 

"Next time. I need to taste you." His eyes were glowing, burning red in the dim lighting of your bedroom. He knelt again, grabbing your hips firmly and pulling you roughly toward the edge of the bed before devouring your cunt like a starved man.

"Shit," you cried, hands immediately tugging on his hair as you threw your head back, "M-Miguel." He was insatiable, tongue swirling around your clit several times before lapping at your soaked folds, moaning at the tangy taste. 

"Que rico," he muttered to himself, the vibrations of his voice over your cunt causing you to cry out. He continued his assault, dipping his tongue into your hole, a testament of what was to come. Then, without warning, he plunged his middle finger inside, immediately hitting something that made you see stars. You choked and heaved, pulling at his hair as he fucked you with his thick finger while sucking on your clit.

"Fuuuck, Miguel, I-I think I'm—" you threw your head back, eyes rolling as you came, gushing all over Miguel's mouth and hand. You trembled, almost sobbing when he hadn't let up, feasting on your juices as his finger continued to thrust into you.

"M-Miguel, I can't," you whined, your hands fighting to lift his head away from your aching cunt, but he ignored you, too drunk on your taste to stop. He carefully added a second finger, easily finding a rhythm to thrust into you. The stretch had you gasping for air, thighs trembling on either side of his head. If two fingers were too much for you then his cock would surely be a challenge.

Miguel's eyes were closed, tongue hungrily lapping at the wetness you produced, and within seconds had you falling apart with a wicked moan. Your cunt squeezed his two fingers when you came again, coating his hand and chin with your slick. You sobbed, begging him to stop, and he did, placing a wet kiss on each of your inner thighs before carefully pulling his fingers out.

"Look at me, hermosa." You hiccupped, craning your neck to look at Miguel with blurry eyes. He already had his red gaze pinned on you, and when he had your attention he placed his cum coated fingers into his mouth, humming in approval at the taste.

You were mesmerized, not even fucked by his cock yet but somehow already drunk on the anticipation. You whimpered, watching him lap up the last of your juices on his fingers.

"M-miguel?"

"You taste so fucking good," he growled with a shake of his head, pushing his face into your pulsating cunt one more time to breathe in your intoxicating scent. His hot breath over your pussy made your toes curl, sighing in contentment when he placed a quick kiss on your swollen clit.

Miguel climbed on the bed, caging your hips with his muscular thighs. His cock slid against your folds, your slick already lubricating him. You were still shaking, your hands now finding purchase on his biceps.

"¿Estás bien, amor?" He asked, leaning down to pepper kisses over your tear stained face. He was getting sappy, he knew. He couldn't help it, not with the way you came so pretty for him.

"Mhm," you sighed, letting him arrange your trembling legs over his hips, his cock pressing more firmly into your aching wet core. 

"Good." He spit on his hand and ran it over his stiff shaft a few times before pushing your thighs up so that your knees touched your shoulders, effectively folding you in half. He lined up the head, ready to push in, but stopped when he heard you whimper.

"It's been a while, Miguel," you explained with wet eyes, "I haven't...in a while a-and you're so big—"

"It's okay, I know you can take me, hm?" Miguel brushed a few damp strands away from your sweaty face. He leaned down to kiss you, and he knew you could taste yourself on his lips. It made his cock twitch over you, and with no further delay he notched the head of his cock into your hole, slowly pushing in.

You moaned, eyebrows knitting at the stretch of him. He panted, pushing inch by devastating inch, all the while watching your face for any signs. You were falling apart, eyes screwed shut and nails digging into the meat of his arms.

"I can't," you choked, your hips fighting against the offending pain, but Miguel was quick in securing you in place, continuing to spear you with his cock, "M-Miguel, y-your too big, it's too much!"

"Shhh, hermosa, si puedes," Miguel closed his eyes for a moment, relishing in the way your cunt fluttered over him, fighting to take him in, "look how good you're doing for me, mm, así mismo." 

He pushed deeper, swallowing your cries with a kiss as he bottomed out, his balls pressing nicely against your ass. 

"¿Ves? " He cooed, bumping his nose against yours as you whimpered, "I told you, you could do it." He chuckled at your glare, kissing you again before thrusting experimentally into you.

You moaned, tossing your head back, exposing your throat. You felt full to the brim, completely stuffed. Miguel wasted no time surging forward to lick and nip at your neck as he moved above. Each thrust shook your bed, the springs of your mattress coming to life as Miguel fucked you deeper. Your pussy was drenched, soaking his cock as he glided in and out of you effortlessly. The stretch burned but it was delicious, and Miguel knew you were cock drunk when your mouth fell open, tears running down your cheeks.

"¿Así te gusta, hermosa?" Miguel moaned, his breath fanning over your skin as he pounded deeply into you. His cock reached something within you that had a sob ripping from your throat.

"Oh my God," you whined, feeling the constant slap, slap, slap of his balls against your ass, "Fuuuck."

"That's the spot?" He heaved, his fangs glistening with saliva, "That's where you want it?" He continued his relentless pace, hitting that spot with precision over and over again. The sounds of your squelching pussy made him feral, slamming into you until you screamed, watching you fall apart before his eyes.

You came hard, gushing all over his cock, vision blurry and head in the clouds. Miguel helped you ride your high until you were nothing more than a quivering mess below him, sobbing as he continued to thrust before emptying his load inside you.

He grunted, head tossed back as he pressed his hips tightly against you, filling you up with everything he had. 

"Fuck," he groaned, pausing to give himself a moment to breathe before slowly fucking his cum into you. It was too much, leaking out of your hole and over his cock, soaking into the sheets below. "Even better than I imagined." He muttered, shifting to pepper kisses all over your face again. You sighed in content, feeling comfortable in the way his cock was still nestled in you.

"¿Estás bien, muñeca?" Miguel asked, dropping his forehead against yours. He still had you folded in half, his large arms on either side of you. You nodded with a sigh, turning your head to place a chaste kiss on the inside of his wrist.

"Good," he grinned, gently snapping his hips against your ass, letting more of his spend leak from your hole, "cuz I'm not done with you yet."

#spiderverse #spiderman across the spiderverse #miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara smut #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara fanfiction

[shisurus]

this panel from the world guide of falin being surrounded by other girls while laios is all alone kills me because. that's it. that's the key difference in their journeys.

as laios states himself, he left the village in order to create a home for him and falin elsewhere. a home that won't collapse due to others' hatred and fears like their old home did, a home where they are loved and accepted unconditionally. but as he soon found out, even before earning money, or having walls surrounding him and a roof above his head- what he so earnestly desired was to meet other people who will accept him for who he is as well. instead, he kept being tormented by those around him, shunned and sneered at. his loneliness quickly became all-consuming until he truly had nothing left except for the monsters in the pages of his book, but even that became a target of mockery and destroyed. that's why ever since the day he left the village, he never felt that he truly made the right choice. so he kept running away: unable to resist and unable to accpet.

and an ocean away from him there was his sister, who never managed to fully fit in herself. but unlike him, she met a person who became a home to her and learned what a true friendship was for the first time in her life. and laios clearly realizes that too when he finally sees falin and marcille together, he can tell his sister obtained the greatest treasure there is on her own- the exact thing he never managed to find anywhere himself, thus coming back empty-handed to the sister he left the village for.

but when you read this part of the manga, laios's focus is on falin's loneliness, not his own. he talks about how it hurts thinking about all those moments she had to spend alone because he wasn't there for her, so it almost sounds like he's the one who couldn't bear her suffering and therefore decided to not let her go again. but we do get a glimpse of their first meeting after that almost-decade long separation in the manga, and then we see more of that in the world guide and daydream hour- and it becomes abundantly clear that it was falin who was trying to protect and save him from this pit of loneliness and depression he was in.

so instead of just doing his best to atone for leaving her behind in the village and making sure she is never lonely again, it might also be that laios was desperately clinging to the one person in the world he felt that accepted and loved him unconditionally. those words he used to describe his motivation to stay by falin's side are the exact words she would've used as well; she couldn't bear leaving him behind in this state. in a sense, they were each other's shackles.

but then she did. she died for him and their friends, and ironically enough, it was by leaving him alone like this that he was finally able to stand on his own and put his full trust in others. to have the courage to reveal who he is and give others the opportunity to accept him after such a long time of hiding. it was a long journey, but his hiding finally came to an end when he faced the others after shedding his monster form. and i love that the person who was falin's "home" all those years away from laios, marcille, became just as meaningful to him during their time separated from falin- the first one to find him and show him that he isn't alone anymore. just as he did for her.

so at the end of the story when falin talks about all the places she would like to go, it's not just that she wants to pursue her own dreams- but that she actually feels free to do so and go anywhere she desires. and one of the main reasons for that is that her brother finally found new people he wants to be with; his own home.

#im listening to fmab sad soundtrack while writing this im gonna die actually #dungeon meshi #laios touden #falin touden

[schrodingerscougar]

Note: Wow, the roommate!Simon story blew up. Anyway, here's part 2.

Following his conversation with Johnny, Simon begins to think. He begins to consider the possibility that maybe, just maybe, he’s developing feelings for you. Why else would he be so protective and mad when the sergeant talks this way about you? The thought scares him at first.

For one, being near him is a death sentence, he saw that with his family. He can’t even imagine surviving losing someone he loved again. Then there is another thing, the fact he isn’t sure you would return his feelings. If you didn’t, as he suspects, living with you would be torture, and he’s honestly too lazy to look for a new place to stay.

The next time he arrives home in the middle of the day, the apartment is empty since you’re at your workplace most probably. Not seeing your face brighten at the sight of him makes his heart ache, but he knows you’ll be home in two or three hours, so he can most certainly survive that by lying down to catch up on sleep. He leaves a post-it for you on the small table next to the front door where you always put your keys, warning you that he’s back home.

He’s woken by the smell of fresh coffee and something sweet. When he checks the clock on his bedside, he notices it’s past seven, which means he slept a good four hours without interruptions. The new record of the past weeks as the most he slept peacefully was two hours tops. He climbs out of bed and goes to the living room, surprised to see you in the kitchen, humming a song to yourself as you admire the neatly cut brownies on the kitchen island.

“You’re awake!” you exclaim happily, quickly pressing a button on the coffee machine to make him some coffee too, then pick up an empty plate and put a slice of brownie on it. “Welcome home. Here, try this. I thought you might use some homemade things after being away for so long.”

That damn smile of yours. It’s wide, happy, and it easily warms his heart and makes him smile too. Your good mood is infectious and he finds himself stuffing the cookie into his mouth as he stands next to you, nudging your side with his hip playfully. “It’s perfect, thank you,” he says while chewing, earning a roll of your eyes. You hate it when someone talks with their mouth full, so he quickly swallows the remains and goes, “Sorry.”

You shake your head with a laugh then turn away to get his coffee. Simon can’t help but wonder if this is how things would always be if you were his wife, if you would be this kind and caring all the time. He certainly could get used to this. He wouldn’t believe he deserves all the love, but he would definitely enjoy your attention.

“What got you thinking so hard?”

Simon lets out a questioning hum before realizing he zoned out for a while. “You,” he replies honestly.

“Me?”

“Mm-hmm.” Before you could ask more questions, he moves in front of you, trapping you between the kitchen island and his body as he leans down to you. “I had an interesting conversation with someone and it got me thinking while I was gone,” he says with his lips moving so close he almost kisses you. “Do you have any idea how much I miss you when I’m deployed? How many times do I wonder what you’re doing while I’m away?”

It’s easy to tell, especially from this close, that your heart is racing and your breath is caught in your throat as you watch him. Your eyes are moving back and forth between his lips and his eyes, unable to decide what to focus on. You’re both under a spell that he doesn’t want to break, in fact he wants this moment to last forever, this anticipation before he finally makes up his mind to kiss you. He wants to do it, but he can’t help but think about whether or not you would be against it.

Maybe he thinks too much, maybe his brain is too focused on the negative thoughts, and before he knows it, you move your head to capture his lips with yours in a slow and sensual kiss. Simon is aware that he has issues. He understands that his brain is only on high alert because deep down he doesn’t believe he deserves your attention. After all, he’s not a good man. Well, not always. He does his job like a good little soldier, but the lines are blurry between good and bad.

He knows that you know this too. Shortly after he moved in and found out what he did for a living, you had a lot of questions, many that he simply wasn’t allowed to answer. But you probably sensed that he was keeping things to himself, certain aspects of this position that civilians would never understand. He didn’t want to scare you away, he didn’t want you to throw him out, so he kept his mouth shut. You knew that and never pried for more information.

When your nails dig into the skin on his back in a desperate attempt to pull him closer, Simon finally returns to the moment, returning your delicious kiss while his hands grab your ass and help you on the counter behind you. His lips trail from your lips to the shell of your ear, whispering praises until he feels your hands moving to his belt.

As much as he wants that, he knows he has to stop you. So he reaches down to grab your hands, pulling them away and lacing his fingers with yours as he kisses the tip of your nose. “Not yet, love. Let’s go on a proper date first, yeah?” he asks you with a small smile.

You whine, then you beg for more, asking him why you have to go on a date when you've been living together for over a year now. He tells you that the reason is simple; he spent a bigger part of it away from home so you have to get to know each other.

“I know you, Simon,” you push on, your fingers tracing the tattoos on his forearm as you speak. When you see the determination in his eyes, you finally let out a sigh of defeat and say, “Okay, fine. Let's go on a date first. But don't even think about something fancy. Let's keep it simple.”

With a short laugh, he leans down to give you a quick kiss. “Understood.”

Later in the evening, way past eleven, the two of you finally say goodnight and he returns to his room. There's a message waiting on his phone, one that came from Johnny. “I’ll send her a DM if you won't introduce me,” it says.

“Better not. She's taken,” he replies.

#ghost #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley #simon riley #simon ghost riley x reader #call of duty #simon riley x reader #mw2 #modern warfare #mw3 #john soap mactavish #john mactavish